Summary: Nightmare can never unsee it now.
(Warning: This story contains Palette [who can pretty much be his own warning at this point], mature themes, possibly adult humor, and etc. Viewer discretion is advised.)
Nightmare took a slow sip of his coffee, sitting on one of the wooden barstools placed in front of the central kitchen island.
Bacon cracked and sizzled as Horror busied himself cooking at the stove while Killer lazily chopped the various fruits (strawberries, apples, pears, etc.) for the household's breakfast fruit salad.
It was nice. Almost peaceful.
Though, there was one thing that bothered the dark lord to no end: his nephew, Palette, standing a mere foot away, gazing at him with wide starry eyelights full of utter wonder.
"Your tentacles are so cool!" The six-year-old shouted.
Nightmare felt joy and conceit swell in his soul from the genuine compliment. However, those feelings crumbled when the child followed it by saying, "It's like a bunch of penises!"
The elder guardian instantly took a sharp inhale. Thus, forcing him to choke and spray coffee across the counter-esque space. As the caffeinated liquid dripped down his teeth, he stared at his nephew in what could only be called shocked revulsion.
Meanwhile, the two other adults in the room had opposite reactions to one another. Horror turned, giving the small skeleton a startled, wide-eyed blink, and Killer dropped his knife atop the cutting board and fell to his knees, laughing.
After a few moments (which Nightmare primarily spent trying and failing to regain his composure), Palette hesitantly said, "Uncle?"
When silence answered, Horror promptly followed up by asking, "You... okay?"
The Guardian of Negativity set his cup on the kitchen island; an impassive mask ever-so-slowly slipping over his face as he stood from his seat and calmly - as far as anyone else could tell - walked to the doorway.
He paused just long enough to speak a quiet yet curt, "No." Then continued trudging deeper into the castle, grumbling, "Eat breakfast without me. I'm taking a shower for however long it takes for that unholy mental image to go away."
Once the dark lord melded into the long hall's farthest shadows, Killer managed to quell his laughter enough to stand and wipe the extra tar (i.e., tears) gathered around his eye sockets.
"Pfft- heh... Oh, kiddo! Heh-he... That was beautiful; I've never seen Nightmare leave a room so fast!" He crowed.
Palette frowned, uncertain, looking down toward his feet in shame. "Really? I think I upset, uncle Night-night..."
"Nah. He's good. Just scarred by the thought of having a skele-ton of giant dicks attached to his back."
The young artist lifted his skull, a curious glimmer shimmering in the depths of his eye sockets.
"Why? Dad likes mom's-"
Killer quickly interrupted, face contorting in a very reasonable mix of horror and disgust.
"Oookay! We are officially dropping this conversation and moving onto something else-" The target-souled Sans turned to his equally unsettled counterpart. "Horror, please, make us a note to tell Dream and Ink to keep whatever happens in the bedroom in the bedroom."
The broken-skulled skeleton nodded and pulled a small notebook and pencil from his inventory, mumbling, "Will do..."