Night Terrors

Three

"Alright, boss," Error announced. "We've all agreed that you need to put on some clothes!"

The king looked up from his almost finished erotica, raising his eyebrow. "I am wearing clothes."

"No you're not!" Horror yelled, finally rid of his stupid headache. "You've been walking around in Killer's hoodie for an entire week now! You even use the fact that you're constantly pantless as an excuse to not deal with your brother!"

"You're trying to force me to deal with him now, are you?!" Nightmare growled, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"Yes! Because he's your brother, and he's been bothering the rest of us because of you!" Error glitched as he became more frustrated.

"And its overall gross! We don't want to see all of that!" Cross crossed his arms. "No to to mention how unsanitary it is! You haven't changed once in a week!"

"And Killer needs his hoodie back! He looks weird without it!" the cannibal complained.

Soon, all three of them were yelling complaints at the king, none of them truly being heard. As they whined and bitched and wailed and objected at him, he started to pull the hoodie over his knees to cover himself up more as he sat.

"Alright!" Nightmare boomed, shutting the three up instantly. "If you're going to be such pissbabies about it, why don't you give me other clothes? Or what, are you expecting me to go out of my way to do something I don't really want to do to stop slightly inconveniencing you?"

"We're glad you asked!" Cross suddenly smiled.

Suddenly, the three turned to the door, waiting. After maybe a minute or so of increasingly awkward silence, Error repeated, "We're glad you asked!"

The murder duo burst in with a small cart of fabrics, both looking flustered and taken by surprise. They accidentally ruined the flow of the planned moment, and they would probably get ripped a new one afterwards.

The king sunk into his jacket more. He realized he'd been played, and he'd have to bid farewell to the warm, cozy, comfy jacket. But it was for the best. He didn't want to come off in the wrong way, and it was losing its smell of Killer.

"Alright, let's get you dressed!" The monochromatic skeleton gave the god a grin. As much as it was nice to see him happy, he also really wanted him to be in actual clothes again. It was starting to get awkward. Like the king he served was just a dumb whore his friend brought over, since that was how it felt with him walking around, wearing only a borrowed hoodie.

Reluctantly, the stained skeleton went with the cart and his gang to his room, where he locked himself and the cart inside.

"Your brother put some of your old clothes in there!" the soldier yelled through the door.

The half-corrupted growled, starting to go through the clothes. He threw the worn hoodie to the floor, revealing his stained and chipped bones to no one.

He approached his closet, opening it to reveal the full-sized mirror inside. He had to make sure he looked good in the clothes he was trying on.

First off were his old passive clothes. They were obviously too small. He didn't even try them on, not wanting the memories they brought with them. So he didn't have to see himself, in a weaker form, in an outfit that reminded himself of only trauma.

And then were the hoodies and shorts. Some of them were black, some were purple or blue. Some were soft, some more less so, and others were not the right texture for a hoodie. He'd put those aside for a while.

But then came the clothes he thought he hid. The king had a collection of historical-inspired clothes. Ruffled shirts, corsets, petticoat panniers. He already knew which ones fit, and which ones didn't. He would yell at his servants for not only snooping, but wrinkling his beloved collection.

He put on a ruffled black shirt, buttoning it up. He loved all the lace and the flowy sleeves with the tight elastic at the end. He wore a corset over it, tightening it. He summoned a torso, devoid of pectorals or breasts or anything else. Just the waist, so the corset could hold something. And he added some nice, flowy black dress pants. And heels. Lavender heels. Something cute, and simple.

"You doing okay in there, Boss?" Horror called, knocking on the door.

"Yes. I'm perfectly fine, in fact."

He threw most of what he didn't care for into the cart, before opening the door. He ignored the looks on his gang's face.

"Put all of these back where you found them. And I want them exactly where you found them, ironed, or I will kill you." He walked past them. "Now excuse me, I'm going to the library."