Author’s Note: Please be mindful that this is an 18+ content page. Meaning that there will be mature content woven into any writing we may stumble across. If you are not of legal, consenting 18+ age, please move along.
I was born with an insatiable appetite for self destruction…
Meaning: "Nightmare" in Old English
Who am I? the Bedtime Spook.
Maere's feet dangled over the edge of the shabby but comfortable bed. His frame elongated across the dimpled, musty covers, face partially buried in the lumpy, twice folded pillow. It's warmer than expected for this time of year, and especially around these parts. Snow was forecast from tomorrow onward but all they'd seen was rain. Icy pellets of water descending from the broken skies. It was wet, miserable nights like this that would see him sleeping undisturbed. The brutish, demonic snoring drowned out by the bellowing thunder.
His unconscious state could be determined by the amount of empy liquor bottles scattered around the room, propped on the television stand, on the bedside tables, the bench tops. Hell, somehow he'd managed to get a handful in the bathroom sink, the water left running at a trickle. Water wasted. Beside him lay the ghostly silhouette of a woman; voluminous mahogany tresses spilled down the center of her elegantly thin back.
‘It’s complicated,’ He paused, turning away.
His relationships are complicated. Twisted tales of heroism, betrayal, love and loss. But then, isn’t all the great stories made from such?
Maere loves his mother. Would do anything to protect her at all cost. In short, he’s a mama’s boy. His relationship with his father is a little different. He loves his old man, but he also harbors a deep hatred for him too. It’s like that saying, “In a fight, they’re lethal. Around each other, they melt”. That was his parents to the T. He loathed his father for wanting him to follow in the old man’s footsteps. But for a lesser demon like Maere, a conjurer of nightmares and sleep paralysis, there’s more to him than just torturing those welcomed through the Gates and into eternal damnation.
His romantic interests are non-existent. Sure, he loved once. An angel that made his blood run hotter than the deepest pits of Hell. Maere has conquests; women he sees on a regular basis that aren’t into settling down, starting a family, yadda yadda. Beneath that tough tattooed exterior, Maere’s got manners, morals, and respect for anyone who doesn’t give consent first.
He is the nightmare dressed like a daydream.
Physical Appearance: He’s of average height, not too tall and not too short. Roughly 6’2 and a half feet, 280lbs of mostly muscle mass, dark bangs, eyes that – for the most part – are obsidian black, but he has been known to shift between exotic brown and devilish red. His skin is lightly bronzed and covered in intricate inkwork (his favorite being the Cthulhu-elephant piece adorning his upper-torso/collarbone region). Sometimes, if you look hard enough, the leathery demon wings on his back sometimes come alive, like they’re breathing. It’s super cool.
Clothing: Aside from his casual wear, the usual: jeans or black slacks, long-sleeve collared button-down shirts, his favorite leather jacket, a couple of super comfortable hoodies (that his late night conquests keep stealing), Maere enjoys sharp black suits and polished leather loafers. Playing dress ups is also fun as he doesn’t mind climbing into a onesie and chilling out on the sofa.
He likes food, physical activity, and terrorizing the locals.
"My bisexuality is none of your concern unless we’re fucking."