#nightmare-verse

[determinedfanartist]

@nightmare-verse

I tried something new with the fluffy hoodie part :)

Comic belongs to nightmare-verse

[tehrogueva]

DONT IGNORE ME, IM TELLING THE TRUTH. I HAVE RECIPTS.

@dustsansm1 HA

*eats popcorn*

im not taking sides im just watching this play out

though do be nice to eachother, this i assume is all in good fun

[doodle-girl]

Hey, are you one of the people who made the DOAI sitcom AU?

If so I’m very upset because I’ve been dragged into the brainrot by the ankles/j

Is there a discord or smth, and if so can I please join it-

Yeah here’s a link to the discord! (Pretty sure, idk I just copy-pasted it from a random post)

Also the possum post if you need it (a summary of the story basically)

And of course:

Welcome to the brainrot lmao 👍

[dtdrawz]

You followed me on your other account?! AHAJADMW I’m honored- if you want, you can draw any of the characters you’ve seen! I just want to be @ so I can see it :D

shdgds hi!! your fell nightmare caught my eye, but I’m not so good at interpreting gacha designs, so I tried to doodle your passive instead!! hope you like it 🫶

@nightmare-verse

[swiftmitsu]

H e l l o

*e a t s a r t.*

HEUEUEHEH

take and consume them all 💫✨🌟

[jijimachu]

Sorry if this is rude- but on your post where you said Michael’s like a woman or a man, my brain immediately went “twink. He’s a twink, and he slays and is proud to be a twink.”

This is not rude at all hahaha

[mellybabbles]

Now no one can give you the cold shoulder 😔

BRUH omfg WAIT BUT IT'S MY SHOULDER THAT'S BUSTED ugh

[adaki]

Wanted to do some biblically accurate mh art

[determinedfanartist]

POOKIE WE NEED COMIC YIPPEE CREATURE

Wish granted

[tehrogueva]

ROUGE BIG NEWS-

Enfy’s or Nacho (same person) x Shattered is canon in some aus.

So I’ve dubbed the ship name as Nachocheese.

Because Nacho. And Shattered is yellow and goopy.

cute

[mystiffox]

— mommy issues

and here's the lil animation that blew up on tiktok! yes hi i made this, look at the sillys :]

this is based on my version of the Dreamtale twins, and it takes place after they established a truce and learned how to be brothers again!! i'm planning to talk a lot about my verse soon so stay tuned for that! also, lets be honest, their mom wasn't good to them

Nightmare: pff, your mom Dream: you're my brother. that's your mom too, jackass Nightmare: don't care, never liked her

[Original Audio]

[hajihiko]

I had a dream the other night

[swiftmitsu]

*emerges from your walls.*

About that discord my guy/j

mmmmmmm yes, about discord >;)

[cosmicquill]

I'm always like "Oh yeah the Nightmare Times are some of my favourite content Starkid has ever put out, but they're fun additional stories and not necessarily essential for people to watch if they're into the Hatchetfield musicals." And then I think about CCRP's future or Homeless Man or Pete's brother or Miss Holloway and I'm like OH MY GOD THEY DON'T KNOW. THEY DON'T KNOW. THEY LACK CRITICAL INFORMATION. THEY DON'T--

[sunnydayaoe]

for my buddy @westaysilly 's dtiys !!! had fun.. even if I havn't drawn any utmv in like for fucking ever HAHA

alt version that doesn't really fit the dtys challenge criteria under cut VV

[overtake]

I’m sorry we need about 5k more words of mechanic Daniel driver max pls and ty!!!

Part One

I’m actually so shocked (but pleasantly surprised and honored!) by people enjoying this verse because I almost deleted it without posting. I don’t have 5k more, but I can offer 1.2k!

I still lowkey hate this - and you can definitely tell I have no vision for where this story would go, hence why it’s just harping on the same 3 details we already knew - but it’s all yours and I hope you have a good time reading it anyway :)

Five minutes into pretending to examine an engine instead of obsess over what Max said, Daniel breaks.

“Did you mention me to Max?” he asks Cyril, trying to come across casual.

Cyril looks at him disbelievingly. “Max Verstappen is in our garage and you think I talked about you at all?”

Daniel lifts a hand to his chest and feigns being shot. “People love me, you know. Guys are all over this.”

Cyril heaves out a long-suffering sigh. “Get to work, Daniel.”

Daniel’s lucky, given his condition, that everything is relatively routine today. He does three oil changes, and he could kiss those people’s feet for it.

He’s mentally preparing himself to slide under a car, wincing at much more congested he’ll be once he emerges again, when Max suddenly appears in the corner of the garage.

“Hello,” he says. He does a cute little half-wave to get Daniel’s attention.

“Hey,” Daniel says, straightening and rubbing his grimy hands on his thighs. “Cyril’s working on your car, so he’ll have any updates you need.”

“It’s not my car, just a rental,” Max dismisses. “No, I just have …” He cuts himself off, turns a sweet pink on the apples of his cheeks. “You sounded sick earlier and looked really pale. I brought you soup.”

He lifts a takeaway bag from the cafe down the street, which usually specializes in ten dollar lattes and sandwiches with names so cutesy, you have to practice five times to order without shame.

Daniel smiles at the idea of Max Verstappen, world champion, saying one of those horrible names for Daniel’s benefit. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you. Let me pay you back.”

Max shakes his head. “It’s my thanks for fixing the car.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “So what soup did you get Cyril, who’s actually doing that?”

Max scrunches his nose in disgust. “You cannot expect me to say the name Noodle Nest Paradise more than one time.”

“How many times did you laugh trying to get that out?”

Max shudders. “I pretended to speak really bad English and just pointed at the menu.”

“So you could’ve ordered multiple,” Daniel points out. Max very blatantly pretends not to hear. He focuses instead on pulling a little bag from the order and holding it up proudly, smiling a crinkly-eyed smile.

“I got you crackers!”

Eating soup with Max Verstappen is an out of body experience.

Daniel’s been eating his soup over the coffee table in the office because it felt wrong to make Max sit at the grimy, wobbly table in the closet-sized corner of the garage where Daniel and Cyril usually change and scarf down meals. This, however, means they’re stuck together on the loveseat. Max’s expensive skinny jeans knock knees with Daniel’s greasy coveralls when they get too into the conversation.

Daniel knows he’s being a terrible conversationalist, especially at first. His normal easy charisma is buried somewhere in the pile of tissues he’s burning through. He’s basically just answering Max’s rapid-fire questions about his life, his job, his family, his non-existent partner (“do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything?” Max had asked, and looked remarkably pleased by Daniel’s answer of no).

Daniel’s about 87% sure he’s being hit on right now. It’s a nice confidence booster given how much of a mess he looks, but it’s not like it matters. Max is Max, and Max is F1, and Max doesn’t live here.

He likes Max, though, the longer they talk. He likes his eagerness, his down-to-earth nature, his total lack of interest in discussing racing. Max delights in all Daniel’s behaviours that usually make people roll their eyes and wait for him to be done, whereas Max leans into Daniel’s dumb songs or drawn out jokes. He likes the long lashes that frame Max’s bright, happy eyes, and soft double chin he gets when he ducks his head into his laugh.

Daniel’s not sure how much time passes before Cyril comes in, but he knows his voice has faded to practically nothing, and he’s having to constantly turn to avoid coughing on Max.

Cyril’s timing is rather unfortunate, entering just as Daniel breaks into a particularly rough wheeze. Max is patting his back gently, which Cyril will definitely have words about later. Presently, however, he seems too concerned about Daniel’s wellbeing to lecture him about appropriate contact with famous customers.

“Daniel. Go home,” he orders, voice kind but firm. His tone leaves no room for argument, not that Daniel really wants to fight him on it. He’s enjoying this, but his brain and body feel as if they’re wading through a pool of thick custard.

“Are you okay to drive?” Max checks. His eyebrows are knitted in sweet concern, like Daniel actually might keel over and die in the ten-minute ride home.

“All good,” Daniel promises. He stands, then promptly has to collapse back onto the couch when black spots dot his vision.

“I’m driving you,” Cyril says firmly.

“I just stood up too fast.” Sure, he’s a little woozier than expected, but he could do this drive blindfolded and half-dead.

“I’ll drive you,” Max says. “I mean, Cyril has work to do, but I’m just sitting here.”

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me or steal my car?” Daniel rasps.

“He’s not worth kidnapping, and selling his car probably couldn’t cover an oil change for the kinds of cars you drive,” Cyril informs Max. He ignores Daniel’s protests, then pushes Daniel back down to the couch when he half-rises from it.

“Stay. I will get your keys and bag.”

The second Daniel’s brain understands that he’s off-duty, that it’s no longer expected to carry him through the day, it mostly blacks out, and everything is a blur from there.

He’s pretty confident Cyril steals his phone to call his mum, which is vaguely embarrassing but perhaps necessary given his current state. He knows Cyril gives Max directions to Daniel’s parents’ place instead of his own. He feels Max’s hands help him into the passenger seat, and he definitely mutters some fever-addled sentences on the drive. That’s about all he remembers until he wakes up in his childhood bed, shivering and sweating while his mum runs a hand through his hair and forces medicine down his throat, before he falls back asleep again.

When he finally comes to enough to make his way downstairs, he finds his parents seated at the kitchen table. His mum jumps up, forces him into a chair and fusses over him while simultaneously lecturing him about going to work sick. His dad just sits there, eyebrows half-raised, until Daniel is settled with food and water.

“So. You had an exciting day at work.”

He slides a piece of scrap paper across the table. There, under some advertisement for gardening services, is a scrawled message in red pen:

It was lovely to meet you (again). I hope the terribly named soup made you feel better! :)

- Max

Under his name, Max has scrawled a phone number.

Daniel runs his finger over the lines, feeling the imprint of each number that Max etched into the paper. It’s neatly written, far more cautious and intentional than the rest of the words, as if to ensure that no digit could be misread or smudged.

Daniel pauses, processes the full note, and double backs to the word ‘again.’

“Yeah,” Daniel croaks through the stabbing pains in his throat. He stares at the word harder, like it might reveal what the fuck Max means by again. “I guess today was pretty interesting.”