Read on Twitter
each of the bad sanses came with baggage, invisible bags they drug behind themselves, and nightmare's castle felt more like a minefield than anything else at first
killer's entire personality, what little of it he had, revolved around nightmare and his commands, and the only other defining feature of him anyone else could ever see was 'needling'. if there was even a miniscule opening for a jab, or an underhanded tease, he'd take it--
dust was volatile, a coinflip between dry humor or an actual, physical fight, and he could be seen walking the halls during the nights - did he even sleep? - muttering to himself. and it was nightmare who first saw anything that gave answers instead of more questions--
when he found dust in the middle of the forest surrounding the castle, radiating guilt and anger like a factory, throwing attacks at nothing and crying, screaming for the nothing to "SHUT UP ALREADY! THATS ENOUGH! YOU'RE NOT HIM!"
dust was back to his recluse again the next day--
dust was back to his recluse again the next day--
and this cycle would repeat. and sometimes nightmare wasn't the only one who saw, because dust wouldn't make it to the forest where his fury and destruction wasn't seen, and a whole wing of the castle collapsing couldn't NOT wake them all up--
horror... didn't talk. he would make food for them all, and he would tag along when nightmare told him to, but otherwise? barely anyone knew he was even there. sometimes they wouldn't see him for days on end, only finding food prepared in the kitchen--
cross was.. jumpy, at best. he always looked over his shoulder, double, triple checked doors and locks, never came closer than ten paces to anyone unless absolutely necessary. he, too, would disappear for days on end, but his devotion to nightmare's command could rival killer's--
it was very tense until they realized that nightmare did good on his promise to keep them safe. the AU was isolated, nothing could get in/out without him knowing. the only threats were outside during missions. but the moment they were in the castle? it was safe, without reserve--
and slowly, they all started making sense to each other. opening up, little by little, & it no longer felt like they were living with people that could slit their throat overnight, but like they were comrades. or maybe more, with how much they cared, though they didn't admit it--
killer's emotions were stunted, and the only reason he could show (or FEEL) any of them was because of nightmare's hold on the AU's negativity. day by day, the stifling blanket of hate lessened, until he could look at them all sitting at the table and feel something--
warm in his soul, whatever THAT was.
and even though half his jabs were just for his own amusement, the other half had underlying meaning, if you dug deep enough, or were perceptive enough--
and even though half his jabs were just for his own amusement, the other half had underlying meaning, if you dug deep enough, or were perceptive enough--
dust's papyrus was a secret they all found out at different times, because he simply LOVED standing between them and dust. the horrified look dust wore when he almost hit them with his attacks instead of the specter were only amusing to him--
and it turned out dust was actually very chill, if a little somber, when he wasn't overflowing with magic to the brim, and they took care to give him outlets - spars, extra missions, sex - when it seemed he was getting too on the edge--
horror, surprisingly, turned out to be shy. he felt self conscious of what his injury had done to him, and knowing killer, he knew they'd all make fun of his slower, more deliberate speech. but they hadn't, because you don't bite the hand that feeds you--
and horror was ruthless, they all knew that, but he wasn't malicious. he rose to the bait when provoked, but otherwise he didn't seek out any fights. they found him quietly tending to a small patch of vegetables beneath the window of the kitchen--
and dust, who they found out was probably the smartest of them all (or maybe just had the most practice and drive), started planting his own ingredients close by, for those potions he always tinkered with--
out of all of them, horror felt the most like home, which was weird at first, but a couple minutes around him while he did his own thing was surprisingly calming--
cross turned out to be a loyal dog. he wouldn't step a foot out of line, except the time he HAD, and recoiled just as fast, the fear cloying around him, fear that he'd be abandoned again, like he always had been, by everyone in his life--
except nightmare didn't abandon him. he'd laughed at cross' act of independence, and each one afterwards, like he found more pleasure in the way cross lit up with hope and happiness than he ever did with anything negative--
cross turned into a beacon of happiness when he was allowed to be Himself, and not whatever was asked and expected of him. it was a sight for the others, like a small demonstration that they all had hope in their life--
and nightmare. underneath all that negativity given form, he was barely a person anymore. for so long, he'd only lived for pain and hurt, and little else. outside of it, the small bubble he'd created based on that, he didn't feel like a real person, not anymore--
sometimes speaking to him was like speaking to yourself, whoever was with him seeing themselves reflected back underneath the venom and indifference. nightmare didn't have others around him before, and he refused to be like his brother, so he--
picked up little things from them all, stitching them into something that could be his, because THEY were his, even if they didn't BELONG to him. a mannerism from killer, a quirk from horror, reaction from dust, something to say from cross. and slowly, like a mosaic being made--
he recreated himself into something he liked. not the nightmare from before he'd eaten the apples, and not an empty husk covered in negativity. an entire being, who he was proud to call nightmare, even if it was to himself.
