#tw sleep paralysis

[fern-writes-whump]

Oh my god how have I not talked about nightmares yet?? It has to be one of my favourite tropes ever

Oh we have more than one bed? Too bad I had a nightmare come here

Nightmares getting so frequent that poor whumpee decides to straight up stop sleeping. Which. They obviously fail miserably at because now they're just collapsing in the middle of the day

Waking up screaming bloody murder and scaring the shit out of caretaker

Waking up screaming and making whumper even more mad <3

Not being able to tell if they're awake or not

Just sleep paralysis in general

Waking up from a nightmare convinced they're still in whumper's clutches

Having a nightmare where caretaker is hurting them and not wanting to explain why they're so skittish around them all of a sudden

Just.. ✨️nightmares✨️

#whump #whump prompt #whump thoughts #whump scenarios #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #nightmares #tw nightmares #tw sleep paralysis #fern whumps

[bamsara]

oh yeah I woke up with paralyized arm this morning and it was the neatest and freakiest thing. Arm was limp and I was unable to move it or any of my fingers, I  didn’t have a tingling sensation, couldnt feel pain on that arm and it was essentially dead still weight laying next to me even though my brain was telling it to move. I could pick it up with my other arm and it would just heavy drop back to the bed

very slowly over like two minutes i was able to slightly move my fingers and then my wrist and then get the rest of my movement back. Apperently its either ‘partial sleep paralysis’ or a compressed nerve that does that while sleeping on it and its pretty much harmless lmao like the brain hasnt sent the signal to the nerves to wake up yet, or the signal gets inturrupted until it’s able to reconnect and thats neat af.

anyway now I have sleep paralysis ideas for comics

#sara shush #tw sleep paralysis #ngl at first i freaked out because I've had brain and nerve damage before in the past but then i realized that it couldnt have been related #anyway this shit facinates me like bro how the brain talks to the rest of the body is nuts #you got your whole actaul body in YOUR HEAD #THATS where your touch smell hearing taste movements yada yada is processed not your other body parts #anyway i have ideas for a comic with moon concerning sleep paralysis now but idk if anyone would be interested in it #funny af im like wide awake staring at my arm like YOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[sappho-favourite-pupil]

Pov: you had a sleep paralysis, but it's late night, and you don't feel like bothering your relatives and friends to ask for help 🫠

#tw sleep paralysis #tw sleep disorder #tw ptsd and bad past experiences implied

[scullysexual]

15.02

Febuwhump Day 15: "I'll be here the whole night, okay? Nothing can get you while I'm here." Sleepy scenarios. Irresistible. TW: Sleep paralysis. AO3. @today-in-fic

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

You are in that white room. Laying against the cold, metal operating table. Unable to move your body, your eyes dart around in its place. It is quiet. Where are all the men? Where is Mulder?

A shadow falls over you and your eyes follow in its direction.

Mulder’s bedroom, eyes still open. You still can’t move, you can’t speak. It is happening again. You try to clench your fist like Mulder taught you, try to will yourself out of this hold, concentrating so hard to unbind yourself from this paralysis.

A cold sweat overcomes you. The shadow is in the room with you. You can’t look away, eyes drawn towards it. You can only try to scream- you hear yourself screaming in your head- as the eyes of Donnie Pfaster stare down at you.

A light is switched on and Pfaster is gone.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you hear Mulder say beside you. Your eyes flick to him hovering above you.

The hold on you is released. You can move and speak again. You crash towards his body and sob, your cries muffled against his shoulder. His hand slips from your fist to circle around your back, holding you as he soothes you.

Eventually the cries subside and you pull away. Mulder wipes the remaining tears from your face.

“Sleep paralysis, huh?” he says.

“I hate it,” you answer with a sniffle.

He holds you again and your eyes close, your body thoroughly exhausted.

“Will it happen again?” he asks.

You shrug, praying it wouldn’t but it probably will.

He lays down and guides you to do the same. You lie close, face to face.

“I’ll be here the whole night, okay? Nothing can get you while I’m here.” He lets out a breath. “You sleep, Scully.”

“And what if it happens again?”

He smiles softly. “I’ll wake up sooner.” He presses a kiss against your forehead. “Sleep, baby.”

You close your eyes, letting the sleep surround you and pull you under. Your last conscious thought is of how comforting he smells.

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #tw sleep paralysis #day 15 #febuwhump 23 #scullysexualwrites

[little-peril-stories]

The Prince of Thieves: As Good as Gold, and Better: Part III

Contains: sleep paralysis, angst, awkward almostflirting

Previous | TPOT Masterlist | Read on Ao3 instead

Word count: 4900 || Approx reading time: 20 mins

Best read after Part I and Part II. An object mentioned in here also features in Box in Your Heart, but it's not required reading. This is the last part. Happy holidays! 💕✨

As Good as Gold, and Better: Part III

Teaser: It was a stupid idea to stay up late, because sleep is good for you or whatever, but more than that, I know what to expect when I’m that tired. Too tired.

Will

I can be a real dumbass, as everyone likes to remind me, and sometimes I jump headfirst into shit because I’m not thinking. Other times, though, I know I’m setting myself up for pain, and I do it anyway.

That’s what happened last night. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to stay up all night to finish carving and add all the last touches to make it perfect, but I kind of didn’t realize just how little time I had to do that, and suddenly it was Christmas Eve and it wasn’t done and I had to get it done, and so I did it, and then it was well past midnight and light was almost ready to creep across the sky and I was only just falling into bed.

It was a stupid idea to stay up late, because sleep is good for you or whatever, but more than that, I know what to expect when I’m that tired. Too tired.

And it did happen. I half-fell asleep and that feeling slithered over my entire body, the one where I can’t move and some invisible weight sits on my chest and that awful goddamn rushing noise screams in my ears. The first time, months ago, when we were still at Colette’s place, I had no fucking clue what was going on. I thought I was dying. I tried to move my arms or yell for Jamie or do fucking anything, and I just couldn’t.

The only thing I could do was be there and lie still because I had no choice, while the air screeched past my head, rushing and whooshing, and sometimes, if I was real tired and it was real bad, I’d hear his voice. Your name, boy. Tell me your name.

Things are never perfect—don’t we know it—but they’re better now. And last night when my arms and legs froze, and that pressure built up in my chest, and I wanted to yell and scream, I remembered. I knew I couldn’t. And I knew none of it—the voice, the rushing wind, the invisible hand trying to squeeze the breath right out of me—was real.

I tried to remember to breathe, and it was hard.

And I focussed on one hand, one finger, and I tried to get it to shift just a bit, and it was hard.

And I held on to the thought of tomorrow, which was coming, because I wasn’t dying, and I knew I’d be there to give Bree her Christmas gift, and that…that was easy.

And the noise quieted, and my finger twitched, and I could breathe, and I was fully awake again. And when I fell asleep for real, there were no dreams. For once.

At least the others seem to recognize that waking me up early would be a bad idea, so when I open my eyes, the sun’s been up for hours.

“Merry Christmas,” Jamie says, laughing, when I finally drag myself out of bed. “What time did you finally quit?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Who knows how many bells chimed around the time I finally got to sleep? “It was late.”

Going downstairs is a mistake. It’s a madhouse down there—kids everywhere, all churched out from the morning, shrieking and opening presents and getting food everywhere, and Stella’s looking like she’s going to blow up at any second, and even if I wanted to talk to Bree, there’s no way I can get more than a few words out of her.

“Come on,” Colette says, tugging at my arm. “Let’s go back upstairs. We can finish the book.”

No, thanks.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” I say, and it probably hurts her feelings a little, but if I can’t even talk to the person I’m down here for, then what’s the point? “Get some fresh air.”

If she is hurt, she hides it, but there is something else on her face. Concern. “Want me to come along?”

“You gonna read to me if you do?” I get a hearty eye-roll in response, and she tries to flick me on the ear. Tries. I jerk out of the way. “Too slow.”

“Next time, watch out,” she threatens, and I have to laugh.

So my need for fresh air and quiet turns into a family walk, which is fine because they’re all caught up in their own stuff anyway—Geoff and Jamie coaxing birds to eat bread crumbs out of their hands, Colette and Allan talking about the book she’s been reading to us like it hasn’t already been written for years and there’s anything remotely interesting to debate or question. It’s a relief to get away from the craziness of the inn, from the heat and closeness of air that feels a bit too much like having that weight on my chest while I try to fall asleep. It hasn’t snowed in a few days, but the ground has stayed blanketed in white, and even though it’s now all pocked with footprints, it’s still nice. Pretty, even. And it’s so much better to be in a place with less noise and no walls.

After he runs out of bread crumbs, Jamie leaves Geoff staring silently at a cardinal and stands beside me. “You all right?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m just tired,” I say, and a yawn cracks through. He doesn’t know about the sleeping thing, the hearing noises and not being able to move. Doesn’t seem worth it to worry him, now that I’ve kind of figured out how to deal with it.

“Well,” he says, “maybe you should have gone to bed at a reasonable hour?”

“I wasn’t done.”

I keep my eyes on the cloudy sky, like I’m scanning it for signs of snow, but honestly, I just don’t want to look at him while he says, “It’s pretty important to you, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I guess. Yeah. Sort of. Whatever.”

Somewhere nearby, Colette starts giggling.

“Oh, come on.” Jamie turns to her, sounding pretty exasperated, but I don’t know what his problem is. “Can you just lay off?”

For whatever reason, he’s launching into older-brother defensiveness, but he doesn’t need to worry about me. I’ve got this.

“Honestly, Alpha, you’re such a—”

Colette cuts off mid-sentence, interrupted by a shrill squeal when she has to duck out of the way of the snowball I send flying toward her head.

“Too slow!” she yelps, hurling my own taunt back at me, and then we all hold perfectly still for a moment, staring at each other, deciding what to do.

Well, they might be deciding what to do. I’m making my plan of attack.

Colette catches my eye, and I know I’ve got at least one worthy opponent in this annoying, sorry bunch.

“You’re all mad!” Allan wails, leaping out of the way when Colette dives down to make her own snowball, Geoff does the same, and Jamie darts to my side.

“Pick a team!” Colette orders. “You’re with me and Geoff, or you’re with them, doctor. Make up your mind quick!”

She dodges too slowly this time, and I catch her right on the shoulder, sending an explosion of snow across her coat. She shrieks and throws, and then I’m spitting snow out of my face, icy and sharp but exhilarating.

If I was looking for something to wake me up, this is it.

“Oh, in the face!” she whoops. “That’s gotta be worth at least ten points!”

“Points?” Allan repeats. Looks like he’s picked the wrong side—hers. “How do the points work?”

Smirking, Colette says, “Oh, just pick any number you like and it’ll work out. Will can’t count anyway, so—”

Goddamn, she’s really asking for it now.

Too late to dodge, she turns and I land a hit square in the centre of her back. “How’s that for a ten-pointer?”

“Ha! That’s six, at most.” Slapping a snowball into Allan’s hands, she demands, “Are you going to help me kick his ass, or what?” She scoops up more snow, taking aim at me. “Ready for defeat?”

“In your dreams,” I say, lifting my arm, too, and we both let loose our weapons at the same time.

Maybe it’s silly.

Maybe we are, as Allan says indignantly when we’re walking back dripping in sweat and melted snow, too old to be acting like violent hooligans. (I leave it to Colette to cheerily remind him that we’ve been violent hooligans from the moment he met us.)

“Oh, please,” she says haughtily when he tries to argue. (Dumbass move on his part. Hasn’t he learned yet?) “Weren’t you listening last night? ‘It is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas.’”

Whatever the hell she’s talking about, it shuts him up.

Maybe I should’ve put my coat back on and tried to fix my sweat-damp hair before barging into Stella’s inn and getting snow all over the floor when it falls off my clothes and boots.

“You’ll be cleaning that up yourself,” says Stella sharply, and she doesn’t back down even when I give her my best attempt at a rueful grin.

Maybe it makes me smile, even chuckle, when Bree’s eyes widen and her cheeks turn kind of pink when I walk through the door.

“What on earth—” she starts, but from somewhere upstairs, Celeste calls for “Lucy,” and Bree shakes her head, tosses me a cloth to wipe our wet footprints so Stella doesn’t kill me, and then vanishes, laughing.

Maybe it’s okay to have a little fun, because fuck it. It’s Christmas.

***

“You’re looking more civilized.” At first, Bree’s leaning against the wall by the Christmas tree with her eyes closed, but at the sound of me walking toward her, her eyes flutter open. God, she looks so damn tired. I wonder what time she woke up this morning. Whenever it was, she’s still not too tired to make a gentle, light-hearted jab. “Less like a rat who got stuck in a snowbank.”

“Uh, rude?” I settle down next to her. She looks, yet again, like she’s been run absolutely ragged, which I guess is true. But I kind of like the way her hair’s all mussed again, especially now that she’s tugged it out of its braid so it’s all wavy around her face. She’s using her fingers to comb it, which I’ve seen her do before, but so often it’s been this fast, nervous sort of motion she does when she’s worried. Today it’s calm, close to sleepy. That, and that she’s let it down at all even though we’re in the common area and Stella would probably not appreciate such—what’s the word? It’s in my head somewhere, starts with I—impropriety, makes me smile. It’s nice to see her relaxed. Not scared, not worried, not harried. At ease. And—do I dare say it?—happy.

She smiles at the fake touchiness. “What can I say? That’s what you looked like. What were you even doing out there?”

I stare at her in shock. Is she for real? “What do you think we were all doing?”

“Rolling around in the snow, I can only assume.”

No—she can’t be serious. “Haven’t you ever been in a snowball fight before?”

The fact that she even has to think about it—lifting her gaze a little, pursing her lips, tilting her head as she tries to remember if she’s ever thrown a goddamn snowball before—tells me her answer. “Holy shit. You never have, have you?”

“I was never allowed to play outside like that!” she says defensively. “My father wouldn’t have ever let me play rough with the other kids.”

I don’t like thinking about her nasty dad and all the ways he fucked her up. “You’ve seen one, though, right? A snowball fight?”

“I mean, I suppose so.” She shrugs. “Am I really missing much?”

“Well,” I say, scratching my chin, “knowing that a chunk of ice might accidentally take your eye out if a snowball hits you in the face does kind of make you feel alive. So that’s something you’re missing out on.”

It’s dim in here now that most folks have gone to bed; the fire’s dying and the room is quiet, so there’s not much noise to drown out her laugh. It’s a bit like the sound of bells, which I guess is appropriate for Christmas Day, even if it is almost over. “Well. You’ve certainly made it sound appealing.” She shakes her head. “So, are you going to tell me why I’m not allowed to go upstairs to bed yet?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, come on. You can’t figure it out?”

She blinks at me, getting all pink again like she did earlier. She opens her mouth, closes it again, twists her hair back into a knot behind her head, then says quickly, “No. I don’t know. Why?”

“I gotta give you your Christmas present.” The second I say it, I want to die a little. Why does it suddenly sound so childish? Allan kept saying that the snowball fight was immature and silly, but compared to this moment, it feels like it was downright dignified.

Colette’s stupid quote echoes in my head. Never better than at Christmas.

The pink flush in her face darkens to a deep shade of red. “Real—really?”

“I’m not a liar,” I say, which is maybe the wrong thing to say because, for a moment, my throat tightens, and Bree’s face falls.

But it passes, and she leaps to her feet. “Hold on for just a minute, all right?”

“What?” I gape at her as she runs toward the stairs. “I just said I’m giving you a present! Where are you going?”

“Just hold on,” she repeats, and then she’s gone, leaving me alone in the dying light of the common room to just wait for her to come back.

Shit, shit, shit. Maybe this was a damn stupid idea, and maybe she’s not coming back, and maybe it’s weird that I want to give her a Christmas gift at all, and maybe—

Maybe that’s the sound of rapid footsteps pattering down the stairs.

“Sorry!” she gasps, out of breath when she returns. Trying to tame her hair was apparently pointless; it’s slipped out of the knot again. “I just—I wasn’t expecting you—well, or anyone, and I—I wasn’t sure if—”

Trying to follow all the sentences she started and didn’t finish is making me dizzy. “Huh?”

“I have something for you, too!” And goddamn, she’s holding something in her hands, wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. It’s so neat and tidy, it must have already been prepared. No way she made it look so damn nice just now. “M—um—” She offers the parcel. “Merry Christmas.”

For a second, I don’t know what to do.

“Take it,” she says uncertainly. “It’s not much. I don’t have a lot of free…” She falters, still red. “I mean, if you don’t—you don’t have to, of course—if you’re not—”

My brain starts working again. “Shit. Sorry. Too many snowballs to the face.”

Biting her lip, she guesses, “Jamie?” That makes me laugh—as if—so she tries again, “Geoff?”

“Colette,” I admit, a little sheepishly. “She can be vicious when she wants to be.”

“Oh, I remember.”

This time, the silence only lasts for a moment or two before we both have to laugh. Of course she remembers. The first time we met, Colette threatened her with a knife.

“Please take it,” she says. Still holding out her gift. “Just—it’s really not much, so…”

I reach behind me for my own neatly wrapped parcel. I can’t take any credit for how nice it looks, though. I made Colette wrap it up all pretty, the least she could do after pummelling me outside—which would never have happened if I’d had a proper night's sleep, by the way—so what could have been a lumpy, wrinkled disaster is instead sharply creased and drawn on with cute little illustrations, stars and trees and such. “Okay. Thank you.” It’s then I realize she’s still standing. “Sit down! You were running around all day.”

She sits, brushing the wayward hair that keeps falling forward behind her ear. “You open yours first.”

I almost argue, but something earnest and insistent in her eyes stops me. Silently, I pick at the string until it comes undone, pretending I can’t see the way she’s smiling and bouncing her leg up and down out of the corner of my eye, and finally, I unwrap the gift inside.

“I just noticed you always steal Jamie’s,” she says quickly, before I’ve even really processed what I’m looking at. “That’s why—I mean, you seem to like it, and the colour is so nice on y—I mean, it’s a really nice colour. So I thought you should have your own.”

A green scarf, just like Jamie’s.

No, better.

“Damn!” I say, holding it up. She bursts into a laugh at that. “Seriously? You made this?”

“Well, yes,” she says. “I—it’s not that impressive, it’s just knitting, but—”

“The hell do you mean? I can’t knit.” Not that Colette hasn’t tried to teach me. Well, offered. Never really got far enough to do much teaching. “It’s great.”

Her smile widens, but she still bites her lip and asks, “Do you actually like it?”

I loop it around my neck, fingering the straight lines of the ends and the grey fringe dangling there. “Of course I do.” It’s soft, not scratchy. I wonder if the wool was expensive. I sure as hell hope not. “Jamie’ll be happy, too.”

“As long as you like it.” She pauses then, looking me over. “It—it looks nice.” Maybe it’s just the light, but I think her face is turning red. “Does it feel okay? Is it too long?”

“Bree…” She pauses, playing with her hair again, when I interrupt. “It’s perfect.” Now my face is getting hot, too. “Wanna open yours?”

Holding out my hand, box perched on my palm, feels like stretching across an ocean, and I’m not sure why. But she reaches out, too, and accepts. God, I think I’m sweating; maybe I shouldn’t have put on the scarf. It must be warm in here.

She starts to untie Colette’s pretty little bow, then stops. “What does this say?”

“What does what say?” I ask, frowning.

She squints down at something that is unmistakably written in Colette’s hand. “You didn’t write this?”

“No,” I admit, annoyed to have been busted. “I got Colette to wrap it for me after she kicked my ass in the snowball fight.” She’s fighting back a laugh again, damn it. “What’d she write?”

She purses her lips, trying to make out the words in the dimness, I guess. “‘Christmas time…a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time…when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely.’”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Already I’m imagining what I’m going to do to Colette for writing cryptic literary bullshit on my gift.

“I think it’s just a nice Christmas sentiment.” There’s a hitch to her voice. “I suppose it must be from A Christmas Carol?”

I’m sure it is, but the question is why the hell she wrote it there. “Okay, well, whatever. Come on, keep going. See what’s inside.” Colette, or Jamie, too, actually, would be giving me The Look, maybe a smack on the arm, maybe a mutter of, Just be patient, will you? Bree only rolls her eyes and smiles, and soon the paper is crackling open in her hands.

“Oh,” she says softly when she sees. “Will, did you—did you make this?” She gently lifts the wooden bird I busted my ass carving into the light. It doesn’t look so impressive to me, since I’ve spent way too long glaring at it and making it into something fit for human eyes, but she whispers, breathy and almost awed, “You made this?”

Pretending I can’t see a spot where I nicked one of its legs with the blade and left a scar, I say, “Yeah! I’m not entirely useless, you know.”

She fixes me with a long stare. “You’re not useless at all.” She takes her time then, feeling over the grooves that make up the feathers. “It must have taken forever. When did you even have time for this?”

“Some of us are unemployed and only pick up odd jobs delivering Christmas trees for cranky old women,” I say. “So, you know. I had time.” I don’t mean to tell her the next part, but something about leaving it there feels kind of dishonest, and before I know it, I’m spilling out the truth about last night, too. “I mean, I was maybe up all night finishing it ’cause I, uh, kind of ran out of time anyway, but—”

“Oh, is that what you were doing last night?” For a few seconds, she does the staring thing again, then looks away, ducking her chin to inspect the bird even closer. “Why you suddenly disappeared?”

Huh. She was so busy with all those kids, and that tall, blond guy who likes to follow her around, I figured she wouldn’t notice. “Yeah.”

“I thought maybe you…”

“Thought maybe I what?”

“Nothing—I—doesn’t matter. You were making this.” She runs her fingers over the bird again, as if she’s caressing the real, fragile, living and breathing thing. As if the ruts and hollows I carved into feathers are soft and downy to the touch. I must be really tired, because the rhythm of her fingertips running over the bird is almost mesmerizing. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

For some reason, even though I’m hot, a shiver runs up and down my spine. I ignore it. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she returns quietly. “But—you’ve put me and my scarf to shame.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” God, I am sweating. “I told you, it’s perfect. I’ll prove it. It’s fucking hot in here. Let’s go outside for a minute. And you’ll see how nice and warm I am still when we come back in. All thanks to this scarf.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “No! It’s the middle of the night. Too cold.”

“Come on. Just for a minute. Let’s see if it’s snowing.”

And it seems she can’t resist the needling, because she grabs her shawl from the back of her chair and says, “Okay.”

It’s not snowing, which is a shame, because it seems like it should be, these last minutes—hours? Who the hell knows what time it is?—of Christmas Day. But it is a little clear, just enough to see a few stars, anyway.

“I’m not going outside,” she says, already shivering in the doorway. The oddest feeling hits me, this desire to take off the scarf she just gave me and wrap it around her instead. “You’re crazy if you think I am.”

Figuring she’d take offense if I shoved her Christmas gift right back at her, I abandon the bizarre impulse and step out the door backwards, snow squeaking and crunching under my feet, hard-packed from all the traffic the inn has gotten the last few days. “It’s not that bad. See?” I raise my arms, spread wide, as the faintest breeze kicks up around us. It is damn cold, but I’ve committed to this now, so there’s no turning back, I guess. “I’m all nice and cozy and warm in this great scarf I got for Christmas.”

“You’re too much,” she says, but she’s smiling. She tiptoes forward, just a little, and that’s when I notice it.

“Uh…”

When she follows my gaze and sees where I’m looking, she gasps. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

“Who?” I ask, but it’s a dumb question. I guess it’s kind of nice, though, to be pretty certain I’m not the bastard she’s talking about.

She crosses her arms. “Never mind. I didn’t realize he—I’m sorry, he probably hung it up there when I wasn’t looking, and Stella wasn’t looking, and…”

I tell her, “Not like I care,” and I don’t think until after the words are already out that maybe they’re kind of rude, and also maybe they’re not true.

“It’s just a stupid plant,” she says, shuffling away again, right back into the inn. “He only brought it in to chase girls around. And to annoy me. And Stella. It’s not…”

“You don’t have to run away from me,” I say. She’s still shivering. “I’m not going to jump on you just because some poisonous plant told me to.”

An odd look, one I can’t quite read, crosses her face. “It’s poisonous?”

“Yeah. You didn’t know?” When she shakes her head, I glance up at the white berries dangling over us. “Yup. No good for eating. Just for…you know. Dumb Christmas stuff. And…whatever.”

Without meaning to, I’ve moved back toward the door. Like they’re trying to mess me up even more after I promised Bree her scarf would keep me warm even in the winter’s night, my arms are all covered in goosebumps.

“Here,” I say, holding out my hand. “I got a solution.” But Bree doesn’t move. “Really? Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you trust me?”

She nods, reaching for my hand. “Yeah. I…I do.”

It’s funny, this contact. We fell asleep holding hands once. We clung to one another before we raced away from the prison—well, before she made it out, anyway. I remember her squeezing my hands before she ran off to find Jamie, before I never saw her again till a few weeks ago. But it still feels strange to take her fingers in mine. Stranger still to lift them up like I’m some sort of gentleman, a real fucking joke if I’ve ever heard one. But I give her a grin and, before I can lose my nerve or give up on the bit, and press my lips to her hand.

“There,” I say. Still clinging to her fingers. Good news: she hasn’t started shrieking or batting me away or trying to crush my toes beneath her boots, which, if Colette the gossip is to be believed, is apparently a danger. “Now your only kiss under mistletoe wasn’t from that asshole who’s always chasing you around.”

“Oh,” she says, stuttering a bit. “I—um—th—”

I imagined she might get flustered at the sight of me pretending to be some kind of gallant knight, kissing her hand and all, and in my head it was funny. Now, though, I wonder if I’ve gone and fucked everything up somehow.

Bree laughs.

“Well, I hate to say it, but I actually gave that asshole a kiss on the cheek when he cornered me with this nonsense last night.” She makes a face, directing her disdain over our heads. “Perhaps it’s not quite fair.”

“What’s not?”

Quick as a flash, she steps closer, and I figure it out at the last second, right before her lips brush the side of my cheek. And even though I just saw her shivering from the cold, the touch is hot enough to melt a snowdrift into a puddle.

“There,” she says rapidly, already stepping back. “Now…” She blinks. “Now it’s more…fair.”

My brain is doing the not-working thing again, but I think I hear myself say, “Thank you?”

She bursts into giggles, those pealing bells ringing and echoing right through me. “I’m sorry,” she says, hiding behind her hand. “I really am going to kick Henry’s ass.”

“Don’t,” I say, my cheek still burning, but why am I telling her not to kick his ass, again? “I mean, do. Yeah, go for it. I mean…”

I have to take this scarf off before it strangles me.

“Merry Christmas, Will.” Bree’s still holding the bird. And she’s all pink and flushed and embarrassed, but damn if she doesn’t look happy. “I’m, um—I’m going to bed now.”

“I think I will, too,” I say, all too aware of the mistletoe over my head when I pass the threshold back into the inn and close the door.

“Thank you.” The bird. The gift. That’s what she’s thanking me for. “It’s perfect. The best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Probably a lie, right? I mean, there was a time when her family was rich.

She doesn’t look like she’s lying, though.

“Same here,” I tell her, fingering the end of the scarf. But she shakes her head, so I have to go on, “I mean it.”

“You promise?”

I don’t know why it gets real hard to speak then. It is dark, and the middle of the night, and I didn’t get enough sleep, and then there was the whole snowball fight, and if I’m being honest, I feel a bit loopy after everything, like the world is sort of misty and uncertain, like I’ve had too much to drink and done something stupid but I know that’s not it, not right now. And I don’t know why I really need her to understand that yeah, I’m telling the truth, and maybe it’s not just about the scarf. Maybe it’s a little bit of everything.

“Promise.”

Previous | TPOT Masterlist | Read on Ao3 instead

#lps the prince of thieves #lps-christmas #christmas #christmas story #tw sleep paralysis #angst

[teamphobia]

Sleep Paralysis

#ooc #art #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #pokémon irl #pokemon irl #irl pokemon #irl pkmn #pokeblog #pokeblr #pokemedia #pokeposting #tw sleep paralysis #tw bruises

[lover-of-skellies]

Abyss

Yaaaaaaaay, a part two to this, since I had some people seem pretty interested in it. I may have written more than intended and also gotten way more into this than expected, but it's fiiiiiiiiiiine, I'm not even worried about it

Small trigger warning for brief descriptions of drowning and sleep paralysis, since I know those can be upsetting for some people. The sleep paralysis bit probably isn't a huge deal, but the drowning bits have significance, and I really wanna see who's been paying attention to the lore I've been dropping for my guy Lyzer

Gonna tag @isnt-that-something, @thatonepersonwhomadeatumbler, and @distinguished-papyrus-simp, since you guys seemed interested in seeing a part two!

Your first week dragged on, eventually turning into two, and eventually turning into three. You chugged coffee and soda like water, you had all of your alarms set to go off every twenty minutes, and they would all be at their loudest possible volume. Your lights never dimmed, and you'd switched from working daytime hours to working nighttime hours at your job. You were desperate not to sleep, and you'd committed to this. You'd do whatever it took to stay awake, because the next time you fell asleep, you were sure that you would die. 

You'd begun to hear voices when you were home alone, but you never found anyone when you went to investigate, so you chalked it up to your sleep deprived mind playing tricks on you. You were jumpy, you were forgetful, you were hearing things that weren't there, and your basic ability to communicate was gradually fizzling away. Your exhaustion had gotten so bad that you'd developed some complications with speaking, so if you could help it, you opted to stay quiet. 

It was your night off, and you'd curled up on your couch to watch a movie, content with a bowl of popcorn and a blanket. If you got cozy and accidentally dozed off, you had countless alarms to wake you. It'd be fine, you'd be fine, you could do this. As your movie started, you absentmindedly rubbed your eyes, trying to rub away whatever traces of sleepiness lurked there. It wasn't long before you'd gotten completely sucked into your movie, quietly spacing out at the screen and mindlessly picking at your popcorn. Your eyelids began to feel heavy, and you glanced at the clock on your wall. Twenty minutes wouldn't hurt, right? You'd get a little shut-eye, and it wasn't enough time to allow you to slip into the REM cycle. As long as you weren't in a deep enough sleep that allowed for dreams, you'd be safe, and you had the alarms ready to go to guarantee that. 

With much hesitation, you got up and wandered over to the entertainment center, pausing your movie and flinching as the first of the alarms began to go off for that night. Well, at least you knew that one was working. You then went back over to the sofa and nestled into the corner seat again, letting out a deep sigh and pulling your blanket up over yourself. This was fine. You needed this, you really did. Twenty minutes was alright, it wasn't enough time for anything to happen. You would be safe, you'd done this plenty of times already, so you knew exactly what to do. 

Despite not feeling completely comfortable with the situation, you closed your eyes and proceeded to pass out almost immediately. Unfortunately for you, there were a pair of unwelcomed guests in your home, and they'd taken the time to observe and memorize your routine. The one with mismatched eyes fled to your basement, while the one with a floating target lingered in the shadowy corner of your living room, keeping a close eye on you. 

As soon as the one with mismatched eyes reached your basement and spotted the breaker box, it was all over. 

Darkness flooded your house, and at the flip of a switch, all of your electronics were silenced. The entity with the floating target emerged from his corner gleefully, eager to roam freely without worry of suddenly being bathed in light. It was only a moment before your eyes snapped open and you began to panic. Your limbs felt as heavy as cement, and your chest heaved; you knew what this meant, and tears welled up in your eyes. No, not again. Not right now. What happened to the power? You checked it every few hours. There shouldn't be any reason for it to suddenly quit on you like this. The air grew cold, and something slithered over the back of your couch. 

Unable to turn and look at it, you squeezed your eyes shut. If you really tried hard enough, maybe you'd wake up. Maybe this was nothing more than just another bad dream. Deep, rumbling chuckles could be heard beside you, and then there was weight suddenly pinning you in place. Opening your eyes instinctively in response, your gaze flicked down to both of your arms, and the faintest whimper escaped you as you took notice of the goopy tendrils that were holding them in place. As if that was really necessary; you couldn't move anyway to begin with. A dark figure was leaning over you, using the lower half of his body and another set of tendrils to cage you on your sofa. 

Peering at you with one glowing cyan eye, a whisper could be heard in your mind, "I told you I'd see you again soon." Tears began to drip down your face and you whimpered, completely helpless beneath him. There was another chuckle, and just as before, a tendril suddenly pierced your chest, seeming to phase right through you. The wind was knocked out of you and you were breathless, only able to watch quietly as some heart-shaped object was withdrawn from your chest. Before, it had been glowing brightly, but now it was dim and barely cast any light at all. Your chest began to feel tight, and the figure tilted his head. In your mind, the voice could be heard again, "Do you want to know why it feels like drowning?"

He lifted a hand and placed it over your eyes, and it was as if you were abruptly plunged straight into a body of water. You felt wet and cold, and water was everywhere around you. You knew you weren't moving, but you saw your arms thrashing in the water, and you saw another pair of arms wrapped around your torso, dragging you deeper down. More tears ran down your face, and the figure removed his hand, the water vanishing and bringing you back into your dark living room. You stared at him with wide, pleading eyes, watching in horror as his face seemed to split open, a white abyss appearing where his mouth should be. The same voice that had appeared in your head just moments before could be heard again, this time coming directly from him as he murmured, "Since you managed to... entertain me so well, and since you tried so hard to challenge me, I'll make it fast." 

You whimpered louder, only for him to shush you. He then ran his fingers through your hair and began to softly hum a tune. The baritone of his voice paired with the tune itself was eerily soothing, but you refused to allow it to calm you. At this particular moment, you believed you had the god-given right to be terrified and to not feel any other way. Nearly choking on a silent sob, you watched through teary eyes as he raised the heart shape—which you were starting to think was your soul—to his mouth. He locked gazes with you, and then, without any hesitation, he opened his mouth and pushed your soul inside. His mouth sealed shut again once he'd consumed your soul, and immediately, your body temperature dropped. 

It was like you were placed in a tub full of ice water, and your vision became spotty. It began to dull and fade in and out, and then, without warning, there was only blinding light. No matter where you looked, all you saw was empty white space. In the distance was a small black figure, and you hesitantly attempted to move toward it. To your surprise, it worked. Your body cooperated, and you broke into a sprint, calling out to the figure. It looked up at you, and you immediately came to a halt, frozen under its dead, solid white stare. There was a purple heart shape floating in front of it, and its gaze shifted, settling on something for a moment before it offered you a hand. You warily reached out to accept it, a scream erupting from you as your hand began to burn, feeling as though it was touching lava.

The figure's grip tightened, and no matter how much you struggled, you couldn't pull away. There was movement out of the corner of your eye, but you couldn't bring yourself to focus on it, given the amount of pain you were in. When the figure finally decided to let go of you, you reeled back away from it, wide-eyed and sobbing as you cradled your hand close to yourself. You opened your mouth to shout angrily at the figure, but it merely tilted its head, offering you a wave. You were taken aback by this, and then let out a sharp cry as a set of arms threw themselves around you from behind and yanked you backwards. You fell, but when you expected to collide with the floor, you broke through, now submerged in a sea of black. The arms around you tightened and dragged you further down into the endless abyss, your limbs cold and heavy, and your struggling slowed, as if there was something invisible hindering your movement. 

One huge cyan eye opened, noticeably larger than the entirety of your body, and the light it cast was enough to illuminate your surroundings; all around you were other humanoid figures, all floating adrift, completely still and seemingly lifeless. Unsure if they were dead or alive, you began to thrash and scream for help. 

But nobody came.

#writing #nightmare sans #sleep paralysis nightmare #sleep paralysis!nightmare #undertale #undertale au #tw drowning #drowning tw #sleep paralysis #tw sleep deprivation #tw sleep paralysis #figment!killer #figment!dust

[just-a-silly-boy]

Inspired on @starbyop 's headcanon.

.

◇◇ CHECK THE TAGS BEFORE READING! ◇◇

Lord of the Flies modern au.

Simon wakes up with sleep paralysis.

.

Muted - Simon

.

It's dark and suffocating.

He feels wet creepers and foliage against his face and body as he goes on in the sultry darkness. Ahead of him is a flickering light from a bonfire he can never reach.

Simon hears voices. Laughter. Chants like from the Sunday masses. But the words don't make it to his understanding.

He tries to call, but his voice doesn't come out.

He shouts.

Screams.

But he makes no sound.

He becomes strangely aware of how loud his heart is beating.

The fire gleams with every beat, but he never gets close.

Darkness crumbles around him. Hugs him. He tries to call someone.

Nobody hears him.

The branches and foliage become denser. Thicker. It have fingers and hands and sharp claws.

And it hold his arms and push and pull on him.

He needs to get to the bonfire.

He needs to get to the voices.

He needs to tell them something.

But he has no voice.

And the hands and claws don't let him move.

His heart is drumming. It beats in his throat and he feels that pulsing ball preventing him from breathing.

His voice doesn't come out.

Hands and claws hurt his arms and legs. They scratch his body. They pull him from side to side. He want to tell them to let go, but they don't listen to him. The dark hands have no face. He has no voice.

Mass chants echoes and sounds like waves.

He seems to be falling now.

Or floating.

He tries to scream and water gets in his mouth.

He has no voice.

He tries to scream still but more water come in.

Salt.

Ice cold.

The bonfire is getting distant. Far away.

It's cold now and the hands are pulling him to the bottom of the darkness.

He can't scream.

He can't breathe.

He has no voice.

.

Simon opens his eyes slowly - a false peaceful awakening.

Everything is dark.

For an instant he still sees the dark hands clutching him and the distant fire. Then he is staring at his bedroom ceiling.

His heart is pounding in his chest, but his breath isn't keeping up to it. He can't breathe enough.

He can't get enough air.

But he is peacefuly laying on his back.

He tries to move, but his body won't obey. He's scary. A unnameable fear posses his mind. He tries to call someone. But only his eyes move, searching for God knows what in the darkness of his bedroom.

He can't tell if he's awake or not. He can't feel his body. But he feels a painful tingle creeping up his immobile limbs. From his fingertips, through his arms and legs.

He can't breathe enough. He feels dizzy.

The tingling of his body now becomes painful. Like needles and then spears piercing him.

He struggles to move. No reaction, only more painful tinglings. He looks in all directions because his eyes are the only part of his body that seems alive now.

There's something heavy in your chest that prevents you from breathing deeply. But he feels like floeating.

He can't say for how long that last. Feels like an eternity. Maybe a few seconds.

When he finally manages to move his head to the side, he manages to take a deep breath too. And with the air come the control of his muscles.

His whole body is still tingling terribly and every movement is a torture.

But he moves.

He can move.

He turns on his side and curls up. And take a deep breath again. And again. And again. His heart slowly calms down.

And he tests his voice softly.

"... Hullo...?"

He let out a soft, shy smile at the sound of his voice.

And sings quietly to himself staring into the night.

Simon is afraid to close his eyes and not open them again. He is afraid that the little air he can breathe will be his last. He is afraid of something unspeakable.

And he is afraid to think about it.

He thinks of his friends from the Church choir instead.

And sings to himself.

#lord of the flies #justsillywritings #lotf simon #tw sleep paralysis #tw dreaming of dying #the discription of his awekening is heavily inspired on my own experience with sleeping paralysis #its scary as fuck #thank you for allowing me to write these i adore your hcs #ralph or piggy next? #lotf modern au nightmares

[thatfailedpokemontrainer]

😢

{NIGHTMARE Loading}

......................................

[He is awake this time. But not fully. The monster sits on his chest with so much pressure it hurt to breathe. He can't move, run, call for help. Dusks eyes glow, illuminating the dark room. He cannot look away. His breath comes out as steam, in the corners of his eyes, frost creeps up the walls. It hurts.]

#tw sleep paralysis #sprite :> #pokeblogging #rotumblr #pokemon irl #rotomblr #pkmn #pokemon #//ooc #ask game #pkmn irl

[katkalis-the-fanartist]

Got sick today. Felt so ill that I couldn't finish what I was working on.

So to make up for what I told myself I'd finish, I shall instead go ahead and post this terrifying take of a sleep paralysis demon Yuga:

#this actually makes ME a little uncomfortable #if it disturbs the artist then maybe its really well done? #also sorry about this i know its unsettling but I'll put appropriate warning tags just in case #tw sleep paralysis #tw staring #horror #sleep paralysis demon #the legend of zelda #a link between worlds #albw yuga #my art #fan art #scary

[fern-writes-whump]

As someone who experiences sleep paralysis I think it would be very fun to have whumpee "see" caretaker during it. It doesn't matter if when they're awake they know caretaker a safe person. In the moment having them standing over them and staring while doing nothing as they start hyperventilating is just jarring and it will make them skittish around them all morning <3

#whump #whump prompt #whump thoughts #whump scenario #whumpee #caretaker #nightmares #sleep paralysis #tw nightmares #tw sleep paralysis #fern whumps

[drywalldust]

A sexy little waking up in crippling fear that someone's strange and dangerous is in your home, heart racing, shivering, etc. Doing that for an hour, then your significant other gets up to go to the bathroom and take a shower as you start fading out of consciousness again and then a marathon of multiple sleep paralyses starts and you try your best to scream and move around because you're terrified and you once again feel like something or someone is coming to hurt you but all that come out of your body are whimpers and you're just flopping around in your bed like a fish at the end of its life.

Currently sitting in bed and staring at my phone because I'm scared to close my eyes lest it starts all over again.

#me #tw sleep paralysis

[sappho-favourite-pupil]

Bitches have got to go back to therapy because of their toxic ex girlfriend, who felt it was a good idea to get upset and tell them it was impossible to "live this way", after they just had a sleep paralysis. And then proceeded to leave the room to go sleep on the couch, even though she knew damn well bitches suffered from sleep disorders as a consequence of traumatic past experiences. Hi, it's me, i am bitches.

#tw sleep paralysis #tw sleep disorder #tw toxic relationship #tw therapy #loads of trigger warnings tonight #ofc after that one episode sleeping began twenty times harder #💀 #oh i wonder why do i have trust issues fr- #too bad it looks like my trust issues are not that out of place

[ask-agent-void]

ENTITY FILE #334-642-019

FILE NAME: HATMAN

Witnessed in events of sleep paralysis, in which the victim is unable to move and filled with an immense feeling of dread. The Hatman is described by witnesses as a figure cloaked in shadow of vaguely masculine silhouette wearing a hat of varying style ranging from a top hat to a fedora. The Hatman is known to often appear standing in doorways or dark corners of a room and presents an aura of being watched oftentimes without visible eyes.

One of many types of entities associated with sleep paralysis and supernatural voyeurism. It is believed by some to be a ghost or spirit of some persuasion.

Despite their ability to induce sleep paralysis and overwhelming fear in their victims; a Hatman is a relatively harmless entity beyond the minor psychological alarm their visitation might cause. Oftentimes, if a victim is able to harass or break from their paralysis in some way, these skittish entities will disappear immediately.

While uncommon and usually labeled as mere coincidence; in circumstances where a victim is able to make an accusation or claim of some sort, a Hatman may accept whatever claim the victim may make and seek to settle the perceived debt in some way. However, as with any extraplanar entity, it is ill advised to make deals with such a thing. While Hatmen are not known to cause any physical or otherwise long-lasting harm, deals with them are few and far recorded and largely unknown what may come as a result.

#entity files #hatman #tw unreality #tw sleep paralysis

[serpentsurgency]

[Visible only to anons and non-muses.]

The night had been quiet so far. They had taken care of the dogs and then themselves before tucking themselves into the small bed for the night. It was hardly much but it was what they had been making due with for the last few weeks.

Hopefully for many more weeks to come as well.

Edwin shifted in the bed, curled up beside Henry, his eyes opening drowsily. He blinked a couple of times before shifting again, recognizing that he had woken himself up once again. It was not an uncommon experience, but still a tedious one.

Careful to not accidentally stir Henry, he turned on his side and stuffed his wrist underneath his own side of the pillow to prior it up under his chin.

Soon enough, he began to drift off again.

…

It was equally short-lived as soon enough he began to find himself drowsily waking back up, unable to quite recall if he had even fallen asleep in the first place or if he had merely just stopped thinking for a little while there. Either way, it was almost peaceful.

He kept his eyes closed, figuring that he would slip back into sleep soon enough.

… Then he heard a soft noise.

It was quiet, sounding like the gentle scrapping of a claw or fingernail against wood…

For a few moments, he placed the blame on one of the dogs potentially twitching in their sleep. It wouldn’t be a first.

… Even still, it gave him a somewhat uneasy feeling…

—And almost as if taunting the thought just as it occurred, a single long scratch could be heard followed by a click, as if someone were dragging a nail across the door before opening it unceremoniously.

He tried to snap his head back in the opposite direction towards the door but—

…

He couldn’t. He couldn’t move at all.

… Henry wasn’t reacting. He could still hear their quiet breathing beside him. Even the fucking dogs weren’t reacting.

Slowly, footsteps crept closer to the bed, slowly at about halfway across the room — Edwin already imagining how whoever it was would be creeping just past the dogs by that point — before coming to a stop at the far end of the bed. At the side by Henry.

…

He still couldn’t fucking move. He couldn’t fucking turn and look at whoever it was. He couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see if they had some kind of weapon. He couldn’t fucking do anything but imagine what they might be holding or preparing to do.

The bed softly creaked, as if someone were sitting down. He could feel it watching him.

The logical side of his mind would have tried to reason with him all of the signs by this point… He couldn’t move… He couldn’t speak to alert the dogs… He technically hadn’t even felt the bed shift from someone supposedly ‘sitting down’ beside them both…

… The logical side of his mind wasn’t working right though. All that was going through his mind right now was sheer fucking panic.

…

Then he heard another soft creak, as if it was leaning closer to them…

After a few moments, there was only silence as Edwin tried to force himself to twitch a finger or cry out for the dogs to wake up and snap them both out of this hell or for somebody to come help them or-

“Why do you bother with trying,” A voice — a familiar voice — whispered beside him, close and almost deafeningly loud. “I’m not going to make it out of this.”

The logical side of his mind doesn’t even stand a chance as he finally feels his hand twitch as he regains his movement and voice, his entire body then sharply twisting as he kicks and cries out at something that was never even there.

#a tool of their trade #tales from the shelves #tw sleep paralysis #[visible only to anons and non-muses] #[was going to schedule but I’ll just post anyways]

[bulkhummus]

I found one of the dream drawings you posted a while back and it was really cool! Are you a vivid dreamer / do you draw dreams a lot? It was so different from other stuff you've done. Feel free to ignore!

hi hi!

first off, thank you!

secondly, yes! I keep a dream journal in my notes app, and write in it practically every morning because I am a very vivid dreamer. all kinds. Scary, funny, mundane, weird. my hauler crew characters were actually born from one dream I had two summers ago. writing them down became apart of my morning routine. I tried keeping a physical paper dream journal but the notes app works the best for me because my phone is right there when I wake up (although I do expand on dreams sometimes in my journal/to-do list/calendar / sketch book thing).

during the pandemic I started creating drawings from dreams as a practice to create work that was just for me-- as they often deal with very personal things. I deal with sleep paralysis, false awakenings and insomnia so a lot of it is personal that I keep to myself.

i'll sometimes post the silly ones, and on the rare occasion, a more 'serious' one so to speak. im glad you liked whichever one you saw!

thanks for the interest! <3 rest well

#ask tag #anon #dreams #tw sleep paralysis