#rambels

I love different interpretations of Nightmare.

Nightmare fights Dream not because of balance, but because he's petty and still bitter about their childhood. It really has nothing to do with maintaining order he just wants Dream to suffer.

Nightmare doesn't care about what Dream did. He just wants to throw the multiverse into chaos and negativity so that everyone pays for what was done to him.

Nightmare plays the monster everyone sees in him, because really—what's the point of trying to be something different when no one will ever see more then a monster?

Nightmare is the cruel creature they believe him to be. There’s no redemption. Nightmare is dead—what remains is pure negativity, incapable of balance.

Or Nightmare does maintain the balance. He does only what’s necessary. But he gets misunderstood.

Nightmare does the dirty work alone—

Or the only one he keeps is Killer, just to handle the work that makes him look above it all. It makes him a far bigger threat when he gives the orders instead of getting his hands dirty.

Nightmare does care about the gang a lot. Maybe he tries his best, to make their lives a little less miserable.

Or he just uses them feeds off their negativity, abuses and manipulates them, makes things worse.(like an emotinal Vanpirer maybe ?)

Or it’s a mix he cares, but he’s selfish. He keeps them around even when he knows he’s poison to them.

Or he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s completely unaware of how harmful he really is.

And I adore the idea of Passive Nightmare as a ghost like an angel on his shoulder, trying to keep him in check.( I especially love comics where Passive is the reason a “New Nightmare” slowly finds happiness again. Or where he gets to interact with ghost Papyrus or XChara.)

Evil antagonist. Antihero. Abuser. Nerd. Hopeless romantic. Villain. Father figure. King. Guardian. God. Misunderstood. Hopeless.Dead. Influenced. Corrupted. Lover. Caretaker.

There are so many ways to write him (to be fair, this goes for almost every character), and yet every version makes me want to read more. I love them all.

Duran Duran/ Adam and the ants / depeche mode for my auntie T.

For my dad, Gary numan, David Bowie, Japan, anything 80s in all honesty… the Beatles, the smiths,

My mum was a big copy cat so she liked all the above and now likes the charts, Beyoncé, stormzy 🤣 she’s a bit iffy tbh..

My grandad, frank senatra, anything 50s- 60s and 70, French music, he was obsessed with France and anything French.

My nana was Irish and I honestly have no idea what music she liked bevause she never played anything. Maybe something Whitney Houston because my mum also likes her and she says it reminds her of her dad and mum… but I honestly cannot say.

My family is full of addicts and addictive personalities, it’s full of trauma and damage. Broken bones, broken love and full power emotions. My mums an addict, my auntie was an addict both her and my mother fell into the 90s fashion trend of anorexia and stayed there. It killed my auntie, and now my mum is struggling with kidney failure and lung cancer. I can’t say that’s down to their addictions and life choices because I have known people to live healthy life styles and still fall poorly of these conditions.

My dad got a Brian tumor even after quitting smoking, he truly was full of life love and peace and he still suffered. My family has always been broken, however, for a while they made it work and it truly was magical. Wouldn’t everyone say that though, in the depths of their despair, wouldn’t they look about all the trauma and say there family was truly magical? Isn’t that what makes the world beautiful?

I was addicted to smoking weed for 15 years. I mean I’m only 31 and I started smoking weed at 15/16 so do the math. I’ve not touched weed for 3 months nearly 4 months… and I’m so proud of myself because I never thought I would kick it in the crotch. Yet I am a fraud, I too carry the addictive personality that my family carry, if I’m not smoking weed, I’m doing something else to hurt myself and my possibility of a future, drinking, eating too much, sniffing coke; anything that I know isn’t good for me, I so badly need.

I don’t know why my family needed that, you know, the constant urge for things that aren’t good for them. I definitely don’t know why I also posses that trait…but I do. I’ve started the gym, I’m trying to make a new routine for myself, gym, sunbed, eating healthy, looking after my dogs and my own “family” but even that is toxic and not healthy, and it’s like I need it. I’m very self aware, I know what’s right for me and what isn’t yet I accept that bad and push away the good. It just feels so right in doing the wrong thing.

I often find myself deep in the wrong thing and think why? Why am I allowing and accepting this as my own reality, after all I am the only one that has control of my life and what it looks like. It’s so easy for me to grab a can, sniff up my sorrows, throw on an old record, and just sit. Reminisce, long for the life I used to have at my finger tips that I threw away because it was simply too good, or too healthy or simply what my trauma isn’t used too. I needed to set them free, free of my never ending sorrow and self pity.

I used to think quitting smoking dope would solve all my problems, when in fact It’s only brought me to recognising what my bigger problems are, my bigger addictions, what I am and what I need to kick in the cunt and try to get rid of. Isn’t that crazy? How doing something for over a quarter of my life which I thought was so problematic could lead me onto a bigger deeper problem.. it was never the dope it was always me, myself and my family history.

I mean I don’t even know if any of this makes sense bevause yea I have had a drink and yes I have been sniffing… but for once, no matter the reason, I am alone and at one with my thoughts, I get to chose my music, my way of thinking, my actions, my wants and my needs all bubble to the surface and yes it comes as a surprise. I thought I was empty, just a reflection of what I had infront of me, but I’m not. I’m still the silly little teenager I always was no matter what my age is. To some, that might be depressing and melancholy, but to me. It’s uplifting and joyful because I’m still here, buried beneath it all. I am still Me, I am still alive… I am still me.

Then comes along my acting skills. I know you can relate, the constant performance you put on for those around you? Yeah, that. Well it isn’t real. You can have sex, you can laugh, you can live a normal life… a normal life which everyone around you expects you to live. However, under the surface, if people cared enough to lift the lid, they would see so much more, more than what they could deal with. That, that there is the real you: the you in which doesn’t have to perform for everyone around you.

I used to believe in the words of Radiohead that everything was in its right place,,, but that isn’t the case, is it. What your family bleeds, what it goes through and what it bleeds into you is everything you put forward into your own life. I’ve known people that are so glued to their parents, that they themselves feel like they have to repeat their lives in the same format and only now do I find myself disagreeing.

I’m not even sure if this will make sense to anyone or in fact if anyone will even take the time to read all my drunken ramblings, in fact, scrap that, I know there is one person who will take the time out their perfect busy life that they have made for themselves to infact read this, and they will infact understand every word. Isn’t that the point, in a world full of how many billions of people there are, that at least one person understands what you’re chatting about?

I’m pretty lucky, infact I’m more than pretty lucky, my mum always said my dad could fall in a big pile of shit and come out smelling of roses, and weather I possess the same trait or not. With that one person so absently in my life, so far yet so near, I will always smell of roses. Because I am loved and have been loved, for the soul that I was and still am to become.