Nightmare tried to heal with hands that posed as a threat to many, taking on a role foreign to the likes of a being such as himself.
For once, actions were not led with the intent of control; he took the time to learn how to love so deeply and openly. He never allowed the question of where he stood with him linger because he made sure he knew.
With each desperate plea that fell from Error’s mouth, Nightmare countered; whether be it through soft words or deeds.
“Y-ou ccan’t help me.” Harmful beliefs spoken in that broken voice that tugged at his rotten soul with every tremble, were suppressed by phrases he has never heard before. —”I can. I want to.” Slowly but surely did he rewire everything Error unconsciously believes is at fault with himself. Whenever his efforts were pushed, he will press harder.
He unknowingly tore down the borders that prohibited the guardian from indulging in the feeling of love. Despite how foolish it may be, he hopes to do the same. —If it means traversing through the hell of which is the destroyer’s mind, then he will if so need be.
Error no longer recoiled from the hands that reached out—hands that were once viewed as razors, now brought him a sense of security. That slight change served as motivation for Nightmare to proceed.
He spent so long in hopes of becoming the cure instead of ending up as another injection of poison into one’s core. Results piled as accomplishments from his efforts, every single one being recorded and kept safely behind fond memories.
The tips of his tendrils flicked the air when the volume of Error’s laughter overcame the static that persisted in his vocals. He begun to choose him as company whenever he is in need of someone to ramble their head off, and Nightmare always dropped any task at hand to divert his full attention on him. Self praises rolled off those tongues more confidently than before once he had been encouraged enough.
—With all of this, Nightmare would sit there, fulfilled. He cared for him, and he felt it.
He begun to believe that gentle fingers can achieve so much more than forceful claws.
Progress was not steady, of course there were a few mishaps but he was prepared for it all. Error had adapted to run towards Nightmare with worries; he would try to crack open his skull for the sake of showing the jumbled code he called his thoughts, and it would stun them both. How it led up to this is beyond Nightmare's knowledge, but it’s okay.
—He is the cure.
The glitch is both inconsistent and consistent.
He would do things just to undo them.
He would tell him the truth, then show uncertainty.
It drove him insane at times, but it’s alright. He is the cure.
He will gladly do the research and take note of each symptom to ensure the suitable medicine. He will stay, for without him, he is unraveled.
heavily inspired by 3 posts on tiktok, belonging to 3 separate lovely writers:
@/choobul
@/lievislovee
@/iluvayame
and if you must know, i looped 2 songs as i wrote this
the cure by olivia rodrigo aka main main inspo, and
kalapastangan by fitterkarma ,
Routine gets exhausting. Taking medicine only to wake up the same as he was before? It will drain him.
Error will want to stop the intake of medicine before that reliance of a cure becomes an addiction, an open door that welcomed in unwanted drawbacks.
The palms that smoothed out his sharp edges, unfamiliar softness that ushered him closer would instead, create distance. —Distance that was felt first before the realization of its creation. That careful gaze would notice the shift. He would ask if he was okay, if they were okay. And with each question mark, it weighed and put pressure onto his soul. Not because he did not love him, not because he stopped, but because how could he begin to explain the unexplainable—even to himself?
Nightmare did not understand, a gap in the research he conducted. So he will beg, and ask him to let him try and to take it—to take him.
“Yet if you must endure this pain, then it cannot be love, for love should never ask you to bear the suffering my affection has caused.”
Eventually wounds began to speak louder than love, eventually Error will depart. For the medication was never meant to mend him anew but assist him in getting by. For to allow himself to need him, would require him to become someone he could no longer recognize in passing reflections.
At some point, loving Nightmare started asking too much of him.
He is a stray. He was meant to be helped but not kept. He has served his role and so has the guardian.
Nightmare will now have to learn to accept that loving someone cannot cure them of their ills, and that he cannot love him out of gratitude. Perhaps he should have stopped to consider that, the cure was the illness itself—disguised as affection.
That loving someone gives the temporary numbness of pain, enough to breath a sigh of relief, but does not cure them of their internal doubts.
WHY CAN'T I JUST HAVE ONE FUCKING TALENT?!?!? I CANT EVEN BLOW UP A BALLOON PROPERLY!!!! Who would even consider liking a girl that cant blow up a fucking balloon!?!?
My cousin came over and brought his xbox. He used my scart adapter for my wii to plug it into the telly.
While I was out of the room, my auntie said how they could use an adapter so her son could play on his xbox on their second telly so he wouldn't hog the family one.
MY MUM GAVE HER THE ADAPTER.
NOW I CAN'T PLAY TWILIGHT PRINCESS OR SKYWARD SWORD.
