#maul had dream terrors

[noesqape]

Savage: Good morning brother!

Maul: The horrors persist.

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ ɪ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒ㅤ𓈒 Yandere!WuWa! Men x Reader 𓈒 ⭒

゜⌒ヽ❥ Dark Romance

°•❃•°

꒷꒦꒷Scar | 伤痕

Your fear tastes like nectar, thick and sweet, and sacrilegious. Scar gulps down your apprehension in starving strides. Cradling the burn between his teeth, savoring the sensation of the embers coiling and seething inside his veins. You're too perfect, thrashing underneath him, caged and defiant his little lost lamb. trying to flee, begging for freedom like a fever dream high. He licks your iridescent tears with zealous maniacal jubilation. Relishing in the soft warm flesh of your cheek marinated in your woe. He wants to taste them every day, force them from your pretty petrified eyes with scorching kisses and touches that shatter your very bones.

Scar's talons etch jagged filigrees across your body engraving terrors and torments all parodying "I love you". But he can't love, not really, love is too gentle too vain, he needs to consume, to feel the reverberations trapped between your bones. Scar's kisses burn wakes down your spine, slipping between the vertebras. Hollowing out your essence piece by piece, his hunger knows no bonds, refusing to dwindle until he's bled every delicious part of you dry. Until he feels your heart between his teeth.

˚✶˚Jiyan | 忌炎

You trace his markings, nails gliding gingerly through the jagged crystals of his tacet mark. He kisses the hollow of your palm, basking in the sweet giggle you gift him. You're his precious treasure, a sweet gem imported from the silk roads themselves. He'd do anything to keep you safe binding your soul to his tattered one. Jiyan is the Qingloong that everyone looks up to, the indestructible pillar of Jinzhou. And yet a simple smile from you is all it takes to shatter his illusion of strength.

Between patients, his mother would sometimes grace him with fables about Dragons, not Loong, not the creature their nation worshiped but Dragons monsters from the western nations. She'd tell him How they hoarded exotic treasures from all corners of the world. Growing powerful in the light of other's envy. They did anything to protect their gold coins and pearl necklaces, kill, and maim in the name of obsession. Back then he'd found such creatures disgusting, dubbed it blasphemy to even mention them in the same breath as the deific Loong. Now he thinks he's more dragon than Loong. Hoarding you away keeping you only to himself. Promising to maul any who try to rob him of your sweet kisses and angelic laughter.

𒆜Calcharo | 卡卡罗

You come prepackaged with a soft smile and a docile heart. Calcharo thinks it's all from the privilege of having lived a satisfactory life. Cherished, overfed, protected. All the things stripped of him so young. He shouldn't be jealous though, after all, he has the complacency to thank for turning his darling into such an ideal doll. Jejune and helpless, shivering under his cold touch. He harbors you between his thighs, enjoying the way your pearl-kissed dress pools on the floor. An ivory testament to the innocence he so craves. Calcharo's calloused fingers entrap the hollow of your hips pulling you harshly against him, he can't get enough of you. His lips kiss the dip of your neck nose bumping the back of your ear. Enraptured by the floral scent of your perfume.

You tried to run again today, flee when he'd been out escorting a merchant across the desert terrain. His men had caught you, binded you all pretty and left you in his chamber. He flashes you a crooked smile upon entry. Watching as you struggle and glare knowing damn well it won't change a thing. "Really little rabbit? I thought we had ceased playing such foolish games." He grasps your chin pulling you closer, your knees slide across the wooden floor scuffing from the friction. His cold lips trace your own as he whispers degradations laced with romance. Calcharo leans down for the kill, a lethal crushing kiss. Trapping your lips and engulfing your essence. Laughing when you're foolish enough to return the favor. You shiver and moan and it takes every bit of willpower not to devour you right then and there.

☄Mortefi | 莫特斐

The universe reverberates to a familiar tune when he first sees you. Singing a melody he swears he's heard each night when he lays his wry head to rest. What kind of creature are you? A cacophony of starsongs and golden echoes. He longs to touch you, to permit his flames to traverse your body searing you until you shine with the purity you all so deserve. He loses himself in the melody of your voice, the lost tune of a fading nova. Something too ethereal to be of this crude world.

Mortefi fancies himself a scientist and takes utmost pride in the way his mind curves around a problem. Floating through the riddles seeking answers in the dark. He can fix anything, create anything. And yet you stand before him defiant of his understanding. Mortefi grabs you by the collar, cradling a rogue sun within his palms, kissing its rays trying to grasp comprehension between his teeth and swallow it whole. It doesn't work by the end of the kiss you are still an anomaly and he is still a scientist wearing the heart as some hapless love-struck schoolboy. The need to understand you grows claws tearing at his mind, desperation pierces his throat whenever he catches a mere glimpse of you. He needs to understand, to tear you open and choke your secrets.

҉　Aalto | 秋水

Aalto's fingers weave through your hair, silk traversing through bone and flesh, flowing free in the aero he produces subconsciously. He cradles you delicately in his arms, trying his best to ignore the sour frown etched upon your face. He creates fables, spinning stories out of silk and air trying to win your interest with tales of stray sheep and fallen stars. Of lost treasures on the jade road and little girls with fire flowing through their veins. Your frown doesn't falter.

He kisses you again, and again and again. Trying to pry out adoration and devotion from between your bones. He struggles, whining about detesting and freedom. It sounds so trivial especially when he can give you everything your heart desires. He can't let you go, not when his very essence aches to feel you between his arms. Aalto wonders what stories he must make to erase that blood-curdling frown of yours. What information does he need to lay out your feet for you to grace his lips with your own? A lover's kiss, not whatever this is. I love you he whispers, he doubts you even care.

Let me know what you think. Should I do yandere Jiyan x reader x Yandere Calcharo next? ~💜

[icannothink123]

"The Feast-The consequence of your actions."

The Feast is a (intersex) skittish sheep princess with mild esp (extra sensory perception) and mild ghost abilities, which in chapter one was mauled to death then her corpse was eaten.

Her foil voice is, Voice of the Glutton whos a fancy, hungry, (bigender) french voice. He wants to eat The Princess and try new things but still cares about her and his fellow voices. While he prefers if you listen to him but doesn’t care too much if you don’t. 

[A/N:The reason why Glutton is french is because I found it funny]

You can check out there story on ao3 link below

Here the end of everything/shifty poem for her.

 “A gift of a fragile vessel?”

"This one is prey pushed to adapt, captured by a dance of survival. In this dance she found cunning and wit, but you alone pushed her to act. Even now I feel a will squirming against mine trying to slip in between my fingertips, not realizing we are one. She will make for a flexible heart."

"Do not mourn her she can rest" 

"The End of Everything"

“Your prey watches you. Frozen by anticipation, and bound by terror.”

“Perhaps it was guilt that drove you but your compassion gave me a life.”

“But to do so you had to defy your old ways for a dream of something better. But to be better is to be able to be changed.”

“So will you let all remain still, stuck in their old ways forever? Or will you give them the same chance my vessel gave you?”

-

Welp that's it I hope tumblr likes my sillies as much as I do!

[heretyc]

Horror [Trager, Eddie Gluskin, Val]

Horror: A collection of small fics, consisting of Outlast's most iconic antagonists [in my opinion].

The poll I started isn't over, but "canonically" is winning and I love it. Dark shit here we come lol. I will be writing for my beloved Terror-iffic Trio [aka my favourite antagonists from each game]. A party with these 3 would be lit.

Drabble ideas here.

Content Warnings: Uhhh...Outlast Antagonists lol. That is your warning.

Trager: Gore, awful jokes, his bare ass.

Eddie: Gore, murder, injury, mentions of his...lovely little display, sexual assault [minor, just a slight touch, no penetration]. [Please lord don't let him teach an art class.]

Val: Sexual assault [slight penetration w/ fingers], gore, murder, mud, Val's bare ass, mud breasts and mudgina.

I mean it, this is pretty heavy shit. It isn't too graphic, but if SA triggers you...either look away or read with caution. Trager's section is safe. Unless you're afraid of his ass...cause me too, man.

MINORS GTFO. Miners can stay as long as they're not minor miners.

Read with caution, I condone none of this. Fics underneath the cut.

You/MC take the place of the protagonist. So...you are Miles/Waylon/Blake. Yayyyyy....? Or nay? Depends on how you feel. MC is gender neutral, but is referred to with fem pronouns in Eddie's section for obvious reasons. You do not talk in Trager or Eddie's sections as Miles and Waylon were "mute". You speak in Val's section, though. You are described as having breasts in Val's section as both sexes/all genders have breasts. Tiddies for everybody!!

Enjoy.

Drabble idea: "See, this place isn't haunted!"

Sometimes, a saving grace can be your one way ticket to hell. And this had been an excellent example of that. The angelic voice over the dumbwaiter was a dream come true; after running and hiding for so long, it was like you were granted a break.

Only for your face to fall as the scarred face of a man greeted you. The air around him reeked of danger.

This was not the haven you were lead to believe was waiting for you.

"You made the right choice here, buddy," he declared before punching you in the jaw, a pained yell leaving your throat, and he was quick to take advantage of your shocked state to haul you into a wheelchair.

He must have done this a dozen times, as he was quick to lock your wrists into the cuffs attached to the chair. They were tight, and he merely chuckled at seeing your attempts of getting out of them.

He looked fucked up.

He stood in front of you, hands behind his back, and his eyes were scanning you like a wolf scans its prey before it mauls it to bits, "You're not a variant...huh. Well, buddy...you can call me...Trager. Everyone else does, anyway."

As Trager made noises looking you up and down, you looked at his face. Coated by some half-assed attempt at a mask and some strange glasses upon his face, you come to the conclusion that he was some doctor here.

He clicks his tongue and smacks you on the back, "You've got a lot of things to learn here, buddy. I am honoured to be your teacher."

Teach you about what, exactly? You didn't want to know. But he started to push you forward, and you only questioned where your hell would be.

This place was already hell, but...at the hands of some crazed madman, it was different.

Trager hummed to himself, making jokes here and there, and he once grumbled when you didn't laugh at a stupid impression, before he finally made it to an elevator. It was...somewhat cleaner up here, for some reason.

However...

You could feel a breeze upon your skin, and upon hearing the howl of wind and torrential rain, you saw an exit. Pitch black and windy, yet so much more welcoming than in here. You questioned if there would be a tornado warning or something by how violent the wind seemed to be.

The rain out there was intense, torrential, heavy and oh so divine, and Trager only chuckled.

"You want to take a quick walk, bud?" He leaned down next to you, eyes looking into yours like he was an old friend, despite also looking feral. "Run free, like Forrest Gump? Unfortunately, we're running out of time." He clicked his tongue once more, pulling you into the elevator.

This was a cruel joke. Even the Elvis impression - awful impression, mind you - wasn't as bad as this.

Standing beside you, Trager pressed a simple button on the control pad before clasping his hands together behind his back. After a moment of movement, he looked back toward you, his voice a tone that suggested jest, "Did you know they call elevators a "shaft" in other places of the world?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

Looking at him, you realized his skin looked...awful. Like he was a draugr from that video game you used to play.

His scalp was scarred, and after spending an hour in this place, you realize you're lucky your scalp was untouched.

Wires upon wires were wrapped along his arm, and upon closer inspection, you were horrified to notice that they weren't wires, they were tubes.

Of his own blood.

How did he not feel that?

A man like him probably enjoys that, to be honest.

His nails were quite long as well, albeit you couldn't blame him...hygiene in a place like this was laughable. He probably had to exert his inner wildcat to defend himself in this shit hole.

You nearly sobbed when the elevator came to its destination, and he took hold of the handles once more.

It smelled of death and lost hope up here.

Choruses of screams reached your ears and you flinched. He seemed to notice, as he violently shushed the poor bastards trying to break free of their confines, "Sh. Shshshsh...you weren't putting your tongue to good use anyway!"

Tongue...??

The man shrieking had a bloodied mouth, and he soon quieted after choking on, what you assume to be, his own blood. Trager only sighed, muttering to himself, "Really, I just needed something to lick my stamps."

This...was a cruel joke. Taking someone's tongue for stamps?? You were deep in thought, only for Trager to notice and grin evilly, "You should see what I do with the balls."

...Dear god.

"Yeah, this weird...cannibalistic guy downstairs begs for them...the guy knows what he wants, I gotta give him that. He reminds me of somebody...eh, buddy?"

He poked you in the shoulder as he pushed, and it appears he was referring to you.

"I saw your camcorder. You're some sort of journalist, here to...what, expose one of the biggest experiments in history?" He laughed at the notion, shaking his head. "I admire the bravery, really. Braving through disturbed masses...I have to admit, I'm impressed."

You only gulped.

"People love to say this place is...haunted." Trager noted, pushing you into a bathroom of some sort. Bloodied, smelled of decay and looked like a paradise for bugs and bacteria.

What had scared you the most was the array of torture devices he had laid out on a tray. This man was deranged, one way or another.

He continued his one-sided conversation, focusing on the aforementioned tray as he walked over to it, "I mean, who wouldn't? People love to paint asylums as haunted. They hear a ghastly noise or a terrified scream and immediately tell the papers that a house of human suffering is haunted."

Trager's hand hovered over each instrument of torture, trying to pick which one, but he hadn't stopped talking.

"And I am more than sure that's your entire...reason for coming here. Trying to prove it was haunted. But guess what, buddy?"

He finally picked up a blade, long and serrated, and he pressed it against a finger of yours, the edges sharp against your thin flesh. He leaned in close, his dry lips forming into a smile, "This place isn't haunted."

He moved away, the blade removed from your finger, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he placed it back down onto the tray.

"No, no. It's worse."

He finally picks up a gigantic pair of scissors, much like something you'd see picking away at a shrub, and he was more than eager to shut them and open them, metallic hisses invading your senses, much like the feeling of doom.

You will die here.

"This place is an example of human cruelty, my friend," he announced, voice loud and cheerful as if he wasn't about to maim you, and he placed the blades around some of your fingers. He cared not for your horrified shrieks and begs, he only leaned in once more and whispered,

"And you will be nothing but an example of what happened here."

Slice.

...

"Oh, come on, buddy...it's not like you needed your middle finger anyway. Now open up...I have some stamps to lick."

Drabble idea: "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

"Darling, please! You act as if I've done something rancid! What have I done to you to make you so afraid of me?!"

The bloodied behemoth on your tail was quick and hurried as he chased after you, his feet slamming against the rotting floorboards. You almost couldn't hear the music that played alongside the horrific display he handmade. The smell was awful, but the sight of it was enough to make you vomit.

You would not be the victim to the Groom. Not now. Not ever.

You would not have your pelvis slit, or your chest stuffed like you were a sex doll [ironically, that's all you would be to him], and you would not let him confess his undying love for you. It was fake and corrupt like this entire asylum.

Despite the smell of mildew and death, adrenaline filled your blood and you could tolerate the disgusting scents as you breathed in, your legs not yet faltering.

You've heard what he's done. The man who so giddily chased you rambled about it as you snuck around, and you were not pleased.

This was the only way out. Sometimes you have to take risks...right?

This wasn't worth it, though.

And sometimes, luck runs out. Like right now, as you are stuck in a dead end.

There was only an elevator. And it was not on your current floor.

Shit.

You could jump and risk a broken leg...or...

The emergency ladder. Broken and rusted, but it's tetanus over death.

You could explain all of this to the news with lockjaw.

"Wait, what are you doing?! Don't, don't-!"

You had leaped, gripping onto the ladder as your bottom half slammed against it. With a hiss you tried to pull yourself up, only for the ladder to break underneath you.

The top had snapped, and you tried to grab onto what remained on the wall, only to fall, your heart stopping.

Of all things to die from, it was a rusted ladder.

Oh well.

As your body slammed onto the top of the elevator, a sharp pang began to blossom from your ankle, and you look to see shards of glass sticking out of your flesh. Now coated in blood, you cried out and ripped the shards out, piece by piece. Blood pooled around your foot as you cradled it.

"Oh my god, are you okay?!"

The behemoth above looked down at you with a horrified expression, his hands out and wanting to hold you.

"I hate to see you suffering without me! Why would you do something like that to yourself?!"

His voice was full of panic and concern, and for a moment it seemed wholesome, until the panicked silence became one of anger. There was...tension.

"You would...rather die...than be with me...?"

His tone had shifted so quickly. He was unpredictable, and that's what had made him so...scary. In general, he had looked like he crawled from a 1940s horror series. Sweeney Todd had come to mind, actually...

"You're just another whore, aren't you?" He growled out, only to sigh, like this was a normal occurrence. "It's quite alright, darling. A good man can turn a whore into a house wife...and I have faith in us. Let me just..."

The elevator roared to life, and you panicked even more, now. Your poor heart would likely kill you before he had the chance to. But as you rose, he merely hummed to himself, waiting for the elevator to rise to his floor.

You had no chance at moving or escaping, as when you reached the proper floor, he was quick to grab you before you became sandwiched between the top of the elevator and the ceiling.

He dwarfed you. Instantly. He carried you bridal style, an eerie smile on his face, "Come, now. I must make sure you look perfect for our wedding."

You had no chance, now.

He clicked his tongue, footsteps hard against the rotting boards, and his voice was quieter as he spoke, "And I need to wrap up your foot...you are a silly one, darling."

It didn't feel silly. It felt like your ankle and foot were on fire, stinging like mad.

You had accepted your death already, but if there was also one thing you could accept, it's that he wasn't actually half bad.

Minus the...anger fits and the "whore" bit, he would have been wonderful. Looking up at him, you see a man soiled by corruption.

His eyes would have been a beautiful, shiny blue if not for the pools of hemorrhage. They had looked...empty. Dead. But whenever he looked at you, they shone like his soul had been revived.

Is this what he had wanted? Love?

Everyone in this hell hole had been deprived of it.

It was sad. Really fucking sad.

But you had read about what Eddie had done, and seen it too. And he was past the point of no return. He had done too much to be redeemed.

Dread made itself a home in your stomach as you were laid upon something cold and wet, and you were strapped in. Arms and legs spread, and your clothes were ripped off.

You were now nude, and being touched by the Groom himself.

His hands were gentle as he caressed a calf, "You have such soft skin...you will look absolutely beautiful," he cooed, hand gliding itself upwards toward your knee, then your thigh, and then...

You only flinched when you felt his hand begin to caress your genitals, as gentle as could be, as if he wasn't violating you. T'was the touch of a lover.

But he was no lover, no.

His fingertips merely grazed along your private flesh, rubbing it as if he had wanted to stimulate you, and you wanted to scream.

Eddie sighed dreamily, like he was a married man and his life would be filled with nothing but happiness, and he, luckily, let his hand glide up to your navel. "You look divine already, but when I'm finished with you? Oh, darling..."

He removed his hand, thankfully, but he was quick to turn on the saw, and all you could feel was cold air from its rapid movements and doom.

He gripped the sides of the table you were on, and he was smiling like this wasn't totally fucked up, "I know this will be hard..."

You felt the table move, slowly but surely, and you began to wriggle, but he continued, "You will have to deal with this...and then the conception, which I promise, will be wonderful," he winked as the saw came closer, "Then the pregnancy...and oh, I can just imagine the birthing. You will look so beautiful, darling...like a goddess. Mothers are goddesses in their own right."

And all you could feel was the sting of the saw, and your soul fading from your body.

...

"You're just like the rest. Filthy whore."

You're lucky you weren't alive to see your mangled body, tossed with the rest.

Ready to rot.

Drabble idea: "I want to go home..."

Val, in a sense, had been an angel to you.

They did not have a halo, made of purity and gold, or have pristine, white wings to wrap you and hold you close, no. They did not bear robes of white or play a golden harp or sing a divine chorus.

But they had wanted you all to themselves. And they would not let Knoth's guard dog, or his sickly bastards he called "friends", ruin you before they had a chance to.

Because unlike Knoth, or Marta, or Laird or Nick or whoever the fuck, Val would put you back together.

They are a loving mother, dedicated to spreading love.

It had been painted in blood on your way to the mines, 'LOVE SET US FREE'. Bottles encasing candles, bodies strewn up like Christmas decorations...

What were they trying to do, exactly? Make their cause look homey? Elegant? Acceptable?

You had felt oddly welcomed. Every single enemy in your way was slain, journals and notes left in your path to urge you to come to them.

"Come to me," the red ink beckoned you on the dirtied paper, "and I will show you my love."

They had been so kind as to leave batteries and bandages. Before you had taken the small, makeshift raft, a final note had been placed in one of the small shacks, the bed made and smelling of firewood,

"I am waiting for you."

You did not want this. But you needed to find a way out.

The mines were not welcoming. You were not alone. And you had been chased into the underground, where you are now; held down by Heretics as they muttered, "mother, burn..."

Like the fallen angel ready to relieve the sinners of their pain, their martyrdom, Val had approached, coated in mud and looking like the demon of the mountains.

In their hand was a torch, raging with fire, and it made their white eyes so much more intense.

They had hummed eagerly, the hum evolving into a laugh as the torch was placed down and the Heretics were shooed away. You were too afraid to move or notice their cold, dirtied hands leaving your flesh.

Their eyes were wide, pupils tiny, and they smiled as they strutted to you, "We are creatures of appetite..."

They moaned, feeling up their body and their fake breasts, like they were a porn star and giving you a show.

"I want to feel your hunger," their voice became quiet, something only you could hear, and they leaned close, your eyes staring frantically into theirs, searching for any fragment of humanity.

There was none. And you felt saddened, knowing that the Val in those journals was not this Val.

This was something different.

"I want to know your desires...and show you what true pleasure feels like," they rasped, pushing you down and straddling your hips, grinding against your clothed stomach. Your fear had aroused them.

"I want to go home..." you whispered, tears rushing from your eyes, and they only laughed, leaning close to your face and whispering, "This is your home, my love," a muddy hand came up to caress your cheek and wipe the tears away, "and I...will be doting."

You had no chance to respond or even acknowledge the powder blown into your senses, or the tongue forcing your mouth open, and immediately, they sought dominance over your own muscle, wrestling with it. It had ventured to each nook and cranny of your mouth, like they wanted to taste everything about you, and they eventually pulled away with a moan, saliva connecting you two.

They licked their lips, humming in delight as their hands rushed to push up your shirt and reveal your chest. "Your body...is delightful," they breathed out, squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipples with precision.

That powder did something to you. You had hated the feeling of their hands, but now you were overheating; desperate and quiet moans leaving your throat and making the cultist above you grin.

"I don't..." You couldn't even finish your sentence, as they pinched a nipple and made you shriek. It made them chuckle, and their hands moved south, ripping your zipper and breaking it. They got off for a second to completely rip your pants and undergarments off, and their naked thighs wrapped around your bare hips.

"Did you enjoy my gifts?" They questioned, hands now massaging your thighs, "You needed those batteries so badly...to document the lies of Sullivan, didn't you?" They purred, their hands tight and knowing just where to touch to get you to cry out in pleasure.

"That's why you came here. Fell from the sky, wrapped in flame..." they bit their lip, feeling aroused at the notion, "To record his bullshit."

You had even forgot about your camera, and you questioned where it was, until Val snorted, "It's gone, my love," their hands moved upwards to your genitals, "taken away...by my children. You won't need it anymore."

There was no pain when you felt their finger enter you. It was more pleasurable than anything you had ever felt, and it made you moan the loudest, and Val had revelled in this.

With precision their fingers located your pleasure spot, and sped up.

Your pleasure was their pleasure.

"God doesn't love you...not like I do."

And in time...you would know it to be true.

[pizzabox-box]

I needed to force myself not to write this until you posted the next DMW part lol, I love this story but I feel like it's going too fast

Blind Man's Bluff, Part Four

Theirs was the last car left in the drive-in theater. The movie was turning out extremely well, and they were on the final three scenes. Doise had thought WAR would be the most stressful scene to film, but oh boy, had Pizzascare given him anxiety. At least they were at the home stretch now.

He stared blankly at the laptop he had on the dashboard. Since Fake Peppino was out of the picture, or at least hadn't shown his face since his restaurant burned down, Doise had to put some serious thought into how this boss rush was going to play out. He sighed and looked over at Noisette. She had fallen asleep in the passenger seat about fifteen minutes before the film as it stood had ended. He knew Noise was lurking somewhere nearby, watching her like a hawk, but he hadn't felt Peddito anywhere all day. That made him nervous.

He noticed the light of the full moon dim and immediately went on edge. He barely had time to spin around before he heard a door creak open and saw a tall, skinny figure backflip onto the car. Oh boy. It was the beanpole. This might actually be trouble.

Doise shot an accusing finger at Pizzahead. "Look pal, I'm not in the mood for your games! Now get your dirty boots off my paint job before I get not so friendly with you!" The mascot giggled. "Ooh, aren't you a feisty one! It's nice to not know what to expect from someone for once. Well, you can relax now, buddy!" Doise decidedly did not relax. "What do you mean?" Pizzahead laughed and pulled out a remote control. "Well, let's see!"

Gesturing to the screen, he rewinded to the fight between the two gremlins. Doise immediately tensed up, and Pizzahead put his arm around him in a gesture of familiarity he had no right to have. "When my cameras showed me what you did to that freak's pizzeria, I admit you caught my interest! For once, I had to really do some pretty significant research to figure out what was happening." With a click of a button, the camera zoomed in on the combatants' faces as they grappled. He paused on the very frame one man got yanked backwards by a barely perceptible pink smudge, so barely present that even on film, its existence was easy to question. The dust-covered, bloody man's eyes practically glowed a vibrant red, and his expression was filled with a bewildered, abstract terror. Pizzahead whispered in the terrified Doise's ear: "You're not quite mortal, are ya?"

Doise looked into his eyes. "So now what? Are you going to tell everyone who I really am? Let me get mauled by the mob?" Pizzahead shrugged and waved one hand in a dismissive manner. "Why would I? The show's only just getting good!" He grinned wickedly and looked at Noisette, still fast asleep and dreaming sweetly. "In fact, it would be a lot more exciting if you weren't constantly chained to this doll's side, don't you think?"

Noise and Noisette twirled beautifully across the dance floor. She giggled happily as he dipped her. He danced with a passion she had never known, which was impressive given the feats they had preformed at their wedding. He stared at her with the deepest love a man could ever feel, though Noisette thought she could see a trace of sorrow in his eyes as he danced and sang.

You can dance every dance for the one who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight, you can smile every smile for the one who holds your hand in the pale moonlight, just don't forget who's taking you home, and in whose arms you're gonna be, so darling, save the last dance for me!

With that, he swooped her up and kissed her with a deep passion. As she closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss, she thought she could hear the priest's voice leading the ceremony: "...in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" They came up for air, and Noise gently caressed the side of her face. "Hazel, my love, my life, I won't ever stop loving you, even after my heart stops and turns cold as stone," he told her, staring in her eyes with a love that couldn't be described, though it was tainted by heartbreak.

Noisette was suddenly filled with a sense of extreme dread. Something wasn't right. She clung close to her husband, chilled by a fear she couldn't explain. Without warning, he shoved her backwards, knocking her on her back. She sat up, incredulous - just in time to see Noise get splashed with a strange substance from overhead. It had the consistency of thin mud, and looked like blood mixed with a blue-gray plaster. Noise fell to his hands and knees, inexplicably weakened.

Noisette reached out to him - then scampered backwards as she saw the clay start wrapping itself around him, swiftly enveloping him in the otherworldly slime. He struggled against it, seemingly trying to escape, but his eyes were filled with a knowing despair. He had known this was going to happen. He stared at her mournfully.

Noisette started forward again, determined that time. "Theo!" she called, stepping forward. Noise put a hand up. "Hazel, stop. I need you to listen to me carefully," he said. She stopped. He had never sounded this serious before. "Don't get close to me. Be wary of anything I do for you. I will love you for eternity, but you can't trust me anymore. It's way too dangerous for you to be near me. And whatever happens." He almost looked like a statue now. His mouth was covered by the clay, but his scarlet eyes stared into her soul, grieving as if he was the widow rather than the deceased. His voice seemed to come from her heart.

"I'm. Not. Me."

The blue-gray figure rose to its feet and approached her, blood red cape fluttering despite the absence of wind. Blue and pink lights flashed furiously around her before fading into yellow and orange, the screaming void behind the mask seemed to be calling her name, drawing her in to her destruction -

She awoke with a scream, looking around her at the unfamiliar surroundings. A hand gently grabbed her own, and a voice attempted to soothe her. "Hey, hey, hey, what happened? Are you ok?" She turned and saw Noise in the driver's seat beside her. That's right, they were at the drive-in theater. So had it all been a dream? She sobbed her sorrows into her husband's chest as he rubbed her back. He reassured her it was all going to be ok.

Later that night, she rolled over to look at him, fast asleep in the bed beside her. She fidgeted with the new necklace he had given her, making her promise never to take it off. She felt horrible about it, but something about Noise was making her feel like something was wrong. She tried to push those thoughts aside. You mustn't think things like that! He's been so devoted to you, and anyway, it was just a dream, right?

"I'm. Not. Me."

...right?

previous part

Another part already??? 👀👀👀👀

The dream sequence was genuiely heartbreaking :( You nailed Pizzahead's character very well! Wonder what he's planning , also the necklace seems deeply suspicious .

Either way, I'm excited to see where this will go 👀 keep cooking!

Once again, thank you so much for continuing this series :D

[ekrochford]

Maul x femreader NSFW self-insert fanfic (part 9/10... or 11?)

[Here we go friends, things are getting tense!]

Part 9

You wake up in your own bed. Sunlight, so hot and bright it bounces off the floor, lays in a solid line through the small window. You didn’t pull the shutters last night, but you can barely remember coming back to your room. You’re lucky you managed to close the door.

Wobbly, you clamber out of bed and notice that you’re naked. Your clothes are lying nearby—you’re almost sure that you put them back on to cross through the hall from Maul’s room to your own. Almost.

The first thing you do is stumble over and activate the door panel to check the lock. The display bleeps red; good, you locked your door behind you.

Red. You stare at it, feeling queasy.

Last night floods back, clips and blurs of images all at once. You would prefer to linger on the ones where your arms and ankles were bound, but wrangle your attention back. To the dream. No, not a dream. A Force vision.

You’re a little exhilarated at the thought, terror aside. It could be said that your little spark of psychometry is, technically, the ability to gain Force visions from objects, but you’ve never really counted it that way.

Is your Force sensitivity growing stronger? Should you contact the Temple?

You discard that thought immediately. You’re no youngling, and even if they did take you, what in the galaxy could you want such a change of life for? You already have the career you’ve dreamed of—since you were little, listening to the history of this and that relic in museums, you became curious about the origins of things. As you got older, you realized there was a whole universe of history to discover.

Why would you want to change all that, become the weakest of Jedi, when you were already on your way to being one of the top authorities on Pre-Republic civilizations?

So you weren’t going to run away to become a Jedi. That was one concern dismissed.

You wonder if you should contact the Temple anyway, not to join, but to see if anyone could give you some advice.

You pull on underwear and your camisole and retrieve your datapad from your pack. Service is patchy in the Outer Rim. Big cities—or city-planets like the Hutts’ Nar Shaddaa—typically had connection to the Core holonet that was nearly as reliable as Coruscant itself. Mos Eisley was no Nar Shaddaa.

After a long, long loading screen, search results for Force visions begin to populate. They aren’t very helpful, especially not in slow-motion. Several are skeezy ads for Force-psychics or other scams. Pass.

You navigate to the University archives digital access browser and enter your credentials. The loading screen returns, rotating, rotating, rotating…

When the home page finally appears, you open a filter-less search through the archives for ‘Force vision’. The result is to strain the tenuous connection until one single result loads every minute, clocking doggedly down the screen. Endless as the loading screen. You sigh.

You narrow the search. Surely the best information on the topic would come straight from a Jedi. You filter your results to peer-reviewed works submitted by Jedi Masters. Keywords Force vision.

There are still thousands. The archive holds the records of centuries, millennia of information. You organize the results by date, most recent first. This, too, requires a full minute to process. You wait impatiently.

You browse through the eventual list, moving farther into the past as you scroll. Many of these are controlled studies attempting to quantify the effectiveness of one stimuli or another on a subject’s ability to perceive Force visions. Most of their concluding statements summarize that manipulation of one’s Force sensitivity is quite irregular from one individual to the next; very few tried-and-true amplifiers exist. You certainly haven’t been meditating lately.

Out of the wealth of long and descriptive study titles, a strangely brief one meets your eye.

Premonitions from the Force.

You smile and click on it. If the title is any indication, the report should also be brief. Your eyes skim the author line: written by Jedi Master Elzar Mann, co-authored by Master Avar Kriss. Your smile widens as you read through. Throughout your career, you’ve co-written with a few fellow academics and you know a tug-of-war when you see it. Throughout the abstract, your trained eye can pick out where one of the authors wanted short and to-the-point, and the other insisted on proper form. You wonder which was which, and then realize you know; Elzar Mann likely asked his co-author Master Kriss to help put his ideas in scientific format, too impatient or inexperienced to do it himself.

The Force has a will of its own. This statement can only be supported by anecdotal evidence; at the present time, no method exists for the measurement of the Force and its sentience cannot be gaged. But it is a fact accepted among Jedi and among all Force users that the Force has a will and can act with its own purpose.

Jedi… and other Force users? That would be you, you suppose. The weaker Force users, and other cults, like the witches of Dathomir.

Maul was born on Dathomir, but he claimed that he wasn’t raised there. The red lightsaber in your vision hovers behind these thoughts. You brush it aside and continue reading.

In the interview with M. Torgan (M. J.T., Y. 456.15.88), she reports that her experiences with Force visions (premonitions) have often been vague but in time, come to be understood as relevant to current or approaching conflicts. This suggests that the greater Force is aware of events unfolding in the physical realm and seeks to influence these events to unknown ends.

It can be reasonably deduced, when compared to a body’s natural inclination to maintain homeostasis, that the Force, also, seeks to maintain a cosmic homeostasis. To that end, it can be tentatively hypothesized that Force premonitions are comparable to the actions of an endocrine system, that is, making slow and gradual change to maintain long-term homeostasis.

That whole paragraph had the cautious tone of a scholar reluctant to make sweeping generalizations. The next paragraph was decidedly less cautious, to your amusement.

Force visions, alarming as they can be, do not arrive lightly. There is every reason to consider the pattern of known Force visions associating with physical-world events as evidence that the Force is not only sentient, but able to decide which actions will produce future benefit.

You can hear the stubbornness in Mann’s writing, even while Kriss tries to soften his edges.

Your comm pings from your bag.

You jump and scramble to the edge of the bed to fish the comm out of your pack. There’s only one person who you’re expecting to hear from; you pull your tunic over your camisole to be decent.

“Professor!” Taq Norr’s birdlike Rishii features flicker into view. His beak doesn’t exactly lend itself to smiling, but his eyes crinkle at the sight of you.

“Well, well, my intrepid little spacefarer! Enjoying Tatooine?”

Too much, you think to yourself. “Enjoying the refresher. It might be half a rotation before I see another one.”

Professor laughs, and then grimaces.

“Ugh, well… All part of the dig life! I’m calling ahead to give you some work before we all arrive on the liner tomorrow. The big kits are coming with us, of course, but there are a number of supplies that we’ll need to secure in Mos Eisley—I’m transmitting a list to you, now, and transferring the needed credits from the fund into your University account. You still have the access code to utilize the department account, don’t you?”

You do… somewhere. The last site wrapped up almost a full standard year ago, and you’ve been moving through the Outer Rim on your savings ever since. The odds are better that you have it than not, so you nod to Professor. “I believe so.”

His feathers ruffle and smooth absently. “Good, good. We’re at a stop just now, once we jump to hyperspace I’m sure we’ll lose connection. The captain expects us to reach orbit late tomorrow. Collect what you can from the list, if there’s anything you cannot obtain, we’ll just have to request it shipped from the Mid…”

Both of you grimace. The extra shipping to an Outer Rim planet is not an expense either of you want.

“I’ll go over this place with a comb,” you promise. “Do you already have accommodations arranged for your arrival?”

“Yes, there’s an inn close to the center of town. It was a little bit more spendy, but I thought we could all use one last good shower before we head out into the wild.” Professor laughs. “Where are you staying? Hopefully not somewhere too seedy?”

You know exactly which inn the Professor meant—and you walked past it because of the price. Obviously, Professor sure knows you well enough to guess at that fact. You shrug. “It’s not the worst place I’ve stayed.”

He laughs again, nearly cooing. “We’ll be there with you tomorrow. Just don’t get into any trouble before then.”

“Me? Get into trouble?”

Professor shakes his head and severs the connection.

You turn to the datapad to review the list, and find your page still open to the work of Masters Mann and Kriss. Your eyes catch on the date in the citation, which is in an utterly unfamiliar format. You open another window to puzzle out what year this was written in.

Stars! This essay is nearly two hundred years old!

You minimize it and bring up Professor Taq Norr’s list. Two hundred years isn’t very old when it comes to artifacts dug out of the ground. But scientific papers?

---

You take an uneventful trip to the refresher. If you’re afraid at all of scrubbing the memory of last night off your skin, you needn’t worry; maybe it’s the low-water wash that just doesn’t seem to do the job, but the feeling of Maul’s fingers—and his everything else—only seems branded up and down your body by the time you pull your clothes on.

In your room, you pack your collection of dirty clothes in your travel bag. There’s somewhere to clean them in town, you’re sure of it. It’s just a matter of asking around; the locals wash their clothes somehow, someone’s got to know.

Your datapad with Professor’s list goes in your pocket, with your comm on the other side. Half of your credits are tucked into the breast pocket of your tunic, the other half are tucked into your boot. The University account chip is in the breast pocket, too, and you even hunted up the access code from your encrypted personnel file.

You feel ready to explore a dangerous, unknown backsand city.

The door unlocks with a tap of a key and grinds open; it clanks out of sight into the wall port.

And across the hall, Maul is leaning beside the opposite door.

You freeze in the doorway.

He’s fully dressed, and that should make it easier to stop thinking about him naked. It does not. If anything, today’s modesty makes it impossible to stop imagining…

“Good morning.” His arms are crossed over his chest. He’s got his smoke-curl smile on today as he leans there looking at you; his eyes haven’t dropped from your face, and you wonder if he’s having any trouble at all concentrating. Or if it’s just you.

“Morning.” You step out into the hall and let your door clonk shut behind you. The light from your window vanishes and the hall is plunged into gloom; some sunlight slants in from a high window in the wall, but it’s not much. Without fumbling or dropping your key card, you manage to lock the door behind you and even put the card away without looking like you have ten thumbs. It’s a win, considering the weight of Maul’s stare tracking your every move from his place across the floor.

“I wanted to check on you this morning. When you left last night you were… in quite a state.”

You vaguely remember pulling on your clothes for the trip back to your own room; you hope you hadn’t tried to put your pants on backwards or your boots on the wrong feet, but it was far too late to worry about it now.

“Never better.” You lean against the wall across from him and return his smile. “Thanks for the good night’s sleep.”

This actually earns a chuckle from him. “The pleasure was all mine. If you ever need help sleeping, you have only to ask.”

Sleeping? If he doesn’t stop looking at you like that, you’ll have trouble standing.

“Well…” How verbose, you harangue yourself. “I’ve—um—I’ve got some errands to run.” You wonder whether it’s wiser to say ‘goodbye’ or ‘see you later’. And Maul is standing there, arms crossed, smirking. Waiting. For the millionth time… can he read minds?

Neither of you move, although you think moving would help you get your errands done. Nevertheless, you stand there with the wall holding you up and Maul’s eyes pinning you in place. You can’t believe you’re up for more after he nearly filled out your death certificate last night. That doesn’t change the fact that you most certainly are.

He tilts his horned head, grinning. “Something else?”

This is not a safe game to play, but you grin back. “I was thinking that you hit just about every spot last night, but now, looking at it in hindsight, you may have missed one. Maybe two.”

Maul doesn’t move. For several ear-drumming heartbeats, he just looks at you, eyebrows raised. It’s disbelief, and surprise. He’s actually speechless with it. A tiny flutter of triumph hits, and you can’t keep a smirk off your face.

He grins again, wider now. Your triumph wilts as you watch him push off the wall and close the space between you with slow, casual steps. He unfolds his arms and smoothly moves his hands to clasp behind his back. It would be non-threatening in anyone else. In Maul, you can’t say for sure if there’s danger, but you know that if there’s anything you don’t feel, it’s non-threatened.

“My.” He stops with plenty of space between you; a respectful distance, even. He leans forward a little, closer to your ear, and lowers his voice. “You’re much less mouthy when you’re naked.”

He’s close enough to smell his skin, the dust and exhaust on his clothes. You take a deep breath through your nose, savoring it and knowing Maul catches your every move. You see his eyes wander down to your mouth before he puts his smug grin back in place.

You don’t blink and you don’t look away. You reach out to his belt and twist your fingers behind it. Not fast or rough. Plenty of time to see his startled intake of breath, feel the way his abdominal muscles tighten at your touch beneath the black layers. You tug him by the belt, and he lets his hips arch forward first, boots to follow, until he’s standing with both feet just outside of yours and his hip bones are pressed squarely against you.

All right. Maybe he’s a little too tall for the two of you to line up perfectly. Maybe you feel his groin at your belt line instead. You stand up straighter, still holding his eyes, still dragging him against you by the belt.

Maul presses one hand against the wall, leaning in. He lets out a low chuckle, and his other hand comes up to brush your jaw. “I’m amazed no one has put you under lock and key to keep you safe from yourself.”

You swallow and give a shaky smile. “Tried it once. Office work doesn’t suit me.”

Maul’s laugh is low and close on your ear. “As it happens, there’s a lock on my door. We could lock ourselves in and you could show me this spot that I missed—”

A comm pings from his tunic pocket.

Both of you look down in unison.

Maul’s mouth twists into a frown. “I must go.” And that’s that. Flirting is over; he’s pulled back and his boots are already pointed toward his room. You stand up quickly, working to look less disappointed than you feel.

“Alright, then.” You figure it must be important—very important, if your guesses about Maul’s career are even close to right. If his boss is a Hutt or a Pyke or some other criminal head, keeping their call waiting isn’t good for his health.

“Wait.”

You stop at the top of the stairs; even this early, there’s a clanking, clamoring racket from the cantina echoing up the stone stairwell. Maul has paused at his door.

“Tonight?” he asks with another grin, another stare that burns gold through the dark.

You smile and nod—no thought, no hesitation. You’re long past wondering whether you should.

Maul dips his chin and lets himself through his door with his key card.

You’re about to descend, but you think of Maul with his key card and suddenly, you can’t remember if you locked your door. You were a little distracted… All your journals and reference notes are in there, not to mention some of your dig kit. It’s only a few seconds to check.

You retrace your steps and tap the crusted old door panel with a finger. It blares red. Locked. You roll your eyes at yourself and turn back to the stairs.

You hear someone talking and go still. Listening. It’s from Maul’s room.

One of your feet turns toward the sound involuntarily. It’s not any voice that you’ve heard before. It has a peculiar rasp to it, a cloying cadence. Even through the flimsy doors, you can’t hear clearly, but…

“…Federation… the Jedi…”

Adrenaline gallops through your veins and clammy sweat breaks out over your face, your hands. You back away toward the stairs. That’s it—that’s the catastrophe signal. You reach the stairs and creep down, before Maul’s face can appear in the hall and catch you listening.

You rush through the tiny lobby, past the cantina doorway. It’s the feeling that’s always been absent when dealing with Maul. You’ve been waiting and waiting to feel this gut-punch intuition; it’s never led you astray. You don’t need to simply trust your gut this time. You aren’t stupid enough to think you can listen in on syndicate or cartel business and walk away, just because you and Maul have been having a good time.

You pull your UV glasses on and your hood up as you move out into the sunlight. Let Maul keep his livelihood to himself. As long as it meant you got to walk away with your life.

[If you like it, leave a tip!

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[justalittletomato]

The arrival of the twins was a joy that increased ten fold. Starlight holding little Aster and Cress against her chest, a smile on her face.

A family. With Maul, Savage, Angel and now her little ones.

A family. Like the one she had lost.

Her joy came with memory. Starting with a sob when Maul coaxed the dying fire in their room. It cracked and roared to life.

The twins in their bassinets. Another crack and pop from the fireplace.

Starlight could not help the sob that broke out. Maul stopped. Worry and alert. An intruder? No he would never let one slip through? Pain? The twins were sound asleep. Their dreams knew nothing of terror.

But his starlight, now huddling into herself. Pressed tight to the bedframe.

“My star?”

“They started a fire…” she whispered. “A fire as we slept.”

Her breaths shallow, “ attacked as we all slept.” She whimpered and pushed past him to look into the bassinets. Her Aster. Her Cress. Sleeping with no cares at all…

He was the one who was plagued by nightmares…how he had thought.

His Starlight’s early life had been torn apart by the wars on Mandalore. All she knew lost as a child.

A fire. A attack. The crackling of wood.

Maul was not the one known to comfort. That was his Star. His Star was the one who made nightmares rush back into the darkness.

His star needed him. He stood beside her, looking down to their sleeping children. “ You are safe.” He assured. Starlight shook her head. “ You are safe. Our children are safe.” She trembled. Maul did as she did and wrapped his arms about her shaking form. Her heart raced as fast as his.

“My Star, our family is safe. I will never allow harm to come to any of you” he would burn the galaxy in turn. Turn it to cinders.

Starlight sobbed and nearly collapsed in his hold. Exhaustion. All those fears had broken free after years. “I won’t rest.” He assured her with a kiss to her brow. “ I won’t sleep, I’ll keep you three safe.”

Starlight whimpered and tears fell down her face, she was going to cry herself to sleep. And he would hold her…

Hold her and assure her of his promise. He let the fire dwindle to ash. His Star’s tear streaked face kissed tenderly.

He would keep his Stars safe. He swore it

[fruitycasket]

Carleton Told A Lie (6 of 6)

They did it. Sunday and Carleton got into the shed and saw what they needed to. Now, the next day, they have to face the consequences.

Word Count: 1,717

Notes: This is the final chapter of CTAL! Read from the beginning, or read the previous chapter here. If you want to see my lovely artwork, read on Ao3.

"The cat's just an image your subconscious created."

Carleton didn't come to school the next day.

Half the kids who'd been chased off Marvin's property were absent, too, and of those that still showed up, most of them were so fidgety their professors took notice. Maybe their nerves were simple first-time jitters and none of them had ever done anything more criminal than steal a pencil, or maybe they somehow felt something had gone horribly wrong.

Could they feel the Cat's eyes on them, even from so far away?

Whatever the case was, Sunday didn't blame them for their absence or their nerves. He was only here because he hadn't felt sick enough for his parents to let him stay home.

They'd been pissed he was gone so long, more so when they took his stammering, stuttering attempts to lie about where he'd been as a poor cover-up for him practicing teleportation and getting himself trapped in a patch of park soil. It was easier to let them think that, so he sat there and was yelled for the better part of the night about it. When they were done, they plucked the grass and plant mush out of his flesh, flushed the dirt from his scratches with clean water, bandaged him, and sent him to bed.

They'd left him a bowl of stew beef, but he didn't eat. When he tried, he had to fight to not throw up the single bite he'd taken for the next thirty minutes.

The Cat was trapped in his head, and he was certain it wasn't just numb terror making him feel that way.

He barely slept. When he did nod off, he'd dream of the White Cat and its burning eyes. He would not realize he'd fallen asleep. His bed would disappear from beneath him and he'd fall into the Cat's domain, a vast, vantablack land lit by distant stars. It would look at him with its head cocked to the side, study him.

Sunday was never scared during the dream, but when saliva and blood and black crud filled with stardust dripped from the Cat's dried lips, it'd spatter against his forehead. That would wake him up. Then he'd be scared.

Needless to say, school passed him by in a haze of grey and white.

He only barely snapped out of his stupor to assure his teachers that he was feeling alright, otherwise it was back to circling the drain. Every question he asked himself was another heavy chain hastening his descent.

What was that thing? Why was it in the shed? Was it made of the dead cats? But how? Why?

And why couldn't Carleton just leave it alone?

But it wasn't fair to lay the blame purely on his shoulders. Sunday also had to ask himself: Why couldn't I just leave it alone?

More pressing questions followed that one:

Is Marvin alright? Did I get him killed? What about his mum, what about Ramesses?

Did any of them see me? Carleton?

This was a fuck up of impressive proportions. Possibly the worst ever committed by anyone, by Sunday's estimation. He had no idea if he'd been seen, and if he had, what would happen next. His parents would kill him if Marvin or his mum didn't first and that was almost as terrifying as being tried in court. But it was dark out, it would all be a he-said-she-said, right? Maybe he would only have his own shame to deal with after all.

Time passed and lunch rolled around. The place was abuzz with a different, somber type of chatter. Everyone wondered why Carleton wasn't there.

Some students posited that he'd found a regular shed and was scared Sunday would maul the other half of his body if he turned up empty handed. Others wondered if Marvin had got him. Or the police. Or if he'd just realized how stupid he was being (or been stood up), called the whole thing off, and was now too embarrassed to return to school.

People kept coming up to the students who'd crowded around Carleton the day he'd laid out his idiotic plan to ask about the shed and what had happened. Maybe one of them had gone after all, they reasoned. They'd know what had happened.

Nobody came up to Sunday.

Why would he have been there?

On the second day after the ill-fated caper, Carleton still wasn't back.

Slowly, the school was piecing things together. Or, it thought it was.

The story went that Carleton had gotten caught, not immediately, but in hindsight when Marvin's parents managed to narrow down who the teen rifling through their belongings might've been and gotten the police to investigate. It was unclear what would happen now, but every boy who'd followed Carleton that night now rightfully feared they were next to be caught.

As people continued to pester Carleton's posse for any answers on his success (or lack thereof) and whether he'd been arrested, they became cagey about questions. They started telling lies, but they were sloppy. Uncoordinated. A couple busybodies figured out they were lying, and soon they had to dodge hordes of their peers like Marvin had not so long ago.

Sunday doubted they recognized the irony.

It was the third day. Carleton was still MIA.

Sunday kept his head down, but his penance was due any day now. When they thought he wasn't looking, his professors gave him sidelong glances. Carleton must have told the police when they caught him.

Did he show them the White Cat? What did they say? What would happen to it and Marvin?

As he meandered through his day, his peripheral vision filled with bruised faces and white fur, Sunday wondered what the Magic Circle would think of the creature. Could they contain it, or had Carleton and Sunday unleashed some unknowable thing into the world—forever?

The other boys made themselves scarce. Some of those who'd tried to keep up attendances stopped coming, maybe because they'd been caught, maybe because they thought they could delay the inevitable.

A sense of malaise and macabre curiosity spread far and wide. The professors had to address this.

They started explaining at the beginning of their early morning classes that yes, Carleton was missing, but only because he was in a lot of trouble for trespassing. No elaboration beyond that was necessary. No more rumors, please.

But Sunday wondered if there was more to it. Something not fit to be said in a school or around magicians under a certain station.

When asked again whether Marvin was a cat killer, the teachers said no. He was, however, being kept from school until further notice so he could heal both mentally and physically.

Some students said their instructors hesitated before denying the claim.

Sunday went to lunch that day wishing he could disappear or turn back time. He relived that night and all the stupid steps he'd taken to get there, now able to see every mistake, every moment he could and should have turned back.

He kept to himself until someone—Caoimhe—approached him, but she wasn't there to bother him with more questions. In fact, she looked more anxious than Sunday had ever seen her.

She took a seat beside him and spoke as low as she could get away with, "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" Sunday didn't look at her. He hoped she would speak no further on what Carleton had done, he didn't want to lie to her face.

"Figured as much, I can't believe"—Caoimhe hesitated, then stopped speaking. She studied him for a while before continuing, "Sunday, can I trust you to keep a secret?"

Sunday blinked. He studied Caoimhe in turn, trying to figure her out. "I… Think so…"

"I hope so. Talk to you after school."

She left before Sunday could ask what she meant.

When school let out that afternoon, Caoimhe found Sunday before he could even think to wonder where she'd meet him. Once again, polite conversation was forgone. She launched straight to business, "If I hear a peep about this to anyone else, Sunday, I swear"—

"There'll be no peeps! Promise." Sunday used his best placating grin, but Caoimhe's face remained wrought with stress. She kept looking at him with dark, distrusting eyes, like she thought he might run at or away from her any moment. "I um, still don't know what this is even about."

"Marvin's back," she whispered at last, "Kind of. But… no normal classes, and not in any of the regular parts of school. His new professors have to vet any visitors he gets, but he wanted to see me, so I got called in for a little while yesterday."

Sunday's skin broke into gooseflesh. "How is he?"

"He's… better," Caoimhe wouldn't hold his gaze, "He, uh, wanted me to give you this." She produced a folded, crinkled piece of paper from her pocket. Sunday could see letters written in black marker but not the words they formed. "He wants to talk with you, too."

"He does? Well, where is his"—

"Sunday," Caoimhe seemed shocked she was speaking, "did you really do it?"

Sunday recoiled. He knew what she was referring to but dare not speak it into existence. "Do what?"

"I just, he… I can't believe you. I-I told you it was a bad idea and you… you…" her face rapidly switched from anger to unease to sadness, then settled on disappointment. That was about all she could or would say to him as she thrust the paper into his hand and stormed away. "Bye, Sunday."

Sunday stood there, dumbfounded, clutching the crinkled piece of paper for a few minutes before he dared even think of unfolding it.

Once the thought entered his mind, he decided to go home first. Maybe because being around his parents soothed him. Maybe because he just wanted to put this off as long as possible.

When he was home, and it was dark, and he was sure his house was asleep or not likely to bother him, Sunday finally unfolded the letter in the light of a desk lamp.

It's elaborate handwriting said:

I know you were there.

[theoneeyedgoldenwolf]

Catch a knife

Whumptober 2024, number 26: Nightmares

Summary: Twilight’s past haunts him during the nights. When he wakes up from them, he unintentionally endangers Time’s life. Is there a way to make his unconscious actions to stop?

CW: Lack of trust, nightmares, threat by a knife, slashed by a knife, stabbed by a knife, mauling, eerie feeling, drugged, hallucinations

Notion: - Originally named as “The Mark of the Wolf” - This starts roughly with very cruel nightmare! D= - Part of my Ranch Family AU story. - Time has lost his eye and he has scar over his right eye but he does NOT have Fierce’s markings. Those will come much later. - Luck Bird = Siberian Jay

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Twilight groaned and sat up slowly while frowning at the sticky feeling and odd warmth. He shook his head before blinking his eyes open. His confusion increased at the stench of blood. He jerked a bit when he saw the pool of blood he had been laying on. Then his notion fell into a hand just in his line of sight. Gulping, he turned his notion into the limb and slowly gained a person into his sight. A person he was learning to know. Only one word left his mouth as the realization of the situation dawned to him: “Time.” He had mauled the older male like a feral beast. On that second he started to scream.

Twilight woke up screaming and bolted up on his bed. He screamed again in terror as his room’s door was slammed open roughly and fast. He didn’t think twice as he snatched the knife from his night table and threw it.

The startled scream and the sound of thwack finally snapped the youngster into reality. He jerked a bit and blinked few times as he caught the notion of his knife on the wall and Time having half crashed onto the floor. Time whom was his current caretaker. Time whom he lived with at the Lon-Lon Ranch. Time whom had picked him out of all the other kids in the orphanage and brought him to here. Time whom had bought him all he could need, a phone, the knife he had just thrown, clothes and other stuff. Time whom hadn’t posed even one bit of threat to him for the past two months he had lived with the guy.

“Uh… Really good throw.” Time told while bit shakily standing up. Twilight watched him yank the knife off of the wall. After that he gently threw the knife back onto the night table. “Bit of practice and your aim will be even better.” He commented before crouching down to be on lower level.

Twilight just stared. He bit jerked at the overly loud sound of the knife hitting the wood and bit skid on the surface of the night table. He blinked few times while slowly realizing the whole situation. “S-sorry… I…” He started uncertainly and noticed Time shaking his head.

“Nah. No worries at all. You had a nightmare and woke up screaming. And I just dash into here without a warning.” Time spoke calmly and gently even though he certainly was still shaken. “Gotta see if I can fix the lock. The locksmith did give good information and explanations but…” He shrugged and chuckled a bit. “I don’t think I’m much of a fixer.” He told while taking a check on the lock. “But, maybe I can get it done. If not, then just put the chair against it and I’ll try to get the locksmith over tomorrow.”

Twilight just numbly nodded while still trying to push the hellish dream out of his mind. “Want to talk?” Time queried softly and Twilight blinked several times in start before shaking his head. “Okay, not gonna force.” Time backed off before giving a lopsided smile. “How about hot chocolates?” He offered instead.

“What? In middle of the night?” Twilight finally found his voice and he frowned a bit.

Time shrugged. “Why not? I’ve had lot of midnight hot chocos with Malon when I was younger.” He explained and Twilight could hear the slight waver at the mention of his caretaker’s wife’s name and the slight pain the memory brought. He didn’t yet know much but so far he had gathered that the woman had died to a cancer only about two years ago.

Twilight thought for a moment before nodding and slowly getting up from the bed. “Great! I’ll teach so you can make the hot chocolates for both of us.” Time told while keeping the distance and moving in front of the younger male. Twilight still bit frowned at the action but he understood it well. Time was letting him to choose when it was okay to be close.

They went into the kitchen and Time chose the furthest seat he could find at there. With the given instructions he made two cups of hot chocolates before taking a seat by the table and handing the other one to Time. The older male nodded his thanks. Yet very soon he got up and went to pick up some drawing paper and pens. He set them in middle of the table while pulling one sheet and two pens, orange and normal.

“To get your mind off of that nightmare, I’d suggest to draw something.” Time told while looking at Twilight calmly. “Draw what makes you feel safe. Draw what brings you luck. Or, well, just draw whatever you wish.” He suggested and bit grinned. “And when you’re ready, and of course if you’re willing, we’ll show our creations once we’re done.”

Twilight just frowned while letting the hot chocolate calm him down already. Yet, he pulled one of the white sheets of paper and one pen. He thought for a while even though he already knew what he’d draw. Only a moment later he began to draw what he kept calling as The Mark of the Wolf.

“You know… I could go and buy you another knife tomorrow. You can come along if you want.” Time suddenly suggested while coloring his creation. “On that way, when you throw one you still have a blade to defend yourself.” He explained calmly.

“Is… Is it okay if I stay here?” Twilight queried bit uncertainly.

“Sure. At then I just need to know what kind of knife you want so I can buy the right one.” Time answered without hesitation.

“The same as what I already have.” Twilight gave out straight away. He liked the blade as there was a running wolf etched into there.

“Alright. Consider it done.” Time simply replied while bit tilting his head as he checked his creation. A moment later he nodded. “You ready?” He queried while taking a hold of the paper so that he could turn it around.

Twilight nodded and took a deep breath. Time began to count from three downwards and when he hit zero, they turned the creations around. “A bird?” Twilight queried while looking at the round bird of silver and orange.

“Malon called it as Luck Bird.” Time answered as calmly as he could. “It’s pretty much been such for me whenever I’ve seen it.” He explained with a shrug before nodding to Twilight’s creation. “Is that what you’ve called as the Mark of the Wolf?” He inquired and Twilight nodded.

“I saw it on the forehead of the golden wolf that saved me.” Twilight answered with a small smile before bit sighing. “I know it was just light and shadows playing with my messed up mind but…”

“It’s real.” Time stated out firmly and startled Twilight’s notion right back into him. “Whatever anyone says, what you saw was real for you. No-one can claim against it. They weren’t there. They didn’t see it. You were. You know what you saw. Don’t ever let anyone claim against that.”

Twilight stared while being fully taken off guard. No-one had ever said his sight had been correct. It was first time someone actually believed him and confirmed his claim.

“I’ve seen lot of unique markings on different animals.” Time told calmer. “Some even name their pets after those things.” He continued and shrugged. “I don’t doubt even one second that there wouldn’t be a wolf with the marking you’ve drawn.”

Twilight calmed down and turned his gaze down into his creation before turning it towards Time. On the paper was long line which top had unique swirly looking tree of sorts with a dot inside it. On its sides were two more swirly lines and deer antlers.

“That is very unique marking.” Time commented while not touching the paper but taking in the whole creation. “I could buy some paints too while at the town and you can paint it onto your wall. How about it?” He suggested calmly.

“You sure?” Twilight queried bit startled of the offer.

Time shrugged while still smiling. “It’s your room. I want it to be a place you feel safe at.” He simply answered before getting up. “How about I try and fix your door’s lock and we go to sleep for a while longer?” He half queried while taking his mug to the sink and filling it with water. Twilight nodded and followed his caretaker. He gave his mug over while feeling bit like he should wash the mugs. “Don’t worry about the mugs. I’ll handle them at the morning.” Time told while very carefully rounding the younger male and going to fetch some needed things to fix the door.

Twilight watched and followed whole time. He didn’t trust Time but he couldn’t deny the fact of how much effort the one eyed male was putting into making him feel safe and accepted at there. Still, after how his past had gone, it wasn’t easy for him to trust older males.

The next few weeks went past safely and calmly. Time did, as he promised, get him another knife with a running wolf in the blade and several different paints. Twilight had had rights to pick the ones that he liked the most to paint his own room as he wished. Time bought even more of the chosen colors just to be sure it would be enough. He did also check on the youngster while offering his help but mainly, out of Twilight’s request, he just supervised. Twilight painted the Mark of the Wolf into both sides of the door as well into the ceiling of his room so it would be the last thing in the evening and first thing in the morning he saw.

Twilight had started to calm down a bit too while enjoying of the farm work. It was summer but, by using Time and Malon’s old school books, got some home schooling. Time did his best to help whenever Twilight requested for it. And usually they found the answers together.

Twilight often handled the meals since Time didn’t want him to fear of the food being tampered with. Besides that, the older male was fine with smaller eating which often got him to even forget to eat at some days. When Twilight noticed this trend, he was straight off on handling the breakfast, dinner and evening meal for both of them. Even though Time kept telling him that he didn’t owe anything for the stay, care or anything else, Twilight still felt like wanting to do something to show his gratitude for the freedom, place of safety and someone truly caring about him. This all was the reason the next nightmare took him off guard.

The darkness was all around him. The forest didn’t seem friendly even one bit. The air was smelling foul and made his head hurt. Twilight whimpered and screamed for his parents. Everything looked the same. Suddenly something moved in the thick fog that had appeared almost out of nowhere. He ran. He glanced once behind him while hearing all sorts of sounds. Just as he turned his notion back to where he was running, he gasped, stumbled backwards and crashed to his butt as he had slammed roughly against something solid. Then, without warning, that something solid creaked open and…

Twilight woke up screaming while bolting upright in his bed. While still lingering between the nightmare and waking world, he snatched the knife and threw. He hadn’t even heard or seen his room’s locked door having been roughly struck open. What finally snapped him into the reality was a scream.

Twilight stared at Time and the knife on the floor. The older male was holding his arm with a pained grimace. Yet, when he noticed Twilight staring at him, he forced that look off and grinned a bit. “Your aim’s getting better.” He commented before kneeling down and carefully picking the knife up. “This needs bit more of cleaning but…” He started and wiped the blade into his clothes before standing back up and gently throwing the knife back to the night table. “That’s the best I can do at the moment.” He continued and shrugged a bit.

It took quite a while from Twilight to realize that he had actually slashed Time’s arm with that throw. “Time… I…” He stammered while staring wide-eyed at the scene. Time was slowly calming down and he just shook his head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Time assured with a fond smile. “I’ll just get this bandaged. It’ll heal in no time.” He promised and glanced at the lock. “I’ll fix that again.” He nodded towards the door before giving a lopsided smile. “Hot chocos and calming down, yeah?” He offered and Twilight just nodded. “Great! You can go and start things. I’ll be down in a moment.”

Twilight couldn’t really do anything else than nod before Time left the room. He carefully picked the knife up and felt fully guilty of the blood that he could still see on it. Once again he wondered what Time had gone through in his past to be acting like this. He wasn’t barking him down. He wasn’t throwing him out. He was just accepting of being attacked by a stranger in his own home. He hadn’t even reported of him to anyone.

Twilight left his room bit sorrowfully and knocked on the bathroom’s door. “Time?” He called and got a muffled reply of “Yeah?”. He hesitated for a moment. “Can I help?” He eventually asked while wanting to make things right.

“Thanks but I got this. Just get the hot chocolates done. Okay?”

Twilight sighed and bit slumped. “Okay.” He replied while feeling like he should go inside anyways. He knew Time didn’t lock the door even though there was such a chance. Then again, that had been installed at the same day as his door’s lock had been. It clearly told there never had been locked doors besides the front door in the whole house. Trust and acceptance clearly had been extremely important for the residents of the place. And he felt like he was violating that guideline in the hardest possible way.

Only a moment after Twilight had the hot chocolates done Time came down. He had changed pajamas for two different reasons, the blood and the rip in the sleeve. He was clearly calmer but Twilight was quite certain it was just fake to calm him down. There still was some of that freak-out in his eyes. Yet, it was clear he was rather looking after him than of himself.

Time nodded as Twilight gave him the mug. “So… I’m not going to ask. It’s up to you if you wish to talk.” He told calmly while tracing the rim of the mug. “But… I’m going to ask this… What do you want to do?” He continued while raising his gaze up into the younger male. “Draw? Watch TV? Howl at the moon?” He suggested before shrugging. “Sure, it’s not full moon yet but… Does it really matter what night it is?”

Twilight stared bit startled at his caretaker. “I… Um…” He started before shaking his head. “How about card game?” He queried and bit relaxed when Time smiled widely.

“Sure! I’ll fetch the deck.” Time exclaimed and left the room. Twilight smiled a bit but the look dropped off of his features the moment the one eyed male was out of seeing it. He just frowned and stared at the older male’s mug. This was exactly what he couldn’t do, leave his drink or food unsupervised. The guy trusted him and he felt like he didn’t deserve that.

Soon enough Time came back and gave the card deck to Twilight. “Just check them through. I didn’t rig it but I want you to be certain of it.” He told calmly and tried to keep his notion elsewhere while Twilight went through the cards. Once he was certain he already shared few cards. “So, what we playing?” Time queried while picking the cards up.

“Biggest card wins?” Twilight offered while turning one card around from the deck for starter.

“Works for me. You can start if you want.” Time replied while bit changing the places of his cards. Twilight simply nodded before placing first card in.

They played several games through while enjoying of the hot chocolate. After that Time fixed the lock on Twilight’s door. Twilight simply nodded his thanks while returning to the bed. He had washed his knife after having done the hot chocolates and while waiting for them cool down a bit.

The days and weeks flew past again and Twilight started to calm down. He hoped there wouldn’t be that rough nightmares anymore. He had had smaller and less hellish on several nights. Yet, just as he thought he had everything perfectly fine, the next nightmare jumped him.

Twilight was growling. He stood protectively in front of two younger kids. The room was dimly lit but he could feel something moving around there. The kids were trembling and whimpering behind him. Whatever it was that lurked in the shadows was a threat. Suddenly a rough sound of screech snapped his notion to his side. Before he could realize what had caused the noise, an unseen door was slammed open and something dashed into the room.

Twilight screamed while seeing the hideous thing rather than his own room. He threw the knife without thinking while desperately wanting to protect himself and the kids of his past. The scream wasn’t a beast’s but Hylian’s. And it wasn’t brought out by start or slight pain. It was filled with agony.

Twilight gasped as the situation came into him like a flash of a sudden lightning. Time had crashed to his knees while holding his shoulder. Twilight stared horrified as he saw his own knife in the back of Time’s shoulder. “W-what… W-what I’ve d-done…” He half whispered with shaky voice and feeling tears at his eyes. On that second he scrambled out of the bed and dashed to Time before already dropping to his knees. “Time… I…” He desperately tried to find right words but he didn’t know what to say.

“You hit good. Straight and true.” Time whispered after shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.” He assured while clearly wanting to pull Twilight into a hug for better comfort. Yet, he held back as he knew the trust between them hadn’t yet been established strongly enough.

“Time, I’m sorry!” Twilight half shouted while trying to blink the tears out of his eyes. He moved closer and tried to get a better check of the wound. He flinched when Time growled in pain. “Sorry! Sorrysorry!” He straight off half shouted while pulling off bit startled. “You need to go to hospital.” He stated out while feeling himself tremble even more.

Time shook his head. “No. It’s fine. I just need you to pull the knife out. I’ll bandage it.”

“What?!  NO!” Twilight nearly snapped in shock. “It needs stitches!” He barked out before bit flinching in shock at Time’s reaction. The one eyed male grimaced and jerked at the claim of stitches. “Time?” He called bit worriedly.

Time took a deep breath and gave as reassuring smile as he could but it didn’t fully hit right. “J-just mild case of needle fear.” He answered before carefully touching around his shoulder to find the knife.

“Time… What…?” Twilight started before gasping in start as Time yanked the knife out with a growl. “Time… That… T-that was stupid!” He snapped while staring horrified at the bleeding.

“I’ve had worse. I got this.” Time replied while giving the knife back to Twilight after having cleaned it against his clothes. After that he stood up. “Hot chocolates sounds good, right?” He half queried while trying to give a smile of assurance.

“Time…” Twilight whispered while watching the older male leave the room. “Shit…” He growled and stood up swiftly to go after his caretaker. “Time, I mean it. You need to go to the hospital. That wound needs stitches.” He stated out as firmly as he dared.

Time stumbled and paled even more than earlier at the mention of stitches. Twilight grit his teeth while realizing that he wasn’t going to get the one eyed male to do as supposed to. “What would you be doing if it was me in your place?!” He eventually snapped and nearly winced as Time stopped dead on his tracks.

Time gritted his teeth for a while before sighing heavily. “You can’t drive and neither can I in this condition. Taking Epona into the town isn’t a good idea. And we’re not walking around the town in middle of the night.” He stated out firmly while turning around to look at the youngster.

“Fine.” Twilight huffed and shook his head. “Where’s the first aid kit? I need to stitch that wound.” He half commanded and winced again at the rough flinch Time did at the mention of stitches and the knowledge of needles to get it done.

Eventually Time sighed and nodded. “Living room. In the book shelf’s closet. The closest to the door.” He explained and waited until Twilight was out of sight before taking his shirt off.

Twilight took the stairs carefully but otherwise he dashed through the hallways. He found the first aid kit quite quickly before already returning into the second floor’s bathroom. “Just keep your gaze off of here.” Twilight half commanded while getting things ready. “Is there any pain killers for the area?” He queried while checking the first aid kit through.

“No… Just do it.” Time replied and took few deep and shaky breaths. He closed his eye and tried to concentrate into his breathing. Twilight jerked when he did the first strike and Time flinched roughly with a pained gasp. The one eyed male trembled and flinched at each stitch done. Yet, he didn’t whimper. Instead, he just grit his teeth and fought against the unconscious actions.

Twilight wanted to say something, anything, comforting but he couldn’t find the words. Luckily, though, the wound wasn’t that of wide and the knife hadn’t struck too deep. The moment he was done, Twilight put the needle and the first aid kit to be fully out of Time’s sight. Next he gently cleaned the blood off but Time still flinched as he clearly wasn’t happy of others touching the scars that littered his body. Eventually Twilight bandaged the area before getting up and cleaning things off. He still did his best to keep the needles out of sight.

“Thank you.” Time whispered after having caught himself back in order. He bit moved his shoulder before getting up from the floor. “Just leave the things there. I’ll clean them later.”

“You’re welcome and don’t worry. I got this already.” Twilight replied and flashed a smile to Time. “Just go and get changed into cleaner clothes.” He suggested calmly. “I’ll be done in a moment and then we can have hot chocolates. Yeah?” He offered with a grin.

Time blinked bit startled before smiling lopsidedly and nodding. “Sounds good. You want to do them?” He replied and Twilight just nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you in a moment.”

Twilight just nodded into that before, once Time was out, he sighed bit heavily. He slumped and looked around at the blood he had drawn out. He shook his head and took a deep breath while putting on fully determined look.

Twilight handled the cleaning of the used items, his own knife and the bloodied areas. He checked once around before going downstairs and putting the first aid kit back to where it belonged to. After that he went to the kitchen and nodded once to Time before starting to get the hot chocolates done.

“Time, before you tell that you won’t ask a thing…” Twilight started after having brought the drinks to the table. He sighed heavily and forced himself to face his current caretaker eye to eye. “I can’t tell much because I’m unaware of all that has happened to me.” He half warned before taking a deep breath and starting to talk.

“I… Some memories are hazy. Some I’m not sure if they’re real or made up. And some are by now messed up with the life after I and the others were rescued.” Twilight began bit uncertainly.

“Twilight, you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Time told gently while wishing to reach out to his boy but not daring to.

“I know but… I want to. I feel like I owe you at least this much. I…” Twilight replied almost desperately.

Time sighed and shook his head. “You owe me nothing, Cub.” The stated out firmly. “You’re here because I care. I want this to be home and safe place to you. I’m not asking anything in return. I just want to see you safe and sound. I just want you to reach for your dreams and gain them.”

Twilight nodded while dropping his gaze down into the mug. He wanted to explain but he didn’t find the answers. “Give me a second.” Time called and went to fetch a piece of paper and a pen. After that, once back to his place, he drew something swiftly enough on the sheet. “I hope I got it right.” He said softly while giving his creation to the younger male.

Twilight frowned and turned the paper around. He gasped in start as he saw the Mark of the Wolf on it. “It… It’s perfect…” He half whispered while tad smiling at the creation.

“If you really wish to talk, Twilight, keep your gaze in the marking. Know you’re safe and protected. As long as I have the rights and ability, I will protect you in any way possible.” Time told firmly and Twilight nodded almost absentmindedly.

“I remember a forest.” Twilight began again. “I’m not sure but I think I was there with my parents. I got lost. The fog appeared and there was something within it. I ran and crashed with a wall…” He told and frowned a bit. “I… Somehow this feels more of a nightmare I had instead of what happened. I don’t know…”

“Just take it easy. Breathe.” Time soothed with soft voice. “You’re safe. Whatever is in your past can’t harm you ever again. I promise.”

Twilight nodded and took a deep breath. “A clear memory is of a room. Several different. Most dimly lit. I… I think we were drugged. Might be through the food and drinks. Maybe in the air… I’m not sure.” He explained and shook his head. “We saw things. We attacked each other because of… Because of the… Um…”

“Hallucinations.” Time offered and Twilight nodded.

“Yeah, that. Hallucinations. Seeing things that weren’t there.” Twilight confirmed. “I don’t know how long we were there. Trapped and drugged. Felt like eternity.” He whispered and shivered a bit before shaking his head. “A wolf… Not sure if it was a hallucination too or real. It had this marking on its forehead.” He confirmed and tapped the paper. “It saved us. The next thing was that we were taken out of that place. The days are bit hazy as the drugs wore off. After that, though…” He shrugged. “Orphanage.”

Time nodded while wishing to go to hug the boy or at least place his hand over the youngster’s. Yet, he stayed to his place. “You’re safe here.” That was all he could say and promise.

Twilight smiled a bit and nodded. “I know.” He half whispered before stretching. “Where’s the paints? I’d like to add something into my room.”

“At the storage between the house and the Cucco house.” Time answered before getting up. “I’ll fix your door’s lock.

“A-actually…” Twilight started while making his choice. “No need for that. I could… Leave it unlocked.” He told while still being bit contradicted of the situation.

“You sure? I want you to feel safe at here. The lock’s meant to give that.” Time queried bit surprised.

Twilight smiled slightly and nodded. “I’m sure.” He replied while feeling surprisingly calmer than a while ago. Time nodded and glanced out of the window.

“I guess it’s about time to start the work so—“ The one eyed male started but Twilight cut him short.

“NO.” The youngster almost snapped. “Not with your arm not working correctly. You need to let it heal.” He told firmly and grinned. “You’ve taught me the ranch work. I’ll manage on my while you heal.” He promised while getting up. “I’ll change real quick, do the painting I need and handle bit of breakfast for both of us and be off to work. That okay with you?”

Time was bit taken off guard but he soon smiled and nodded. “Alright. May I stay close by in case you need bit of aid?”

“Sure.” Twilight replied happily. “Having bit of conversation always makes things go faster.” He commented and Time nodded in agreement.

It took about couple of weeks for the knife wound to heal enough for Time to aid with the work. Twilight still chose the harder work just to make sure his caretaker didn’t overdo himself. Still, with things going better, the youngster hoped he was over with the nightmares. He had shared bit of his past and talked with the one eyed male whenever he recalled something. Sometimes he just wanted to older male’s opinion on things and they worked the problems through together. He wasn’t happy when the next nightmare struck.

Twilight was feeling nauseous. The food had tasted funny but he had been too hungry to care. Now he regretted it. The room slowly dimmed around him and he wasn’t certain if the situation was caused by his own sight or if it really was happening. When the shadows began to move, he knew it was his own fault. And yet, he couldn’t help but curl up into the corner and whimper in terror. The sounds around him, real or not, were making everything even worse. There was no way out. The walls were creeping closer. When things started to be too much to bear, all he could do was to scream.

Twilight woke up in fright. The scream left from within him before he even understood it. He sat up while snatching the knife to defend himself but that was when he saw it. The Mark of the Wolf. He froze for a moment while having unconsciously stopped his action of the throw and turned the knife away from being a danger to the one whom had crashed into his room. He was safe. He wasn’t at that place. He had someone whom cared and believed him.

“Cub?” Time called carefully while having been actually surprised of not having had to try and avoid a flying knife. The moment that word left from his mouth, his boy already scrambled out of the bed, dropped the knife into the night table and dashed to him. He barely had enough of time to crouch down and spread his arms to catch Twilight.

Twilight wrapped his arms tightly around Time and broke down. He felt the one eyed male carefully embrace him. He didn’t fully hear the words but he took in the comforting and soft voice of his caretaker. He gave out a slight yelp when Time sat them both down to the floor. While crying, he told the nightmare out and felt the hold bit tighten around him. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep in the ranch owner’s hold.

Time didn’t move from his place nor did he let go or stop talking. He could’ve picked the boy up and taken him to the bed but he wasn’t going to do such. In his opinion it was safer to let the boy sleep where he was and guard his rest as he had been given such rights.

When the Cucco finally gave the call of the morning, Twilight yawned and carefully stretched. “Morning, Cub. How are you?” Time’s voice started him and he snapped his eyes open. The one eyed male was smiling fondly at him while holding him securely but still in such way that he could easily get away if he wanted to.

“Morning.” Twilight replied and closed his eyes before snuggling closer to his caretaker. He smiled when he felt Time sigh in relief and tighten the hold. This was exactly where he was feeling at safe and protected. “Thank you.”

“Hmm? For what?” Time queried with slight frown.

Twilight sighed contently while fully relaxing. “Everything. For absolutely everything,” He replied with a smile before taking his caretaker fully off guard by kissing the side of his head. Yet, after the first shock, he felt Time quite well melt by that action. ”Thank you, alpha wolf.” He whispered with a slight grin.

“You’re welcome, Cub.” Time replied while smiling fondly. He knew for certainty that his boy was on way to healing. Things were going to be all right from here on out. Obviously, though, since they had missed the chance of hot chocolate in the middle of the night, it was their drink with the simple breakfast.

[the-witchs-cafe]

Jade Harley from Homestuck would turn into a witch in Puella Magi Madoka Magica!

Cause of Witchification: Already living all in her lonesome in her grandpa's island after his unexplained death, she had nobody but her trusty dog, Becquerel, and her online friends to keep her company. Aside from that, all she was able to do before the events of the comic began was tend to her garden, engage in her little experiments, practice her rifle skills, and explore the kingdom of Prospit through her dreams.

Life within the Medium wasn't so easy, either. After having her dream self sacrifice herself to save John's, the dreams she had experienced were set in the dream bubbles; she was forced to witness the horrifying presence of the horror terrors the first time she had slumbered without her dream self, and is contacted by a dead Feferi during the second. After establishing a conversation with Tavros, he goes on to reveal that it was him who had killed her grandfather to save her; back when she was a little kid, she had almost shot herself with one of her grandfather's rifles, and he had to take control of Bec to redirect the location of the bullet towards him.

Oh, and not only was she tasked to breed the breed the perfect universe frog as the Space player of her team in such a short time due to the doomed state of their session - already causing enough stress as is -, but she had to do so whilst under the threat of, ya know, big bad Jack Noir and the possibility of him slicing her and the rest in half without them knowing. Her sprite was of little use at the time, either, since it was prototyped by using both Bec and the stuffed corpse of her dream self- who was not at all glad to be brought back to life.

Even after all that - after ascending to godhood during the Scratch and managing to save herself, John, and Davesprite from being completely erased from existence -, upon encountering the post-scratch selves of her fellow players' ancestors, she was immediately corrupted by none other than the Batterwitch herself; turning into a nasty, monstrous version of herself who is not afraid to maul her closest friends into strings of flesh. This very corruption, amongst other events, were what kicked off the events of the tragedy that is known as [S]: Game Over.

There's a whole lot that happens, and this is just the tip of the iceberg of the disaster that is Jade's life. Also, her classpect is the Witch of Space, and her story already possesses multiple allusions to the Wizard of Oz; upon ascending to God Tier, she appeared to be a mix of Dorothy and the Witch of the North, Glinda, complete with the ruby slippers. After becoming corrupted by the batterwitch, unfortunately, she had met her untimely end in a manner that directly references the fate of the Wicked Witch of the East; with a house smashing her to smithereens.

[melishade]

Number 65?

This ask game

asked so far.

Optimus and Eren talking in the Dark Timeline before he gets captured by Shockwave. For more context: Part 4: Eren’s emotions

Eren tried to calm his nerves, but he couldn't. The deeper their alliance had traveled into Marley to find the War Hammer Titan, the worse he felt. Ever since he saw Liberio destroyed, he's been living in a perpetual state of terror. Would this be the day that Shockwave finds them? Would this be the day that they get mauled to death? Crushed? Experimented on?

What if Shockwave found out about the Founding Titan? Would Shockwave use it to activate the Rumbling? The thought made Eren sick. After seeing the destruction that Shockwave caused, he had given up on that twisted dream of his, and he was no longer seeing images of Optimus' death. But thinking about it still made him feel so sick.

"Eren." Eren snapped his head to Optimus' holoform handing him a bowl of food. Eren was seated on a dead log, a safe distance away from the campsite the Survey Corps and the Marleyans had set up.

"I'm not hungry," Eren stated, but Optimus looked down at his hands, and Eren internally swore at the fact that they were still shaking. Optimus set the bowl down on the ground before sitting next to Eren on the log.

"You are worried," Optimus stated.

"...yeah," Eren confessed, "I've been worried...scared...god, Optimus, I've been so scared."

"...Eren, I am sorry," Optimus apologized to him, "I am sorry that my war and Megatron's war has brought danger to your doorsteps. I assumed that Shockwave was taken care of before I dove into the core of our planet. I did not realize leaving him unchecked would somehow bring him here."

"...I know it's not your fault," Eren reassured, "I know you wouldn't let Shockwave run around on purpose."

Optimus' mouth formed a thin line. Eren could tell he wanted to say more, but the Prime refrained from doing so.

"Optimus...what's going to happen if we fail?" Eren couldn't help but ask.

Optimus snapped his head to the teen, but he just looked down at his shaking hands. "If Shockwave gets us, how many of us are going to die? Or be tortured? No matter where we go, none of us are going to be safe. And if Shockwave gets me. He'll get the Founding Titan, and it'll all be over and-!"

Eren paused when he felt a hand on the back of his head before it pulled him in. Eren then felt Optimus' forehead rest against his own in comfort.

"Eren, listen to me," Optimus began, "I will not let Shockwave have any of you. Not as long as I still function."

The assertiveness of the promise and the simple act of comfort, grounded Eren. It calmed his nerves down just for a moment, and his hands stopped shaking. Eren knew that Optimus would keep his promise, and his promise gave him some hope that they would make it out of this alive.

(10 left!: 51, 52, 57, 66-69, 74, and 76)

[c3rnunnos]

some portraits of morrigan and nemo. some info on them under the cut

Morrigan Ite Cohen is my Choir scholar oc. they’re... something. i usually refer to them as pathetic, slimy, generally unpleasant, and they can usually be found doing really neat stuff like munching on pieces of ebrietas, delving deep into nightmares and dreams in the hopes of talking (read: eating) whatever great one hides in there, and their goal in life is to consume and ascend. they think of themselves as a chrysalis, and they want to bloom into something beautiful like the god of the sea they saw so long ago. they are... awfully close to their goal too. they are someone that had no setbacks in life ever (aside from maybe being distant from their family on an emotional level), and proceeded to make everything worse for the people around them. from taking parasites from the hunter’s nightmare and using corpses, living patients and even themselves as a breeding ground for the horrid vermin, to eating the corpses of hunters who stopped dreaming, they truly aimed for the stars and became unbearable to their coworkers. fun fact: the scars on their face are not scars. they can open up and show the eyes on the inside. they tend to bleed the black substance that now makes up a majority of morrigan’s insides. fun fact 2: their hair is a mess of tangles cause they tend to braid sections of it when thinking. the only way to salvage it would be to cut it real short. fun fact 3: they used to be the shortest of my ocs. now theyre in the medium section exclusively cause a tall lanky bastard fit the vibe more than a littol creacher. as i made them worse and more evil, they got taller.

Nemo Heliwr is my White Church Hunter/Good Hunter oc. they were a church foundling, even if they were older than usual when the church finally managed to get them. they underwent a childhood as the object of admiration of a cult, and were made so that one day they may birth the child of a great one; their own mother didnt give them a name, for they were but a passing conduit. they instead told them to hold onto a name, so that they may give it to their child. eventually, as the cult started to get hunted down for their heretical actions, their mother abandoned them with nothing but the clothes on their back, a lifetime of terror regarding the church and the hunters, and a promise to fulfill their purpose. unfortunately for those lunatics, they spent a childhood and adolescence braving the streets of yharnam and scrapping with dogs, beasts and huntsmen, up until they got picked up by a rather concerned Holy Blade. after that, after being offered kindness for the first time in many years, after being offered a place to sleep and good food to eat, education, and a good way to get those violent urges of theirs out... they did their best to keep Yharnam clean. then, everything went to hell, and they traded that secret old name for oblivion; they were awoken on the night of the hunt, the city in a frenzy and beasts running free, old friends dead and gone, and they got to work. Nemo cannot escape their past - they cannot escape the dream, the hunt, and what they were made to do. they may not have conceived the child of a great one, but in the end they did ascend and take that old name for themselves. fun fact: Heliwr is simply welsh for hunter, and Nemo means no one. since they had no name or surname, they were given something rather ironic by ludwig. fun fact 2: the scars on their face are nothing compared to the scars hidden by their bandana and hood. they were mauled by a dog when they were a child, and survived by miracle. fun fact 3: their eyes are just like that. kinda weird to look at.

i like drawing them together cause they are kind of opposites in my mind, ya know? morrigan, so openly pathetic and disgusting, with no regard for their appearance or the feelings of others as they desperately try to become something more VS nemo, always guarded and hiding their fear and anger under a facade of coldness, unblinking and violent, trying desperately to avoid the destiny lain before them. i have a small confrontation between them written down, and it’s always a pleasure to break down nemo in front of that depravity. plus, since they knew each other (morrigan taught them how to read and write and anything required for them to be a functional member of society)... ah, pain.

[loyalpromise]

🎲 (for louis)

39: a tentative kiss ...

          “ c’mon  dude !  wake  up ! ”  louis  tried  to  shake  the  other  back  into  consciousness,  but  he  was  out  cold  and  showed  no  signs  of  stirring.  “ seriously,  james,  we  gotta  go ! ”  like  james  could  actually  hear  any  of  what  louis  was  even  saying.  

          shit.

          shit.  shit.  shit.  shit.  shit…

          louis  cycled  through  many  ideas  in  his  head,  but  he  couldn’t  carry  james;  the  guy  was  too  big  and  way  too  heavy  for  louis  to  be  able  to  comfortably  carry  him.  clearly,  trying  to  wake  him  up  by  force  wasn’t  working,  and  louis  didn’t  have  any  water  to  splash  james  with.  they  didn’t  have  much  time  either;  the  walkers  would  be  closing  in  on  them  soon,  and  louis  didn’t  feel  like  dying  today.

          another  idea  sparked  in  his  mind,  and  immediately,  he  shut  it  down…  until  it  came  back,  and  he  realized  that  it  actually  might  be  his  ONLY  option  at  this  point.  he  peered  down  at  james,  contemplative,  gnawing  on  the  inside  of  his  cheek  as  he  thought  it  over,  and  ultimately  decided  that  it  was  this  or  nothing,  and  he  just  hoped  that  james  would  be  understanding  afterwards.

          with  much  trepidation,  louis  finally  leaned  down,  hesitating  the  closer  he  came  to  james’  face,  almost  second  guessing  himself  and  chickening  out.  sure,  it  wasn’t  ideal,  but  it  was  this  or  leave  james  to  get  mauled  to  death  by  walkers  and  louis  didn’t  want  to  have  that  on  his  conscious  for  the  rest  of  his  life !

          inhaling  deeply  through  his  nose,  louis  surged  forward,  but  still  could  only  manage  to  press  a  featherlight  kiss  to  james’  lips,  pulling  away  a  mere  second  later,  and  watching  with  a  mixture  of  relief  and  terror  as  james’  eyes  finally  fluttered  open.

          before  louis  could  open  his  mouth  to  speak—to  justify  what  he’d  just  done—he  found  himself  upright  in  his  bed,  breathing  heavy,  and  staring  out  at  the  dim  walls  in  his  dark  dorm  room.  it  took  him  a  few  moments  to  realize  that  it  had  all  just  been  a  dream,  and  he  made  a  mental  note  to  not  eat  any  more  years  old  candy  he  found  laying  around  ericson’s  again.

[o-wise-corvid]

Dathomir Daily

The sound of a pained grunt jarred Savage to consciousness. He had agreed with Feral to take watch in shifts, his hours coming first. Maul would be allowed to sleep all night. There was always an unmistakable exhaustion upon his brother; Savage couldn’t say if it was because of what Talzin had done to heal his mind… or if it was just how he was. Either way, Maul needed rest.

Feral’s foot came down into Savage’s line of vision, bare and slightly dusty. He crouched down beside Maul’s sleeping form, face contorted with concern. Savage started to warn him not to touch Maul while he slept; he’d learned the hard way. But Feral didn’t. He simply watched Maul curl further in on himself, groaning as if in pain.

“… Maul? Maul, it… it is alright,” Feral whispered softly, leaning down a bit to speak into their brother’s ear. “It is alright… I’m… so sorry.”

Maul’s eyes opened with what, to Savage, was an audible click. His body reacted on instinct, cringing away from the nearness of another before he could even register who the other was. “What…” Maul’s chest heaved, working for breath, and Savage was sure he could see a sheen of sweat on the sunken cheeks.

“You were having a terror… a bad dream.” Feral could always sound so very kind. Gentle. It came from keeping the little ones, especially those who had been recently cut from their mothers. They would never see them again in all likelihood and many were more discarded than separated… but there were always a few. A few who, fortunately or unfortunately, had been treasured by their dams. Nurtured. Made strong by kisses and soft touches. And then… forced to be without.

Maul’s fiery eyes flickered around the camp, and Savage shut his own before Maul could see that he was awake. He didn’t speak. But Savage heard his metal foot scrape across the rocky ground. “A… apologies. If. I woke you.”

“Oh, you didn’t; it’s fine. I was on watch.”

“On watch?”

“Yes.”

“… you have been unmolested all this time. Why perform a watch now?”

Feral made a soft sound. A chuckle. “You’re… well, right. But-” He paused, coughing harshly into a hand. “Something of a habit. When we’re together.”

Savage opened his eyes again. Feral was looking shyly, but gently, upon Maul, his features relaxed. But Maul was a tense, hunched shape, back out of the fire’s light far enough that his face was shrouded in gloom. Save his eyes.

“Savage told me of…” Maul gestured at his throat. “Does it pain you?”

Feral’s horns glinted as he angled his head. “It can become irritated. But. I would rather this than death.”

Maul didn’t reply to that.

There was a nervous stirring around Feral’s brow line. And then he ventured: “Your legs… they are not just armored boots are they?”

“No. I was bisected in a duel with a Jedi.” A curl of malice crept into Maul’s voice. The rage Savage knew too well… but then it bled free. Or was cut free. Again. “Vengeance may be mine someday but… I am… am…” The way his words trailed off was so… weak. Not to be disdained, not that weakness, no. They were drained. Nearly lifeless.

“What is a… a Je. Di?”

Maul frowned, snapping out of his horizon-distant stare. “Oh… you would not know… apologies. Jedi are…” There was a moment’s flash of white in the dark. Teeth. A little smile. “Oh… it would bore you I imagine. Explaining what they are… then the Sith.” The lighter tone vanished. “I. I was a Sith.”

The fire snapped once.

“Did they harm you? The Sith?”

But Maul didn’t reply to the question. He just looked at Feral. “I am tired now,” he said.

“Here. Have my blanket. I am awake for some time yet. Shall I… stay near?”

“What for?” The puzzlement in Maul’s voice was real. Savage couldn’t tell much from his brother’s expressions; Maul was a staunch stoic. But his voice always showed his feelings.

Feral tilted his head again. This time, Feral wasn’t gauging his own words. He was confused too. “Nightbrothers sleep together often. Warmth. Security.”

“I am not a Nightbrother.”

“… No. I… don’t suppose you are.” But Feral held out his ratty blanket anyway. “Come back nearer the fire. Rest.” And when Maul did, Feral stood to move back to his watch post.

“Remain warm. Your presence will not… bother me.” Maul’s tone was flippant now. Controlled. But Savage could hear the quiet, ever present hunger for… for something.

Feral glances at Maul, halfway to his feet. “Alright.” And he sat back down again.

Arm’s length away, Maul turned his back to the fire, Feral and Savage, curling into himself again. And Feral finally looked at Savage. Savage winked. That… was good. Shockingly so.

And then Savage closed his eyes again. He breathed a quiet prayer to Dīn Cē Bān’sk. For himself, but also for Maul. Especially him. Though to even imagine what Mauk would consider a good dream, Savage knew was beyond him. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the last time he had been chosen by a Sister. Not Ventress, as she actually was his sister. That egg-headed, flesh-less old crone. No. Another sister. One with dark braids and crystal blue eyes. She’d smiled on him, and their time alone had been full of softness. As she had wished. He smiled a little, thinking of her. A pleasant surprise, that one. Wondering what their offspring looked like… And on that thought, Savage fell almost immediately back to sleep.

Tag list: @alexeithegoat @thesitharts @crc-jedi-knight-serushna @hotshot9 @smoooothbrain @gran-maul-seizure @foreverchangingfandomsao3 @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @justalittletomato @stardustbee @storm89 @by-the-primes @ohboi @and-claudia @eloquentmoon

[freddys-sweet-treat-circus]

YOU CAN'T ESCAPE YOUR NIGHTMARES

In 2067, the head of F.I.N. Engineering would bring his son to Freddy's Sweet Treat Circus, where the young boy's sister worked as a mechanic. While playing in the arcade, a scream rang across the building and the small group ran to find the source. What they found was the girl had been mauled to death and dragged into the parts and service room by Peppermint Balloon Boy, who was in a malfunctioned attack mode. After tasering Peppermint BB into a docile state, they investigated the room and found that the girl's body had disappeared.

Standing behind his father and witnessing the horrific event was the girl's brother. Traumatized by what he saw and distraught by his sister's death, he suffered horrible nightmares for many years. The nightmares themselves containing horrifying and twisted versions of the animatronics, most of them transforming into monsters no longer built with metal and circuit boards. Each of the characters appearing individually in dreams within their own distorted domain.

They are called the Night Terrors, sweet dreams!

[trainstojuniper]

Damned Women

Delphine and Hippolyte

The lamps had languisht and their light was pale; On cushions deep Hippolyta reclined. Those potent kisses that had torn the veil From her young candour filled her dreaming mind.

With tempest-troubled eyes she sought the blue Heaven of her innocence, how far away! Like some sad traveller, who turns to view The dim horizons passed at dawn of day.

Tears and the muffled light of weary eyes, The stupor and the dull voluptuous trance, Limp arms, like weapons dropped by one who flies — All served her fragile beauty to enhance.

Calm at her feet and joyful, Delphine lay And gazed at her with ardent eyes and bright, Like some strong beast that, having mauled its prey, Draws back to mark the imprint of its bite.

Strong and yet bowed, superbly on her knees, She snuffed her triumph, on that frailer grace Poring voluptuously, as though to seize The signs of thanks upon the other's face.

Gazing, she sought in her pale victim's eye The speechless canticle that pleasure sings, The infinite gratitude that, like a sigh, Mounts slowly from the spirit's deepest springs.

"Now, now you understand (for love like ours Is proof enough) that 'twere a sin to throw The sacred holocaust of your first flowers To those whose breath might parch them as they blow.

Light falls my kiss, as the ephemeral wing That scarcely stirs the shining of a lake. What ruinous pain your lover's kiss would bring! A plough that leaves a furrow in its wake.

Over you, like a herd of ponderous kine, Man's love will pass and his caresses fall, Like trampling hooves. Then turn your face to mine; Turn, oh my heart, my half of me, my all!

Turn, turn, that I may see their starry lights, Your eyes of azure; turn. For one dear glance I will reveal your love's most obscure delights, And you shall drowse in pleasure's endless trance."

"Not thankless, nor repentant in the least Is your Hippolyta." She raised her head. "But one whom from some grim nocturnal feast Returns at dawn feels less disquieted.

I bear a weight of terrors, and dark hosts Of phantoms haunt my steps and seem to lead. I walk, compelled, behind these beckoning ghosts Down sliding roads and under skies that bleed.

Is ours so strange an act, so full of shame? Explain the terrors that disturb my bliss. When you say, Love, I tremble at the name; And yet my mouth is thirsty for your kiss.

Ah, look not so, dear sister, look not so! You whom I love, even though that love should be A snare for my undoing, even though Loving I am lost for all eternity."

Delphine looked up, and fate was in her eye. From the god's tripod and beneath his spell, Shaking her tragic locks, she made reply: "Who in love's presence dares to speak of hell?

Thinker of useless thoughts, let him be cursed Who in his folly, venturing to vex A question answerless and barren, first With wrong and right involved the things of sex!

He who in mystical accord conjoins Shadow with heat, dusk with the noon's high fire, Shall never warm the palsy of his loins At that red sun which mortals desire.

Go, seek some lubber groom's deflowering lust; Take him your heart and leave me here despised! Go — and bring back, all horror and disgust, The livid breasts man's love has stigmatized.

One may not serve two masters here below." But the child answered: "I am torn apart, I feel my inmost being rent, as though A gulf had yawned — the gulf that is my heart.

Naught may this monster's desperate thirst assuage, — As fire 'tis hot, as space itself profound — Naught stay the Fury from her quenchless rage, Who with her torch explores its bleeding wound.

Curtain the world away and let us try If lassitude will bring the boon of rest. In your deep bosom I would sink and die, Would find the grave's fresh coolness on your breast."

Hence, lamentable victims, get you hence! Hells yawn beneath, your road is straight and steep. Where all the crimes receive their recompense Wind-whipped and seething in the lowest deep

With a huge roaring as of storms and fires, Go down, mad phantoms, doomed to seek in vain The ne-er-won goal of unassuaged desires, And in your pleasures find eternal pain!

Sunless your caverns are; the fever damps That filter in through every crannied vent Break out with marsh-fire into sudden lamps And steep your bodies with their frightful scent.

The barrenness of pleasures harsh and stale Makes mad your thirst and parches up your skin; And like an old flag volleying in the gale, Your whole flesh shudders in the blasts of sin.

Far from your kind, outlawed and reprobate, Go, prowl like wolves through desert worlds apart! Disordered souls, fashion your own dark fate, And flee the god you carry in your heart.

— Aldous Huxley, The Cicadas and Other Poems (NY: Harper & Bros, 1929)