#nightmares

Poof! An anonymous fear submitted to deepdarkfears.com/submit - thanks!

Zdzisław Beksiński (1929–2005), “Pendulum” [detail]

☽ the impossible logic that makes sense in the dream but collapses when you wake.

☽ running fast but somehow not moving at all.

☽ teeth falling out, hair unraveling, doors melting into walls, the body as a horror show.

☽ familiar places twisted into something wrong: your house, but endless hallways; your school, but empty.

☽ monsters that are blurry but terrifying, because your brain fills in the worst.

☽ screaming as loud as you can but no sound comes out.

falling forever and never hitting the ground.

☽ waking up breathless, heart hammering, body drenched in sweat.

☽ fragments sticking with you all day, a face, a sound, a feeling you can’t shake.

☽ confusing the dream with memory; wondering if it really happened.

☽ the relief of waking up, immediately followed by dread as you realize the dream mood lingers.

☽ trying to explain it to someone else and realizing how absurd it sounds.

☽ dreaming about people you know, but they act wrong, uncanny, cruel.

☽ dream logic deaths that feel real grief.

☽ sleep paralysis: the in-between, trapped in your body while the nightmare leaks into reality.

☽ nights when the same dream loops, like a broken record you can’t escape.

It is not his voice. It filled Jason’s mind and caused head to throb in pain. The words are garbled, and yet, so very clear.

Bruce’s eyes bleed, and Jason stares on in indescribable horror.

There is nothing there.

It is not as if his eyes have been plucked out. No. It is simply the mere absence of them entirely.

The blood is black and thick as it runs down his cheeks. The next time Bruce opens his mouth, it pours down his lips slowly and drenches the front of his button-up.

No. Not a button-up.

He’s in his suit. This is no longer Bruce. It’s Batman.

But… they’re the same, aren’t they? Truly, what’s the difference?

“Do you wish it were me?” Batman asks again. His voice is exactly the same, yet Jason feels as though it’s more insistent. It wants him to answer. He must speak.

His hands are sweating, yet he can’t move to wipe them off. He can’t move his hands at all; they’re stuck to his sides. “D-do I wish what was you?” He wishes his voice didn’t shake.

Bruce takes a step forward, making Jason stumble back. His unstable footing causing him to crash painfully against the ground.

“Who are you! G-get the fuck away from me!” Jason shouts as Batman continues to stumble unhurriedly toward him.

Blood, blood, blood.

The blood covering the ground wraps around his wrists and ankles in grotesque tendrils of congealed, staining his skin. Marking him. Restraining him.

Bruce’s entire face is obscured as he continues to stumble forward, his mission to reach Jason not impeded by the younger man’s pleas to stay away.

As Jason opens his mouth to scream again, he feels it. His body is starting to sink.

No.

His body is starting to be pulled through the ground by the tendrils of blood. He is being dragged down.

He thrashes, he panics, he screams as his mouth is covered and filled with that black sludge of blood. His body is not his own; it will not listen to him.

The only thing he can see is his father, suddenly pristine in a crisp black suit, pants, and a white button-up. The only thing that marred the scene was the twisted, misshapen grin overstretched on his face and a gaping bullet hole where his heart would be.

And then he laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed that horrible laugh that haunted Jason at every waking moment.

“Death is not the end of our suffering in this life, son.”

——

Bruce was right there, holding him, consoling him, gently rocking Jason as his son desperately clung to his arms and sobbed.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” Bruce continued to repeat softly, running his fingers through Jason’s hair and pressing a kiss to Jason’s warm forehead.

Jason had been having mostly fitful bouts of sleep for the past few days after he had come down with a mild fever. He had taken up refuge in the manor to be taken care of.

“D-dad.” Jason hiccuped, wishing he were smaller. Wishing he could fit perfectly in his Dad’s embrace just as he had all those years ago. “Dad, dad, dad!”

“I won’t leave,” Bruce swears, holding him tighter. If being there was the only thing he could do for Jason, then he would do it until his body gave out. “You’re not alone, Jaylad. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason takes in a gasping breath, the tears on his face feel cold as he desperately tries to suck in a breath of air, his sobs disrupting his every attempt.

“Your h-heart! Y-your heart!”

“Breathe, my love,” Bruce murmured softly. “My heart is beating strong. I’m alive right here with you. We’re both alive.” Bruce took Jason’s shaking hand and pressed it against his heart. “I’m not going anywhere. I still have to take care of you and your siblings.”

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: Steve always knows how to calm you down.

Warnings: panic attack. hurt/comfort. dating Steve Harrington. simple as that.

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Steve’s awake instantly. 

He sits up, heart pounding, because you’re not just tossing around beside him - you’re shaking. Breath coming too fast and too shallow. A broken sound escaped your throat. 

„Hey. Hey …“ His hands are on you gently and careful, not trapping. „It’s me. Steve. You’re okay, sweetheart.“ 

You can’t hear him yet. The nightmares tight grip shutting down all of your senses. Your eyes are open but not there. Chest rising and falling too fast. 

„Oh no, no, no,“ he murmurs, sliding closer, pulling you against him. „Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.“ 

Your fingers clutch at his shirt like you’re drowning. „I can’t …“ you gasp for air. „Can’t breathe.“ 

„Yes, you can,“ Steve says softly, rocking you slowly back and forth even though his own heart is racing. „You’re just going too fast. We’re gonna slow it down, okay? I’ve got you.“ 

He shifts so your back is against his chest, one arm wrapped firm around your middle, the other hand coming up to cradle your jaw gently.

„Look at me,“ he whispers. 

Your eyes flicker up to his. 

„Good. Stay with me.“ 

He exaggerates his own breathing. „In for four. One, two, three, four.“ He breathes in. „Hold. And then out for four. One, two, three, four.“ 

At first you can’t match him. You’re trembling too hard. So he changes tactics. 

„Okay,“ he says suddenly, like he just remembered something incredibly significant. „Important question.“ 

You blink up at him, confused and teary. 

„If I had to fight a raccoon the size of Dustin, do you think I’d win?“ 

You let out the smallest, broken huff. There it is. Steve seizes it immediately. 

„Because I’m thinking yes. Obviously yes. But if it had, like … ninja training? That’s where it gets tricky.“ 

Your breathing stutters - still uneven, but slower now. 

„I would absolutely lose if it had nunchucks,“ he continues gravely. „I’d look so uncool. It’d ruin my whole reputation.“ 

A shaky little sound escapes you. Almost a laugh. 

„That’s it,“ Steve murmurs, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. „Stay with me. Raccoon Dustin. Focus, princess.“ 

You breath in again, not sharp tis time. Steve keeps going. 

„Also, for the record, if the nightmare involved me doing something stupid, I’d like to formally apologize. Dream-Steve can be an idiot sometimes.“ 

That gets him a full on grin from you and made him feel like the luckiest man that ever walked the earth. Your breathing steadies gradually. The panic loosens its grip. 

Steve presses his lips to your temple, lingering there. „You’re safe,“ he whispers. „Whatever it was - it’s over. It can’t get you. Not here.“ 

Your fingers tighten in his shirt again, but this time it’s grounding instead of desperate. „I hate when it feels so real.“ 

„I know,“ Steve mumbles and his voice is so gentle it almost hurts. „But I’m real too. And I’m right here.“ He adjusts the blankets around you, tucks them in like an armor. 

You snuggle into his hug. „I’m sorry that I wake you up because of … this.“ 

„If you ever wake up scared like that,“ he shushes you, „You wake me up. I don’t care if it’s every night. I’d rather loose sleep than let you fight ghosts by yourself.“ 

You nod, finally exhausted in a different way. Steve stays awake a little longer, just in case. Thumb tracing lazy patterns on your arm. Counting your breaths until they’re slow and deep. 

When he shifts slightly to pull you even closer, you mumble something half asleep. 

„That raccoon would kick your ass.“ 

Steve grins, gives you a kiss on your temple and rests his head against yours. „I know.“ 

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