lb_lee: A pencil sketch of me drawing/writing in my sketchpad. (art)
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This story was prompted by [livejournal.com profile] rolodexaspirin and [livejournal.com profile] thnidu, who requested terror porn and riding the Nightmare, respectively.  It was sponsored by... I think it was Unimaginative of Mammoth!  Enjoy!


Fear Itself

She’d had nightmares as long as she could remember, mostly existential despair dreams of monotonous classrooms and people without faces.  She’d always hated them.  There was no drama in that kind of nightmare, not even proper fear, just perpetual tedium and life devoid of meaning.  What she wanted was terror, horror, and luscious, voluptuous despair.  Preferably with monsters.

She’d always liked monsters.  It was totally acceptable to scream and flee and be theatrical around monsters, and they’d always seemed more reliable and relatable than people.  People were always so unemotive and bland.

Somewhere around puberty, though, the monsters had come in, and she’d stopped dreading the nightmares.  On the contrary, she’d grown to perversely enjoy them, secure in the knowledge that the terrors were safe and couldn’t do anything to her but get her heart pumping a bit and make her feel.

Over the years, she started spending her nights actively seeking out the monsters, fleeing the mechanical workplace and happy families for the bleak forests in the wilderness of her mind.  She found a lot of monsters, but something about them seemed wrong, flat, and that just wasn’t satisfying.  Over the years, she became certain that they weren’t real monsters at all, just cardboard cut-outs created by the one real monster, the one in her core.  From there, she was sure, came all the fun nightmares, and for years, she spent her nights searching for it.

Until one day, she found it.

Oh, it was a glorious nightmare, that one, full of darkness and terror.  She’d fled through a never-ending series of doors and halls and found herself in a hedge maze.  It was one she’d had many times before, a classic, and normally by now she would’ve collapsed in delicious weeping until she woke up.  But this time, she was determined to make it through, prove herself worthy, and she kept going through passage after passage until she’d finally reached the center.  And there, she found him.

Of course, being a dream creature, his shape was a little hard to pin down.  An amorphous wraith of black smoke, vaguely humanoid in shape, she had never seen him before, but she instantly knew him.  After so many years of searching, she’d finally found him: not a, but The nightmare.  Her nightmare.

Was she afraid?  Oh yes.  And she liked it.

They didn’t speak.  Why would they need to?  He knew her most intimate fears, her most private dreams, and she knew he’d been watching them and crafting them just for her for years.

He didn’t keep a solid shape; that would’ve been no fun at all.  He wrapped around her, a cool, tingling darkness, threatening playfully to suffocate her, and she embraced him with all her heart.  After so many years of wanting, she planned to ride her nightmare for all he was worth.

He grew warm at her touch, expanded and squeezed until she was immobile, and she gave him the shrieks and struggle she knew he so loved.  Fought him, gave him a challenge, proved to him that she wouldn’t kick and scream for just anyone.

When he entered her, it hurt in the most perfect wonderful way, and when she screamed, he poured down her throat to taste it.  Even immobile and bound, she loved the sense of power, knowing it was her making her nightmare hot and solid and moving with desperate desire.  She was what he wanted.  She was what he’d wanted all along.

And now, she was finally letting him have her.  No more running away from the monsters.  Now she was running into them, through them, and as he filled her and got frantic, she grinned even as she cried, taking him for all he had.

She half-expected to wake up when she came but she didn’t.  He was too polite for that; he even made sure she finished first before coming in a gush of smoke and projections.  He curled over her skin, cooling now, and brushed over her lips and forehead with a satisfied vent of steam.  She had pleased him.

And as she wrapped him around her to cuddle, she knew she would never dread any nightmares again.  She would always come back to him, waiting for her deep in her core.  After all, he was hers.

Date: 2014-08-19 06:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rolodexaspirin.livejournal.com
Well I got to the end and realized I was blushing.

So I think you managed to nail it pretty nicely, yes.
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