#nightmare meme

[thegeekprompts]

Send " ℤ " to comfort my muse after a nightmare (add + reverse for the sender to be comforted)

[funnyfiasco]

Freddy's midlife crisis hits different.

[townofcadence]

A nightmare of death. Of all Artair's loved ones dying one by one, right in front of him. Butch, Annalise, Jonas. Each life ended so quickly, almost seeming meaningless. Artair remains untouched throughout it all, but he is also entirely unable to stop it. Death surrounds him but it refuses to claim him, even as it claims everybody else.

Nightmares

He should be sad. He should be mourning them, and devastated that he's seen them die. But they do so in this.... gentle way, in their own time. In a way that's meant to be meaningless, but instead seems calm. They close their eyes and then they aren't.

All he can think is that at least they might finally get to rest. At least maybe the next life might be kinder to them than this one was. Maybe Annalise won't lose her family and her farm will be cozy but her parents will visit and they'll cook together. She will have tried all the recipes she never had in this one. Maybe Butch will have his own family, and he will never have to pick up a gun and break the law to survive. Maybe his father will be a kinder man this time around, instead of what Butch has only hinted at while they ate coyote soup around a fire. Maybe he'll settle, have kids, have the life he's so sure he wants to have that's quiet, but his and good to him. Maybe Jonas won't struggle with another accident, won't fight to remember and will pursue the culinary as well as the magical. Maybe next time he will have a mother who is not so vain and cruel and actually sees him as a person rather than a handbag. Maybe his friends would be happy, and maybe his uncle wouldn't struggle so much. Maybe.... they would love him from the get-go, be kinder parents. Maybe he and his brother would have more years. Maybe Elaine and Luther will have a beautiful daughter and Byron will never have to be more than an uncle, but he will have money and family and love without the pain. Maybe it will all be kinder.

And even if there is no second life which makes up for the bullshit of this one, maybe they get to rest. And he gets to look out for them. Maybe if they had families he'll watch over them too, and his life will matter just little longer.

It's the same thread of hope he always holds on to, that even if he can never die, even if he loses them forever, whatever end is real, they'll have something good, something worthy of them one day. Because they are good and kind people. They are wonderful, amazing, and. He loves them. He would find them in every life and keep them safe until they pass. All of them. Or he would.... hope whatever came next was better than this. They deserved better.

He doesn't wake scared. He lies in the bed, staring the ceiling, with a somber expression on his face.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Butch would find himself in a dark room. There is no door or exit to leave. At first, it is wide, though none of the edges are visible in such a dark space. But the longer he is here, the smaller it feels. The walls are slowly shrinking, coming in closer together. There is still no exit. If he tries to bang against the walls, they seem to move faster. Even touching them, he can't see them. But they are solid and do not even echo with the thud of a fist. His guns makes no holes, lets in no light. His hands cannot stop the subtle movements as the space closes in on him.

There is no way out. No secret door, no well-timed route that makes itself known. It is dark. It is silent. And in a senseless void like this, what little space he has is eaten away by walls, inches at a time. Eventually, he can feel walls against both his shoulders, and the ceiling scratching at his horns with every turn of his head. The wall to his face touches his chest. The one behind him, his back. It is hard to tell if he is standing or laying. It is hard to tell if he is in a room, or a coffin.

He cannot move. If he manages, the space becomes tighter. There is nothing he can do but lay or stand, exist there and wait. It shrinks until even breathing is a laboring task with that steady pressure on his chest. When at last he can no longer move, it halts, and he is there, in the dark, with no other choice but to wait. And wait.

And wait.

It does not end until he wakes.

Send my muse a nightmare.

Butch doesn’t know when exactly he got there, it just kind of.., happened. He looks all around himself and feels a familiar sense of dread building within him.

He’s been here before…

The cowboy decides to venture around but doesn’t get too far, quickly realizing the walls are closing in. He pushes and strains against it but notices that only seems to make it close in faster. So he moves away a little ways so he can take a shot at it with his gun—also ineffective.

It’s getting closer…

He can feel something solid close in on him from behind—another wall, pushing him against the one he was trying to escape. His heart hammers in his chest as he realizes the ceiling is coming down on him as well and it was slowly becoming harder to breathe. Not only because of his situation but also because all at once, he was there again. In The Other Realm. He needs to suck in more oxygen but it’s hard when he’s running out of space—why is it hard!? Why is he hyperventilating!?

This was it, he was sure. He was being crushed to death by—… hell, he doesn’t even know what! The walls grow tighter, packing his body as flat as it possibly can, uncomfortably so, so he feels as though his bones are being crushed. His teeth gnash together as invisible blackness confines him until he can squirm no longer.

He still can’t catch his breath but it seems as though it’s stopped at the very least, not that there’s anything he can really do. His head feels weird, the pain is all too real, and he’s stuck there now with no hope of escape. With no one. Would anyone even notice if he was missing? How could he go out in such an obscure way? It was almost insulting. The dream seems to drag on, longer than any dream should with him just… stuck there. Nothing interesting happens in between, no thoughts pop in his head to distract him, he can only endure the situation at hand.

….After what feels like hours, he jolts upright from his slumber in a sweaty daze and heaves to catch his breath, a hand slapping to his chest. It takes a few minutes to bring himself back to reality, to realize he’s not trapped.

[divinituscaptivus]

“You have failed.. the humans are all gone.. they have finally killed all of them.. and it was all your fault, Father..” a familiar voice called out, it was.. Horus.

“Is it fun to know that they will never be coming back.. the one thing you swore to protect.. and they are all DEAD!” Insane laughter came from Horus as he laughed and laughed.

The ancient stood defiantly in the darkness, staring the apparition down. Even here, even in the dark recesses of his subconscious, he knew this daemon was not his child and never would be.

He immolated Horus. By his own hand, Horus's soul was consumed by a fire so bright and hot that even his soul burned to atomized ash. "Liar! Deceiver! Begone, worm, before I cleave you in two!" But before he could draw his flaming blade, his hands began to ache. They withered and aged in mere moments, losing all semblance of life and flesh. He looked to his left and his arm was gone, leaving only a ruined bleeding stump. He looked down. There was no glowing gilded armor, no shining lightning claw. There were only tattered robes and a skeletal torso. He tried to scream, to cry out in anguish, but even his mouth had abandoned him. And then he awoke.

[crybaby-tarnished]

😰

He is melting. Melting away. Formless and rotting. A sweet babe victim to a plague. When he forms again, nothing is right, and nothing is his, and he knows deep in his heart his mother hates him.

[ask-smokescreen]

You can't do anything right.

You know, you've tried. You've pulled your weight, and earned your struts. But still, they turn from you, and look past you. You call out to them, trying to reach anyone, trying to touch them.

But it's like you're not even there.

Optimus walks away, not even swiveling his helm as you rush forward to touch his plating.

Only to pass through.

You see your frame, sprawled before you- the chest shattered from an ill-timed blast. The fusion cannon messed you up, didn't it? There's no spark to be had, nothing remaining of the frame that made you... you? They certainly don't seem to think so as the frame is unceremoniously drug towards the smelter. Shame, because there's still a flicker of you in there somewhere- isn't there?

They don't see it, do they? They just stumble around, regard the pieces of you left behind.

Ah, well- Smokescreen.

It's not like you were ever really important-

—now was it?

Smokescreen sits up after this dream, looking down, to his right, towards the phase shifter, quickly slapping it on his servo again. Just in case. The fusion cannon, that is a bit of a surprise these days, but seeing Optimus, seeing everyone, just walk away, without a care for him... He holds his legs close to his chest, burying his face in them.

They wouldn't- they wouldn't leave him be like that, would they?

He could still be helpful. He could still be useful.

Please. Please, don't leave him like that.

[alchemic-elric]

it’s a nightmare. no matter where he goes, no matter where he gets it from, there is only ONE liquid in this world: milk.

Send my muse a nightmare. Make my muse scream and wake up in a sweat.

“Guess I’ll die then”