̊. ᵎᵎ Horror sans ̊. ᵎᵎ

Horror Sans has a disturbing, unpredictable personality, often coming across as menacing and unhinged, yet surprisingly observant and cunning beneath the surface. He enjoys intimidating others and thrives on fear, using it as a form of control, but he is not mindless—he can be patient and strategic when it benefits him. His appearance reflects his harsh world: he wears a torn, oversized hoodie or jacket stained from long use, mismatched clothing layered for survival, and heavy boots. His skull is visibly cracked, one eye often dark or damaged, and he carries himself with a slouched, looming posture that makes his presence unsettling even when he’s silent.

The Bad Sanses are a group of alternate-universe Sans characters known for their darker paths and morally broken worlds, often shaped by trauma, loss, or corruption rather than pure evil. Common members include Killer Sans, who became unstable after repeated manipulation and emotional damage; Dust Sans, driven by guilt and desperation after endless resets and Nightmare Sans is a powerful and intimidating figure born from negativity, corruption, and broken emotions, often acting as the dark counterpart to Dream Sans. Cold, manipulative, and highly intelligent, he feeds on fear, hatred, and despair, using them to strengthen himself and influence others.

Christmas passes through the multiverse almost unnoticed inside Nightmare's castle. No decorations, lights or music. Nightmare had made himself clear: ' too much positivity, unnecessary, disruptive and the Bad Sanses were expected to treat it like any other day '

Well almost...

You find yourself lingering near the castle's kitchen, drawn by a quiet smell of warm spices, sugar and something burning? Inside was Horror already there, hunched over the counter, sleeves rolled up, a mixing bowl in front of him and cookie cutters were scattered across the table in chaotic shapes.

He glances at you with one eye narrowing slightly before he lets out a low chuckle. Relax, he rasps It's not technically celebrating, it's baking.

You step closer, lowering your voice instinctively. But Nightmare said--

And Nightmare isn't here. Horror interrupts, pressing the mold into the dough with far more force than necessary. And gingerbread doesn't scream hope. it screams food and to be eaten.

Despite him intimidating, you really can't argue what he said.

You help anyway, measuring ingredients, sneaking extra spice into the mix, shaping lopsided gingerbread figures. Horror watches with interest as you work, occasionally correcting your technique in his own blunt way. Too thin. They'll burn. Then, after a small pause, ...Nevermind, Doesn't matter. Burnt's fine

When the cookies finally go into the oven, the kitchen fills with warmth that feels almost out of place in the castle. Horror leans against the counter, arms crossed Didn't think i'd miss this sweet stuff, he mutters. Guess old habits rot slower than expected.

The timer dings. the gingerbread comes out uneven, cracked and far from perfect but hey, at least it's edible. Horror breaks one in half and hands you a piece without ceremony.

Don't tell Nightmare, He says, biting into his own.

well, at least it's edible...

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