#patchwork dream

[sososunniest]

yay!!! two others!!! error and swap are next..... :9

i need a new name for lust. maybe luster? i mean, i did make some of his outfit shiny after all

[edienotsedgwick]

Exclusive snippets from my close friends story of me revamping my jacket with patches I made from a dress that got destroyed in the wash.

I have so many more plans for the arrangement that I’ll keep you all posted on!

[alistair-blackwood]

yeah so it turns out when you take an unapologetic eugenicist and give him a sympathetic backstory where he's been uwu traumatized you get a lot of people unironically defending a eugenicist. yeah it's because he's hot. yeah they're saying he has girlhood rage

[pochapal]

just found out the upcoming flight simulator has a walkaround mode where you can literally wander around uncanny ai 3d upscaled bing maps earth with zero restrictions. they finally went and put heaven in a video game.

[destiny-is-calling-mee]

Aprendiendo 🤩🤩 insta: purplemagiic.ink 😬😻

[smolghostbot]

GT July: Dream / Memory

Posting this early since I'm not going to be able to on the actual day for Dream. Decided to get borderline experimental with these prompts, since it gave me a kind of interesting way to give details of Patch's backstory (they can't exactly... tell it themself, y'know?)

Word Count: 1k Character bios in my pinned post

⚠️hoo HECKIN boy here we go with the content warning list⚠️ Whump, the whole thing is whump, Pest Control in a Borrower story portrayed as vague traumatic memories similar to a fire, unreality in the context of dreams, unreality shown through writing techniques, mentions of physical, mental, and emotional abuse, alcoholic abuser, hints of inhumane living conditions, and a panic attack (All except the panic attack are in a dream, but as the prompt implies, are also memories). Abuse section is surrounded by ⚠️emoji so you can skip over that one if you want/need

If that is too much or too heavy, or if you need a cooldown afterwards, may I politely suggest checking out Melancholy / Video Games, which is a lot gentler.

========

They were running. They had to run, the room was filling with bright clouds, the ones that cause that intense pain. They look around, seeing their childhood home, covered in darkness. They could hear the muffled noises through the wall to the humans' kitchen, the loud whirring of the unknown device that heralded the downfall of their village. The panicking sprite reaches for their backpack, hoping it would protect them like it did last time, but it wasn't there. No! Did they leave it somewhere? They had to go back!

A door, was that always there? That wall should lead to outside, what was this door? An escape from the clouds, that's what it is. They walk through, only to be met by that familiar alleyway. As if on cue, she walks into sight, her blue-green hair, eyes the color of fire, and golden dress a contrast to the dreary gray and red-brick surroundings. She glows in an almost supernatural light. The sprite tries to get her attention, but she keeps walking, causing them to have to lunge out of the way of her sandal. Why didn't she see them?

Wait, the backpack, they forgot their backpack! They turn to the doorway that was never there, replaced with the usual wall, with the offset brick that served as the entrance to their nest for a few months, a little shelter to keep out of the elements.

They enter the bricks and end up in their little outlet room, their slice of home in the human world they've been a part of for months now. The wiring seems different… oh, of course, yeah, they did change that, didn't they? Still missing their backpack, they walk to their shelf, to see if there's anything they can use. As they reach for supplies, they remember that there was nothing there. They reach for supplies, but they remember that there was nothing there. They reach for supplies, but they remember that there was nothing there. With every shelf empty, the young sprite realizes they'll need to go borrowing. Maybe they'll even find their backpack along the way.

As they leave the room, they fill with dread as they realize where they are. This place. The sprite hears the noise, that dreaded noise, the uneven thumping that indicates they are home… and are even more aggressive than usual. The panicked sprite looks around, trying to find where to hide, they can't see them again, this can't be happening! The door to the room opens, that dark, looming silhouette appearing, taking up the doorway, taking up the room, taking up the mind. In a singsong voice, they call out. ⚠️⚠️⚠️ "Paaaaatch~"

Wait, Patch? How… only… they didn't get that name until afterwards… did she betray them?

"Aren't… aren't you glad? Glad that-that your friend found you? Just think… you would have been sooooo lost if she... if she didn't bring you back here, where I can, y'know, I can keep you safe. Because nowww you're home! With me. Where you… belong."

Their face grows a dark grin as they finish that sentence, staring at the terrified sprite with those ice-cold eyes of sapphire. As the figure stumbles through the room, trying to capture them, the sprite runs towards the dresser, atop which sat that familiar prison of a cage. They were always able to move the dresser, but it gave a few moments of respite before the pain. Time to brace, to prepare. As they enter the darkness, they cower as their legs cease to work. How… How could she betray them like this? How could she let them know where they were? Didn't she promise to protect them? ⚠️⚠️⚠️

The backpack, that's what they notice. It's sitting there, in the darkness. A bright light shining down on it, drawing them to it. They walk over and inspect it. Their name, the only trace of their identity, gone. The writing seems to shift between nickname after nickname. Lighter names, "Patch", "Buddy", "Little Cutie"... Darker names. Names that sting their very soul to read. All a part of said soul, for better or worse.

The glow, they see the glow again. Looking up, they see her again, facing away. Her outfit is the same as that fateful day they met, a simple t-shirt and jeans. Either she's really far away, or somehow smaller. They approach, cautiously, having some strong words if this is really her. As she turns, her purple eyes – the sprite's own purple eyes, gaze right through them. She opens her mouth, the sound coming from everywhere and nowhere as she speaks in a voice they've never heard, "I am Ri

Patch awoke in a sweat, eyes full of tears. They looked around their room. The wiring was exactly as they left it. Their shelves were full of supplies, a few blueprints, and some snacks they kept handy. Most importantly, their prized backpack hung from its usual hook, their name inscribed on it. Panicked and breathing heavily, they did the only thing they could think of. They ran outside and furiously rang the bell outside of their little room, hitting it like their life depended on it.

Before long, the kitchen light turned on, and the towering, half-awake form of Melody stood before them, her hair messy and eyes bleary. She yawned before starting to speak. "Wh… where's the fire, Patch? You okay?"

The answer was made clear as she focused her eyes, taking in the shaking, crying form before her. This instantly woke her up a bit, as she ducked down to the level of the countertop. "Oh, oh no, Patch, buddy… how can I help? Touch, or no touch?"

Patch held their arms out, signaling that it was in fact a touch situation. Mel gently held out her hand as the scared sprite jumped into it. They were moved right to the human's shoulder, where they embraced her in as much of a hug as possible with a two-inch arm span, as they silently cried. The human's heart broke to see their friend like this.

"... Say no more, Patch. Why don't we go lay on the couch, I'll put the TV on, and we'll help you forget about whatever you dreamed about, okay?"

She needed no approval from the sprite as she laid down on the couch, consoling her small companion, who was already starting to drift off again to the comforting rhythm of Melody's heartbeat, their dreams for the rest of the night uneventful.

[amodernpersephone]

Checking in

[usagimen]

         Still thinking of BG3 Sayuri who comes from a notorious family that is essentially murder for hire. They are known primarily as entertainers, actors, even dancers to camouflage their real intentions. Though have been notorious in knocking down high political figures, socialites, esteemed members of the city making them middlemen of the sort. None can confirm or deny it, though she learned quickly at the age of eight either to adapt to the world around her or be swallowed by it. She generally seems uncomfortable once approaching closer to the city knowing her family will be watching their runaway with intense eyes.

       Even if she was apart of academia for sometime, they never let her stray too far, often humorously joking amongst their social circle her curse is that of freedom, she cannot see anything but an endless horizon to obtain. It’s common in such families for children to squabble against each other, her infamous scar was obtained at the age of seventeen when a rival bard clashed against her, she doesn’t seem to mind discussing it but hints she didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Indicating strongly she feels remorse, if anything, she seems to genuinely hint her time dazzling crowds or amongst her peers was the most happiest. There are also rumors she withdrew immensely after the death of a lover which she neither confirms nor denies. Due to being a high elf, she can be arrogant with profound insight on the arcane though she much rather speaks poetry nor does she rely too heavily on magic.

        Knives, crossbows, arrows, they seem to be a constant in her arsenal but if left to her own devices she will fight purely with hands alone. There is no doubt, despite everything or her rather sordid background, Sayuri is a tremendous performer who was dearly loved; she is affectionately named nightingale by the residents of Baldur’s Gate. Her monochrome style is contrasted to the actual hues she wears when performing, if she is romanced or a high affiliation is reached, she will discard black && white hues for pale blues or sapphires to represent her summer like nature.   

[vampywriter]

A Writer's Introduction?

Hi! I'm the vampire behind this blog! I guess you can call me Vampy. Vamp. or Jack. That's generic enough. doesn't want to disclose their name

I turned 20 last year, and since then I've finished the very first draft of some stories, and achieved a NaNoWriMo. So uh my confidence as a writer has significantly grown fldksjflk

I like time travel, fucked up stuff, and found-family. Oh and Magic. Like. It doesn't necessarily play a Huge Role, but I usually put some magic in my stories just Because I Can. I like it. It helps with my Escapism I guess.

I've got more "WIP"s than I'm willing to count, but here are the... main important ones at the moment, aka those I want to work on in 2023:

Dreaming of You: "What if dreams were a window onto another reality? What if someone dreamt often enough of another reality to fall in love with their lover from that other reality? What if that person also existed in their reality?" In which Tobey is a non-binary literature student, and August is a transmasc astrophysics teacher :) There's also their best friends, Beth and June, who're just Cool. I love them.

That Magic World: (working title) Either a saga or a novel in 5 parts fldskjflkj I tried writing the first part during NaNoWriMo, and while I got a nice start (some 10K words), I did not get to touch the end. It's all set in semi-magical countries (as of now named Norick Land and Kwernland). The first part is about a war, and a prophecy, and people just trying to save their peoples, and unwilling Chosen Ones, child heroes figuring out who they are along the way. Then 5 years later we've got Part 2, Patchwork Family, which is about the older Chosen One, David, who's just trying to be a good Dad and have a Happy Family. Part 3 (in need of a title) is about the younger Chosen One, Rory, who... disappeared. And the grief that comes with it. And people moving on, with time. Part 4, Will and Charlie, is about the two 'unknown chosen ones' (they didn't realise they were part of the prophecy when they helped it be realised), William and Charlie. William's fucked up his potion, and now he's a child again, Charlie offers to look after him until an antidote is found, even though the two cannot stand each other. And then, when the antidote is found, William doesn't even want to be an adult again. Part 5, My Best Friend's Dad, is the one in which we discover Rory is not as dead as we thought :) And he's had a nice time with his best friend's mother in the past :)

Past Rewritten: Despite the age gap, A and B were a very happy couple, about to get married. That was until A travelled 40 years back in time and altered the timeline. When A got back to their present, they quickly realised it was not their present any longer, and B was not their soon to be husband, but their father. (I might put this story in the same universe as the previous wip just to recycle the world building, but it's not connected at all. for now)

Sweet dreams, sweetheart (sd sh): I don't exactly know where this story is going, because it's very much inspired from a real story but I don't want it to be... that story. For now, it's the diary of a person who is trying to make sense out of their relationship with their most recent new friend. It was love at first sight, they proposed to each other, they give each other pet names, but it's all absolutely platonic, and the proposal was a joke anyway. Unless.... Ahahah, just joking! Or...? (or: when your life sounds like a very good romcom but definitely isn't but damn it could be so you just write it) (this one hasn't got any magic at all!)

I'm not super active on Tumblr (and I reblog more than I post), but I'd like to be a bit more active, share more stuff, and participate more in events and all. I've been struggling to do a WIP's intro, or OCs intro, but I'd like to talk more about them in some way or another, still. :D

[sheyearns]

Tag dump.

More will come~

[decadentstegosaurus]

i had one dream since i gained consciousness of my surroundings. I wanted to have birthday with both of my families. And on my 18th birthday it came true and everything felt so normal, just like having normal family in which everyone likes everyone. It wasn’t perfect bc not everyone like the others but they were tolerating each other, and obviously on the group photo there are 4 parents but that’s just a nuance

[wickedzeevyln]

Patchwork

Maya Angelou once said, “We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” Much like the butterfly, we are a patchwork quilt of experiences and lessons learned, we are kaleidoscope of square patterns. We all search for a home, not just a structure atop a hill overlooking the cerulean-blue ocean, but a home of flesh and bones,…

[edienotsedgwick]

Future jacket plans + how it currently looks from the back and worn on me as of right now.

At the moment I’m taking a break from making new band patches and instead focusing on non music related details of the jacket. I’ve made heaps of trinkets, or found some secondhand that I want to sew on so they hang off and jangle. It’s gonna be soooo noisy and busy to wear.

[the-troublesome-duo]

Return Part 2/2

After having to go and wake up Princess Luna from her nap, we then met up with Princess Celestia and had that meeting. I had to tell the two a big lie about how me and the Cobalt Rush met through a tear in time and space since they didn't need to know about my and the cursed mare's adventure. I was able to convince the princesses that the stallion wasn't a threat to the kingdom. Though, the night princess did want to have a talk with the hybrid pony later. As for Cozy Glow, the pegasus filly had left for her room before the meeting, with the souvenir I had gotten for her.

"That was eventful," said Cobalt Rush.

I nodded in agreement. "It certainly was," I said.

Right now, we had arrived at the Training Area.

"Well, it's time for you to meet the others," I said. I then took a deep breath. "Everyone, stop what you're doing now!"

That got everyone's attention.

"What is it, your majesty?" asked Patchwork.

Seeing as I had everyone's attention, I directed a hoof at the hybrid pony. "Everyone, I would like you all to meet the newest recruit into the Eclipse Guards, Cobalt Rush. He'll be joining us starting today," I introduced. I pointed a hoof at each of them. "Cobalt Rush, meet Patchwork, Gilda, Starry Dream, and Lime Strike."

They each had given off their own greeting in response once each of their names were called out. The female griffin was there because in the letter, I told her that she can get paid for being one of my guards. Gilda had then packed up her stuff and headed for Equestria. I helped her find an apartment room just like with the hybrid pony.

"Now then, Cobalt Rush. Patchwork will be your sparring partner," I said. I looked at both Cobalt Rush and the patchwork pony. "If you're both okay with that, I mean."

He nodded. "Of course, your majesty," said Patchwork.

"It'd be interesting to fight against somepony like them," said the hybrid pony.

I smiled. "Great. Take your positions, you two," I said.

The two of them trotted out onto a spacious field across from one another, staring down at each other, waiting to make the first move.

"And...go!" I exclaimed.

The two ponies galloped towards each other.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Cobalt Rush belongs to @askcobaltrush.

[charliemwrites]

Part 3 for Nikto with his… handler? Living god? Owner? Who knows, certainly not the reader.

Content: Sexual Desire (Wet Dreams), Codependency, Mild Injury/Violence, Mentions of Dissociation

Snuggle in, you tell him. Every night, clockwork, a signal to calm, settle, rest. Leave the blood and bone of the day behind.

Like he’s not a man who barely remembers he’s alive most days. Like he doesn’t turn to you blooming human, a plant to sunlight. All because you tell him to.

Snuggle in, you bid, tugging at his thick bicep. Your fingers don’t even curl halfway around it. He’s huge, even without all the gear. Or maybe because he's out of his gear.

Snuggle in, you coo. A guilty part of you preens at the way his head cocks at that turn of phrase. He never hesitates to climb into the bed you’ve shared since he made himself yours. There’s really no choice but to snuggle on such a small mattress, but he still lets you move him, teddy bear-like, to the most comfortable position.

“You’re warm,” you hum, because he needs to remember his heart is beating, pumping blood. That he’s not a corpse.

“Too warm?” He asks.

“No,” you sigh happily.

He lies on his side tonight, always between you and the door. You pluck at the front of his t-shirt, urging him closer, away from the edge of the bed. It feels like you’re constantly coaxing him away from an edge. He always comes willingly at least.

His heavy arm drapes across your waist, as robotic as a cuddle can be. You don’t mind, he’s still getting used to this. Knows how to provide you comfort but not how to take it in for himself. He'll settle, you know, always does. Virtues of sleep melting all his harsh, rigid lines.

You wrap both your legs around one of his. Rock-like muscle flexes, twitches, settles. He’s wearing just his underwear and a t-shirt; he’s hard again.

You understand why he said no. Aren’t even all that disappointed. Not for your own sake, anyway. For his, perhaps a little. Wish he’d treat his body with more than just obligation, but small steps. One at a time. For now, you’ve got him here, warm, his breaths already lengthening in preparation to sleep.

You stroke your hand along his ribs like soothing a horse. It’s more for yourself than him, a silent affirmation that you’re both here and safe and bedding down for the night. Count the bumps of scars - one… two-three, four… and five. Five-and-a-half at his hip.

His cock twitches against your lower stomach. It feels thick. Big. You squeeze his hip and tuck your arm between your bodies again.

“Were you ever ticklish?” you ask.

“No.”

You snort in amusement and press your forehead to his chest. Feel his heart beating slow-steady. Always so, so calm. Inhumanly so. You never fall into the trap of letting yourself think he’s anything but a man.

“What do you want to dream about tonight?” you pipe up again.

You don’t know why you’ve started asking this. Maybe to remind him that he’s not dying for a short while. Maybe to figure out something of his mind, still so unfathomable to you. Maybe just to get his voice in your ear as one last nightcap.

“Winter,” he answers. “Snow.”

You make a soft noise. “I think I want to dream of that too.”

You do dream of winter, and snow. You dream of green-black trees and swathes of frost crystal. And you dream of Nikto. A smudge of black with ice chips for eyes.

You reach for him, drag him down to a pillow of snow with you. Even in sleep, he yields for you, doughy and soft. Drapes himself over you, clucking about the temperature until you shush him with kisses snuck between his shirt and mask. You press and pull, want him close, want him...

"Are you alright?"

You blink into the darkness, at ice chip eyes and a patchwork jaw of scars and stubble. Nikto's mouth is pressed thin, worried. A canine peaks out from a scar that healed poorly despite your best efforts, skin tugged back into a permanent little snarl. His canines always look so sharp.

"You were... having nightmare?" He drops articles when he’s tired. You must have woken him. Part of you despairs at ruining his sleep; he gets so little of it.

You lick your dry lips, swallow past an equally dry throat. There's a noticeable stickiness between your thighs. A needy ache throughout your pelvis. You're nearly shaking.

"Um," you rasp, rubbing at your face. "Not a... it was just intense."

His brow furrows a bit. This tiny line that emphasizes a jagged mark over his forehead. You trace over it absently, nearly grind down on his thigh again when you see how his pupils dilate further.

"Alright?" he asks again. Always so worried. So expressive with you, for you.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you sit up slowly, carefully. He sits back with you, eyes sharp as he looks for injuries, as if someone snuck in and attacked you while he slept. "Just need a drink."

He makes room for you to climb out of bed. You wish you could grab a spare pair of underwear on your way, but you can feel his eyes burning on your back. Don't want him to feel... pressured? Awkward? You swallow your lust and stumble into the bathroom.

A cold splash of water shocks you more awake but also cools your blood.

It’s been a long time since you got yourself off. Nikto all but lives in your pocket now; and whenever you do have privacy, you’re usually too tired to bother with getting off. Some days it’s all you can do to brush your teeth before collapsing in bed.

Not right now though. Right now you want to do sinful things to the man who’s entrusted you with his fragile psyche.

Fuck.

You rub at your eyes, discard of your soaked panties in the hamper. You’ll grab a new pair in the morning and just spend the rest of the night commando.

When you climb into bed again, Nikto is still wide awake, waiting for your return. You crawl in with him, chilled now.

“Better?” He asks, almost hesitant.

The heat of him seeps into you like honey, a sweet drizzle down your spine, diffusing through your bones. Sleep is already dragging at you again.

“Mhm,” you sigh. You don’t wrap your legs around him this time. But you can’t help hooking your calf around his, ankles locked together.

“Alright,” he whispers, almost to himself.

You hum, fingers curling loose around his wrist. “Settle in, Nikto. I’m okay.”

You fall asleep with your head against his tricep. This time you dream of nesting birds.

—

Anger, like most strong emotion, is something you thought a bit beyond Nikto. Not that he doesn’t feel it, more that the dissociation mutes it all. Makes it into something vague in his mind, a vivid color desaturated to pastel.

You were wrong. Or maybe you’re right in every other instance except this one.

The circumstances brew up a storm like so:

Kortac has sent you (and by default, Nikto) with a small team to yet another military base. Mundane by all accounts.

You and Nikto bunk together, also by default. (“Snuggle in,” you chide as he glares at the door. It’s not your door; it’s not your base. It makes him twitchy. It even seems like he hesitates for a moment before climbing in.)

You, by virtue of being novel and shiny and discouraged, are viewed as a tempting commodity. Think you even hear one of the men you’re supposed to be working with mutter “dibs” to someone else. Also pretty mundane.

What is not mundane is someone seeing Nikto at your side and apparently thinking, that’s a place I want to insert myself uninvited.

The clouds roll in at the gym. You’re setting up the squat rack while Nikto finishes up his last set of pull-ups. (You’re trying not to ogle. You might be failing.)

Someone sidles up to behind you, just in the corner of your eye. Standing closer than a perfect stranger should. You think it’s Aksel and turn, wondering if he’s already done with cardio. Instead, you find a man you’re only mildly acquainted with.

You’ve run some drills with him, saw him in a briefing two days ago. But you’re generally so wrapped up in the microcosm you and Nikto have formed that you don’t even remember his name.

“Need a spotter?” He asks, smiling.

You shift your weight back, trying to put more distance between you two. It’s strange. Nikto stands even closer than he is on a regular basis and you’d feel bereft if he didn’t. But this… feels invasive.

“No, I have someone,” you reply, perfectly polite. “But thank you.”

“Ah, you mean the Nobody?” The man chuckles. You clench your teeth. “Someone else ought to get a turn, no? Your teammates said you are not romantic.”

You frown. Whatever they said, you’re sure that was not the verbatim answer. You don’t know what you and Nikto are — it’s something that defies any language you know. But it’s certainly beyond “romantic”.

(Waking deep in the night, sweating and panting and aching for the man already awake, worried for you. Dreams plagued with pale blue eyes and scars that still ache. Phantom sensations of skin that only breathes in the safety of your room.)

“No,” you answer, “Nikto is my partner.”

A shadow passes behind him, Nikto returning to your side, faithful as always. His eyes don’t even flick towards the other man.

The man, however, locks eyes on him and sneers.

“What, does your guard dog bite?” He mocks. “You don’t owe it anything just because it humps your leg.”

Your temper flares, white hot and mean. “The only dog here is the one yapping for attention.”

Anger ripples across his face, he tenses like he’s going to move. The start of some derogatory name on his tongue.

And then between one blink and the next, he’s on the floor and Nikto is standing over him. Metal flashes beneath the lights; a wicked knife held in Nikto’s tight fist. The man isn’t getting back up any time soon though, he’s bleeding from… somewhere on his face. You can’t tell with the way he’s covering it.

“Knife away,” you tell Nikto quietly.

It’s gone in an instant.

You hook two fingers in a chest strap and tug. “We’re done in here.”

He follows you out, silent as ever. Follows without question or complaint until you stop between buildings. Let out a sigh.

“Fuck that guy,” you huff, running a hand down your face.

“I could still gut him,” he offers.

You’d laugh if you didn’t know he meant it wholeheartedly.

“He deserves it for what he said about you,” you mutter.

Nikto cocks his head, stares. Doesn’t understand, you realize.

You shake off the last of your ire and turn your full attention to him. Step in close and take his gloved hand in both of yours. The same one that had held the knife. There’s a little smear of blood on the knuckles.

“I don’t know what anyone says about me,” you explain. “You know who I am, and that’s all that matters.”

His eyes bounce between yours, something stunned in smooth skin around his eyes. You smile a bit.

“But what I won’t abide is anyone trying to take your humanity from you. Not ever again, you hear me?”

He mask moves like he wants to speak, but no sound comes out. You wait a moment to see if he’s just picking his words, but nothing comes. After a long moment, he just blinks, and you continue.

“You protect me, right?” He nods instantly. You tilt your head. “Well, I take care of you. You let me decide how to do that, yeah?”

His voice comes out shredded. “Yes.”

You hum, pleased. “C’mon, let’s get a bite to eat.”

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Masterlist

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: The Next Time We Fall Asleep, We Could Die! [Yandere Demon!Dabi x Reader]

Title: The Next Time We Fall Asleep, We Could Die! [Yandere Demon!Dabi x Reader]

Synopsis: You try not to fall asleep--and it fails spectacularly.

For Horrorfest request: sleep paralysis demon dabi x reader please?

Word count: 700ish

notes: yandere, non-graphic sexual assault

The bedsheets underneath you are rumpled and ill-used, tossing and turning with your body as you try desperately to stay awake while still getting something like rest. An online blog said–and you hoped it was true–that if you laid down in bed and simply rested, you’d get the benefits of taking an actual power nap.

And sure, you were trying to replace your 8-square-hours-a-night with fake naps, but it had to help. Even just a little. Just a tad, just a titch. If it didn’t, well, it meant you were finally going out of your fucking mind.

But you couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You won’t. You lift your head and slam it down on the pillow to prove your point. To keep yourself awake, too. 

Because if you fall asleep, o God, if you fall asleep, you know he’ll come for you. O God, he would pin you down and make you scream and cry, and–

O God, you think, pressing your head against the cool pillow, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

“Do you always quote Hamlet when you fall asleep, or are you just feeling extra pretentious today?” A voice drawls in your ear, and no, no-no-no-no-no-no–

You can’t move an inch. Can’t do so much as blink, even. Your eyes are stuck open wide, staring into the darkness, and you smell him before you see him; the acrid smoke that sticks inside your nostrils like tar, no matter how many times you desperately breathe out, snorting like a child having a tantrum.

And then you see him, the whites of his teeth gleaming with his grin as he straddles you, body impossibly heavy as he keeps you pinned to the bed. Not that you can struggle, anyway; during these dreams, these nightmares, you can’t do so much as wiggle a finger. Move a muscle. Open your mouth to scream for help or beg for mercy that won’t come.

“You’re so cute like this,” he says, breathing hot air into your face. Everything about him is warm. His body, his breath, the touch of his fingers as they roam across your skin. He’s burned, you know that; burned and stapled up, a patchwork of stitches.

“You’re like a pretty doll for me to play with. You like that, don’t you?” 

You don’t. You want to scream this in his face. Or beg him to leave you alone. But you don’t even have the privilege of doing that. Instead you’re stuck, silent, immobile, unable to do anything but stare helplessly as he does whatever he wants with you.

He grins wider, and you swear his smile splits, but it’s so hard to tell in the dark. That’s where he always keeps you, in the dark, on your bed, underneath him as he touches and pokes and everything always leads to the same eventuality: him inside you, warm and heavy and too rough, and it’s the only time your body moves during the whole ordeal. 

Not because you gain any control over it, but because the force of his thrusts force your body to shift on the sheets, a cold sweat sticking to your back by the end of it.

Sometimes it feels like he keeps you for days instead of hours. But every time you wake up, body drenched and sore like you’ve been struggling against an impossible force in your sleep, it’s always simply the next morning. 

A simple nightmare, that’s all, you’ve told yourself time and time again. But simple nightmares don’t leave your muscles aching for days. Simple nightmares don’t waft the lingering scent of cigarette smoke over your pillowcase. 

Simple nightmares don’t always end with the same exact thing–the scarred demon kissing your cheek and crooning out,

“See you tomorrow night, yeah?”