sanscest oneshots.. (Hiatus)

☁️ inkmare (platonic)

platonic inkmare!
requested by - Luminositymoon

artist isss...
me! (Nightmare is a little bit... could be better, sorry)

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Nightmare sighed as he traversed through the multiverse, looking for something, anything new. He was growing sick and tired of the same thing happening every single day. It was like a repeating cycle of sorts, and he hated it.

His mind wandered, thinking about himself and others. Perhaps he could plan a get-together? Eugh... that'd be quite the odd sight from a being like him. He wasn't very fond of huge social gatherings either, so that was a lose-lose situation. Nightmare huffed. He'll find something soon. At least he hoped so.

.

In the meanwhile, Ink was in the doodlesphere having a troubling time as well. He was bored out of his mind and couldn't find his flute. Typically, on days like these, he'd have time to spare and would practice his flute playing. Why was he so forgetful? Curse his horrible memory...

Perhaps he could retrace his steps. Maybe he left it.. ah, of course. Without a second thought, Ink formed an ink splotch portal to Dreamtale.

Within the last hundred years, its beauty has thrived and flourished despite its abandonment. The tree may be a lonely old stump now, but it still holds a message and a meaning.
Due to its beauty, many of the outcodes visit every now and then. Ink often liked to play his flute as the sun set in the background.

Once Ink had arrived, he found his flute case untouched. It was still in the place he last hid it.

A soft melody played through the bushes. It was quiet and peaceful, almost longing.
But the music did not come from Ink. Ink's memory may be failing him once more, but he was sure that the atmosphere was meant to be quiet. Was somebody.. here?

He looked past the bushes and spotted a king. The king of negativity. His crown was uneven, nearly on the brink of falling. Nightmare didn't seem to have a care as he continued to play his violin.
The soft melody felt oddly nostalgic and longing. It was perfect, and yet it was missing something - someone.
It sounded so lonely, so.. serene.

Ink opened his flute case quietly in order to not draw attention to him. Art came in many different ways, and music was a respectable way of art. If done horribly or greatly, there are always things to improve and learn.
He assembled the flute together. Each piece made a small click as it was put together.

The flute was fully put together now. Ink got up from the bush and shuffled out. He put the flute up to his mouth and began playing a harmony to match the melody that Nightmare was playing.

Nightmare instantly paused his playing when he saw Ink come into view. He looked towards Ink and raised a nonexistent eyebrow. His playing soon resumed, going back to playing his melody again.

The sun was slowly setting under the horizon. Its orange and red rays shone down on them. The moment and time were so ethereal.

Their music danced with one another. Each took turns playing the melody and the harmony. Each and every note was made with precision. If one of them failed, they would not bring attention to it. Instead, they would continue to play and would be sure to fix their mistake as the piece went on.

Time seemed to be passing by slowly. In the moment, Ink had made quick and swift movements. He moved closer to Nightmare and continued to play smoothly, even if he was moving. Nightmare would notice this, slowly making his way towards Ink as well.

Their music may have already been dancing alongside one another, but their skeletal bodies moved along with the tranquility of their music.

They went on for a few more minutes before slowly coming to a stop with Nightmare playing his melody and with Ink playing his harmony just like in the beginning. It all came together in a comforting closure. The last note seemed to echo forever. It went on and on infinitely.
Perhaps the echo was all in their head, but it seemed so real to them.

Both parties didn't speak for a while. The silence was peaceful. It would have been awkward, and yet it wasn't. It was.. comfortable. Comfortable silence.

"..I didn't know you played the violin."
Ink inquired, breaking the silence with a soft and quiet tone.

"I've never told anybody. It was too much work, and besides, I barely have the time to play anymore. I didn't know you played the flute."
Nightmare's tendrils shifted around, getting comfortable.

"I learned in my free time."
Ink smiled. The swirls on his cheeks brightened. He was happy to be there at that moment.
"I like your playing. I think it's very good!"

"Why, thank you. I quite enjoy your playing as well."

He looked at Ink, a near smile almost lifting his lips.

"Would you like to play with me again sometime? Maybe you can show me a few other instruments you play??"
Ink's eye lights twinkled. They sparkled with excitement as he jumped a little.

Nightmare sighed.
"I am not sure if you can remember, but we are enemies, Ink. Simply bonding over music to cure that is unusual."

"Oh, yeah! Oh... Yeah..."
Ink looked disappointed. He stared down, his eye lights being light blue.

"Then again, the world and other people's opinions should not matter to our music playing, should it? I'll meet you back here at the same time we started tomorrow. Does that fit in your schedule? Or whatever shenanigans your star group does?"
Nightmare raised an eyebrow. He crossed his arms and stood in a specific stance. His violin had disintegrated into thin air.

"Okay!!"
Ink instantly took out a pen and pulled at his scarf, writing down a specific time and place.

Nightmare rolled up his sleeve and a slight bit to look at his watch. It was getting late, and the sun had already set in the universe the two of them were standing in. He took in the beauty one last time for the day and nodded, walking off into his own goop-filled portal.
Then, as fast as he appeared, he disappeared. Any signs of him had also been thoroughly gotten rid of.

The tiny artist sat down on the remains of the tree of feelings. He wondered what they would do tomorrow, and he was looking forward to it. His eyes traveled up to admire the last bit of sun before the atmosphere fell into darkness.
Fireflies flowed with the wind. They were like tiny shooting stars flying around from place to place. He preferred the daytime, but the peaceful moment trapped him in the au for ages. Ink laid down on the grass, facing the stars. He wanted to count them, but of course, there were too many. Perhaps one day he can.

Perhaps tomorrow he could.

Perhaps not.

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word count = 1175