One-shots [Reqs: 5]

In A Bottle

nightmare but he's stuck in a bottle, but he's not a genie and cross finds him

this is an eventual dadmare fic alskdjfalk

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Nightmare hated being a god. No, that wasn't the way to put it. Being a god was glorious, when you're a free one. It was being enslaved that he hated. For the millionth time in the past five minutes, Nightmare cursed his brother. Not only had this curse been cliché, it was fucking awful. The bottle was cramped, there was hardly any space to move around, and not a single mortal had found him in all his years.

This was derogatory. This particular punishment was fine-tuned to belittle gods who were faced with it. Nightmare knew several gods who'd met this fate and each one returned uttering foul words and stories of what they'd experienced. None of the stories could truly convey what it was like. It was cold. The bottle he was tied to was filthy, even filled with someone's piss at one point.

Mortals never rubbed bottles, it seemed. Nightmare scoffed at the thought. Rubbing bottles. Ridiculous. He'd been cursed with the Genie punishment for nearly, what, 15 thousand years?? At least he'd been put in a glass bottle. He remembered hearing about one god who was bound to an outhouse. That particular god had never been the same.

Nightmare couldn't remember what he'd done to be punished this way, but it didn't matter anymore. What mattered is that he got out. Except he couldn't, because he was stuck in this blasted bottle. He glared out through the murky glass, scowling at his distorted surroundings. Mortals passed along, not a single one stopping or noticing his outraged screams.

The sun sank overhead, and his bottle had not moved. Nightmare sat angrily, swearing and cursing his brother yet again. He hated this, more than words could convey.

The crowds of people thinned gradually until only one or two people would pass. Cars hummed by, rattling the rocks against the bottle and annoying Nightmare. He watched it all, his anger fading into a somber nothingness, a heavy exhaustion washing over him. He sighed, curling up as best as he could, and dozing off. Nightmare had learned to just sleep. Time passed faster when he was asleep.

–

Nightmare snorted as the car sped past, leaving someone crumpled on the floor. "Moronic mortals," he muttered, scoffing as tons of people stopped to stare and did nothing to help. It would've been foolish to do anything anyway. The victim was already dead. Nightmare relaxed against the cool glass wall, sighing. Finally, something exciting happened.

Someone had called the police, at some point, because soon, the street was swarming with officers. Traffic slowed to a crawl, crowds of onlookers gathered just outside of the yellow tape, and even more people didn't even spare a glance. Typical.

Nightmare closed his eye, basking in a swirl of emotions coming from those who did care. Horror, fear, worry, shame, sadness, pity. He drank it all like a man starved of water, a grin on his face. It wouldn't be so bad to be trapped in the mortal realm if he were close to this kind of constant suffering. In fact, he could even enjoy it.

The commotion eventually calmed, and the refreshing negativity left with it. Nightmare decidedly did not pout. He glared out the glass, watching the passing people with overwhelming disinterest. It was still early in the morning. He could see younger ones dashing along, most likely either skipping their educational classes or going to said classes. Not a single one spared him a glance.

Honestly, he wasn't surprised. Mortals never seemed to care about the polluted streets. From what he'd learned these past few years, their planet was ill, and no one was willing to help. Nightmare really didn't want to be here when their world collapsed.