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feathersea · 4 months ago

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NEED SOME MORE NIGHTMARE CRUBS, I AM EATING YOUR WRITING UPPP

here you go :)

PART 5 OF THE SERIES APRICITY

Obfuscate - To throw into shadow, to darken, to create unsurity.

If someone asked Nightmare when he began to like you, he would laugh in their face.

Him? Like anyone? No.

It wasn’t just that he was self-absorbed and conceded, but he emotionally could not love people. He was made of negativity- evil. It consumed his being and made him crazy. Loving someone was impossible, and liking someone was extremely difficult for him when he sought out the flaws in everyone except himself. You were no exception.

He was merely… Amused by you. You despised him, and honestly? It pissed him off. But he was also intrigued by your confidence and persistent denial of him despite the fact that it didn’t benefit you in any way possible.

If you ran, he could cut off your legs.

If you talked back to him, he could rip out your vocal cords.

And you weren’t stupid, you knew how strong he was and that he could not only strip away any freedom you had- but kill you at any given moment.

But yet, you disobeyed his rules. You were clearly testing your limits on what you could get away with, and he had half a mind to smack you across your pretty face for being so difficult with him- but he was just so….

So…

…

Amused.

How could he not be? He was giving you a luxurious room, delicious meals, and comfortable clothes- you had your every whim tended to while you were in the castle. Anything you asked for you would receive.

And yet, the only thing you asked for was for him to let you go.

Weirdly enough, your refusal to give in to him and accept your life now reminded him of himself whenever he was just a child.

Stubborn. Arrogant. Looking up at the night sky and wondering if this is all that the world has to offer you. If being bullied, mistreated, and stuck was all you would know.

Fortunately, that was not his life anymore. It hadn’t been for five hundred and six years. But he had a good hunch that it was becoming yours.

It was almost like he was watching a rat in a maze. He was so intrigued by what you would try to do next in an attempt to set him off, and it was hilarious to see you try to make friends with the three idiots working for him. They were psychotic murderers who wouldn’t be entranced by your kindness. They’d murdered families, innocent people, and children, whose to say you weren’t next?

Not that he would let them kill you. He wanted you to break first. He wanted to see as you became apathetic and cruel when you realized that no matter how hard you tried- you would never escape. He could already see you beginning to lose yourself, it was apparent just by looking at your disheveled state, and god did it make him feel good.

He had taken you from his brother, removed you from the comfort of your home, and stripped your freedom right from your hands. Since you had absorbed his magic after he stabbed you upon your first meeting, his negativity didn’t affect you as it did most people who could feel. Every negative emotion that came from you was genuine and untainted, and that made you so much more fun to toy with.

So… he just couldn’t grasp why every time you looked at him seeking comfort, he felt… pity? He had grown to look at you almost like you were some pet of his that he could take care of.

Nightmare’s cruelty reminded him of how he was treated before he became corrupted, and it was baffling to him that you sought him out after everything he’s put you through. It didn’t make sense, and that was all the more of why he took fascination in studying you.

Nightmare had spent the past five hundred and six years curating his life. He’s built the luxurious castle he lived in, he had an outstanding staff, many allies up his sleeve- and not to dote- but extremely strong powers. There were no true multiversal gods, but he might as well be the next best thing. Anyone who denied those factors was just ignoring his potential, because, like it or not, Nightmare is all those things. The only real competition against him was the other guardian- Dream- and even then he still struggled to compete.

But despite being made of evil, Nightmare wasn’t all horrible. He didn’t like killing people, (it took away the energy he could milk out from torturing them), he wasn’t prone to lashing out or yelling very much, and he had some rather peaceful hobbies.

He didn’t know what you thought of him, but he had a pretty good idea.

For one, he saw your interest in him despite how much you tried to hate him. You had tried to picture him as some… thing, to de-personalize him. It was obvious to him how much you derealed him when he kept seeing the shock in your expression every time you found out about his hobbies or normal life. It was like it was incomprehensible for you to think about Nightmare doing things without it stemming from evil.

Yes, he liked to read. Yes, he was calm and composed unless provoked. Yes, he enjoyed small moments where he could be alone and listen to the rainfall. He had a personality, he was almost likable. He could see how frustrated that made you. You couldn’t de-personalize him no matter how hard you tried because, at the end of the day, he was still someone.

It was so fun to keep you teetering between hating him and loving him, he’d do something so horrible that it left you destroyed and speechless, and then he would win you over with your favorite flowers and the swear of a date as soon as the bruise on your neck healed.

Nightmare was convinced that you would keep him entertained until the day you died.

Just like he did once.

He hated reminders of his old life.

It was part of why he was a bit gentler with you. It made somewhere deep down in him feel like he was healing the part of him that died when you smiled despite how much he hated the positive energy. Not that you or anyone else would ever know that- he never shared anything personal about him with anyone.

He did, however, log down his personal feelings into a journal sometimes.

It wasn’t very often that he did so, maybe once or twice every century or so. He wasn’t too fond of the recreational hobby, but he did find that his isolation had consumed his thoughts, and since he didn’t like anyone enough to truly conversate with them, he journaled in a small, black-leathered book tucked away in the third drawer of the desk in his study.

There was this time when you caught him writing, now that he recalled it. Nightmare had been busy scouting the multiverse for a good AU to target and he hadn’t been at the castle for a few days. He came back at night, when everyone was supposed to be asleep in their quarters whether they were resting or not.

How long had it been since he’d logged down his thoughts?

The guardian sat down at his desk and flipped through his leather journal until he found a blank page with an old log next to it. He briefly checked the neatly printed date at the top right corner of the page, reading:

‘December 21st, 1732’.

Damn. His birthday two hundred and ninety-three years ago. Odd.

Nightmare wasn’t a sentimentalist, obviously, so he didn’t ponder on the date and he took out his favorite calligraphy pen and began to scribe down what was circulating through his mind.

Some details about the past two hundred and ninety-three years, some notes about the AU’s he’s discovered, some internal thoughts and questions he had. Writing once every few centuries led him to have a lot to say, so the pages filled up easily.

“Nightmare?”

He froze in his writing upon hearing your quiet voice call out for him. For the first time, you’d caught him off guard.

Nightmare didn’t even bother to look at you before he resumed his writing at a slower pace. “I didn’t give you permission to be in here.”

“I’m not in here.” You responded.

At that, Nightmare looked up from his book to spot you. Well, technically you weren’t in his study. You were standing just outside the entryway staring down at him quietly. There you go again, testing him.

“No, you’re not in here,” Nightmare remarked, capping his calligraphy pen and setting it down on his desk before he closed his book. “What do you want?”

You shrugged, fiddling with your thumbs out of habit. “I don’t know. Just to see you, I guess. You haven’t been round recently.”

To see him? You’ve sought him out before, but this was the first time you’ve openly admitted to wanting to see him. It seemed like the months in the castle had finally grown an urge for you to cling to the only constant person in your life.

Nightmare didn’t say anything at first, staring at you with an unreadable expression. If it was anyone else, he would have told them to leave and quit bothering him the moment they showed up.

But…

“Well, you can’t see me very well from so far away, can you, darling?” His words were an invitation for you to come inside his study, even if the nickname was said in a degrading manner.

You hesitated for a second before slowly stepping past the entryway and into the dimly lit room. Nightmare hated bright lights, so every room in the castle was dimly lit with ambient lamps or candles. It was aesthetically pleasing, really.

“I’ve been wondering where you went.” You spoke softly like he would get mad at you for saying anything, and you were beginning to inch over to stand in front of his desk. “You just vanished.”

Yes, the guardian of negativity did tend to do that. You were the only person who ever questioned it.

“I had some business to attend to.” Nightmare elaborated vaguely in a smooth and low tone. “I’ll be back out again by Tuesday and I will assign you to a new task.”

You didn’t say anything, and Nightmare was convinced that you weren’t processing what he was saying.

“What do you do in here?” You asked, your gaze wandering around his study.

“What?”

“You have an office and then a study, but I don’t see you here as much. Is this like the bedroom of your office?” You explained your question to him as you stepped away from his desk and went to look at his bookshelves.

Hm. You had such a weird way of thinking, but oddly enough, Nightmare understood what you meant.

He was silent as he watched you wander before he said anything else. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

His study was where he kept all of his things that he didn’t want cluttering up his bedroom. The room contained some books he liked, his journal, and a few trinkets he kept neat on a shelf that he’d collected over the past few hundred years. His study was a lot more comfortable than his office, which was used for more professional matters.

It seemed that you got bored of observing his books and trinkets, and you turned your attention back to Nightmare. “I couldn’t sleep… I saw the lights coming from here and thought I would say hello.”

So… You didn’t have a purpose to being here then. You were just making conversation so that Nightmare didn’t kick you out.

“Is that so?” Nightmare tapped his phalanges in a rhythmic order against his desk as he leaned back in his chair to get more comfortable. “Well, you’ve said hello to me now.”

That was a subtle way of his segway to kick you out of his study. He was in a decent mood so he was a lot more patient with you right now.

“I have.” You walked back over to him, but you were a bit bolder this time and you shuffled behind his desk, standing next to him just a few inches away. “Are you happy with what you do?”

Nightmare turned in his chair to face you, and he stared at you in silence, the only sound being the tapping of his phalanges.

Was he happy with what he did?

Of course, he was. He had been ringing up that sweet negativity out from people for the past five hundred years, he lived in a luxurious castle full of servants, and there were millions of people across the multiverse who feared him. He had rebuilt himself into someone different, someone better. Why wouldn’t he be…

Happy?

“I mean- you’ve just been alive for so long, and-“ You stuttered over your words as you tried to explain your question, but Nightmare cut you off.

“That’s enough.” He spoke sharply. “You can go to your room now.”

Well… He didn’t appreciate your question.

You turned to leave, exiting his study and going back to your room without saying anything else.

When the sound of your footsteps faded, Nightmare was alone again, and for a good while he just stared at the entryway to his study. Your question was somehow something he’d never asked himself before, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Was being happy important when he had everything he could want? Was it even possible for him to be happy with himself?

Nightmare uncapped his calligraphy pen and opened his journal back up, smoothing out the page he left off on before his pen hit the paper and he began to write about something outside of himself. Something he hadn’t done before.

‘ I don’t hate them like everyone else, and it sickens me. ‘

…

‘I’m beginning to feel something I haven’t felt for five hundred and six years.”

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