I speak English and Spanish!! I am. of 20 years of age. I believe. I like Inkmare and uhhh Ink. I like Ink. I'm knowledgeable about Lout of Count's Family, Saiki Kusuo no Psi nan, and Pokémon...!!!
my pronouns are All of them but Yours! Name's Zu. Zuzu. Suzu? Azure???
You're always welcome to ask me stuff!!! I really like when people ask me stuff. It is very nice I believe
Please DNI if you're a zionist, racist, homophobe or transphobe!!!! Also, DNI if you ship incest/pedophilia!
My hashtags:
#my art uwu / for my art!!
#headcanon / for. my headcanons???
#fic-like / for my. Stuff that's lowkey written like a fic...!!!!
#my fic uwu / for my. Fics????????
#zu yapping / for. When I talk About Stuff!!!!!
#ask / for. My asks...!!!!!!!!
#comiczzz / for my funny comics (that i put. Moderate effort into...!!!)
(for more specific pronouns guide, if you use strictly he/him, or she/her, please use they/them on me! She/him users, use they/them. Strictly neopronouns users, please use they/them on me as well!
If you strictly use they/them, use he/she! If you use he/they, use she/her. She/they, use he/him! If you use all of those mentioned, use either a neopronoun or just my name, please!
If you use mirror pronouns, we gotta decide the pronouns by a trial by combat!)
Random facts for my fanon Nightmare! (Aka NightStar)!! (Aka the one I always draw unless I say otherwise!!) (Aka. The. Uhhh. The inkmare one!!)
* He was raised by a random Asgore for a few years, which is where he got his penchant for the 'King' title! He's still very salty about the whole deal and doesn't talk about it
* Funnily enough, he doesn't remember a lot of the time pre-incident! He just remembers feeling scared and stressed a lot. And also some stuff the villager children used to do to him. Like throw rocks. And make their dogs chase him for hunting dog training
* Completely Unrelated to that, he is very scared of dogs, though he'd rather die than admit it. He prefers not to step inside Snowdin for that reason— while the first view of a canine does freeze him, he soon turns to violence if pushed. He does Not want to kill the guards he may use for farming negativity
* His goal as of now is both to gain the most power inside the multiversal sphere (out of universe businesses, chains of produce, leadership of outcode havens) and to murder Dream, so he can eat his apple and become "whole"/a being of both negativity and positivity, like their mother
* He thinks musicals are a superior art form. As a result, he can be distracted if he thinks he saw one he hasn't watched before
* He doesn't like the "boss" title, even if he can admit that it fits. He would have preferred something less cartoony, like "sir"
* Sadly finds absurdist humour funny
* Like his Dream, he can force people to sleep indefinitely with his magic. Whether or not they have nightmares is up to him
* He thinks Dust is the most likable one of his subjects. Would probably get annoyed if he saw Killer bothering him more than necessary
* Tried to recruit Ink, in the early multiverse, as one of his workers. It did not work well, both because he hasn't practiced his silver tongue that much and because Ink saw him like a particularly annoying fly
* He trained his subjects (excluding Cross) to handle harsher negativity emotions, so they may not crumble to pressure. Neither of them remembers that fondly
* Is fond of marking the things that he owns with a little moon. This includes the gang's souls, the thrones of all the universes he's taken over, and an old storybook he keeps hidden underneath his bed
* Whatever he marks gets "coated" by negativity— this helps him to track the objects per his aura, as well to shield them from Dream's own. This makes the Gang invulnerable to Dream's sleeping magic (which he mostly shapes as arrows) until they're too tired for the mark to make effect
* He has decided that the gang needs a recreative outing per month. As so, he brings them to a random AU they've already colonized so they may satisfy their urges. It very scarcely ends in genocide, however, as they're aware Nightmare will put a stop to it pretty soon. Instead, they take a whole bar hostage and drink. There's also violence
* The only reason Nightmare doesn't stop the violence is because Horror learnt that Nightmare is the type of drunk to get sleepy. Since Horror is a traitor that cannot be trusted, the information was quickly shared and planned around. So, most outings begin with Nightmare receiving alcohol drinks that he cannot refuse in good will (he gets kind of flattered)
* Nightmare Does Not know that the gang does it intentionally
* He Will Not Know
* The reason why Cross doesn't have the negativity-based training (nor the soul mark) is only because Nightmare wanted to use his testimony as a way to blackmail Ink, since Ink did leave Cross in the remains of XTale. If Dream noticed that Cross was negativity-touched, then he would have assumed that the testimony was a lie turned magic-enforced fake memory
* He's kind of territorial with the gang, as he will take very badly to the idea of them working anywhere else. Once, someone tried to buy them off him as short-contract mercenaries and he got so annoyed about it he made the gang kill them
* He does not regret it
* He likes to count rice, if able. Same with sand grains. It is calming
* He has a hate/love relationship with Killer that's always a step from someone being murdered. That being said, he allowed him to have some cats, as he worried about the mansion getting a rat plague eventually because of its size
* He's weirdly good at sweet-talking Mettatons. Everyone decides not to think too deeply about it
* He is probably mirrorgender but he wants to conquer the multiverse so he can't think about it rn
* The reason why he's fond of Ccino is because, after protecting him from attackers (loan sharks, in this multiverse), the first thing Ccino did was to try to force feed a milkshake because he was worried that Nightmare was falling down
* The milkshake was mint and he kind of likes mint
*He employs A ScienceTale Sans for healing that he cannot do. Otherwise, he's the main healer of the gang, as he doesn't like the idea of injuries being hidden
* Killer gave him a #1 Cousin In The World cup once and it legit confused him so much he had to go hide himself in his room to process it
I think one of the top 10 funniest moments to me this year is realizing that a lot of stuff I struggle with irl Can be explained by being in the autism spectrum. Explicit shout out to the screening test my gf had me take on call. #my gf
Nightmare brought the die to his chest, still clenched tight inside his fist. Hungry with defeat, he wouldn't lie and say he was not waiting for the next turn. Could he be considered a fool, to be attempting the same thing while expecting a different outcome?
"A six to my three. Again."
"Maybe you just suck at this." As Ink had on chess, his king falling by Nightmare's own pieces in a period of time that kept shortening every play. As such, they had resorted to cards, dominoes, and dice. The games became simpler to play, and easier to explain, once it came the inability of Ink forgetting one or two of their rules. Ink caught his own die in between his naked fingers, to where Nightmare could peer upon the uncommonly seen darkness of his palms. Funnily enough, it was because the gloves that Ink wore did not survive the splash of a fallen inkwell. "Or maybe you're not really trying."
"A game of chances doesn't need an intentional attempt, unless you're speaking of superstition." And Ink was a creature of belief, Nightmare knew that very well. Had he been able to gauge Ink's limits better, ever-changing as they were in his many moods, he would have poked, implied that They could ever show Themselves real in a thing so insignificant as a game. As Nightmare didn't want their meeting to end quite so soon, he did not. "Although I must admit that I start to hold more belief in the idea that there is something that you did to your die."
"We could swap dice—" Ink said, shrugging his comments off like water to fish scale. The desire to see him frown at him instead was counterproductive, so Nightmare pointedly ignored it. "—and I'd still win. It's all about the... vibe. The jazz."
"The music genre," Nightmare said dryly, eye following the way Ink's die fell on the table again, a six once more. It had been annoying the first few times, and so were the rest. He had never prided himself in being a good loser, after all. "I believe you're mocking me."
"Hm? I'm not."
The way his eyes crinkled up didn't inspire much trust in him, nonetheless. He did not look down when he saw Ink shift, his searching hand catching the small cube within it once more.
"Well, Night, what I think is happening is that you're seeing the six like the ending," Ink purred, his chin falling on the back of his hand, elbow on the table, while his other hand brushed through the air in a lazy stroke upwards. He smirked, the gesture somewhat cocky in how easy it came to his expression. "And I see it as a mean to the ending, so it's not that important and it's way easier to get. Pippins love me, monsters fear me. Go fish."
A huff. Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Nightmare gestured to his closed fist. "Just give me your die."
Ink snorted, but did not refuse his petition, straightening up until he sat straight. He dropped the die on the table, the cube rolling down to a stop in front of Nightmare. When he picked it up, swapping it with his own, it felt only natural to roll it. He couldn't understand it. Ink did not play proper chess, he could not maintain a stoic expression on the cards, and he wasn't anything special with the dominoes. However— he would be daft to ignore the simplest of explanations. Ink was the one who painted them. It wouldn't be too strange to imagine him creating him unequally.
And yet. When the die rolled, it wasn't a six. Nightmare felt tempted to do it again, and so he did. A four.
Ink rolled his own die, the one he had taken from him in exchange, and it crashed against his own, weak enough not to fear neither of them leaving the table. Instead, it bounced just so, before slowing to a stop. The pale face that stared at the ceiling held six black dots on it. The victorious smirk that Ink gave to him resembled a fox's.
"See? You still suck."
"You're still a guest of mine," Nightmare reminded him, his eye twitching just so when Ink smiled at him all the same. Even so, he couldn't deny its appeal. Confidence was a power of its own, after all. And he was already fond of him. It was only natural. "Were you anyone else, I would expect more politeness out of you."
"But I'm not anyone else, am I?"
A wink. As if it was a guiding gesture, Nightmare looked away, both annoyed and uneasy with the way the same reaction came to him like all the times before. The warmth in his face was familiar, but he couldn't disguise it any other way that was not feigning ignorance of its existence. "Please."
"Uh-huh. Gotcha. So— two out of three?" Ink said. When Nightmare looked back down, he saw his hand capturing both dice inside the trap of his fingers. "We could make it more... dramatic, y'know? Put more stakes in."
"Stakes," Nightmare echoed dryly, not so inspired by the inevitable threat of his defeat. "Betting, you mean."
"You always get me, pal." Ink made a gesture with his free hand, thumb up while his index pointed at him. It made him remember the way in which his brother gestured before an arrow materialized. It gave him the uncomfortable desire to evade its shape. Regardless, before Nightmare could properly react to it, Ink dropped it. "So— some gold?"
Was this a bait of some kind?
"I will not participate in this sick source of entertainment," Nightmare said. Naturally, Ink snorted at that, but did not offer anything. Seeing it as a cue for him to continue, he coughed, and added, "I see no reason for it. You've already proven yourself, have you not? It'd be senseless."
"I thought you liked me when I'm senseless," Ink teased. Nightmare gave no outward reaction to that, except for a flick of his tentacle that he couldn't quite suppress in time. "No gold, then. What about something bigger?"
He looked to the side, before his eye met Ink once more. Noncommittally, he said, "I believe that you're the one who desires something else entirely."
"That's so vague," Ink said. Nonetheless, he did not deny it, "What are you, a coward? C'mon. If you're gonna play the guessing game, I'm waiting for you to say something way more daring."
Would it be considered too delusional to imply that he wanted a kiss?
There was an impervious need to ignore the way his mouth seemed to dry at the fantasy, so he did. Instead, Nightmare allowed himself the temporary silence, letting his eye roam in the relaxed line of Ink's posture. Whatever he wanted, it was not something he did with so much strength. Either something already bestowed on him by his quality of being, or something so mundane that its acquisition didn't present itself as something too pleasant.
"So?"
"The dice," Nightmare decided, then, carefully keeping his eye away from Ink's face. Instead, it stopped at his scarf, barely able to pinpoint the messy writing that decorated its insides, like the imprint of organs upon the inner body. "You want them. Do you not?"
"I painted them, Nightmare," Ink said, a strange tilt to his voice. Amusement, perhaps. "You saw me do it. It didn't take me very long, either. What? Five minute tops?"
"I believe that it was more like three."
"...You just came up with the first thing you saw because you have no imagination, didn't you?"
Regardless of his choice of words, Ink didn't sound particularly disappointed. It looked like interest, when Nightmare looked up at his eyelights. They were quite a distracting thing like that, almost feline in nature, yellow and pink. A blink, and they were gone. Nightmare tapped his phalanges against the table, thoughtful. "That's what I would have done."
"Oh, yeah. Your awfully sentimental thing you got going on."
Had he been any more, he would have suggested a kiss. Nightmare clicked his tongue. "It has been quite a lovely night, has it not? I would have looked at the dice, and remembered your hands."
"Huh? That's freaky. Do you know you're freaky?"
"It is not something I hear often."
"I think you should. I think you're a freak," Ink said. Even so, he clung to the dice tighter. There was a weird look to his face, before he turned away, frowning. From that angle, Nightmare could only see a sliver of his eyelight, rose and delicate. And then, a smile. "Stars. Okay, I'll bite. You're so gross. I'll get the dice. You?"
"I'll make you read something to me," Nightmare said, after a moment passed. He licked his lips, then added, "Line by line. Until I find myself satisfied."
"That somehow makes you even more of a freak." Ink finally looked at him, somehow looking a bit more refreshed. "You're cray-cray. Nuts. Bananas. Have you tortured people like that before?"
He had not. "I will not discard the possibility."
That made Ink laugh, and then cover his mouth with a hand. A few head shakes were enough to break him from the trance, however, and he let the die fall onto the table. "Okay. Two to three, then?"
A nod. Nightmare picked up one of the dice. "We'll point to the lowest number."
"Uh-huh. Someone's feeling creative around here," Ink said. Funnily enough, it didn't sound ironic. His hand caught a die of its own, and that was that. "Scared of my sixes? Y'know the Pippins smell fear."
"I have forcefully acquired some respect for your skills outside of battle," Nightmare admitted. He stopped, for a moment, and then added, "And I suppose I could be considered to be Fear. In a literal way."
"I swear you weren't as corny before," Ink commented. He leaned forward, and, for an instant, Nightmare feared he would try to touch him— but then, the die fell. A three. "Can't you keep quiet when I say stuff like that? I feel like it'd add to your character."
"I would, but you're not the master of me."
Ink didn't deny it. As such, Nightmare decided to roll once more, following the way his eyelights dropped to the table. Seeing his face, he didn't need to see the result. A whistle came out of Ink's mouth as he raised his eyebrows. "You got me."
"Did I?" Nightmare said. When he looked down, however, there were only twin threes facing one another in the table. Something like bitterness bubbled up inside him at it, and he barely managed not to let it pool into a growl. Choosing to ignore his caprice, he forced himself to pick the piece back up and throw once more to break the tie. However, when he attempted to do so, he felt Ink's hand pushing his hand away, his fingertips barely grazing the die before being forced to withdraw.
His tentacle flicked again, before stilling.
"The point goes to the house," Ink said. As if it was a password of his own making, that made Ink take his own hand back. When he did, however, he picked up one of the dice, and cradled it closer to his chest. "See? Like a casino. Now we are one to zero."
Something in him seemed to relax at the ease in which Ink moved his hands. He huffed nonetheless, "I seem to have the feeling that casinos are not as familiar to you as you're trying to imply."
"Stop reading in between my lines." Ink brushed the other dice closer to him. Even so, Nightmare could see the way he was smiling. "And antagonize me more directly. Where's the drama?"
"You talk like an actor," Nightmare said. "I wonder what would it take for you to see this as something more than a play."
"What? I like plays. I think they're fun." Ink's die started to roll in his palm, practiced. Usually, when he threw, the turning was made in the air. They looked at each other, cyan to cyan. He wondered whether it was an attempt of intimidation. "But y'know, talking like that... If I see this as a play, then what's our deal? Two actors alternating spotlight, hm?"
"Oh, no. Instead, I presume," Nightmare said, "that you believe yourself an actor talking to a character that plays itself."
Something in his words made Ink pause, clumsy, his die slipping to the floor of the library. The object made a quiet sound, muffled by the fur of his carpet, before Ink reacted, leaning down just to. Nightmare saw it happen, Ink's hand reaching down before stopping. At that angle, he couldn't see his face when said, "...Ah, six."
The highest number; an instant defeat.
Ink straightened up, pressing the die against the table before letting it go, the black dots greeting Nightmare's eye as Ink withdrew his hand. It had not changed numbers, in the transition between floor to hand. As such, it remained the same against the mantle. "Two points for you, and zero mine. Guess that makes you the winner, hm?"
They met each other's eyes again, and he licked his lips. Ink was frowning. "Not quite yet. I still have to roll mine."
"You so suck, y'know?" Ink said. "Stretching it out like this isn't a need. Even with a tie, you'll—"
"If it is a tie, we will repeat all the rolls." One of his tentacles flicked against the air, stretching a muscle that did not exist. He lied, "I was never a fanatic of the division between guest and host, anyway."
Ink gave him a weird look, which he promptly ignored. A sigh. He took his own die in hand, rolling it once, then twice, and threw it to the table. The die spun a few times, before it finally settled over the mantle. A single black dot covered the face that pointed towards the ceiling.
The lowest number; an instant victory.
There was some sort of poetry on that, Nightmare thought. He knew Ink felt the same, as, when he looked at him, his frown had risen until it could be barely considered such. Instead, his mouth bore a smile, dumb in its unsure length. Soon, Nightmare realized that his own face mirrored such an expression, and he forced himself to cough just to allow it to leave. As his head naturally turned away for such a gesture, Ink spoke again:
"So— you wanted me to... write something? Read?"
"...Read," Nightmare corrected. Truth be told, he thought it impossible to achieve; his luck until now could only point towards it. But even then, he guessed that it could change. That, sometimes, he could go against fate. He looked towards Ink, and saw his chin being pressed against his palm, his weight against the table as his head draped over his hand. "I wanted you to read, to me."
"So? What's the editor's pick?" Ink said, gesturing to the books that decorated his walls. His personal library held hundred of them; naturally, Nightmare could come up with a few that would match Ink's cadence. It was a thought he had indulged on before, shamefully. This time, however, he already had a distinct idea. "Winner's choice? Are you gonna make me search for it as a power move?"
He saw the way Ink perked up, then, clearly not as against the idea as he seemed to imply. Seeing his straightened back, both palms now pressed against the table, Nightmare clicked his tongue. Then, he said, "Your scarf."
"...What?"
"The notes of your scarf," he said. "Read them to me."
The reaction was as expected. Naturally, Ink leaned to the side, then down, a river of black paint leaking from his gaping mouth. There was a moment, after it stopped, where Ink just looked down to the floor, as if contemplating the effect of his own surprise against the carpet. Then, devoid of guilt, he straightened up again. Nightmare couldn't help but look at the way a bit of vantablack still clung to the corner of his mouth, somewhat charming. "You— you sly dog! What do you even mean with that!"
"Ah, please. Do not be a sore loser," Nightmare tutted, leaning forward just so just to admire the way Ink reacted, a bird with ruffled feathers. "I told you, did I not?"
"I wasn't— stars, you planned that from the beginning!" he realized. His knuckles passed over his mouth, and the paint was cleansed from his face. Ink started to laugh, the melodic sound soon turning into a snort, which made him cover his lips with a hand. "Creators, you're so bad."
"Oh, very much so."
That made Ink laugh again, the sound cut short by the way his hand pressed tighter around his mouth, shoulders trembling. Ink shook his head, an odd expression in his face as he finally brought his hand down. He was vaguely flushed, a rainbow against the marble tones of his skeleton. He would have looked annoyed, had his voice not trembled slightly when he repeated, "bad."
Nightmare rolled his eye, unable to deny that he felt fondness for such a creature. He brushed Ink aside with a hand, giving him some time to settle. Sooner than later, Ink turned calmer again, although he never quite tamed the expression in his face, both frown and tense smile.
"So... You want me to read..." Ink said, his hands instinctively cradling the tails of his scarf. "This thing."
"Yes." He felt no need to gesture, although he allowed his eye to drop to the sliver of Ink's neck, and the cloth that covered it. "It is quite dear to you, is it not? And you... It would be... nourishing, to know what you find most important. The things you cradle closer to your chest."
"Freak behavior," Ink said. He looked away for a moment— and, for a moment, it seemed as if his blush deepened. When his eye let Nightmare's again, he was unsure on whether that had been a trick of the light. "You just want me to snitch on Dream, don't ya?"
"You don't hold my brother so close," Nightmare said, "if you're so keen on visiting me."
That made Ink snort. However, another emotion seemed to settle on him, as he looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching down. He stood up from his seat, then, looking down on the table, and, for a moment, Nightmare thought he had poked too much. Whether he had misread just how far he could push him before Ink snapped.
His train of thought was soon stopped as Ink pushed the dice away off from the table with a hand, soft thumps signaling the moment they touched the carpet. He didn't know which face he made when Ink turned around, sitting on the table with a single jump.
Nightmare was aware of the way he was staring at the way Ink dislodged his scarf from underneath him, pooling the tails on his lap, however.
"Let's just read it, then," Ink said, looking down at him. It wasn't quite a smile on his face, even if in appearance it mirrored it very closely. His eyes were wrong, cyan and purple. "I'm gonna censor some things, though."
"Naturally," Nightmare said, finding his mouth startlingly dry. He refused to look down at the way Ink's scarf remained just close enough for him to read the text by eye. This worry of his never quite disappeared, even as Ink's hands started cradling the tips of his scarf, denying him the same closeness. "It is just— I was just wondering. About you."
"Me?" Ink repeated. He finally made a proper smile, the tilt of his head making him look confused. Or, perhaps, the emotion was sold on the way a question mark shaped his eyelight, before a blink wiped it off. "...I don't write a lot about me here. Mostly just stuff I have to do for other people."
"There must be something that you've written about yourself, for your eyes alone," Nightmare said. "That— is what I want you to read. The thing I desire to hear."
Freak behavior, Ink would probably say. Instead, he hummed, and looked down, dropping the tails of his scarf just to press a hand against its core, to where it pooled over his clavicles. He stopped for a moment, thoughtful, and pulled, widening the circle of it until he could read it as one would a parchment.
"Your name," Ink started, his voice acquiring a certain tone that allowed him to know he was reading, "is Ink. And you protect the multiverse. It's— y'know. Just in case I forget."
Nightmare kept quiet, unwilling to let the trance stop. He swallowed, his arms crossing over the table. He felt too open.
"The multiverse is made from multiple AUs, which are derived from a single media, named..." Ink glanced at him, then coughed. "The Creators of these AUs are important. Basic stuff. They love you, and you love Them."
He continued, "This part here is more... about interactive things. There's... people, that see you as a friend. I list their names here— y'know. Broomie, the others. Avoid these AUs, since they're multiversal aware... Script— fate stuff, too. Okay."
"Continue," Nightmare said. "If you may."
When Ink's blush deepened, then, it looked real. The sensation of it didn't appear pleasant, as Ink frowned with it. He kept looking down, to his scarf, "You have truces. The most important one right now is with Nightmare, and his guys. You'll know it's him, because..."
A cough. Ink looked to the side, his frown twitching. He muttered, "...Geez. Okay, this part is not important."
"It is about me," Nightmare said, disappointment feeling him at the chance of abandoning his own character before its resolution. "Unless you wrote something so uncharitable as to avoid mentioning it altogether, I don't see why—"
"A woobie," Ink blurted. Nightmare blinked at him, slow. "I mean, it's not— You'll know it's him because he looks like a woobie."
Writing a little inkmare drabble. Pre confession (insane). Chances are it wont be too edited cuz i made the evil mistake of writing it on tumblr and tumblr copypasting is so evil so no beta read ...... Coughing weakly
Im gonna be so real lowkey a lot of the inspo regarding my bad ending inkmare ink comes from those korean rofan isekai villainesses manwhas. They are very entertaining...... Pretty entertaining
If Nightmare forces Ink to join bed guys, will the world end?
Hi Hello!! Very late but first of all we have to distinguish power because I imagine the answer varies if you have diff definitions of what we consider power
Like. First of all, power is not the same as battle skill. Per example, we know Error is the most destructive one in the common fanon (as he can destroy AUs fairly quick) but he isn't as skilled battle wise. We can say Error is the most powerful one using that logic, but I think it leaves out the fact that not all battle would end with an universe being destroyed, y'know?? It'd be like bringing a nuclear weapon to a knife fight. Like. Yea you are technically the one w the most power but there's no use for that if it's not usable in ground. So, naturally, we'd have to go to battle skill— which then we have to clarify on whether we'd determine that as ability to kill or ability to disarm
Like. For example, Reaper's the most lethal one in confrontations, as he has. Death touch. But having that in battle doesn't do much if you don't fight with the intention to kill. Bring a gun but never fire it kinda thing.
This thing is what I believe would limit most sanses. Especially Ink, since he's not keen on fighting (as in canon he tries to convince people not to fight him). I do believe Ink can hold his own in a fight, especially when facing an opponent whose main skill relies on manipulating the soul (like a blue-soul user, or Error himself w the strings) but it'd depend on scenario just how skilled he is at disarming his opponents
So like. In theory. Error is most powerful in terms of destruction, Reaper is the most powerful in terms of Singular Lethality, and the Twins, in the right setting, have the option to be the most powerful in terms of Disarming (as a powerful enough aura can overpower their victims' true emotions)
If Nightmare forced Ink to join, I imagine that the main thing that'd be a source of worry would be the fact that Ink's usefulness pretty much relies on the fact that he Is a pretty good taxi. Like. He can go to pretty much all AUs. The gang having that much accessibility to the multiverse would be dangerous. Alongside that, Ink's magic to create stuff would also be useful, but not world ending in any way
Kay enough tweaking tonight. I am Now picturing inkmare. They are twirling inside my brain. I cannot feel it in any way whatsoever but I know it is happening. It's like a party next door
Random facts for my fanon Nightmare! (Aka NightStar)!! (Aka the one I always draw unless I say otherwise!!) (Aka. The. Uhhh. The inkmare one!!)
* He was raised by a random Asgore for a few years, which is where he got his penchant for the 'King' title! He's still very salty about the whole deal and doesn't talk about it
* Funnily enough, he doesn't remember a lot of the time pre-incident! He just remembers feeling scared and stressed a lot. And also some stuff the villager children used to do to him. Like throw rocks. And make their dogs chase him for hunting dog training
* Completely Unrelated to that, he is very scared of dogs, though he'd rather die than admit it. He prefers not to step inside Snowdin for that reason— while the first view of a canine does freeze him, he soon turns to violence if pushed. He does Not want to kill the guards he may use for farming negativity
* His goal as of now is both to gain the most power inside the multiversal sphere (out of universe businesses, chains of produce, leadership of outcode havens) and to murder Dream, so he can eat his apple and become "whole"/a being of both negativity and positivity, like their mother
* He thinks musicals are a superior art form. As a result, he can be distracted if he thinks he saw one he hasn't watched before
* He doesn't like the "boss" title, even if he can admit that it fits. He would have preferred something less cartoony, like "sir"
* Sadly finds absurdist humour funny
* Like his Dream, he can force people to sleep indefinitely with his magic. Whether or not they have nightmares is up to him
* He thinks Dust is the most likable one of his subjects. Would probably get annoyed if he saw Killer bothering him more than necessary
* Tried to recruit Ink, in the early multiverse, as one of his workers. It did not work well, both because he hasn't practiced his silver tongue that much and because Ink saw him like a particularly annoying fly
* He trained his subjects (excluding Cross) to handle harsher negativity emotions, so they may not crumble to pressure. Neither of them remembers that fondly
* Is fond of marking the things that he owns with a little moon. This includes the gang's souls, the thrones of all the universes he's taken over, and an old storybook he keeps hidden underneath his bed
* Whatever he marks gets "coated" by negativity— this helps him to track the objects per his aura, as well to shield them from Dream's own. This makes the Gang invulnerable to Dream's sleeping magic (which he mostly shapes as arrows) until they're too tired for the mark to make effect
* He has decided that the gang needs a recreative outing per month. As so, he brings them to a random AU they've already colonized so they may satisfy their urges. It very scarcely ends in genocide, however, as they're aware Nightmare will put a stop to it pretty soon. Instead, they take a whole bar hostage and drink. There's also violence
* The only reason Nightmare doesn't stop the violence is because Horror learnt that Nightmare is the type of drunk to get sleepy. Since Horror is a traitor that cannot be trusted, the information was quickly shared and planned around. So, most outings begin with Nightmare receiving alcohol drinks that he cannot refuse in good will (he gets kind of flattered)
* Nightmare Does Not know that the gang does it intentionally
* He Will Not Know
* The reason why Cross doesn't have the negativity-based training (nor the soul mark) is only because Nightmare wanted to use his testimony as a way to blackmail Ink, since Ink did leave Cross in the remains of XTale. If Dream noticed that Cross was negativity-touched, then he would have assumed that the testimony was a lie turned magic-enforced fake memory
* He's kind of territorial with the gang, as he will take very badly to the idea of them working anywhere else. Once, someone tried to buy them off him as short-contract mercenaries and he got so annoyed about it he made the gang kill them
* He does not regret it
* He likes to count rice, if able. Same with sand grains. It is calming
* He has a hate/love relationship with Killer that's always a step from someone being murdered. That being said, he allowed him to have some cats, as he worried about the mansion getting a rat plague eventually because of its size
* He's weirdly good at sweet-talking Mettatons. Everyone decides not to think too deeply about it
* He is probably mirrorgender but he wants to conquer the multiverse so he can't think about it rn
* The reason why he's fond of Ccino is because, after protecting him from attackers (loan sharks, in this multiverse), the first thing Ccino did was to try to force feed a milkshake because he was worried that Nightmare was falling down
* The milkshake was mint and he kind of likes mint
*He employs A ScienceTale Sans for healing that he cannot do. Otherwise, he's the main healer of the gang, as he doesn't like the idea of injuries being hidden
* Killer gave him a #1 Cousin In The World cup once and it legit confused him so much he had to go hide himself in his room to process it
I think an Important thing to remember for my inkmare characterization is that Ink suffers religious guilt over the ship being canon while Nightmare Would Have also gotten religious guilted if not for the fact he accepts that his existence is anathema to everything good and holy. I believe
dude me and my friend were talking about your comic (the “you didn’t kick me while i was down” one) and they literally verbatim said this exact notion i’m giggling
Omg help😭😭 your friend did say it very well... I do believe Ink would make the whole ordeal more complex for himself just because he like, doesn't really see himself as a real person but more as a tool for a goal, almost. He prefers to remain in this state else he has to accept he's a creatorless character with no real role and. Panics help. Very very nice.......
Theyre so blurry cuz I drew Chiaro and Sucre like 5 months ago —i didnt wanna draw them againnn— so i rescued their pic off an instagram chat and. Yeah. They're (left to right) in a younger to eldest lineup...!
The siblings...! They're based of the CYMK thingy, birds and. Idk. They're evil. Trebuchet's the favourite one because they're the one that look the most like Ink. Nightmare can and will play favourites because he's kinda a bastard I think hmmm
