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abhainnwhump · 4 months

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IMYM Chapter 12: Make Me Your Masterpiece: Ink

(Content warnings: Self harm, creepy/intimate bathing, doll whump, starvation, humiliation, forced crossdressing, Nightmare continuing to be a creepy shit biscuit. Also, happy 1 day late birthday to him and Dream.) <- Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ->

Ink stared at the wall as still as a rock, not even blinking. That way, he could daydream about colors and scenery, keeping him out of the white space. Also because he couldn’t move. Yep, he ran out of emotions for too long and lay as a paralyzed husk.

At first, after he screamed and cried, he killed time by pacing and drawing invisible designs on the floor. He punched the wall once in a while, which might have not even been the one he came in. They all looked the same and all it did was hurt his knuckles. Even though he never saw them, he knew someone was checking in on him. Someone was feeding him water and unseasoned white rice. On a white plate of course. It cost too much in the budget to give him color. It gave him energy, but the amount was always too small to satisfy his hunger.

Ink was so sickof white. He was sick of the silence and the loneliness. He wanted someone to hug him or hold his hand. He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, or at least give his bored mind something to do. You could only talk to yourself in so many different voices before you run out of conversation ideas. Then he remembered the mud from the fall, still stuck to his bones. Brown!

Unfortunately, the dirt and grime from his fall were so caked on that he couldn’t scrape it off. The artist’s desperation for any other color drove him to scratch his arms until they bled. It hurt but also felt good in a weird way. The black blood was a relieving change. Ink used it as paint to make pictures. He drew a messy version of the Doodlesphere’s islands. Damn, he missed it. It was so colorful, unlike his stupid cell. Once he ran out of pigment and didn’t want to destroy his arms anymore, he started daydreaming. Since getting paralyzed, he was stuck right next to a puddle of his sticky black blood. He couldn’t even teleport through the liquid. His escape was so close, but he couldn't move a nonexistent muscle.

How long has it been? Hours? Days? Months? It wasn’t like he had a calendar or a clock. Nope, don’t think too hard about that. He used up his panic and only felt numb.

Ugh. None of this would be happening if he just did as he was told! It would have been so easy too. It was his fault he was in here. At least, that’s what Nightmare said. His words kept replaying in his head.

You don’t think anyone cares if you’re missing, do you?

Even if I did love you, that doesn’t mean you can do whatever your selfish empty heart desires.

You’re an easy puppet.

They were all he could think about. He might never see the sun again because of his stupidity. Worthlessness. Pride. Immaturity.

He deserved this, didn’t he?

The artist knew people didn’t like him. Error, Cross, Fell, and the countless other souls he’s pissed off over the years. Even the original Sans didn’t like him. He always brushed them aside as being jealous. Usually, he would rant to one of his friends and get their opinion, but they weren’t around. Not like they cared, he doubted it.

He should’ve been angry. Nightmare was the guy who threw him in here after all, but he wasn’t. Ink was mad at himself, or he would be if he could feel anything.He was lucky to be with Nightmare and he screwed it up.

Like you screw up everything else?

Shut up!

Ink groaned. Great. He was hollow, hungry, bored, and hating himself. No one has checked on him since he lost his emotions. Maybe he wasn’t useful anymore and was left to starve to death. Was it even possible for him to starve to death? Who cares. He just wanted to get out of and stay out of this room. He’d trade anything for it. Even if he had to sell his nonexistent soul to be a servant or something. Unknown to him, he did.

“Do you understand my reason for doing this?”

Ink cringed at the voice. It was soft-spoken but sounded like a megaphone when he was used to never-ending silence. Nightmare leaned on the left wall, arms crossed and tendrils swaying. He looked sympathetic and regretful, but Ink doubted it was sincere. Something was off about him, but he couldn't put his finger on it . . .

Ink stared straight ahead, but would’ve rolled his emotionless white eye lights if he could. Because you’re a dick?

The dark king propped him up into a sitting position like a toy doll. His tendrils prodded at and caressed his cheekbone. “It’s because when I took you in, I didn’t take wet clay. I bought a pot. Finished, but so cracked and chipped that it didn’t even resemble proper pottery, more like a child’s art project. However, you were salvageable. I just needed to break you first, then the dust could be rebuilt into something beautiful.” He raised a browbone at Ink’s dazed eyes. “And it seems I’ve started the first step quite well. Better than expected.”

Nightmare reached into his pocket and pulled out a colorful vial, swishing it around. If Ink wasn’t paralyzed, he would’ve squealed in joy. Nightmare pried open his mouth. Ink gagged at the feeling of his fingers as he poured the bottle down his throat. His left arm shuddered, then he regained control of his body with a gasp. Licking the last specks of pink and green paint from his face, he looked up at Nightmare with a new mix of emotions. Fear, guilt, regret, anger, relief, but stronger than any of those, love. Ink shot into his arms, clinging to his suit jacket and forcing his head into his chest. Bitter apples never smelt so good after smelling nothing for who knows how long.

Nightmare stiffened in shock. Cautiously, he caressed the back of Ink’s skull, which he melted into. Affection. Sweet, sweet affection. He’d never take gentle touch for granted ever again. The dark king chuckled. “Well, who knew all it took was some alone time to make you so sweet.”

Ink kept hugging him. He was so relieved to finally have someone next to him that he worried this was a dream. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Quiet down, I forgive you.” Nightmare cuddled Ink close, rubbed circles on his back, and kissed his foreskull. Something in Ink felt wrong, but he dismissed it as touch starvation. The kiss and cuddle satisfied it. “I was thinking a lot while you were in here and I realized . . . you were right. I was a little too harsh on you. I didn’t mean what I said about you being worthless. I’ve been neglecting you and your needs for too long, that’s my fault. I’ll take part in some more one-on-one time so I can . . .” He removed Ink’s arms from his sides and held them up, eyeing the mess of frantic claw marks. It wasn’t until now that he noticed the dried puddle of blood on the ground and Ink. “. . . you’re bloody. Again.”

Ink hung his head. “Look, I couldn’t take it anymore. The whiteness was driving me crazy; I needed some color.”

Nightmare nodded in thought. His eye twitched a bit. “Understandable, but nothing of mine is going to be kept in such poor condition. If you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll start you a warm bath and I'll give you a second chance, okay?”

Oh, that sounded great right now. Ink didn’t take baths that often (he didn’t see the point), but he was so worn out and messy that he would welcome it. “I learned my lesson. I’ll never leave your side again, I got it! Don't ever lock me in here ever again!”

“As long as you play nice, I won’t need to. And believe me, I don’t wish to use this room again.” He took Ink’s hand and brought them standing. “I hope you understand why I did this. You learn best from punishment. And you needed to learn not to disobey. Do you forgive me?”

Ink paused. Did he? He was starved,abandoned, and he triggered his worst trauma. Ink looked back up at Nightmare's face and his soft smile, and he knew immediately what to say.

“I . . . yeah. I forgive you!”

Nightmare beamed. “Excellent.” He led him out of the room.

Ink’s senses exploded at the change of scenery. He was aware of every loud plunk of water or blood, whatever it was. The smell of rot and death made him gag. The dungeon was a dark aquaish-green, but the color change was still too hard on his eye sockets. Not that he wasn’t happy being free, he just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

Nightmare noticed his problem. “Here, close your eyes. I’ll guide you. You can trust me."

The artist hesitated before a fuzzy surge of love filled his chest. He squeezed Nightmare’s hand, putting all his trust in him. He made a hum of contentment and led him out of the dungeon. His tendrils nudged him in the right direction whenever he was about to hit something.

Weird, it was like their fight didn’t happen. Nightmare was almost the same way he was in that first month. It didn’t even feel real. Like all that was a bad dream. And Ink would have believed it to be if he wasn’t so shaken up. But they were starting over, everything would be okay now.

Ink almost crashed into him when Nightmare stopped. “You can open your eyes now. We're at your room . . . my dear."

Ink peeked out one first and soon opened the other. His room was dark and quiet enough to not overstimulate him. He stepped inside and buried himself in his blankets. He missed his bed.

“Wait here and I’ll arrange that bath for you.” Nightmare pecked him on the cheek. The artist smiled, but then he looked around. Something was missing . . .

“Where’s my scarf?”

Nightmare’s expression changed to that sympathetic guilt again. “Ah, your scarf . . . it was disposed of. You won’t need it anymore. It was hideous anyways.”

“Oh.” The corners of his mouth turned down. Ink loved his scarf. He didn’t say it out loud, but it hurt losing it. And worse, Nightmare didn’t give him a heads-up. He wished he did.

“I’ll be back.” Nightmare left the room. Ink lay back on his bed. His eye lights wandered to nothing in particular, but something caught his attention. The parasol wasn’t in his room before. Huh?

He walked over to it and ran his hand down the black pole. Ignoring the superstition about never opening an umbrella indoors, Ink opened it. It was all white with a pink border. The middle had stitched roses, hearts, and bows. It was soft too.

Ink picked it up. It was lighter than he expected, even though it was as tall as he was. He practiced swinging it around. Despite the cutesy look, the top was freakishly sharp, and Ink had to be careful so he didn’t knock anything over. Or hurt himself. It was in a diamond shape and all the sides were sharp as a knife.

“I see you found your new weapon.”

Ink jumped and nearly hit Nightmare in the face. He laughed in the entryway, tracing his finger on the soft part under the point. “I couldn’t have you go weaponless now, could I? I was considering giving you a knife, but that was too cliche. This was much cuter and it will fit your new role, you'll enjoy this."

“Thanks!" Ink grinned. "Quick question, why is it pink? I'm not complaining, but I don't get why you gave me a pink parasol of all weapons?”

Nightmare kept touching the designs, looking Ink over. “Because that’s your favorite color. You love pastel colors. White, blue, and purple, but pink is your favorite. Don’t you remember?”

Ink’s fight or flight senses tingled. Something about his tone sounded unnerving, predatory almost. But despite that, he couldn’t stop himself from talking. “I don’t have a favorite color because I like them all. But if I had to choose, I’d pick brown because it’s all the colors mixed toge-”

Nightmare shook his head. “No. Are you going to argue with me further or are we going to clean you up?”

The artist held his mouth slightly open for a minute before laying the parasol down. He sighed. “Alright, you clean me up.”

Nightmare wrapped a tendril around Ink’s hand and pulled him over to him, tripping him. Ink looked up at him. Why did he look so excited? Why was he cute when he looked excited?

He took him down the hall without a single word. Ink tried to remember where this was. The hallways all blended together in his head. Eventually, he stopped at a large brown door, close to his bedroom. “I hope you like bubbles.”

Nightmare opened the door to the master bath. The room was a decent size with a cream-tiled floor and peanut-brown brick walls. The left side of the room held a fancy dark wood sink with a white counter. Something wrapped in brown paper and beige string sat at the edge of it. A circular bathtub was built on the floor and surrounded by brown curtains with yellow cords. A silver showerhead was on the wall, the kind where you can remove the handle. Bottles of soap and scrub brushes lined the corner of the barrier. Lavender bubbles and steam covered the top of the water.

Ink was immediately wracked with guilt. “Nightmare, it’s amazing, but . . . you didn’t need to do all this.”

“Pampering you is my choice. So what if you don’t deserve it? We’ll discuss how you will." Nightmare gestured to the bathtub. "Now, take those filthy clothes off and get in.”

Ink was a little uncomfortable, but he did as he asked and stripped down. Once he removed hisshirt, he noticed the weird look on Nightmare’s face. He was staring, fascinated by his swirling black tattoos. “Uhm, what?”

“You’ve never told me you hid so much beauty. I believed you only had those markings on your arms and legs. Where did you get them?”

Ink blushed with rainbow freckles, flustered. “Funny story. I was born with them, so I guessed it was a normal skeleton thing. I asked Blue if I could see his and he was so confused. Dream didn't know either. Error said it was code from when I was stuck in the void."

Nightmare nodded along and hummed, but he wasn't looking at him. He was staring at the box on the sink. "Interesting . . ."

Once Ink was undressed, he lowered himself into the bathtub. The burning water shocked his system; he squeaked. Nightmare laughed and pushed him the rest of the way in. He took the brush and showerhead and used the latter to rinse water over his skull. Hot! Hot! Hot!

“Relax, I’ll take care of you,” Nightmare said as Ink shifted around. His cold hands were the opposite of the water. He probably didn’t mean to make the water so hot. It was an accident. “You only need to move when I tell you to. Like now, raise your right arm.”

Ink did as he asked and Nightmare cleaned his cuts. He made the disinfecting slow and gentle, pouring water over them to flush out the wounds. It didn’t take long before black blood stained the tub. The artist winced whenever he would rest his fingers on one of them, or worse, they got soap in them. Thankfully, Nightmare would notice and move. He did the same thing washing out the other arm.

“So,” Nightmare started as he pumped soap into his hand. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about your . . . poor decision-making and how I could help you improve. Then it hit me. Your problem is arrogance and too much freedom. You believe your actions are consequence-free and you don’t care about anyone who isn’t yourself. And if something does go wrong, all you have to do is hop into another AU and forget about it. It would be unfortunate if you couldn’t rely on your protector, wouldn’t it?”

Tilting his skull so he could wash the dirt and blood off his neck, Ink’s face burned in shame. He already knew he was an asshole now and then, but hearing it in Nightmare’s smooth voice hurt. "Yeah, I guess that would suck. And I kinda let everyone down . . . what is this leading to?"

Chuckling, Nightmare rubbed the lavender-scented soap into his collarbones. “As I said two weeks ago, I'm going to lay down stricter rules. I have a plan set up for you to take etiquette lessons. You also have some paperwork to sign. You have a brand new role you need to fulfill for me, and I'll teach you how. Don’t worry, once you catch on, they’ll be easy. Your lessons will be alongside your battle training. Also, I will choose what you wear from now on. It’s quite the change, but you’ll get used to it.”

Ink swallowed. He wasn’t a fan of the idea, but he’d do it if it made Nightmare happy. He didn’t want to face his anger again. “What happens if I mess up and break the rules?”

“Simple. Depending on the severity, we would either talk about your mistake or I would punish you. I’d prefer not to physically harm you, I’d like to keep your appearance nice, but it could happen. So instead, you would either spend some time in the white room-”

“NO!” Ink twitched so hard that water splashed up on Nightmare. He smirked in amusement as he flicked the bubbles off his face. “Not again. Don’t leave me alone in there again. Please.”

“Shh.” Nightmare stroked his cheekbone with his thumb, leaving a trail of light purple suds. “Aw, you poor thing. If you don’t want punishment, then I assume you want to be compliant, don’t you?”

To be honest, Ink wasn’t sure what he wanted. He didn’t want to be on his own, that was for sure. But he didn’t like thinking about losing that much freedom either. He could’ve tried running away . . . but he wanted to stay with Nightmare. Even if he tried to run, Nightmare would track him down and throw him back into the white room. Ink wanted things to go back to the way they were. He tried to keep everything on his mind, but it came out as stammering nonsense.

Nightmare massaged soap into his ribs. Ink stopped worrying and relaxed; it felt so good. “I understand if you’re confused, it’s how anyone would feel. That’s how you. will earn and deserve rewards like this. You won’t even need to think, I will do all that for you. You just need to act cute and obedient.” He booped his nasal bone. Ink sneezed. “And it seems you almost have the first part mastered. All this won’t start for at least another week. I figured you need some time to prepare. and understand what you're getting into."

“Prepare? I . . . nevermind. I don’t want to know.” Ink had a sick feeling in his nonexistent stomach. The last time he felt this uncomfortable was when he got back from Flufftale. Even though he was nervous about the answer, he asked, “Hey, Night?”

“Hm?”

“How long was I in that room?”

Nightmare didn’t answer for a long time. “A while.”

They didn’t say anything for the rest of the bath. Nightmare was gentle and his scrubbing never hurt, even when he had to go rougher on some of the stickier muck. Ink started to doze off. Nightmare kissed his foreskull. What did he say before about second chances? Was this it? If so, maybe this new role would be alright, whatever it was.

Nightmare finished cleaning him. He helped him out and Ink took a towel to dry himself off with, tying it around his lower bones when he was done.

“Sit there with your arms held out.” Nightmare said, pointing to the bathtub rim with a tendril. Ink followed the order. “There we go. Now stay still so I can fix your arms."

His tendril reached on top of a cabinet and a roll of beige bandages. He traced his magic glowing fingers down his arms before binding them up. “I would use my malice again, but the bandages will look much cleaner with your outfit. Don’t scratch your bandages no matter how itchy they may become. It could loosen them or cause a worse infection. That includes when they’re off. No more harming yourself, promise Ink? I expect your body to be in the best possible condition.” He paused. “How come you’re staring at me like that?”

Nodding and half-listening, Ink’s mind argued with itself. He should’ve hated him. He was supposed to hate him. He was always told Nightmare was evil and sadistic and violent twenty-four-seven. And he was a victim of that violence. But he’s been so gentle, concerned, and caring. Even after he messed up, he was giving him another chance. He couldn’t- no, he wasn’t all bad. That fight had to be a one-time thing. Maybe Nightmare was confused about how to show love. They were both brand new at this. Or was he the confused one? Oh! He could help Nightmare learn to love!

“Ink?” Nightmare snapped his fingers and the artist jumped, snapping out of his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

“What?”

Nightmare sighed in exasperation. “I was saying I have your clothes in that box.” He nodded at the package on the counter. “You may get dressed behind that screen. And for future reference, I hate repeating myself, so don’t make me do it again. Listen to me next time.”

“Got it!” Ink said quickly. He didn't understand why Nightmare wouldn't let him undress behind there earlier. Oh well. Ink stood up and took the package off the sink. It was both heavier and lighter than he expected. He shook it up to his skull. Something rang in there. A bell? A jingle bell?

The artist slipped behind the changing screen with the box. The back wall was a giant mirror. He set the package on a small stool, untied the perfect bow, and ripped the paper off in a swift motion. Inside was a plain black box. Ink took off the lid and peered into it.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Ink pulled out the biggest thing first. It was a cutesy dress meant for a little girl. Pastel pink with white lace trim and sleeves that puffed at the top before tightening at the wrist. The skirt had a lot of ruffles, lace, and layers, switching between pink and white. A pink bow wrapped around the waist and held it all together. Ink held it against his body and guessed it was about knee length. Under that was a painful and confusing-looking corset and shiny black Mary Janes. The last things he pulled out were a pink and white beret and white knee-high stockings with- did Nightmare have a thing for lace?

Ink wasn’t sure what to think of the outfit. It seemed too cutesy and pastel to be something Nightmare would be into. Like . . . that was the opposite of what he was into. But Ink put it on because he didn’t want to look ungrateful. He didn't hate it either, he was extremely confused.

The corset took the longest to put on because he had no idea how to wear it.The dress was easier and more comfortable than he was expecting, it had a soft lining inside. Ink put the beret on as he fumbled with the shoes. He preferred going barefoot as he felt freer but supposed these were alright. A little tight at the toes at most. Besides that, the clothes were his exact size. He guessed Nightmare looked at the labels of his clothes because he didn't want to know otherwise. As Ink stood up, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His face went hot.

Sure, he looked adorable and charming, but he also didn't look or feel anything like a fighter. The corset hurt and constricted his ribs. Even though they weren’t too revealing, they were some of the most embarrassing clothes he ever wore. The black tattoos on his legs stood out, looking like a sore thumb against the pinks and whites. Would Nightmare be okay with it? Would he like it? Well if he picked it out, he has to. Ink stared deeper into the mirror, studying himself. He had so many quest-

“Oh, Inky?” Nightmare asked in a sing-song tone. “Is everything okay in there?”

The artist’s eye lights turned into a purple exclamation point and circle. “Yeah, I’m done!”

“Show me.”

Taking a deep breath, Ink’s shoes clacked across the tiled floor as he stepped from behind the screen. His self-consciousness eased as soon as Nightmare smiled at him. It was worth everything. Ink messed with his sleeves and bounced on his heels. "So, what do you think?"

Nightmare walked around the artist, taking in every part of him. One of his tendrils felt around his eye socket, then it traced down his cheek to his mouth. He cocked his head with a satisfied smile. “Beautiful, bow and skirts suit you much better than that old uniform. But there’s still one more thing you need.”

“One more thing? What's that?” Ink couldn’t think of what he meant. Then he felt stupid.

Gesturing toward the stool, Nightmare grabbed a container Ink hadn’t noticed before. It was the same pastel pink as the dress he wore. Ink couldn't tell if it was intentional or not. It was about the size of a clutch and looked like one too. It had glittering silver accents and a handle at the top, along with two latches. He cupped his chin with one hand and held a makeup brush in the other.

Nightmare clicked it open. “This is going to be yours soon, but for now, I need you to hold still.”

Ink glimpsed inside the container. Many cosmetics, makeup brushes, and other beauty supplies. Before he could ask for details, Nightmare tied his hands and legs together with his tendrils. He took a small book and opened it, looking between him and Ink. It was a how-to guide. Nightmare dipped the brush in a container of powder and covered his face. Ink scrunched his nasal bone. Nightmare tapped the side of his skull as a silent warning to stop. He switched the powder out and painted eyeshadow on his eye sockets. Ink couldn’t stop himself from sneezing and snickering. The latter because the brushes tickled.

“Nightmare, I- pew! I think I’m allergic to the makeup.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Nightmare said, looking back at the book. He traced something that felt like a pen on the edges of his eye sockets. Ink tried readjusting himself again and Nightmare slapped his hands. “Stop moving around, you're making this much harder than it has to be. I know you have it in you to be good. You're just not putting in enough effort. Yes, you may have not signed any contracts yet, but you don’t need one for basic politeness.”

Ink held back another sneeze. “I can’t sit still- wait, what was that about a contract?”

Nightmare didn’t answer. After a few more touch-ups, he finished. Ink’s face felt weird. The makeup wasn’t heavy, but it still tingled. He’s done face paint and eyeliner before, but nothing like this. He looked in the mirror. Whatever the powder was, it made his features look softer. His cheekbones were done up with rosy pink circles like a cartoon. The eyeshadow was light and glittery. The corners of his eye sockets were a very faint red.

Nightmare ran his hand down his skull before tilting his chin to look at him. He hummed. “Not perfect, but it will do. This is how you’re expected to do your makeup unless I say otherwise.”

Ink was double confused. "Alright . . ."

"I'm glad you understand." Nightmare offered his hand for Ink to take it. He did, pulling himself up. Nightmare looked him over again. "Does everything fit okay? Is anything too tight?"

Ink shook his head. “Good," Nightmare said, "because this dress will become your new uniform. The same way I wear my suit vest and the team wear their navy jackets.”

Ink glanced down and couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He laughed so hard his eye sockets teared up and he had to brace himself with the wall. “You’re joking, right? Me? Going out in battle and spreading negativity dressed like this? That’s ridiculous! Oh, this whole thing makes sense now! You want to pull a prank to confuse me because you’re still bitter over our fight! I could give you some tips on pran . . .” He finally noticed Nightmare’s flat expression. He didn’t have any humor in his eye light. Ink’s laughter died down. “You’re not kidding, are you.”

“I don’t kid, Ink. You know this.” Nightmare waved his fingers and Ink’s entire body tingled. It was a less extreme feeling than when he took control of his emotions in Birdtale. Wow, that felt like a year ago, even if it couldn’t have been more than two months. Nightmare hummed at his aura. “Does the change make you uncomfortable? Be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Ink rubbed his arm. He was hoping he wouldn’t ask. “Well yeah. I’ve never worn any like this. Come on, it’s so embarrassing! You had your fun, now can I have my normal clothes back?”

Nightmare set his hands on his shoulders and massaged them. “I see you don't understand. I got rid of your old clothes. This is who you are now, Ink. I know it's going to be . . . difficult, but that's why I'm here. Now, smile for me."

Reluctantly, Ink did as he asked.

“See? It’s easy to listen and obey, and you’re doing such a good job.” Even though Ink didn’t want to admit it, the praise felt good. So did the shoulder rub. He rested his head on Nightmare’s chest, making one of the king's hands move up to pet his head instead. He was still touch-starved from the white room. It was almost worse than the years he spent in that void. He didn't know what touch was, now he did. He had something to crave and miss. “You’re going to love your new life, my little doll.” He pressed his nonexistent lips together to keep from snickering.

“Little doll? Weird name, but I kinda like it . . .” Ink mumbled to himself. Nightmare didn’t answer, but he could tell he heard it from his smile. Then the moment was ruined when a wave of dizziness took over Ink. "Night, can I have something to eat? I've had anything in like, a week."

Nightmare stopped petting him. "Hm, sure. I don't see why not. How does some pasta sound?"

Ink beamed again. Finally. He would get something that wasn't plain rice. He could never eat that stuff ever again. Or he would have to use food coloring.

Nightmare offered his hand to him and Ink took it. They walked into the hallway. Ink spun around as he walked so he could watch the skirt spin. But despite as fun as that was, he kept wincing and stopping in pain. Right, the corset. It was like he had a massive rubber band tightening around his ribs. What if he put the corset on incorrectly?

Nightmare heard his groans. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, this corset is killing me. Do I need to wear it all the time?” Ink tugged on it again.

His tendril absentmindedly stroked his waist. “No, not during battles or at night. Don’t even think about taking it off, you need it. If it hurts, that means you laced it tight enough. The pain won’t last forever; I doubt you will even notice it after a week. In time, it will improve your posture and make you look better.”

“Could I at least loosen it?”

“No.”

Ink didn’t bother arguing. Maybe when Nightmare wasn’t looking, he could take it off. How was he supposed to wear this thing every day without ruining his ribs?"

Nightmare walked into the kitchen and Ink still couldn't believe how massive it was. Sure, it was a castle, but still. The tiny white room made everything look giant in comparison. It was pitch black like the rest of the castle and the appliances were light gray. And the dining table was huge, almost as long as the room.

Nightmare told Ink to sit down while he made the pasta. Ink did. The chairs were the same dark wood as the table and engraved with swirled patterns and trees on the back.

Ink fiddled with his beret some more and made himself comfortable. It kept sliding over to cover his eye sockets. He took it off to see if it was adjustable. It wouldn't make sense if Nightmare got his clothes right but the beret was too big. Speaking of Nightmare, he kept stealing glances at him while he was cooking.

Ink smiled and cleared his throat. After a long time of thinking, he was going to ask the question that was itching the back of his mind. "Nightmare, why won’t-”

Nightmare shushed him without turning around. “I should've mentioned this before, my apologies. One of your new rules is you are to only speak when spoken to or with verbal consent. If you want to talk, say, ‘Permission to speak’. I will either grant or deny it.”

Ink sighed. “Fine. Permission to speak?”

“Permission granted.”

“Why won’t you let me leave the castle?”

Nightmare heaved a dramatic huff, stirring the sauce. “It’s for your protection. The Doodlesphere believes you to be a traitor. If they find out about our relationship, if they find you’re alive, it won’t end well. Few are brave enough to challenge me, but they would harm you. Think about it. You could protest and they wouldn’t care. After all, the evidence is obvious. You are in a relationship with me, you haven't shown your face in months, and you are part of my cause. I chose the white room punishment as a warning. That’s where they will leave you, in the same white void you were trapped in. I wouldn’t be able to rescue you.”

Everyone thought he was a traitor? Ink didn’t know that. “But . . . I’m the Protector of the Doodlesphere and a member of the Star Sanses! Everyone loves me! Well, most people love me. Why would you think anyone would change their mind?”

“One, you were. And two, it’s because it already happened once, to Dust. He went on a solo mission to a Fellswap timeline. He’s capable of protecting himself, so I wasn’t worried after he was gone for two days. But those days turned into four with no sign of him. Then it turned into a week. I started a search mission with Horror, Killer, and at the time, Cross. After hours of tracking, I found his scarf hanging on a branch. His footsteps were half-buried in snow and I felt a strong force of negativity. Pain, fear, distress, I knew he was close. It led me to a rundown shack in the mountains. There was a gang of monsters . . . torturing him. Dust was crying. His hoodie was missing. I killed all of them on the spot. Slowly.”

His voice turned sadder. “He was a mess. Broken ribs, bruises all over, fever, damaged legs, but the worst damage was to his mind. I haven’t seen him so trapped in his hallucinations since I first hired him. He couldn’t hear me, but he was calling for his late brother and his team. Horror, Killer, Cross, and I were up all night and into the morning working to return him to reality. Once his injuries healed and he could function again, he refused to talk about it. To this day, no one knows the extent of what they did, but I know the motivation. They were tormenting him because he was one of mine.”

“Dust is a henchman, but he’s also like a son to me. They all are. Don’t tell them I said that. Meanwhile, you are my light, my little doll. You would be worth so much more if you were captured. The outside world is too dangerous for you to be on your own. I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.” He took Ink’s hand and held it against his chest. “Ink, promise you’ll allow me to protect you, no more running away, no more misbehavior. Promise you’ll allow me to make you your strongest self so I’ll never need to worry about your safety.”

If he didn’t feel bad enough, the story made Ink regret every choice he made in Flufftale. It probably wasn’t easy for him to open up like that. Nightmare knew what was best for him. He was smarter and more experienced than Ink. He should stop trying to argue and let him take over-

What? No! What the hell was he thinking? He was a guardian and fighter, not a helpless maiden! Even if he was dressed like one! He watched Nightmare set the plate of finished pasta in front of him. His nonexistent soul ached and his paints swarmed, but Ink reached out and took his hand. “I promise, Nightmare. I’ll let you protect me.”

Nightmare stopped and turned to Ink with a smug smile. He hugged the artist from behind, kissing him where his ear would be. He chuckled. “We’re going to fix you, Ink. I'm going to make you perfect. I swear it.”

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