Dreamtale <s>Drabbles</s> Part 3, in which the brothers bond over a good meal
about 1.3k words | CW: Self-hatred / self-worth issues. Implied abuse. Bittersweet.
Part One | Part Two
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Nightmare was very careful. He placed a ring of stones around his little fire and kept the flame low, relying more on the slow burn of the coals. He hums as he works, using what sparks of magic he can to fashion himself a small knife, which he uses to cut through leaves and grass and the fish he managed to catch in the stream nearby. He had been foraging today and had found himself some wild herbs and fruits too. Nature was a rather neutral force, but Nightmare had done a lot of reading as he prepared- he knew what to look for to keep Dream safe.
Dream had volunteered to head into the village and trade for spices and other useful tools that might help Nightmare cook. He was hoping for a cutting board, a pan, and maybe a plate or two- but he wasn't about to be picky. He looks up in the direction of the village at the thought of his brother.
Nightmare taps a rhythm along to his melody, which turns into a yearning call.
“I'm worried about him,” Nightmare whispers to himself. “I feel a weight in my chest. It feels bad, but this can also be good, because my worry means that I care about Dream. Overall, positive.”
Nightmare continues to hum his tune, pausing every now and then to check in with himself. He thinks he's in a pretty good mood today, despite the way he also feels bad. It's weird and confusing. He's trying to get better. This is also not bad.
Is he bad?
No. The villagers are wrong about that. Nightmare is the Guardian of Negativity. This is not bad or good. It is an overall neutral position.
Nightmare pokes at his coals.
“Mother, you made me to be the opposite of Dream, right?”
Nightmare sits still, and listens. His aura shifts in the wind, and his magic glows from his eye sockets. In his chest is the thumping of a weight, neither heart nor soul, that is ever confident of the answer.
Yes.
“Then… is Dream good?”
Nightmare stops breathing as he waits for her answer, not wanting to miss a single sign of her response.
Yes.
Nightmare curls up tighter, bringing his knees up so that he could rest on them. He flips the fish, avoiding a burn to the other side. He takes a berry from his small stash and nibbles on it.
Of course Dream was good. What a silly question. He was pure positivity, after all. Everyone liked him. It was only natural.
Nightmare’s whisper shakes a bit as he says to himself, “I feel a weight in my skull. I am upset, but I shouldn't be. This is bad. Overall, negative.”
That's what he is. A being of pure negativity.
Nightmare frowns. “Why do I feel other things if I am supposed to be bad? It is not always that I feel bad. ”
As he waits for a reply, he takes his fish off of the heat. Dream should have been back by now.
Then again, why would he hurry back to Nightmare? Dream probably felt so drained all the time, dealing with his heavy negative aura and bad emotions. The village wasn't safe, but…
He couldn't fault Dream for preferring the villagers’ company, who all loved him, and showered him in praise and gifts and hugs-
Your vessel is flawed and imperfect, child.
Nightmare looks down at his hands. He <i>was</i> flawed and imperfect. Which had to mean Dream was everything he wasn't; his brother was good, he was beautiful, he was loved.
Nightmare wasn't satisfied with this, and something within him kept pounding against his bones, cracking itself further and leaking through the gaps in his body. There was so much magic rumbling around in his vessel that it spilled from his eye sockets and dripped to the grass.
“Nighty?”
He jolts up from his position, wiping at his face instinctively, but only making his tears more obvious. He bites his tongue and looks up at his twin, doing his best to school his expression. It wouldn't do to put the burden of his negativity on his shoulders.
Dream frowns, and Nightmare hates it when he does that.
He glances over Dream's body and sees new bruises on his wrists. He glares at them- Dream's vessel was supposed to be perfect and good. Yet here he is, damaged and exhausted, feeling negative about… him. Dream takes a step towards him, limping as he does.
Maybe Dream was perfect and good, but only when Nightmare wasn't there with his badness to taint him.
That doesn't make sense.
Nightmare reaches out to Dream's hand, and Dream takes it as an invitation to drop down by his side. He is graceful about the movement, and Nightmare can see the way his aura glows. He sets his spoils down, and while Nightmare soothes his aggravated bones, Dream's other hand reaches out to hold his face gently. He has a question in his gaze, and Nightmare just shakes his head in response.
Dream doesn't accept that. He makes Nightmare look at him again and asks out loud this time.
“What's wrong?”
When Nightmare makes a point to refocus on healing him, Dream just sighs. He knocks his skull gently against Nightmare's, staying there for a moment.
Nightmare takes as much comfort as he feels he deserves.
Dream pats his cheek and moves away to collect the bounty of the day; a pan and a wooden board, a few small pouches of salt, pepper, and something red- Nightmare wonders if it's supposed to be spicy. Since when did Dream like spicy?
“Do you know what kind of fish that is?”
Nightmare sniffles, rubbing at his eye sockets. “Mother said it- uhm. It looked like a trout of some kind.”
“It looks like plenty for the both of us. Nice catch,” Dream says.
Nightmare thanks him, and takes the wooden board from the pile. With his small knife, he cuts into the fish so he and Dream would have equal halves before he seasons them. It would have been better to wait until Dream returned for this step, he thinks, so the seasoning could cook into the fish. He'd just have to try that next time.
Nightmare sniffs, and realizes a moment after that he was experiencing a negative emotion. That wouldn't do! He was cooking for Dream- the whole reason was to give his brother a happy, positivity filled meal. He pauses in his motions and wonders if he was an idiot for believing that he could manage that.
Dream hums. “Thank you for cooking, Nighty. Was it fun?”
Nightmare blinks. He looks over to Dream as his thoughts are interrupted. He had to backtrack for a moment to give Dream an honest answer.
“I… yes. I did.”
“Good! That makes me happy,” Dream says with a grin.
Nightmare stares at him.
“Me having fun makes you happy?”
Dream nods. “Of course it does. I love you.”
He says it like it was obvious. Effortless. Inevitable- because, well, of course it was. Nightmare smiles, the thumping pound against his ribcage easing.
“I love you, too.”
Dream's eye lights flash molten gold, and his aura balloons to engulf the world in that love. He grins so brightly, and Nightmare can't help but grin back.
He turns to the meager meal he's prepared, and with a loving touch, finishes it off with a sprig of rosemary on each side.
Dream claps his hands in a happy stim, and laughs, buoyant and joyful, and Nightmare is all at once certain that if he was able to make Dream happy then he could live with being in his shadow.
When they finally take a bite, the bridge of their noses scrunch up in unison.
Nightmare had added too much salt.
They look at each other and burst out in giggles at the same time.
They'll be fine, Nightmare thinks. As long as they could make each other happy… as long as they stuck together… as long as they tried.
They'll be fine.
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Imagine you have a character, a broken, vicious man who bites and spits venom even at a person he loves the most, who pushes the buttons of his love just because this toxic familiarity is all he knows, just because it's all he feels safe doing. And then his love finds another person who brings out such a different part of them, a part this character never could or maybe just long forgot how to do. He drowns in jealousy, in his bitternes, he hurts his love, he hurts his love's beloved, their crew... And finally gets what he wanted. Finally has his Blackbeard back, finally can forget about the part of Ed he can no longer reach... But suddenly Blackbeard is unpredictable even to this character.
And suddenly everything changes as he slips and can no longer even enjoy the familiar toxicity because he saw something better and kinder and selfishly wishes for it too, despite it all. And suddenly he understands people around him, people who never saw the evil in Edward, and suddenly he realizes it's his fault. All of it, just a part of it - doesn't matter. He caused this and nobody is happy, not even him.
And then, despite everything, others start to care for him. They tell him "We think you're in a toxic relationship" as if they didn't know it was him who brought Blackbeard back and they hug him tight as if he wasn't the once to sentence them to this horror and they hold his hand when he panics. They experience kindness and hope in a miserable place, maybe a glimpse of what made Blackbeard so soft for a moment there. And when everything falls apart, when he takes the final tumble in this horrible dance he has with Blackbeard, somebody is there to hold him up. Somebody is there to criticize his drinking and make him a new leg and call him their unicorn. The character is "their bastard", he is part of them. He is part of something kind and accepting and he shyly embraces the new familarity-that-might-be, even when he still insults and retreats and bottles stuff up because maybe if he seems fine he can help others, maybe in the end he can be loved in a way as kind as theirs. Maybe he can have a family.
So once they are again in danger he takes the chance and speaks boldly and captures the ominous attention of the enemy. He takes a risk for them. He takes a bullet for it. He rests in the arms of his love and tells him he's sorry even when he could never accept the other's apology. He never gets the chance to try more and forgive more and try to be forgiven more. He can only ever serve as a tool for another character, can never evolve to existing on his own, to healing on his own.
You are Izzy Hands. You are drowning in your mistakes and the toxic familiarity you're too afraid to get out of. And once you dare to try...
The show would rather have you die than give you a chance at healing and happiness.
Your death doesn't prove a point and it doesn't mean anything. It's just cruel.
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Do you think, that in a world where pk did get rid of the radience in the beginning, he would've had a "normal child with his wife? And would his kingdom have an eventually downfall?
Lmao, no way. Two immortals have no need for an heir, and siring a likewise immortal child would have just been a means of creating his own downfall. We also know from his actions that when choosing between Hallownest and family, the Pale King would always choose Hallownest (and keeping control over it), so the risk just wouldn't be worth it. Even Hornet was sired for the benefit of Hallownest rather than a desire for a child, and the White Lady mentioning her fondness for her does not necessarily mean that she wanted children of her own. Fun as it is to speculate, we know nothing about the Pale King's thoughts on her creation, and him locking the Abyss/killing the weaker and impure vessels seems to imply that they were some sort of liability to him. If I had to guess, him imprinting on the Hollow Knight was something that hit him completely out of left field, and that he had no desire for an actual living child until the results of his experiments involving his genetics was staring him right in the face. And even then, he treats the information as something terrible that must be sealed away with the greatest security and punished for remembering, which gives me very strong vibes of a guy who had very little qualms about starting the vessel project bc the idea of having kids meant nothing to him up until reality came and smacked him right in the face. Like, he probably had some regret for it- WL's whole horny jail thing is also a form of punishment for what she did to her children, and she's just as cold as he was, if not moreso- but I don't think the full extent of the horrors hit him until then. And someone who wanted kids wouldn't have gone through with growing brainless bodies with their genes to begin with.
Or, well, maybe I shouldn't say 'no way'. We know from his dialogue at the Abyss lore marker that he deeply regretted what he did, we know from his workshop notes that he believed void to be a thing utterly and inherently without mind and emotion (thus making the vessel experiments ethical in theory), and that he grew to love the Hollow Knight despite genuinely believing that they were empty. And the White Lady starts off talking to Ghost with a very matter-of-fact tone about how she believes that the Hollow Knight failed because they were 'tarnished by an idea instilled', which means that she herself thought that they, as a void being, were incapable of emotion or thought, and that an outside influence must have tampered with them. It's not until Ghost- a vessel who very clearly does not give a shit about appearing empty- visits her more and does things like creating the Voidheart that she starts to soften up, and to reconsider their nature. So it may be possible that both of the gods had some vague streak of parental instincts and longings within them, but that their logical minds completely overwhelmed those desires. It would make sense, seeing as both of the Pale Gods were written to counter the Radiance, who is mostly ruled by emotion with very little logic. So while they had the ability to love their children, and they canonically have the ability to grieve/feel guilt for what they did, they still wouldn't have actually gone out and had a kid out of their own desires to begin with. That would be too much of a risk to them and Hallownest.
But yeah, Hallownest would have fallen anyways. There probably wouldn't be a dead baby pit driven by the necessity for a void-infused host body that could trap a malevolent dream deity for eternity, but it still would have had some form of a downfall eventually, be it a gory mess like in canon, or a slow fade like Unn's. Nothing ever lasts forever, not even in the realm of gods.
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