#Commisions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

llamagoddessofficial · 6 months ago

Text

A lovely continuation commission from @valacre. You love your husband Nightmare as he is - but there's a lot more to him than what is now, isn't there?

---

The record player moved on to the next song. Your recognition of the song roused you, faintly, from your almost-sleep... a familiar, emotive, reflective piano piece. You didn’t open your eyes just yet; you could feel a small smile forming on your lips.

He’s playing Debussy? He must be in a good mood.

You were holding Nightmare’s hand up against your face tonight, tucked up to your ears under the covers, cheek pressed stubbornly to the top of his palm. You spent many nights falling asleep this way. Nightmare didn’t need to sleep, it was a luxury he could indulge in if he felt inclined, but he often chose instead to bring his books and quills to bed with him (propped against his knees) and use the precious quiet hours to read and write. You would fall asleep tucked up to his side... most often with one of his hands commandeered by your own, as your just payment for not receiving your usual embrace from him.

You didn’t mind this arrangement. In fact, you quite enjoyed it. There was something about him being awake that made your sleep so deep, so restful - you felt so safe. He could watch over you, right? It was as if knowing he was awake for you made all your anxieties melt away. He would sometimes play music to fill the silence, and the tunes would lull you into comfortable and romantic dreams.

You very minutely nuzzled his hand as the song drew to a close. After a few beats of silence, the record player skipped on. You didn’t recognise this one, but it was distinctly Debussy again... you couldn’t help but open your eyes.

...

The hand you were holding was white.

You gasped, a loud and sharp breath - you snatched your hand away and sat bolt upright in bed. The blanket tumbled off you.

Again?!

Your vision focused.

... Nightmare, despite the look of startlement and concern on his face, appeared completely normal. His bones were black, faintly iridescent and glistening as they always were; his eyelight’s cyan light was bright and comforting. Handsome as ever, too.

“what is it?” he asked, gently, putting his quill down. “bad dream?”

... You didn’t know what to say. Let alone how to say it. After searching his face for anything unfamiliar, and finding nothing but the man you loved, you gradually lowered yourself back down into bed. You tried to breathe slowly, calming from the sudden bout of panic you’d caused yourself. Your heart was beating much too hard.

“I... Yes. I’m alright.” You definitely didn’t sound alright. You bought the covers back up over your shoulders.

His face shifted. His voice was soft, as was his gaze, you could tell he was being careful to keep his tone non-confrontational.

He slowly closed his book. “no you aren’t.”

You shifted uncomfortably at the twinge in his tone. Nightmare, a man who could taste lies, obviously didn’t like being lied to. Even small ones.

“I’m sorry. I... don’t really know what’s wrong.”

You stared at some of the fine stitching around the edges of the pillow. You were struggling to get comfortable again, your whole body still tense. This wasn’t the first time your mind had supplied you with images of a skeleton you didn’t recognise.

Lately, you’d been having the most intense, vivid, immensely strange dreams. You never fully recalled them when you awoke, but certain aspects would remain in your head like the afterimage of a powerful flash. Symbols of the moon, silver, flickers of purple. The warmth that comes from drinking herbal tea. Laughter, the smell of fire, a tree stump.

... Then the skeleton himself, the subject of your confusion. Tall and elegant, clad in faded silks, with a kind smile but the aura of something that grown accustomed to unspeakable grief. Soft lilac eyelights that were deep and overflowing with power. You couldn’t remember his face; you could, however, remember that his expression was warm. A smile that made your chest ache. He would look at you as if he owed you a great debt; no matter how much you called out he wouldn’t come any closer. He would open his mouth, but there would be only silence, like he was behind a thick wall of water.

You would’ve ignored the dreams. Were they not so vivid - and so recurring. You felt as if something was quietly watching you. But what? And how could you possibly reply, if you couldn’t even remember what happened?

... You were broken out of the memory by Nightmare moving. His tentacles picked up his book, pen and ink, placing them on the bedside table; as he did, he shuffled to lay down beside you. He drew you against him. Perhaps he could tell that whatever was wrong, it needed more than words.

You gratefully accepted the embrace. Your cheek tucked against his collarbone, his arm and a tentacle looped over your middle. When his huge arms were around you, you felt so safe, you knew heads would roll before he allowed anything in the world to touch you.

“better?” he murmured.

You were choked up. You didn’t know why. “Mhm.”

“you know you can tell me anything.”

“Of course. I just need to find the words to tell you, first.”

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t push. i’m one to talk about not telling the whole truth, hm?”

You couldn’t help but giggle. He clearly liked that... against his chest, you could hear his Soul faintly humming. Probably by instinct, a second tentacle tucked over you, this time curling around your legs.

The record player moved on to the next song. His claws were gently moving in your hair, wrapping a specific curl around his phalange and letting it go over and over again. He’d always been enamoured with how it looked when it was down; it was a sight he was only privy to in moments like these, with the covers pulled up over both of you and the dark of night filling the bedroom.

Your voice broke the comfortable silence once you recognised the song playing. You weren’t laughing at him, but you were laughing, just a little. “More Debussy? Someone’s feeling romantic.”

He sounded like he was smiling. “indulge me,”

“I think it would be nice to learn how to play this one.” It felt good to talk about something else.

“it’s not as hard as you’d expect.”

...

You did look up at him this time, surprised, fabric rustling as you tilted your head up. “You play piano?”

“mhm.” His eye was wide and fuzzy, nigh filling up his entire socket, looking down at you with an immense softness. His hand moved to cup your face, massive palm to your cheek, claws curling around the back of your head. “it’s been a while. but i’m sure i could shake off the rust.”

“I didn’t know you knew how.”

“honestly, dear?” He hummed. “until this moment, i had forgotten i could.”

“You always struck me as more of a string player. Violin, perhaps. Or cello.”

“ah... violin, i never particularly fell in love with. but i am fond of the cello.” His voice was so satin-like, if you closed your eyes you could almost feel it caressing you. “i’ve picked up a fair few instruments, in my time. do you play?”

You rested your cheek back against his collarbone. Just how many instruments did he know? He was something of royalty, wasn’t he? Perhaps his childhood had involved a prince’s education. He would’ve seen a fair few beautiful and expensive instruments. His hand traced over your shoulder and down your spine, lovingly and almost reverently, settling to the small of your back. Despite all your time together, Nightmare still touched you like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I floundered at piano as a child. My teacher always told me I was too airheaded to be any good.”

“she sounds unpleasant.”

“Mh... she wasn’t all wrong.” You thought back to the woman that had frightened you so much as a child. “I didn’t make her life very easy; I never practised, I was always busy playing gardener. She would scold me for coming to practise with dirt under my fingernails. Maybe if I’d concentrated, I would’ve been better.”

“well, it doesn’t matter now.” He turned his face slightly, and kissed the top of your head. “i didn’t marry you for your musical talent.”

“That may be true. But you didn’t marry me for great reasons at first, either.”

“my reasoning was questionable at the time, yes. i had no idea how to process what i was feeling.” His grin was audible once again. “but it would be a bald-faced lie to say i regret it. i’ll never regret making sure you were all mine.”

You rolled your eyes. “Aren’t you the romantic?”

He chuckled. You didn’t realise how much the short conversation had soothed you. Perhaps that was his plan. You were getting sleepier and sleepier, forgetting entirely what had startled you.

“I like these songs.” Your eyelids were drooping. “You have good taste in music.”

“music was... the only thing dream and i ever agreed on.”

... You stilled. Had... had he ever volunteered information about his brother before? Outside of when the spectre of the topic was already looming over both of you?

...

“... You should play me something, tomorrow.”

“anything for you.”

///---///

Nightmare waited until you were asleep to stop petting your hair. He only relaxed once the expression completely melted from your face. Instead, he just let his claws rest beside your head, his eyelight wandering over your features. Doing its best to memorise every curve.

He could never quite draw your smile right. The rest of you, he could create from memory, his claws knew the shape of your body well - your cheek and the arch of your brow, the little dip where your neck and shoulders met, the soft skin of your stomach and back... when he indulged himself in drawing you, those were the parts he could recreate with the effortlessness of total familiarity. The locked box in his study had more than its fair share of proof.

But your smile? He just couldn’t get it. No matter how badly he wanted to. Perhaps it just wasn’t something that could be contained. Perhaps there was a lesson there, for him, in the thing he loved most being the one thing he couldn’t capture forever.

... Alas. He knew he would keep trying, anyway. He was nothing if not greedy.

He kissed your knuckles. He would apologise again in the morning. It was unkind of him to pick you up on not telling the truth - especially when you were so incredibly patient with his endless lies by omission.

He wasn’t telling you everything about his dreams, either.

He’d grown so comfortable around you that many nights, when you slept, his mind would unconsciously reach out and connect to yours - his Soul seemed to see you as an extension of himself, so it would naturally draw you closer. Usually that meant nothing more than moving far more easily into your dreams.

... But recently, something very strange had been happening.

He would feel you in his mind.

It was the first time someone had ever entered his dream. It was much more pleasant than he imagined, though that was probably because it was you. So physically close to him, and so emotionally close, for you moving into his dream would be as easy as passing through a veil. He wouldn’t even notice you were there; not until he felt your presence in places and thoughts he hadn’t let himself access for years.

Something within him was... well, he didn’t know. Moving, perhaps? Shifting. He didn't like it. Whatever it was, it made him stop to consider, for the first time in a long time, what he really... was.

He wasn’t his old self. He knew that for sure. He wasn’t Night, but he wasn’t purely Corruption either. Unlike what his brother constantly insisted, Nightmare wasn’t some poor innocent skeleton trapped by a cartoonishly evil Corruption - his lip curled at the thought. Dream’s blind belief was as insulting as it was patronising. Nightmare knew what he was doing, he was the master of his destiny. Nightmare was something new, something different. A combination that was stronger than either entity could’ve been alone. He was better.

... He touched your face again, absentmindedly.

Both parts of him liked you. There was no question about that. The Corruption adored you, but it loved in an ancient and consuming way - it wanted you with them forever, a bird in a cage. The Corruption whispered longingly about how, if only they moved with more conviction, nobody but him would ever see or touch you again. Was he allured by that? Yes. But Night knew that love like consumption would eat you alive. It was the lingering presence of his old mind, the moderation and empathy of his old self, that gave Nightmare the tools to love you in a way that would make you happy.

He sighed. Both parts of him loved you... that was the problem. The lines were blurring.

... He could feel himself changing. Something old, rising to the surface. It was troubling. When the Corruption first took over, Night all but became comatose, healing from the damage done to him. As promised, the Corruption protected him. And even once Night did recover, he had absolutely no desire to return to full control, not after what he’d been through. He was afraid... remaining deep inside, protected from a world he saw as universally cruel. Protected by a wall of viscous black darkness.

Then you came along. Walls that he had spent centuries building, crumbling down from just a glance. Were he not so hopelessly in love, he might’ve considered his own behaviour rather pathetic.

He wasn’t sure what to do about it just yet. He pressed his nasal cavity against your hair. He would think about it more in the morning. For now, he just wanted to do the thing he enjoyed most; holding you and forgetting absolutely everything.

Sometimes, when he slept with you in his arms, he felt like there was nothing in the world to be afraid of.

///---///

Nothing felt off, when you woke up. You stretched your toes, hummed... with light peeking through the curtains, you decided to roll over and see if your husband was awake.

The skeleton facing you wasn’t Nightmare.

When you saw white bones again, the first thing you did was freeze. Your breathing stopped, you stared blankly - the skeleton asleep opposite you appeared startlingly like Dream. The same cheekbones, the same jaw, the same soft expression. But there were differences both minute and glaring. Dream’s face had a brightness and sharpness to it. This skeleton looked softer.

... And when blinking a few times didn’t make him go back to normal, you leapt out of bed.

His sockets opened. Purple.

Instantly, seemingly before he’d even realised you’d jumped away, he jolted, and a look of fear appeared on his face. He sat bolt upright in the bed, lifting up his hands to his face - the sight of his own bones made that look only worsen into one of outright panic, purple eyelights shrinking down into quivering dark pinpricks, deep lines of fear cutting between his brows and around his nasal cavity. He staggered out of bed...

... And over to the mirror.

It took a split second for him to look upon his face. You could see him, reflected over his own shoulder back at you. You watched as he took only a split second to see his own terrified profile staring back at him.

You had never seen so much fear strike face before.

A flash within his sockets, like an amethyst turning in the light. He reared back and punched the mirror, shattering it, the force carrying through and visibly fracturing the wall beneath. You let out a tiny yelp as glittering shards showered the bedroom floor - you moved back mostly out of confusion, but also no small amount of fear, until your tailbone bumped Nightmare’s desk. Pieces of the mirror were still peeling off the frame and dropping to the stone tiles even as the stranger put his hands over his face, stumbling to the side until he hit the wall.

“no. no,” he slid slowly down it, surrounded by shards of mirror. “no, no, no, no...”

...

You could scarcely believe it. But you knew that voice. You knew those movements. As you stared across the room at the ‘stranger’, instincts kicked in. Despite your utter disbelief, the word left your lips anyway.

“N... Nightmare?”

He lifted his face from his hands, staring at you. You gasped, quietly; yes, there he was, it couldn’t be anyone else but him. No wonder you thought he resembled Dream, the layers of tar had vanished but everything you had kissed a hundred times before was still there.

“val,” he breathed. The way he looked at you - confused, but pleading for help - you knew it was him. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

You rushed back across the room, over to him, to his side. You didn’t care about the glass. It was so, so bizarre to see him with both sockets, your eyes darted back and forth, unsure of where to look. You knelt before him; he was back to staring with horror at his violently shaking hands.

“what’s happening to me?” His voice was different, too. It didn’t have its usual commanding weight and depth. It was still distinctly him, but it felt as if his voice had been halved somehow. Gentler, higher, closer to the surface. “why... no, no, i can’t be...”

“Shh, shh.” You didn’t know if he wanted to be touched or not, so your hands hovered around his shoulders. Now that you knew it was him, you weren’t frightened anymore. You did your best to keep your own voice calm. “You’re alright. Nightmare, you’re alright.”

The lilac of his eyelights was such a beautiful, gentle colour. Though it was soft, and clearly suited his features, you were so accustomed to comforting cyan that you were unsure of what to make of it.

He was shaking all over. His voice cracked when he talked. “i don’t know what’s going on,”

“We don’t need to know what’s going on.” The more you gently spoke, the more he appeared to ease, his hands gradually coming away from his face. His eyelights, locked onto you, weren't quite so small. “We’re both fine. Take deep breaths, okay?”

You reached out, placing a hand on his cheekbone. It felt different. Smoother. But that was the extent of the differences, your hand still fit against his face like a puzzle piece.

He sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment you feared you had hurt him - were his bones sensitive like this? - you made to pull away. But Nightmare grabbed your hand with his, pressing it tight to his cheekbone.

“i-i...” He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking into the middle distance, a lost expression on his new face. Through you.

“Night?”

“i-i never thought i’d be able to...” He sounded choked. “like this...”

... His sockets... filled up with tears. They were lilac too. Shimmering like gems as his eyelights reflected in them.

Instinctively, you placed your other hand on his other cheek. He gripped that one and held it to him just as tightly, his skull sandwiched between your palms. He took in a deep, shuddering breath...

... And then openly started to weep.

You were shocked. Completely shocked. His chest fluttered, the sound was small but deafening. How many times had Nightmare cried around you? Once, for certain, perhaps twice if you were generous and counted the time you suspected he cried but had not seen tears. And even when he did cry, he always hid his face like he was ashamed, tucking into your shoulder or turning away.

But here he was. Tears moving down his cheekbones. Shaking, right in front of you; clutching your hands and sobbing.

Well. You didn’t need to pause much longer. You leant in, using your hold on his face to press a kiss to his skull. He let go of your hands and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in, with you kneeling between his legs it was a slightly awkward posture but neither of you really had it in you to care. You just held him.

He smelled the same. Like home.

Not long passed, he had always been adept at self-control. By the time you were getting used to the sound of his soft cries, they were already fading, replaced with the deep slow breaths he took to regain himself. Though the sounds ebbed away, the tears continued to run down his face like the tide.

... You had absolutely no idea what was going on. But at least he was alright. You leaned back, using your thumb to wipe at his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch.

...

... Suddenly, he gasped. It made you jump. He looked down to the floor - “the mirror. your feet,”

Before you could do more than open your mouth, his arms moved around you, he stood; you were lifted clean off the floor. Even missing half his mass, he was still so strong. As easily as ever, he carried you to the bed, sitting you down and quickly kneeling - despite the tears still visibly staining his cheekbones he only had worry for you scrawled across his face. He took one of your feet in his hands, checking for cuts, for blood, for damage.

The care in his eyelights... you couldn’t believe it had taken you so long to recognise him.

... You had completely forgotten about the shards of glass on the floor. Now that you followed his gaze down, you could see little pinpricks of red, staining the white of the nightgown around your knees. “O-oh,” was all you managed to say.

He didn’t respond. He just obsessively checked you for injuries. His hands felt... more textured than usual? Like a once-smooth stone was now mottled and aged. He moved up to your knees, lifting the hem of the nightgown over them, looking with that telltale frown on his face. He couldn’t have looked more like his old self, with that grimace.

He exhaled, slowly. “... okay. you’re fine. by some miracle, your feet missed everything.”

“And my knees?”

“just some small cuts.” He carefully pulled the hem back down. “the nightgown must’ve stopped anything from embedding. they’ll heal fine.”

He let his hands linger on your legs, staring into empty space again the moment he seemed to slip. He still looked troubled. Troubled - but not panicking anymore.

...

“Nightmare.” You spoke eventually. “You know I don’t usually ask you personal questions.”

Despite his clearly fraught state, cheekbones stained by tears, a little laugh broke out of him when he looked back up at you. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit too.

“i-i know, i know. i think i have some explaining to do, don’t i?”

You reached out your arm - without a single word needing to be spoken, he took your hand and placed it against his cheekbone again. He sighed.

“You’re the skeleton I was dreaming about.”

“i never thought this would happen. i never thought i would be like this again.”

“Again?”

...

He (clearly somewhat reluctantly) let go of your hand, standing, slowly shuffling to sit beside you on the bed. He appeared unsteady on his feet. The light from the window was catching in the shards of mirror on the floor, casting tiny freckles of light across his face; he looked... remarkably handsome. He always did, of course, but especially so like this. You felt your chest get a little tight.

“it is how i used to look. this is how i used to be.”

You tilted your head. You took in everything, eyelights, teeth, mouth. You thought about what the Nightmare you knew looked like - the collapsed socket, the dripping smile, the tentacles. The viscous black fluid covering him from head to toe.

“That’s... quite the transformation,” you murmured.

He nodded. “indeed. i used to be a different person. more like dream. but that person... entered a contract with another entity. the two of them combined, and became the person you know.”

“Hm.”

“perhaps symbiosis is a better term. nightmare was attacked by people who didn’t understand the role he played. they saw dream and nightmare, ‘good’ and ‘evil’, and placed blame on the latter for everything wrong with their lives.” He spoke about the event as if it had all occurred to someone else entirely. As if he thought nothing of it; as if he was fine. “nightmare gave his body, and the corruption gave its power. that was the deal that created me. a place to be powerful, and in return, the power to never be hurt again.”

“Corruption?” You were immediately concerned. "Nightmare,"

... He looked at you. His face was loving, he looked amused. It was nice to see a more positive emotion on him. “that’s just its name, dear.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very trustworthy name.”

“you’re married to a man called nightmare.”

“I,” ... you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Alright, touché.”

He chuckled. He sounded so much younger. Stars, it was strange to see him this way; like a loved one coming home after shaving off all their hair or losing a vast amount of weight. Though you logically knew it was him, and you could see him so clearly within all the mannerisms of the skeleton in front of you, there was something so jarring about expecting your Nightmare and seeing another’s face staring back at you.

“I think I understand somewhat. Are you... the ‘past’ version of you right now, then?”

“... i... no.” He shook his head. “i’m still me. i can still feel everything. but the corruption has... receded. it’s been at the front for so long. it’s never done this before. i don’t know what to do.”

“Do you think you’ll turn back again soon?”

...

His eyelights widened, ever so slightly. Faint wisps of violet coloured the high edges of his cheekbones.

“you don’t prefer this form?”

You flustered - how could you say something like that? Especially when he was clearly so upset by his transformation. He smashes a mirror in front of you, and you openly express you prefer his previous body to this one? “I-I don’t mean I don’t like you like this! Of course I do,”

“darling,” he took your hand and squeezed it, cutting off your blabbering. “i like my other body more, too.”

“Y-you do?”

Smiles suited him far more. “mhm. i’m not as strong, this way. and the absence of my tentacles is noticeable. i keep wanting to hold more of you, but i simply don’t have the dexterity.”

“I just...” You exhaled, slowly, eyes trailing over his sockets and nasal ridge and jaw. “Honestly, I really miss your normal face.”

“... normal,” he hummed. It was a pleased hum.

“Well - it’s alright. Regardless of what body you’re in, you’re very handsome.”

His smile sharpened. All of a sudden, he looked like a preened bird. It was hard work not to roll your eyes; all that crying, all that vulnerability and fear, but it was clear from that grin that this was very much the same man that you had gone to bed with hours before.

“hmm. so i’m handsome to you either way? i like this conversation very much.”

“Oh you would, wouldn’t you?”

“i think i understand now.”

The sudden softness of his voice caught you off guard. You leaned back a little, to gauge his expression. He was smiling at you so fondly now.

“the deal i made. nightmare... the corruption promised no one would ever hurt him again. i wonder if...”

“... If?”

“i wonder if, for the first time since making the deal... i fear nothing.”

... You couldn’t honestly imagine Nightmare fearing anything. You had yet to meet anyone who considered your husband an equal, let alone an inferior; even Dream, his own brother, had left at the first sign of fury. Entities who caused no small amount of strife, like Killer, begged you to assure them that Nightmare wouldn’t kill them.

Then again. How much pain would someone have to go through, to become that vicious to the world around them?

You leant toward him. He immediately reciprocated the movement, touching his forehead against yours. He sighed.

“touching you, in this form... it’s...”

He trailed off. You didn’t make him finish. “You feel so different. So similar, too. It’s a little jarring.”

“i’m glad you prefer me as i am.”

“Of course I do. I married you.”

He snickered. “despite all the flaws?”

“Not despite.” It was your turn to comfortingly brush your thumb over the top of his palm. “Not despite, at all.”

“... you truly prefer my ‘normal’ form?” he asked, “even though this one is so much... cleaner?”

“You’re the one who can taste lies. You tell me.”

He chuckled. His sockets closed.

“i want to stay like this. for a while.”

“As long as you need.” You closed your eyes, too. Now that the adrenaline of the situation had settled, you could feel your sleepiness catching up with you.

“... i love you.”

“I love you too.”

...

You felt the cyan-blue light on your eyelids long before you opened them.

#commisions #he craves the love he never got before #aka: hes such a good boy and we love him!!!!

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