Woah what? Spot's actually written something for the first time in months??? Yeah, a quick warm-up w/ some Tauverse stuff! Specifically inspired by my novembmare piece for day 13, in which I drew Nightmare with his 3rd horror's jacket!
Warning for this one: Depictions of death, as well as implied suicide. The rest of it is spot-typical blood and gore and grief! Gods do I love writing about grief...
Enjoy!
“A fool.” Nightmare muttered to himself.
Once more, as had happened before, Nightmare found himself in this room. The very first room he dedicated to keeping a mortal. It had been a foolish impulse, one inspired by the destroyer and his little minion, though now-adays he wasn’t sure which of them was truly pulling the strings in their little private puppet show. At one time it had been bare of all but necessities. Bed, wardrobe, and end table. There had been a mirror here as well. It sat discarded in the corner, covered by a cloth.
The first inhabitant of the room had certainly left his mark. Within days the woodwork had gashes torn like flesh against the grain, the mattress removed from its frame to lay hazardously in timeout, and the mirror shattered and pieces strewn just so. Nightmare had not bothered to clean the space. If the mortal wanted to live in squalor, who was he to force it otherwise? All he cared was that it obeyed him when the time arrived.
The second had undone the work of the first. Covering stains and mending tears. It seemed to not enjoy the state of the room, even replacing the mattress upon its empty throne where it once had sat. That one had lasted longer than the first, its manner more mild and its thoughts centered. Perhaps it was because Nightmare had rid it of that determined soul when he took it. It had decreased its misery, but Nightmare would not afford it having a master besides himself. He had found a way to return that misery to it, though he was not as successful in breaking it as the first. Its foolishness, the hunt for a new owner, had done it in.
The third, as he observed now, had been rather cluttered. Over the years the inhabitants had slowly received things. Shelving, book cases, things moved from one place to another as Nightmare became distracted with his other prey. There had been no reason to bother removing it, as the inhabitants hardly had the time to admire anything they might have believed to be theirs.
After all, in this domain as was his own.
The shelves sat strewn with all sorts of things. Carvings of wood and shavings of dust, gashes on the wardrobe now turned to swirling images of a night sky the visionary had never seen itself. Books and pages cluttered alongside blades of all kinds. Multiple white t-shirts and black, what had they called them, basketball shorts lay askew at the base of the wardrobe’s dark maw. The rugs looked covered in shed fur and dark drips of what Nightmare knew to be the burnt magic of a monster half-dead. This inhabitant had been more prone to leaving its mark wherever it went.
That being said, the marrow and mana on the duvet was but an inconvenience. One of his prey had insisted that it be moved to a familiar place. Recovery time speeds up when one knows where they are, supposedly.
It had not been quick enough. The waste of time devoting one of his dogs to care for the other left him with little force when out on his ‘visits’ was not conducive to his reputation. Would do him no good. The thing had been beyond saving, and as he’d done before, he’d acted again to put it down. Only now, he had a pesky pile of dust strewn in the fabric of the cover that would only serve to irritate him.
Nightmare turned away from the scene, allowing one of his tendrils to scrape against the carpet, rubbing off the marrow and dust alongside the stains the thing had left behind. He would not be taking any of its presence out of this room. Not yet.
.
The table was tense. Nightmare preferred it this way, the things which lived at his mercy shying from the hand which feeds. Even with food on their plates, the open seat to the left of the one called Dust was the center of attention. Dust would not turn to look at it, though Nightmare was unsure if it was due to the absence or that if it tried it would only have Nightmare to gaze at instead. Meanwhile, the one called Horror could not rip his eyes away from the space. Nightmare had denied him entry to the room of the one who claimed that seat for the past two days.
It was refreshing, the sense of unease which covered the room along with the scent of fresh food. Nightmare did not need to eat, he only sat and supervised. Keeping everyone at the table until all had completed their meals.
If he did not do this, the monsters had a tendency to starve.
.
It hadn’t taken long, not at all.
It had irked Nightmare, when he awoke to the terror emanating from somewhere in his home. He did not need sleep, but he found when an aura of despair was as persistent as this he grew content and drowsy. Book in his hand, still opened to the page he had been reading when he had drifted off, it became obvious that something had happened to his prey. Only one aura was present.
He had not rushed. The sense of urgency was long lost on him, savoring the terror and mania which drifted through the halls such as a pleasant candle. His tendrils curled around him as he quietly swept towards its source, each hall dark and silent.
It was a testament to the strength of will of Horror.
Nightmare arrived to the common room to find the hulking brute still in his day clothes, ratty and torn jacket covering the view of his broad-shouldered back. He was collapsed to the ground on his hands and knees, before one of the broad couches where all of his prey had always found their way to. Moths to the flame.
Horror’s shoulders shook silently, hitching and falling in on him as his skull pressed to the cushions, fresh pain blossoming from the old wound with an astounding amount of pressure. He did not seem to notice it.
Only as he stood over the shoulder of the beast did he see the cause of all the fuss.
A blue jacket. White tee. Black baseball shorts. Slippers. They were slumped against the furniture in such a way that it looked like their owner had simply left them behind in a botched teleportation. Wrinkles and folds fell over the empty space as though a breath gone from ones chest. The hood fell just so, resting on an indent made by so many of the skulls which had rested there before it. Truly, he should have seen this coming and sealed away all of the kitchen equipment.
Both of them had been radiating despair since Nightmare had allowed them to visit that room. He’d told them to clean it up, having taken the time to retrieve all which he needed from it the night prior. Horror had an immediate reaction. Nightmare recalled the way the mass of bone had nearly keeled into the door frame at the sight of the clothes strewn on the bed. Though he had steeled himself and recovered quickly after looking to the other one. Horror had surged forward and begun to collect that dust and the clothes along with it.
Dust, on the other hand, had stopped to stare. It just looked on with eyes which Nightmare imagined were quite unseeing. Those ones always had a habit of gazing beyond the plane which all others existed within. Nightmare had left them, but from what he understood, Horror had handled all of the clean-up, while Dust had walked away with the spoils of the endeavor.
Since that day, Dust had become increasingly despondent, only in speech. It still obeyed, killed with a precision which brought Nightmare much swifter meals, but when left to its own devices, Horror could not prompt it to speak. It was only a matter of time before it escaped him in such a manner.
Nightmare just hadn’t expected the courage to do so. None had succeeded before it.
Now Horror shook with the weight of silent misery.
Nightmare had half a mind to tell him to clean it up now, to get up and walk once more.
Only, he had the suspicion that he would be doing that exact thing of his own volition by morning light. This one was not foolish as were the others.
Ignoring the large monster, he merely swept one tendril forward to scrape through the strewn dust before retreating. Horror would supply him with power enough. He would pay for his mourning period through his grief.
.
Wrong.
Nightmare had been wrong. So, so, foolishly wrong. He had believed he finally had a dog as loyal as he deserved. One with the patience to let a pawn play its course, but the will to see it through to its capture. He had thought that Horror might… remain.
He had seen it in Dream’s eyelights. Felt it ripple through the battle.
When Horror had charged that Swap. When Nightmare was busy throwing that ink stain into the dirt. Dream had aimed his bow at Horror and let loose an arrow.
There had been plenty of them that fight. Horror and Nightmare alike had been swift in dodging them, the aura in the universe so suffocating that Dream was sluggish and hiding behind his allies. His arrows were weakened as was he. Only a few more minutes and Nightmare would have recalled their presence and taken them back to his domain. Just once the negativity became overwhelming to his elder brother.
Instead, he had seen as Horror completely abandoned his pursuit of the swap. The sight of the arrow sailing towards him seemingly putting him in a trance. Turning towards it.
He knew.
He knew that the strike would end his life.
The arrow cleanly passed through his ribcage and snagged the soul, only a little off from center. It caught on the inner lining of his jacket, but Horror’s eyelight went dark the moment the strike connected and collapsed under his own weight. The fool hadn’t smiled, hadn’t frowned, just had a look on his face. The same one he’d had when cleaning the dust from the surfaces in the mansion. The same one he’d had for years. As though it was his duty.
Dream had immediately withdrawn. The Swap, too, stumbled and merely watched as the form of the brute only took a few mere seconds to succumb and crumble to dust against the snow. They both watched on in bated horror as the light of Dream’s arrow faded.
A white tee shirt. Black basket ball shorts. A blue jacket. Slippers.
Dust.
Nightmare recalls squeezing Ink. The enemy tangled by leg in one of his tendrils. He recalls squeezing so hard that something snapped, and when his limb passed through and around it, it sunk to the ground. Burrowing. Reaching for something to destroy at the same time that his body drew to the scene.
It was nothing special. He had seen this exact same scene time and time again. The stains on the jacket, the rips in the shirt, the wear of the slipper, perhaps those changed, but it was not new to him. Another dog had died.
He couldn’t be sure why his body ducked and his hand grasped the fabric at the scruff of the jacket. As though it were the body itself, he dragged it off.
Nightmare did not spare a glance back to his brother or the others he kept, only sinking away into a portal of his own making.
.
As he recalls, he did not go to the mansion. In fact, he found himself in the forest at the border of his universe, the one where he would find a soul every so often. Not longing for escape, only testing the limits of just how far he could go.
The place was barren. Nothing like what he knew briefly of his first home. The one where Mother had given him this task. He couldn’t understand why that came to mind now. Mother was no more and these trees were not her. They were not lifeless, only mindless, unable to speak or think or despair the sunlight they never got to see. They did not even bother to grow leaves any more, for there were no animals to each from them and no reason to grow. Dark haze settled in his wake.
The jacket in his hand was gritty.
He pulled it before himself, staring down.
The hood was not the only section lined with fur, he realized. The inside too had it, dirty and musky from years of wear with little wash. The sleeves had tears and damage from the prior battle, though they were accompanied by signs of mending. Within it, among the dust and marrow, sat the impact mark. A section of the fur burnt by the heat of positivity. No doubt that was the location which his soul had shattered in.
A shaky breath entered NIghtmare’s lungs. It shook in a way he did not like and was all too familiar with. A feeling of red hot shame crept up his spine until it engulfed his neck. Failure. A voice whispered in his mind, though he’d only known it to hiss when he missed an attack or misread a word. He did not know why it found the right to criticize him for this.
He had not shot that arrow. He had not stopped Horror in its path. He had not wished for it to end his life. That had been… beyond him.
Failure.
He started moving again. One foot stomping before the other against the forest floor, decorated in leaves which did not decay.
This dog had died without his permission.
.
“He’s alright, Boss.” The voice carried into the library, deep and a little raspy from strain unknown to him.
Nightmare did not turn, listening as the heavy steps stopped just short beside his armchair. Nightmare had not bothered to ignite the hearth. The book in his hands had been open to the same page since he’s opened it an hour prior.
“Dust’s stayin’ with him right now. Just got up too fast from his chair is all.” The voice continued to report, though it was followed by a quieter, “Idiot won’t take a break to recover.”
He had never been one for healing. Nightmare had accepted that even since his creation it had been a skill which escaped him. His soul still twisted in shame when he found himself unable to help his own. Even simply wound care always went wrong when placed in his hands. They had learned the hard way that his rot entering an open sore could produce agony beyond any normal injury. It had once been a means to an end, but now only forced him away in a crisis.
When Killer had suddenly collapsed to the ground, fallen from his wheelchair, all inhabitants had converged. Dust was up first, followed by Horror. Nightmare had felt nearly as useless as Cross when the two of them stood and watched Horror carefully hoist Killer onto the couch.
When his head had lolled loosely to the side, Nightmare had fled.
He could recall once. A Killer laid on a bed. A strike to the spine making it impossible to move, nothing but a marionette with severed strings. Then, it had not affected him so much.
“Is…” Nightmare’s voice nearly caught in his throat, and he could feel the eyes on his back. “Is he conscious now?” Nightmare wasn’t sure he could handle it if he were not. That had been Killer’s status far too often.
A breath of silence.
“Not yet.” Was the answer he received, “But he was mumblin’ something about the cafe, so it can’t be that bad.”
The end of the words had a humorous lilt to them, like a laugh caught at the back of a throat.
“Horror?” Nightmare finally turned his head to look up at the monster.
Horror peered down at him, red eyelight centered right where Nightmare thought it’d be. His frame was so much fuller than the others, his cheekbones rounded and soft, the sweater he wore drowned him a bit, and though the sleeves had been rolled up, his hands still bore the fingerless gloves killer had gifted to him last month. His jacket sat tied against his hips, and he didn’t avoid Nightmare’s gaze as he examined him.
He reached out a tendril, snaking it through the air. Horror’s gaze flicked to it for only a second before the stare returned to him.
“Yeah, Boss?” He replied in turn to Nightmare’s call.
His tendril connected with Horror’s shoulder, snaking around it and against his arm ever so slightly. Horror only shifted under the pressure, subconsciously allowing more room for it to settle against him.
“Update me when he awakens.” He ordered, though his voice was probably much too uncertain for it to be all that intimidating. “I wish to have a serious discussion with him about caution in his weakened state.”
The look he received from Horror was graced by a wide grin and a snort.
“Yes, Boss.” He agreed with a nod, “He might actually listen to you. You’re the only one he takes orders from.” Horror mused with a warmth.
Killer was the first. Of them, at least. Nightmare had always given him such responsibility, he had not imagined his confidence would grow as it had.
Then again, he had never imagined that this warmth would ever force his cravings of pain to subside either.
Dude! I had the most adorable idea for a Tauverse drabble! I just got glasses and have obtained actual depth perception for the first time in years and it's making me realize how much I had adapted to my lack of it. And then I thought about Horror having only one eye and how he must have absolutely no depth perception, but he's been like that for a while so he's probably used to it, but maybe struggles a bit in unfamiliar places and bumps into things sometimes. But then I thought of Tauverse Dust loosing sight in one eye and how he would be brand new to having no depth perception...
So: After Dust gets his injury it's just Horror helping him learn to get around with no depth perception. Hints at angst, mostly fluff and bonding and Dust bumping into things.
I don't know, I might write it. I've never really posted my writing before but if I do write it would you want me to send it to you?
Oh this is SUCH an adorable visual!!! When you sent this I was knee-deep in the holidays (and hyperfixed on crafts) but I was also giggling and kicking my feet about it!!!
I need you to know that if you write anything for this I would be estatic!! I'd love to see it!! (I shall refrain from yapping on this concept so you have free reign with it, aside from saying that yep! Horror would be mostly used to it by the time Night gets him, let alone when Dust loses his eyelight, so he'd be a great candidate for helping Dust adjust!!! <3) I love love love when ppl are writing and I'm always so pumped to see writing for other folks!!
Thank you for sending this cuz it's been living in my brain >:3
This is just a minor inconvenience for one of them, and the other is about to crash out. (Emphasis on the 'crash')
Since the story is about Night becoming a weird dadmare this is like... deeply unimportant because Night finds Error to be like a bee. Annoying, potentially dangerous, but ultimately harmless (to him specifically). But I still wanted to do a lil doodle of these two interacting because any excuse to draw Night is good practice!
So funny that this God lets this annoying mortal kidnap him on occassion and treats him like an annoying chihuahua instead of smiting him 🙏 Error doesn't realize how lucky he is that Night literally does not care about him. He doesn't get much negativity so it's not even worth killing him lmao.
Error and Blueberror (Berry, I think I'll call him) are permanant inhabitants of the antivoid! Error was once a Geno/Fatal Error tasked with destroying unfinished/dying universes. Berry was a Swap who joined him on those jobs as supervision/companionship. However, the antivoid has taken its toll on both of their bodies and being so close to code destruction has led their own code to corrupt into these glitches.
Error, to start, was sort of... always intense. Even as a Fatal he was controlling, seeking power, wanting and itching to *do something* which often led him to being destructive in the omega timeline. In order to redirect that energy, the OT contacted Ink. Prior to Fatal, Ink had been recruiting various Fell and Dust residents to destroy abandoned aus. Now, there was someone directly in-tune with the code who could destroy instead? Perfect. They set Fatal loose after explaining to him what needed to be done.
At first, for a while, it satiated him. He was happy with his role and it brought him joy. But, then he started going overkill. Somewhere along the way, Ink confronted him. Told him to stop that. They had a fight which resulted in Fatal getting whooped and delivered back to the OT.
Sometime while there, in all his rage at being held back again. *trapped* again. A Swap visited. He's 90% sure it wasn't on purpose, though Swap would never admit to entering the place they were confining Fatal by mistake. He ended up staying and making small talk. Banter between them. Which turned to discussion on why Fatal was in there in the first place, which turned to sleep-over style gossip, which ended with both of them actually falling asleep mid conversation. Ink and Outer were who showed up in the morning to find this Swap curled up sleeping on the floor with Fatal napping just on the other side of the barrier (?? Not Jail. Just a house/building they force-fielded Fatal inside of.) That was the calmest they had ever seen Fatal.
After several days (weeks) of negotiation, they established Swap would go with Fatal. Fatal would listen when Swap said they'd hit their quota. It would work.
Fatal did, in fact, over many years of trial and error between them, mellow out. He's still kinda ravenous, but the destruction really is just a job now. Sometimes he gets struck by a bought of mania where he drops Berry in an Outer timeline and goes on a rampage, but that's when Ink steps in and they fight. (Fatal/Error just likes the rush of real combat. Ink never catches on that his mania is 70% acting so he goes all-out and Error gets to pick a huge fight :] )
When Fatal runs into Nightmare. That's when things go a little sideways. That's centuries into him holding this job. At that point, he sees it mostly as just him destroying the code. The finer details of things, it's more interesting to find new ways to tear it apart. That's when he runs into Nightmare. An anomaly who has already somehow done half the job for him?? Well, he can't let someone start taking his job, surely Ink didn't hire someone new, right?
He confronts Night. Night (fresh out of his own au) stares at Fatal like he's an alien, hackles raised and aura flaring. Part of the reason Fatal loses his patience is that aura. It drives him up the wall. He and Nightmare have it out, but in the end Nightmare is able to slip out of the au. Leaving Fatal to clean it up in his wake.
This happens at least 3 more times before... he realizes that the clean-up, the destruction, it's a lot easier for the aus Nightmare was in. Fatal isn't sure what it is, but that kid...thing? It loosened the code and made it practically slip away into nothingness where Fatal usually had to take a metaphorical seam-ripper to its foundations first. Nightmare... he would be an asset, if only Fatal could get him.
And so begins the situation. Fatal (soon finally turned fully to Error) hunting Nightmare and trying to capture him. The capture is often followed by an offer to work together. If rejected, Error leaves Nightmare in the antivoid, alone with just himself and Berry. Every time though, Nightmare somehow escapes.
Once, for a short period early on, Error figured out that placing Nightmare in aus with stubborn code would erode it enough to tug at, but Night was usually able to escape in the process.
It was quick that Nightmare learned how to evade Error almost entirely, he certainly stopped being scared after the 2nd time, but Error still wants him on his side, even after it cokes to light that Nightmare is a multiversal God like Reaper.
Currently, he spends his days tucked peacefully in the antivoid with Berry, doing Fiber Arts and being cozy. Between all his destructive work ofc <3 (Atp he'd probably retire but he's stubborn (determination) and is now looking for a way to streamline the process so he can be evil and petty in other ways aside from destroying unprocessed aus.)
His design is very covering. He still has Haphephobia (though Berry is an exception most of the time because he knows when/how to approach touching) so his clothes are thick, he has a hood to his scarf (Ink touched his skull a few too many times) and it's all his own work. The space under his poncho is actually hiding overalls. He's just never admitting it (they stay up better than pants + don't expose his spine/ribs so long as he's wearing a shirt too). Error's eyelights are also optional. Most of the time he's got his one good eyelight dimmed/off so he can read the code and focus on souls rather than the bodies connected to them. (Senses soul resonance in the air around him like echo-location or a spider w/ prey in its web wriggling around.) He also has marking under his eyes like a cheetah... but they do the opposite. He's very nearsighted because bright days blind him lmao. He doesn't use his glasses anymore, left-overs from his Geno/Fatal eras. He still makes dolls :] (<- Sometimes he calls Berry 'Doll'. It's a term of possession, because his dolls are his prized objects and Berry is a prized object (friend) too!)
Berry! Berry originated as a Swap from an aborted Genocide timeline. He doesn't know that, though. He has no clue that the Human was still doing a neutral run up until the last minute. Yet, as any Swap does, he believed his friend coup be better. Despite their violence. Then the human left and... his au stayed there. And stayed there. And stayed. Until it began to fall apart. That was when a gaggle of OT people came. Extracted the in-tact souls from the breaking code. Swap's code was actually mid-corruption when they pulled him out.
He was there, his Paps had made it too. They settled in the OT but... his brother met an Outer!MTT. He moved away. Swap lived on his own in the OT for a time, until he accidentally mistook the home Fatal was held in as a friend's. He didn't want to stay, not really, but Fatal seemed upset and Swap didn't really wanna go to that friend's place anyhow, it was some kinda party. So he stayed and chatted with Fatal.
Now. Fatal didn't know this for a long time, but Swap thought the Fatal was noble. By destroying code early, it would keep all these corrupted/doomed monsters from slowly breaking apart like his au had begun to do. He thought it was great that Error had that power. It didn't take much convincing from Ink to accept the offer to join Fatal.
It was... more violent than Swap expected at first. Fatal had a little too much fun with it, but as they ran out of backlog on the aus he could consider 'alive' it became routine. Error would destroy. Swap would redirect. Best of all, they were *friends*.
Not much to say after that. Berry became berry around the time Fatal became Error. They were both long desensitized to the killing and destruction, Berry's original goal still present but altered and abandoned now. His only notable thing is Nightmare.
Okay. So. Berry doesn't dislike Nightmare. He just... he sees Error's point. He knows why he's doing it. He just gets so *depressed* when Nightmare is around. His night terrors resurface, he gets distant from Error, he doesn't like the guy or that Error's obsessing over him. Berry tries to keep his distance when Nightmare is 'invited over' but inevitably Error remembers he exists and calls him over, only for his to feel so shitty and exhausted and sad. Several times he's almost been on the brink of inexplicable tears and Error does NOT help when he starts fuming and throwing his weird tantrums about Nightmare.
Berry wouldn't mind getting Nightmare as a partner in destruction, if only Error would calm down and he could figure out the burning pain in his chest when he got too near.
Berry's design is mostly a 'casual' swap put through the limited color beam. He wears gloves (thick) both so he can touch Error AND so he can touch Error's strings. Error's strings are sticky in this au, so when Berry wants to, say, swing in on them or tug Error out of danger or simply get his attention? Those gloves come in handy. Same w/ the soles of his boots. Berry's scarf is just... exaggerated because I like it :3 reminds me of bnuuy.
The save-star motif in his design is mostly because of the nature of the anti-void and Error influence over him, same with the red accents. Hints of determination transferred over.
Berry always has his eyelights (unless tragedy strikes) since he can't/doesn't need to see code/souls. However, when he's excited or intensely sad his eyelights become larger and the fill increases.
Fun Fact: Nightmare screws these two up so badly.
Night's aura affects these two immensely when they're around. Vulnerable glitched code exposes to the aura of The Rot? Yeahhhh. No. In the same way AUs exposed to Night's aura will have malleable code, so do Error and Berry. It can only infect already damaged codes (<- that's why it's only normal discomfort unless expressed purposefully around others) so Error and Berry are deeply susceptible.
Error experiences increased feels of rage. His destructive and impulsive tendencies worsen, he becomes louder, mire desperate to get what he wants at whatever means possible. It's like a hunger in his gut he can never quench. Usually l, this results in him picking a fight w/ + capturing Nightmare. However his lack of his usual tact makes it easy for Nightmare to just slip away after sone time.
Berry gets depressed and insecure. After being 'abandoned' by his brother, he has enjoyed Error's companionship. However, Night's aura ramps up that little voice worrying Error might leave? Right to 11. He gets sad, withdrawn. Where Error is hyperfocused on Night and in fits of anger, Berry is easily distressed and acts like a kicked puppy.
Nightmare, though, can't derive much power from them. As almost fully broken code and characters, their emotional intensity is only an empty echo of his own magic. Usually he just nudges people to spiral and then they take the reigns. Here, the victims are just mirrors. That's it. So it takes a while for Night to gather enough genuine emotion to escape their clutches.
