I have multiple ideas for stories where Nightmare is the focal point, but I keep fluctuating between him either being "secretly a sweetheart who can be a little goofy at times", or him being "a very serious and royal king who tries very, very hard to ignore those pesky soft feelings that makes his chest feel all fuzzy".
Maybe this could be a situation where both sides are somewhat present...
Your body was cold to the touch, and a splitting headache made itself known as soon as you gained back some consciousness. You'd rather be dead than feel the pain you were enduring at the moment. Your eyes remained shut, squeezed by the intense pain running through your body due to the incident with Umbrellas monster. Memories of the past few hours slowly came, what had all happened before this moment. This moment-you soon realised that you were no longer sprawled upon the concrete in the dark corridor. Footsteps could be heard, heavy boots on gravel. Everything was quiet except for the crunching of rocks and the whistling wind in your ears. The wind gave you a sharp, chilling feeling when it hit your warm face.
You noticed the feeling of someone's body, their heat radiating into you. You could feel strong hands gripping around your legs and back. You slowly opened your burning eyes to only face someone's black utility vest. You came to the conclusion that you were in the arms of one of the soldiers. You were overcome with relief that not only had you not died, but someone had made it out alongside you.
Your hands were held in your lap as your legs slightly bounced with every foot step the person took. A couple minutes went by, and you didn't think to look at the name patch that was velcroed onto the mans gear. You became curious as to who your savior was. Tired eyes reached up to come to face with the name of the man who held you.
HUNK the white bold letters read.
You were shocked, to say the least. Maybe you were dead. You could not fathom that the Grimreaper, Mr.Death himself, saved your ass and was now carrying your limp body to safety.
You continued to stay completely silent, not being able to form words as Hunk completed the walk to the awaiting helicopter. You were just hoping he hadn't noticed you waking up due to how absolutely embarrassing this moment was. He must have not noticed, though, as he continued to climb into the helicopter with you in hand, you were layed upon a medical cot. You shut your eyes in an attempt to soothe the burning sensation and suddenly flinched when a gloved hand came into contact with your heated skin. You could hear Hunk talking with the medic, you presume, as you were being inspected. You heard yet another mans voice speak up, someone by the name of Nighthawk, who you guessed was the lifter. You could feel another pair of hands lay upon your arm, a gentle touch it was.
Hunk sighed as his hand came up to your shoulder, gripping it firmly. He then spoke your name. You cautiously opened your tired eyes to meet stone cold ones. This man.. was this Hunk? He held a dark brooding look with scruff alongside his sharp jaw. The man had short-cut silvery blonde hair that fit his face perfectly. You looked down at the velcro tag once again reading HUNK. It was an odd sight to see, the Grimreaper without his gas mask. You found the courage to lock your eyes onto his, your heart picked up pace. Your mouth felt dry, and your throat was raw. You were unable to speak a word to this man.
He kept his gaze as his hand remained on your shoulder. He spoke in a deep tone, "Good to see you again, soldier. " You only nodded as you broke eye contact to look around the helicopter, feeling nervous with the man sat beside you.
Once you gained a bit of strength, you attempted to lean up on your elbows with the help of Hunk. He had not left your side this whole time. It was just too odd. You were the only ones in the main aircraft at the moment, and the silence killed you. Hunk took an arm into his hand, assisting you up into a sitting position. Your body ached and throbbed as you moved ever so slowly. Hunk must have noticed the pained expression glued to your face because he kept his starring. Even through these small interactions, he never once showed emotion or sympathy, just a blank face.
Once you were situated, he leaned against the wall across from you with arms crossed. He closed his dark eyes and took in a heavy sigh. You glanced back to him, one question never leaving your mind once you knew he was your savior. You repeatedly opened and closed your mouth, trying to find the strength to speak to the man. He now opened his eyes, meeting yours once again, your face flushed with embarrassment.
He cleared his throat and spoke in the gentlest tone he could muster, "Speak soldier." Your eyes left his to stare at the ground. You tried clearing your throat, hoping your voice wouldn't be too uncomprehensive.
"Why did you save me?" It came out as a whisper, but he must have caught it because he shifted on his legs, taking in a breath. Hunk caught your gaze again and hesitated with his words like he was trying to find the right way to say it.
After a moment of silence, his deep voice occupied the space again, "I couldn't leave you." The words he spoke made your stomach twist as more confusion settled in. He never helped a soldier. Not once did he go back for anyone. That's how he earned those infamous names. You were in too much thought but decided to put it to rest, just grateful to be alive. Just grateful that the Grimreaper himself saved your life.
man i LOVE writing flashbacks and tidbits that allure to present moments so much. the imagery of the past meaning something in the present as much as just writing flashbacks that round out a character’s relationship or characterization. i have a hard time writing slowburn (anything - even how platonic relationships came to be) but i LOVE developing a relationship and then writing in flashbacks how that relationship came to be. it’s like my CUP OF TEA next to aren and i just stealing the rights for the childhood friends to lovers trope.
If you’ve been around long enough to remember the printers, then you’ll probably also remember The Translation. True, it ended poorly from my perspective, but I did enjoy the process of live-blogging my efforts, so I might do that with The Book.
The Book is approximately eight years in the making and is based on my PhD thesis. It’s a different set up than that was, because I have a better idea of what I want to say now, but I’m still having problems getting started.
So, the first job is to get my hands on a couple more readings, sit down with them, and then try to draft the first part of content!chapter 1.