I welcome thee to my little branch of the world where silly little tales are written, and numerous posts are reblogged and fawned over. I leap from interest to interest, many will come and go, but rarely will I ever fully abandon one over the other. If you follow me then mayhaps there will be days where a lot of things may appear on your dash from my end, though other days there will be little to no activity. Motivation and inspiration are flipped around and sometimes it may take me an age to update one of the few stories that are ongoing, but trust that I will never fully abandon one, and that I will, eventually, come back to it one day.
I do not take requests, apologies.
This is a strictly NO AI zone. If you see me accidentally reblog writing or artwork that you know to be AI, then please tell me so that I may immediately delete it. I do not want AI filth in this space.
seeing people say "this trope has been done to death" as if that's ever stopped anyone from eating bread. BREAD HAS BEEN DONE TO DEATH FOR LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF YEARS AND WE STILL WANT MORE BREAD. write your chosen one AU. write your coffee shop meet-cute. write your 47th iteration of "there was only one bed" because guess what??? we're still hungry.
donât abandon joy because it is brief. donât commit to solitude because happiness is fleeting. itâs okay that good things do not last forever. itâs okay to simply enjoy a thing for as long as you have it.
if youâre not rereading your own 3yo one-shots every once in a while so you can shake your head at the ao3 tab and mutter god iâm fucking funny then what are we even doing all this work for?
A commission of Fae Nightmare, for a lovely commissioner who wishes to remain anonymoose. Something of a sequel/prequel to this previous piece. Time shenanigans, how exciting!
(On a side note, thank you to everyone who sent me kind messages during my ........ lengthy hiatus. Consider this my unofficial return to posting!!)
---
Nightmare stared into the fire.Â
The room around him was warm. Given the size of his bedroomâs ornate fireplace, it was perhaps one of the warmest rooms in the entire Winter castle. Every now and then a log would crackle and snap, a tongue of flame would rise higher than the rest - for a moment, firelight would glance back and forth off the glassy angles of the carved obsidian walls, orange and yellow light ricocheting around the room in a magnificent lightshow.Â
Nightmare paid it absolutely no mind. He was accustomed to it. His mind was elsewhere.
A book laid open, abandoned, in his lap. There were only two sounds in that room - the crackling of the fire, and just underneath, the howling blizzard winds beating against the castle walls outside.
...
He closed the book. He couldnât bring himself to pretend to read it anymore. It wasnât as if heâd been paying attention to it, anyway. He couldnât even recall its title.Â
All he could think about was the person who had last read it.
Nightmareâs good eye twitched. The memory was fresh, and raw, and he couldnât stand it. He stood swiftly out of his chair, crossing the room to the dark oak bookcase standing against the far wall. His dark cloak, as dark as the inky volcanic glass his castle was made of - and the bottoms of his grand wings - dragged along the carpeted stone floor.
He returned the book to the shelf, silver rings glinting in the firelight. His eye roamed over the other spines. Colours and embossed lettering he had long memorised and grown bored of... he didnât need a good book, he didnât even need a mediocre book. He just needed anything that would fill the silence.Â
The horrible, horrible silence.Â
...
He pulled one from lower on the shelf. It was faintly dusty - the two books on either side of it tipped against one another, filling the gap. It was written in a language he wasnât fully adept at. He hoped that having to apply his mind would distract him until the moon rose and everyone else woke up.
Nightmare opened the book, and started to wander back to his chair again.Â
... The mantelpiece above the fire used to be bare. He glanced around the room - in fact, his chambers used to be all but bare. Aside from his bed, bookshelf, desk and armchair, there used to be nothing else in the room. Why would he have anything else? Why would he need decorations? He was the King of Winter, he had thought. Not a peacock like his brother.
Now? There was a tapestry on the far wall. A nice new carpet, woven from dark fibres, so the floor wasnât quite so cold to tread on. There was a decorative blue quill in an ornate inkpot on his desk. A few trinkets had started gathering on the mantlepiece... a nice candle. A stack of half-finished books, separated from the main bookshelf for ease of reading. Some spare papers with scribbles on them. An interestingly gnarled branch, bare of leaves. A single acorn with a mottled green and hazel shell.
...
Nightmare stood in front of the fire, staring at the mantelpiece. The light bathed his chest and face, the back of his hand, he felt the warmth bleeding into the rings on his phalanges. His body cast great shadows across the room behind him, warped dark figures that shivered and danced as the fire did.
... A crease appeared between his brows. Like ripples appearing on the surface of calm water, betraying the turmoil below.
He hated the decorations.
âYou really should add something, you know.â Your voice rang in his skull. Like you were right there.
His eye sharpened. Heâd only decorated because you told him to. Because you wanted to.
âItâs so sad in here.â
âi allow you the great privilege of entering into my private chambers. and you... call it âsadâ?â
âOh, shush. You know Iâm right. It wouldnât kill you to put down a nice carpet.â
He was squeezing the book. He felt his claws dig into paper, he felt the spine bending too far.
âyour flippant demeanour still irritates me.â
âAlright, alright. But Iâm going to start putting nice things on the mantelpiece. Youâll thank me later.â
He felt so many things he couldnât stand feeling. His vision was blurring. His sockets felt like they were going to burst. His chest was tight and heavy, his Soul was full of needles.
you made me happy. you changed me. and then you left me. how am i supposed to live like this?
He didnât hate you. He couldnât hate you.Â
But...Â
...
Rage reared up inside him. Just as powerful and instantaneous as ever. An old companion - a familiar warmth, far better than the cold loneliness and the stinging pain. He squeezed the poor book in his hand as hard as he could, feeling the leather tearing and the spine snapping; he tipped over the edge. His eye flared, cyan sparked, glimmering in the walls around him.
Before he could think, he swept everything off the mantlepiece. A shower of books and papers and tiny trinkets clattered to the floor, some breaking, some scattering, some rolling away.
...Â
He stood there, chest rising and falling.
...
He didnât feel any better.
Nightmare stared at his reflection in the wall. A bitter, dejected creature stared back at him. He didnât hate you, but... he did feel a growing resentment within him.Â
how could you do this to me? how could you turn me into a... a lovesick fool?
Nightmare stumbled back, falling heavily onto his chair. The broken book, still in his hands to that point, finally fell from his claws and landed on the carpet with a pathetic thud. His expression had returned to its base - a lonely, low glower. His sockets still ached.Â
i feel worse.
...
He touched a claw to his cheekbone. When he examined his phalanges, he could see the tears on them, glinting in the fire.
Why hadnât he cried while you were here? Why hadnât he shown you there was someone underneath it all, something worth staying for? The resentment swirled, storm clouds he could never quite reign in. He looked at the trinkets cast over the floor, the snapped candlestick, the scattered papers. He wanted to strike something again.Â
... He had an ugly temper. There it was, all over the floor - his temper. He remembered the way youâd look at him when he was berating someone in his court. You wouldnât say a word, you didnât want to disrespect him before his subjects... but you would just look at him. And your eyes, the eyes he admired so much, would say everything.
that was what you had seen, wasnât it? sure, youâd had some tender moments together. but more often than not youâd seen him angry. angry and proud.Â
He sank down into the chair. A wave of shame overtook him. He shouldnât think that way about you. He knew you loved him, he knew you cared about him. Youâd given him more love in the little time youâd been around than in all his life before. But the further away in time he got from you, the more you became a memory, the harder it was to keep ahold of what was real. The harder it was to detangle his own vivid insecurities from the truth.
...
He closed his socket, allowing the tears to drip down.
...
âI had no idea you were such a sulker.â
He could still hear you. Clear as day. He knew precisely what youâd say to him, at any given moment.Â
âi am not sulking,â he mumbled.
He still remembered the day he first met you. It had been such a mediocre day in all other aspects.Â
In the decades following the great war between Dream and Nightmare, the battle between twin Kings that cleaved the Fae lands in two, Nightmare shouldâve been spending his days basking in his victory. He shouldâve been content - he had mastered the Corruption, shed his feeble old life, and become a being that struck terror into the hearts of all creatures. He had inflicted irreparable wounds to the ones that had wronged him... he had proven such an insurmountable threat to his perfect brother that Dream had been forced to bend for the first time in his life and afford Nightmare his own realm. He had gotten dominion over all of Winter, all the ancient lands of infinite night and energy, where the very snow and stone beneath you imbued with unspeakable power. He had gotten everything he wanted.Â
Everything he wanted.
...
... Nightmare was not content. He wasnât even happy.
In the shadow of all that rage and blood, the thrill of war, of getting to make his brother hurt, nothing felt exciting anymore. The days of peace strung together, one after the other, beads in a dull necklace. And Gods Nightmare was bored of his new realm. Summer had valleys, lakes, rivers, flower fields, swamps... eternal sunlight in which to bathe. He? Endless leagues of unmapped icy wasteland, and a blanket of night that never lifted. Trees and snow and trees and snow, as far as the eye could see, inhabited only by sparse populations of small animals, until in distance beyond mortal sight the land peeled upward into impassable mountains that scraped the sky.Â
The fae lands were certainly ancient. But the Winter forest was beyond that. In the cold, where everything slept, time flowed differently. It meandered, pooled, stilled. Trees and spells could rest encased in snow, and in a thousand years taste nothing but ice and the light footsteps of a single fleeting white hare.
... How boring.Â
Even within his only respite, the Winter palace, he had a cripplingly small court. It consisted only of those mad enough to abandon Summer and the dozen or so fae who shared enough of his hatred for Dream to choose eternal cold and darkness. But just because theyâd followed him didnât mean they wanted anything to do with him. The reputation Nightmare created during the war had made sure of that.
The day he met you was just another blank bead in that necklace of boredom. He had driven himself into the snow again, with nothing but his hunting knives, trying to kill time. And maybe kill something else too. His courtiers scattered like mice at his early emergence from his chambers, but he paid it no mind. He went out, deeper and further from the castle than he had ever travelled before - a trail of his footprints winding through the open wastelands and into the ancient maze-like forests beyond. Patches of dark clouds had gathered, obscuring most of the fine starry sky; he had hoped for a blizzard to at least make things more exciting, but alas, not a single breath of wind. Hours passed, the rhythmic sound of snow crunching underfoot his only company... as the clouds drifted past the moon, the world around him silently shifted back and forth, alternating between almost total darkness and the glow of the half moon.
He considered making his way to a portal and going into the human world to torment some half-wit mortals. His courtiers were becoming too adept at avoiding him and skirting around his rampages. Humans never learned. But alas, he couldnât sense any areas where the veil between the two worlds was thin enough to pass through. Heâd have to make do with something else today.
If he were any other being he was sure heâd be frightened. So much cold and dark. But he paid no mind to anything at all as he walked. Nothing could harm him here. Not ice, not wind, not beast nor curse. He kicked a few branches and snapped others clean in half, fired off some blasts of cyan-blue magic to frighten away flocks of small game birds, tried and failed to fling a blade at a weasel with senses far more fine-tuned than his own. He walked where the snow was thin, waded where it was thick, and simply did his best to entertain himself with whatever poor objects or creatures he came across.
i should get some dogs. some big hunting dogs, he thought. they could tear to shreds whatever beast i cannot catch myself. that would be fun - especially if we found a person.
... Out of nowhere, an instinctive feeling washed over him.
He stopped walking for the first time in hours. Without his footsteps to break the silence the quiet, empty cold air suddenly weighed down on him.Â
He was in a clearing. He had walked into an area where the trees peeled back, and the sky was clearly visible. But something was wrong, his bones were tingling. He felt like he was standing near the edge of a sheer cliff. As if a single step further would send him careening into the void.Â
He took two steps back. Clouds obscured the moon.
What was going on? He was so alert. His eye was tight with stress, but bright, cyan light was twinkling faintly off the snow around him. If he had ears like a wolf, they wouldâve been pricked up. He reached for the largest blade at his hip, his midnight-black phalanges sealing around the hilt.
.... The clearing he had walked into had five large black stones. Oblong and smooth, taller than him, they stood perfectly straight up, grand obsidian-black icebergs rising up out of the snow in a circle. His footprints ended only a few steps away from where the circle began.Â
i donât recognise this place. Five stones; he felt a natural nervousness around the number five, as all fae did. He was just glad heâd paid heed to his instincts, and stopped himself before he unthinkingly went into a ring he didnât know the intention of. But the circle didn't explain the sensation in the air.
Something was in the atmosphere. He breathed slowly, sharply. Something old. No - not old. Something ageless. He squeezed the hilt of his dagger.
...
Magic prickled all over him. Magic far stronger than he. For a moment, he was a bonfire, and he was feeling the distant glow of the sun.
...
... A pop. A release of pressure.
And then a figure stumbled out of the circle.Â
You staggered like youâd been shoved, wide-eyed and clueless - and you staggered toward him. What? He instinctively let go of his blade, reaching out and catching you by the elbows with both hands before you fell forward and hit the ground.Â
...
eh?
He stood there, bewildered, all the tension and magic heâd been holding onto dissipating. A person. You - you were holding onto him. No one had ever done that. People didnât dare touch him; even before he was a terrifying monster, his status as a prince ensured people kept their distance. There was little the fae valued more than politeness, and adhering to social rules and customs.
You were so close he could hear your heartbeat. He could smell you. itâs a nice smell. Nightmare was hyper-aware of the feeling of your warm hands gripping his forearms through his tunic sleeves.
His eye darted over you, taking in everything. You were wearing a wool dress and a cloak, the items appeared simple at a glance but revealed more quality the longer they were studied. Your dress had a smooth fitted waist and a long skirt, fashioned from large gores of continuous fabric, with stitching so delicate it was almost invisible to the light. Your cloak was dark and thick wool with nothing marring it but dotted snowflakes, wolf fur lining the neck and sleeves. The visible edges of the cloak were hand-decorated with silver and gold thread sewn together in a repeating pattern... the thread almost appeared to glow in the gloom.Â
Your cloak fastened at the neck with a silver crescent moon charm. Thread wasnât the only thing that had been stitched into the fabric. Magic was sewn into it, the sigils of complex charms and powerful warding spells that even he didnât understand. Whoever had made this cloak was very keen to protect its wearer.Â
it was all simple, but beautiful, hand made for precisely one person. fit for someone of high ranking. perhaps even royalty.
You coughed a few times. Then you looked up at him, blinking like a fawn.
Nightmare was still reeling from the physical contact. When was the last time someone had stood this close to him? He was accustomed to being looked at with all sorts of expressions. Usually, when someone was this physically close to him, the expression was fear. He half expected you to leap back like youâd been bitten.
But your face... lit up. You smiled.Â
... He felt his eye shimmer. Something stirred in his chest.
âOh!â You spoke so sweetly. You spoke like you knew him. You spoke like you liked him. âYou followed me?â
For a moment, he was so stunned he couldnât talk. He just stared down at you. No one had ever spoken to him this way before. So casually, so happily. And especially not someone so lovely; you had a nice face, fine eyes, your mouth was especially pretty to look at when you smiled. No one so wonderful had ever looked at him with anything but disgust or fear.
He stared. He felt like a beautiful wild bird hand landed in his palm.
...
A crease appeared between your brows when he didnât respond.
â... Somethingâs... different.â You let go of his arms, looking him up and down and stepping back somewhat. âNightmare? Whatâs wrong?â
...
The distance let him regain some sense of thought. He blinked... then a little smile formed on on his face.
â'nightmare'. so you know who i am,â he said. âand you approached me this way regardless?â
âWhat?â
He hadnât been this excited in a long time. Something new, something so interesting. A pretty thing that knew his name - a mystery. This was exactly what heâd been waiting for, this was exactly what heâd been missing. A new toy.
Emotions familiar to him finally appeared on your face. Trepidation, confusion, but for some reason or another you werenât frightened yet and you couldnât take your eyes off him. He liked it.Â
He stepped forward. You responded with a clumsy step back, keeping your distance.Â
âyou are an interesting creature.â His voice was dangerously gentle. âare you from summer? you certainly arenât from my court. iâd remember a face like that. what is your name? where did you come from?âÂ
You looked him up and down a second time. This time, your gaze really lingered, taking everything in.
â... Youâre... not my Nightmare,â you breathed. âAre you?
...
He twitched.
âyour nightmare?âÂ
âI-I didnât - â You started walking back more. He remained where he stood. âUh. Oops. My apologies?â
His temper was as quick as ever. Blue fire, in his chest, licking up the sides of his ribcage. Were you mocking him? He wasnât anyoneâs Nightmare. He would never be second to anyone again. His teeth clenched.
âdonât walk away from me,â he said, a warning. The air around the two of you was becoming noticeably colder, noticeably sharper, Nightmareâs unruly magic interfering with the world and creating little fractals of frost across his cloak and boots. This was usually the part where people fell to their knees and began to beg for their lives.
But you didnât. You stepped back again. You ignored his command.Â
Your voice was careful. âI think thereâs been a misunder-â
Nightmareâs temper ignited. He strided forward, closing the distance in only a few paces - you gasped and tried to scurry back further but you just werenât as fast as him.Â
He seized your arm in one hand, tight. There was ice on the back of his palm.
âi said donât walk away from me.âÂ
He couldnât deny that he liked that you were suddenly scared. You seemed to have come to a realisation, and youâd lost all the brightness from your previous expression, staring up at him with big pretty frightened eyes like a deer. Did he like your other face? Yes. But he liked this one too; fear was an expression he was much more familiar with. He enjoyed the way this face made him feel.
âyou have some nerve.â He spoke darkly. âself-assured little thing, arenât you? you might know my name, but i donât imagine you know exactly who youâre dealing with.âÂ
âWait. W-wait.â He barely registered the feeling of you uselessly pulling. Real terror was creeping into your voice. âNightmare. Let me explain,â
His eye narrowed. âmaybe i should teach you some manners,â
âWait wait wait!âÂ
He didnât like that. He squeezed your arm. âdonât tell me what to do,â
You opened your mouth -Â
...
He saw your lips move. He was sure of it. But the world went entirely silent around him.
He felt his true name being spoken, before he actually heard the word. His body halted against his will, a dog waiting for a command, a deep and primal thing he could not see or fight. A true name. It felt like clear water was flowing between his bones, numbing everything. Or like someone had struck him around the skull with the flat side of a broadsword.Â
The moon emerged from behind the clouds, Winter around him shifting, the ground itself responding to the raw power contained in that single word - but he couldnât look. The only thing he could see was your eyes, staring into his own.
His will, his power, his pride.
Gone.
my name. you said my name.Â
...
And then,
âLet go of me.â
...
He came to. He was standing in the same spot, his hand was open, frozen in the air. And you were standing a few feet away. Perfectly silhouetted against the snow.
...
His true name. His true name. He stared, he could feel his eye tight with shock and confusion and... well, fear. Magic shifted across his dark bones.Â
He had stolen many a true name, in his time. Was this how it felt?Â
â... how...â he breathed. His voice had never been so quiet. He was scarcely able to cover up the tremble in his tone. âhow do you...?â
Your chest was rising and falling quickly. You were holding onto your wrist, where he had grabbed you.Â
âI-I...â You seemed almost as scared as he felt. It was written all over your face. âI think you wouldnât believe me.â
Words jammed in his throat. who are you? why are you here? did dream send you?Â
âwho told you?â He managed to choke out.
You looked at him. For the second time that night, you looked at him like no one else ever had. So many emotions, on your face; pity, confusion, fear, something he didnât understand yet. You were looking at him like he reminded you of someone you loved.Â
He felt... he felt like the forest was closing in on him. He felt small.Â
He felt so small.
â... You did,â you said. âYou told me.â
...
âwhat?â
âLook, I... thereâs a lot Iâm still figuring out myself, right now. I need to think. I... need to collect my thoughts.â You pointed ahead. âThe castle is still south, right? South of here.â
...
He didnât know what to do. He just stared, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. It was as if his feet had melted and sealed into the snow. His whole life was a fight to remain at the highest place on the pyramid; the top of the power dynamic. Whether he was battling his brother for control of the realms, bullying his courtiers for the sheer delight of it, or venturing temporarily into the human world purely to bring chaos and misery and blood... if he wasnât the most powerful entity in the room he was damn near close.Â
And yet here he was. Standing in the forest, with a stranger who knew his true name. Someone who had tipped the scales completely with one word. He felt sick. Not even Dream knew his true name. When was the last time heâd been powerless against someone? Against anyone?Â
â... yes,â he said, numb. âthe castle is that way.â
You turned, starting to walk.
What? You were leaving? He blinked, suddenly snapping out of his stupor. You were going, just like that? But that wasnât how this worked. When someone had a faeâs true name, they used it for all kinds of terrible things. They made them slaves, they humiliated them, they broke their spirits. You had a Kingâs true name, you - you had his name - and you were just walking away?
He couldnât help himself. âwhat are you going to do with my name?â he blurted.
You stopped again. Your cloak swished pleasantly against the snow with the leftover momentum. You glanced over your shoulder at him.
... Your eyes. So many feelings rushed through him at once. If he had a stomach, it would be flipping.
...
You smiled at him again.Â
It wasnât the same as the first smile youâd given him. Nowhere near as open or soft, as if... some part of you had sealed over. Some gentleness and vulnerability buried away from him after what heâd just done. But it was a smile nonetheless.
His Soul was moving in his ribcage. He felt like a child.
âI... I guess will defend myself if I have to,â you said. âBut only if I have to. True names are horrible things.â
His head was swimming. His eye was pulsing in his socket, he could feel it. This couldnât be real... none of this made sense.Â
why do you still smile at me?
will you do it again?
âLook, Iâm... going to head to the castle.â Your breath was escaping you in little cloud-like puffs. Why hadn't he noticed that before? How nice it was to watch. âYouâre welcome to walk with me, if you want.â
You started walking. Walking ahead of him. He didnât usually allow that to happen; he would usually get angry, demand that he went first.
...
â... wait,â he said, following behind you. âwait. donât go without me.â
~~~
Nightmare woke up.
... He was still in his chair. He wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but his bedroom was dim now. The fire, once high enough for the flames to lick the edges of the fireplace, was low and sleepy. Only a few coals remained. Warmth had seeped into the obsidian walls, but it was gradually fading, becoming more and more faint with every feeble final crackle an ember let out.
He stared at the fire. He often dreamt about the day he met you. It felt like a lifetime ago. It was a day he replayed in his mind, over and over, when he was awake he thought endlessly about how differently he wouldâve acted if he could do it all again. But when he dreamt, he didnât dream of things going differently. He dreamt of things happening exactly as they did.Â
He looked at all the mantelpiece decorations still scattered over the floor. His eye was drawn, particularly, to the acorn with the mottled shell... the dim firelight was warping along its surface, painting its outline with a warm red glow.
...
He wasnât sure what spurred him. But Nightmare got up, out of his chair. He crossed the room, crouching down... picking the acorn up off the floor with the tips of his claws. He held it up to the waning light.
He hadnât been all that impressed when you found an acorn buried in the snow. But youâd seemed so excited to show it to him, so heâd let you talk about it. What was it that youâd said?Â
âI love finding seeds here. Itâs literally the middle of the Winter lands. But it doesnât matter how cold or bad things get. Everything still wants to grow.â
âsometimes you say things i truly do not understand.â
âYouâll get it eventually.â
...
He still didnât get it, now. He placed the acorn carefully back onto the mantelpiece. Was that something future him understood? It was a strange feeling, to be so deeply jealous of himself.Â
When you were here, he'd acted like a child. Desperate for your attention, desperate to impress you in any way possible, unable to use his usual tricks thanks to a power dynamic he was completely unaccustomed to.
It had been so easy to fall for you. And so hard to get back up.
...
You were right. The room did look better with decorations. The mantelpiece was better for the visual interest.
Quietly, he started picking up the other objects that he had scattered to the ground. The things he had smashed in his rage. He had the magic to lift it all instantly, but for some reason, it felt better to pick the pieces up by hand. It felt better to take his time. The half-finished books, the gnarled branch, the old yellowing papers. The two halves of the snapped candle. Holding each of them, looking at each of them, it felt good to set them down one by one in their proper place.
...
He looked at the trinkets on the shelf.Â
He had... cleaned up his own mess. When had he done that before? That was never something he concerned himself with. He broke things wherever he went. When was the last time he had put the pieces back together as best he could?
You had teased him for being childish. Quite frequently, actually. Whether you were only playing around with him, or you were actually angry at something heâd done, his childishness was a frequent topic. He always denied it, obviously - sometimes he denied it with a little too much intensity, a little too much anger and fervour. And youâd just tease him even more.
...
You were right. He was childish. His temper completely ruled him. He picked up new people and things to torment, new âtoysâ to play with, then dumped them the moment they no longer interested him. He split the fae realms in half because he was too bitter to let his brother remain in the spotlight. He dreaded to think what mightâve happened to you if you hadnât arrived in the forest already armed with his true name.
He stared at the acorn. Then he glanced up, to his own reflection in the wall.
... He had cleaned up his mess.
He could be better. Couldnât he?
His eye widened. He was Nightmare. He was the King of Winter, there was nothing beyond his power. He had unseated his brother from his throne and forged his own kingdom. If he could walk through a raging blizzard unmarred he could learn to steady his hand. If he could cut the Fae lands in two, he could learn to control his temper. He didnât need to be ruled by anything - especially not his own emotions.
It wouldn't be easy to be better. Of course it wouldn't. There was no one that understood more than him how easy it was to get swept up in his own fury. Even when you were right there by his side, and he could feel your eyes burning into his skull when he flew into a rage, it wasnât easy to calm himself.Â
But if there was one thing he did not lack, it was time.
He was so jealous of his future self. So painfully, bitterly jealous. But that man, that âhimâ... wasnât he just proof that no matter how impossible it felt, it could be done? No matter how far the road ahead of him seemed to stretch... one day, he would be the kind of person youâd talk about so lovingly?
...Â
âYou know youâll see me again.â
âbut you donât have to leave.â
â... Iâm not from this time, Nightmare. At some point I have to go back.â
âyou donât. you could stay here, with me.â
âYouâre the one who told me I have to go back. Well... you WILL tell me I have to go back, I suppose.â
âthe future version of me told you so? heâs the one who gets to keep you. of course he would say so.â
â... I donât know why youâre saying âheâ.â
âyou donât have to go.â
He could still feel your arms around him on the day you left. There were so many things he had wanted to say. donât leave me, i love you, stay with me. So many words that he was still too young and foolish to string together. He couldnât even say them now. Not aloud.
âYouâll find me again.â
âbut i donât know where. or when,â
âI know. You have to be patient.â
âiâm not patient.â
âI know.âÂ
He needed to be better. The kind of person who could say those words. He needed to be a King.
... He needed to be someone youâd be proud to come back to.
Thank you, lovely anonymous commissioner, for commissioning [drumroll] FAE NIGHTMARE!!! I absolutely love writing him, he is a mysterious and otherworldly delight! Now please enjoy him searching high and low for his wife.
I highly recommend listening to this winter ambience track on YouTube. I had it on repeat while writing.
---
There was no wind, in the forest. There hadnât been for some time. The trees were heavy with snow, branches creaking low under the weight, threatening to dislodge upward with the faintest touch... but the powdery white that twinkled in the eternal starlight had seen no wind for days. It was smooth, light, full of lumps and pockets, no signs of the sweeping curves that a strong wind could carve into the ground itself.
Not that it mattered. Nightmare knew that even if the winds had been howling, and the blizzard had been smog-thick, Horror would still be able to follow your trail through the woods like a bloodhound behind a fox. There was nowhere in the entirety of the Winter kingdom that you could go where Horror would not be able to find you sooner or later.Â
perhaps thatâs what makes you confident enough to run out into the snow like this, Nightmare thought. if you were back in the human realm, you never would have gone so far from home.
The larger fae trudged ahead, heavy cape-like wings dragging behind him, compacting the snow into a sheet. The two fae had let their horses go some distance prior, allowing the steeds to return home as they continued on foot. Horrorâs large red iris was turned downward, flickering back and forth across the ground - that eye caught details that even Nightmare would not have noticed. The ghosts of footsteps, corners where cloaks scuffed against the snow, traces where a hand touched a tree for support. A world invisible to most.
Nightmare watched, intrigued. He had no eye for such details. He could track and hunt, of course, as anyone in Winter could. But no one alive could track like Horror.
â... close now, mâlord.â Horror said, softly, breaking the silence.
Nightmare hummed. âgood.â
When you disappeared into the forest, it was of no concern. It was not the first time you had taken away into the endless night to explore. Your fur-trimmed cloak and walking boots had been missing from your room, so no one batted an eye, least of all Nightmare; he knew enough his own brideâs affection for his homeland. Your tendency to vanish away for hours-long âstrollsâ was something of an in-joke amongst his closest courtiers. A newcomer to our realm loves it more than our King himself. You adored to be lost in Winter, finding new marvels and sights, new places to delight in bringing him to.
... So even when your horse returned home riderless, he hadnât thought to be concerned. Sometimes, you simply wanted to walk alone for a little while, or you worried your steed was growing tired or cold. Your horse had made his own way back enough times for nothing to raise the alarm. All this was notwithstanding the intricate silver ring Nightmare always wore; a marvel of magic craftsmanship that allowed the wearer to instantly recall whomever bore the ringâs twin. You never left home without yours, and he never removed his. In theory, there was nought to fret over.
... But then... Nightmareâs most beloved hunting dog, a shaggy grey wolfhound who stood so tall his shoulders could bump your hips, returned alone.Â
That dog was your guardian when Nightmare could not be. Even when you thought you were alone, the hound was close by, ensuring you never had anything to fear. It would have followed you into bear dens, through packs of wolves, it would have followed you to the very ends of Winter to where the shimmering starry filament met the mountains, and yet further still. Nothing could have deterred that beast.
But he came back alone. Head drooped, tail tucked.
Nightmare paused only to assure the beast with a caring touch to its head. He took his own cloak, his own boots, and called Horror to his side. The largest fae obeyed wordlessly and his courtiers parted like a sea. From the hound returning alone, to Nightmare and Horror setting out into the white wastes themselves, little more than two score minutes passed.
... Were his mind not full of the kinds of thoughts that could darken the sky into thunderclouds, Nightmare wouldâve thought it heartwarming how eager Killer and Dust were to aid in the search for you.Â
âbut why canât we come?â Killer was all but frothing at the bit, pacing in short circles like a caged lion at one of Dreamâs ridiculous feasts. âthe more eyes the better, surely. we can cover more ground.â
Nightmare fastened his cloak around his neck with a silver moon brooch that glinted like a blade in the low castle light. The cloak was midnight black, lined with thick fur, and decorated with fine embroidery in silver and blue thread. It twinkled faintly, something else sewn into the fabric, something glittering and intangible.
Dust passed him dagger and compass. Nightmare tucked them away into his cloak. Dust said nothing, his face betrayed nothing. But the fact that he was helping Nightmare get ready as fast as possible said more than words or faces could.
âi know my way through the forest.â Killer continued on. âwhat if sheâs been kidnapped? what if sheâs in summer? i know both realms. horrorâs not the only one with a penchant for travel. we should...â
Nightmare looked down at Killer. Killerâs mouth shut, with an audible clicking sound.Â
âhorror is the better hunter,â Nightmare said. His voice was carefully controlled. âfamiliarity alone does not qualify you. you would get in the way.â
Killerâs jaw visibly clenched.
... Nightmare... felt a twinge of something, as he looked at his small underling. Guilt? No, nothing that strong. But he thought of what you would say to how he had just spoken. How you would glance at him. How you would say nothing aloud, to publicly respect his authority, but your eyes would spell out every word of your disapproval.
Nightmare exhaled, through his nasal cavity. You had well and truly wormed your way into his skull, hadnât you? Even when you werenât there, he did everything you asked him to.
â... you two are far more useful here,â Nightmare added. âi donât trust anyone else to maintain the castle while iâm gone. keep everyone calm, say nothing.â
That was all it took to visibly settle Killerâs nerves. Dust did not appear convinced - but he was quiet, for now.
Though Nightmare was the King and founder of the Winter kingdom, he had to admit, Horror was far more capable in the snowy wilds than he. Nightmare took to the cold outlands with boredom; a resigned sort of love, a dull kind of fearlessness, the lack of enthusiasm that comes with knowing every inch of magic that filled the trees and snowdrifts. He knew nothing in his kingdom could harm him, and he treated it thus.Â
Horror, on the other hand... Horror lived the cold. He breathed the cold. Winter had welcomed him where Summer had scorned him, and it was clear the wastes were a place of great comfort. Every twitch of his eye, every footstep, it happened with reverence. Nightmare, like the neglectful parent he was, purported to know much about Winterâs outer forests and wilds - yet in reality, he knew very little. He knew what itâd been thousands of years ago. Much had changed since then.Â
... You, on the other hand... a smile tugged at the corner of his downturned mouth, like a child tugging at his robes. You saw beauty where he had never thought to look for it. You showed him things about his own home he had never noticed. Like how the aurora glistened in the snow, how starlight glanced in the frost on the corners of the windows. How you could hear running water far below if you pressed your ear to the surface of a glassy frozen river - how the hidden hot springs sent plumes of warm steam up into the sky like bonfires. He never knew why you so clearly preferred Winter to the endless warmth and light of the Summer kingdom, but... he wasnât about to try and convince you otherwise.
You made him see the world differently. You made him happy.
... Nightmareâs almost-smile disappeared.Â
Just like...
...
A thought was itching at the edges of his mind. One that had been itching there for as long as youâd been by his side. One he wouldnât let fully form, not yet.Â
Nightmare looked ahead to Horrorâs back. To an outside observer, Horror probably appeared to be a courtier Nightmare didnât care much for. The two barely spoke, barely even looked at one another, especially when compared with how often Nightmare was around Killer; Horror spent very little time actually in the palace, instead disappearing for days into the snowy wastelands around Winter.
But the truth couldnât be more different. Horror was one of Nightmareâs closest companions - perhaps the closest to being someone Nightmare considered a friend. Horror had been one of the very first fae to abandon the Summer realm and follow Nightmare into the cold. He had loyally remained by his Kingâs side for centuries yet.Â
... And Horror was the only one who knew the truth about a certain rumour that swirled the court.
Dream, King of the Summer court, took lovers like birds took flight. As one would expect of the handsome and charming ruler of all that was golden and good. A new pretty thing on his arm every season, even you yourself had once been Dreamâs favourite. In stark contrast, before your arrival, Nightmare had sat alone for thousands of years. He entertained no touch and treated all flirtation like a personal insult, swiftly removing from the inner court anyone who dared proposition him.Â
Why Nightmare had no taste for romance was the subject of endless debate. Nightmare could not love, Nightmare could not feel. Nightmare had no heart, or Nightmare did have a heart, but it was made of pure ice and beat once a moon.Â
... And... one rumour, considered farcical by most, circled by the particularly poetic and romantic. That Nightmare did have a lover, once, before the written records began. One that he adored with all his Soul. But one day, that lover vanished. And a heartbroken Nightmare resolved never to take a partner again.
...
Horror was the only one who knew the truth. The one living creature to whom Nightmare had confessed.
Nightmareâs memories of his old love were... foggy, by now. Even creatures of eternity could forget, when time stretched out long enough behind them. But there was no fog thick enough to obscure sunlight. When he closed his eye, it did not matter how long had passed. He could still feel her cheek on his palm.
...
There it was again. That itching thought. Nightmare began to twist the silver recalling ring on his finger.Â
... It felt foolish. It truly did. To think such a thing possible.Â
... And yet... you looked like her. You spoke like her, you walked like her. You laughed like her. You used the same nonsensical turns of phrase, you wore the same colours. You brushed your hair the same way. You liked to be kissed in the same ways. Everything you did sent vivid shocks of deja-vu through his body. And your eyes...
...
Nightmare had wondered, since the very moment he laid eyes on you in Dreamâs kingdom, if you were the same person as all that time ago.
Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps he just had a very rare type. But... there was a reason Nightmare had given you his true name so early into knowing one another. He had the growing suspicion that some strange fate was going to befall you. And there was no weapon he could arm you with that was greater than a fae kingâs true name.
Horror eventually came to a stop, ceasing the rhythmic heavy crunching of snow underfoot. Nightmare looked up. The two had entered an area where the trees parted just enough to see a clear patch of sky. It seemed like the sort of place that had once been a clearing, but over the centuries, nature had reclaimed it, closing in over the sky above.
â... trail... ends here,â he said. His breaths escaped as steam from between his massive teeth.
Nightmare came around Horrorâs side. The itching was stronger than ever. Nightmareâs eye darted around the clearing, sharp and tense, glowing brightly enough to light some of the strands of fur on his cloak into a glimmering cyan.
âi know this place,â he murmured.
i have been here before.
They were before a stone circle. Five black stones, half submerged in snow, like obsidian icebergs rising out of a white ocean.Â
Five stones.Â
Nightmare felt... unpleasant. And he could tell Horror was equally as off-put. It was hard to describe to one who did not understand, but the fae had a natural sense and reverence for numbers. It was why they were so fond of threes. Three was a delightfully strong and naturally powerful thing, rich with magic, almost everything important to their kind was done in threes; the number of times an incantation was spoken, the number of ingredients used in concoctions, the number of challenges bestowed upon unfortunate humans, the hour at which the veil between worlds was thinnest.
Five?Â
Five was uncomfortable. Five was beyond. Five visible planets in the sky, five fingers on the hand. Five was looking over a cliff edge, stumbling into an ancient tomb, five was calling upon something not yet comprehended.Â
... And your trail ended here. In a circle of five black stones.Â
âwhat is this?â Nightmare asked. He wondered if Horror could hear the way he tried to disguise a vocal tremble. Nightmare knew the gnarls of the surrounding trees, the edges of the stones, it was like catching a scent on the wind and unlocking a memory you long thought beyond reach.
â... transportation... circle,â Horror replied. Neither of them dared step any closer. âold. very old. iâve... seen some before. but not this one.â
âdo you know where it sent her?â
âno,â he murmured. â... could be anywhere. any time.â
Any time.
... Nightmare looked to the ring on his finger.Â
âhow long has she been on the other side?â
âtime... works... differently. hours here. there... could be seconds. or years.â
The day you vanished, all those years ago, you had promised him with such conviction that you would return.Â
...
Gods. It had been you, hadnât it? He almost laughed. Heâd always known, but heâd never had the courage to admit it to himself. Not until now, not until the answer was staring him in the face.
This was where he first met you. Thousands of years ago. This ring of five black stones. This was where the love of his life had appeared out of nothingness and stumbled, wide-eyed and confused, into his arms.
Thank the aurora he gave you his name. What better defence against him, than his own true name?Â
He was a different beast back then. Back when he was young. He was wrathful, spiteful. He was, by all means, a tyrant. The famous duel with his brother that resulted in the splitting of the kingdoms had happened mere decades prior, and his scars had still been deep and fresh - rivers of blood, both human and fae, ran in the name of his wounded pride. He took what he pleased and cared little for consequence.
... But you tamed him. Just by being yourself, you had bought the storm to heel. He still remembered it, how intensely he wanted you, how much he needed you to like him. How he had felt himself willing to jump through any hoop if it meant you would keep looking at him the way you did.
...Â
You were the reason that, in the present day, everyone knew Nightmare as a quiet, stern, but ultimately fair king. A man with an iron fist but a careful touch. Because the day you vanished, you promised you would return. He forged that man he was today, out of the fires of his proud and foolish old self; he learnt to control his temper, to stay his hand. He learnt how to behave like a king. All so that when you came back - if you came back - he would be a man worth returning to.
...
Stars. Nightmare did laugh, quietly, the pieces falling into place. Is that why you put up with him back then, with all his vices, when no one else would? Why you were so loving despite his rage? You were patient, because you knew what he could be. You had already met what he could be. You already knew.
You loved him in the past, despite his foolishness, because of who he was in your time. But he only was this way in the present because you had given him a chance back then. It all came back around again.
...
â... it... was her,â Horror said. He looked a touch concerned. Anyone would, after hearing Nightmare laugh. âwasnât it?â
Horror was so much more intelligent than anyone gave him credit for.
âyes,â Nightmare replied, simply. He raised his hand, letting the ring catch the moonlight. Magic started to prickle through him.
... He was about to steal you from his past self. The irony of it did not pass him unnoticed. He was about to deal himself the greatest heartbreak of his life. He was about to take the only person who had ever loved his lost and furious young self, the only person who had ever looked beyond the faces he exposed to the world.
...
But... it was a necessity. Because without this, you wouldnât be given a reason to think him worth loving.Â
Power flooded through his body, prickling the long scars on his shoulders, through his arm, and into the ring; his cloak lifted in a sudden wind, the fur on Horrorâs hood began to sway, the trees began to hiss and whisper.Â
... Nightmare... didnât know why. But for a moment, he stayed there like that, allowing the ring to simply shimmer on his finger. Perhaps he wanted to give you a warning that he was calling you back. So that you could say goodbye - and say all the things that that foolish young man needed to hear.Â
...
Nightmare clenched his hand. A nova of pure white light escaped the ring, gleaming out in all directions, a star bursting.Â
There was something like a bang without noise. A pop, a change of pressure in the air. Then suddenly, a tiny human woman was stumbling toward him. You tripped, immediately, likely not expecting the change in scenery; Horror jumped forward, but Nightmare was faster, catching you by the elbows before you were able to fall.
You gasped, grabbing onto his tunic, looking up at him. You were in vastly different clothing to what he had sent you out in. Your eyes were wide and bright, your cheeks rounded and healthy. His past self had taken good care of you, at least.
For a split second, he... he was worried. His eye met yours, and all he could think about was how you must think of him now that you knew how he once was. Would you be ashamed? Would you hold his past violences against him? Would you be afraid, or... what if you didnât think he had changed enough? What if you were disappointed?
You stared up at him. Wisps of magic rose off your shoulders and hair.Â
...
â... Y-you dress so much better now,â you said, stunned.
...
At that, Nightmare could only laugh, and draw you into his chest.Â
All those years alone were worth it. Even for just a single moment with you in his arms.
Not a questions & requests, love your writings so much! Your deltarune fics has been lovely with tenna and ive been re-reading it a lot during my spare time! Of course, i do check your other writings as well! Have a wonderful day, muwah!
-đŹđđș
Oh dearest Anon, youâre so sweet! Youâre making me blush and clutch my heart. Thank you so much!! Lots of kisses to you!
One of my favorite stories to tell about myself from when I was a kid is the story how my grandmaâs âCatching Fairiesâ game was banned because of me
So when I was really little my grandma had this game she made up, sheâd give me and all my cousins jars and containers and tell us that in her garden there were fairies but they were smart and tricky so they disguised themselves as caterpillars and butterflies and as grasshoppers and worms.
Whoever caught the most âFairiesâ won but we had to set them all free because they tended to the garden
One summer day my brothers were at the age they were dreading âgirlyâ stuff so I was playing alone
At this point I had met all the fairies in the garden and I was getting bored without any competition and with finding the same old fairies
But then just as I was begrudgingly heading back to my grandma with the same fairies as usual I found a new fairy!
I thought she was so beautiful! She was resting on the sparkly thread in the leaves and her black body gleamed in the sunlight, she had long legs and a cool red spot on her back
Excited I coaxed her onto my hand and was so giddy I found a new one! I rushed back to the farm house to show my Grandma and Dad, gently carrying my new friend.
But when my Dad and Grandma turned around to see what fairy I caught I saw the color drain from their faces and both of them freeze, I could tell something was wrong but didnât understand
My dad congratulated me and asked me if he could see the pretty fairy, I let him but felt a little nervous seeing how terrified he looked as she moved into his hands from mine.
Slowly he walked back towards the door, my grandma clutching my shoulders then my dad LAUNCHED the fairy back into the garden which I thought was rather rude
Then we had a nice long talk about Black Widow spiders
i guess DNI lists do work in the sense that sometimes i see a user with a DNI full of so many crazy specific discourse topics and opinions that i immediately think "this person is extremely exhausting to be around and/or fourteen years old" and lose all desire to follow them. so like. it did its job. in a way.
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