* Despite everything, it's still you. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
determinedest) wrote2016-02-01 10:14 pm
determinedest) wrote2016-02-01 10:14 pm
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You've reached Frisk. If I'm not answering my phone, please leave a message or find me on the second floor, Room 12.
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no subject
[They'd lived among monsters for - for years.]
* This monster is too timid to fight.
* It seems evil, but it's just with the wrong crowd...
* It's so excited that it thinks fighting is just play.
* Mistakenly believes its lava can heal people.
I knew, but I hurt them all anyway.
[They can't hide behind an excuse, can't plead ignorance. They knew better, but they chose that anyway. Played along, embraced the lesson that had been written in the dust wholeheartedly. They'd already been shown that it's better to be ripped to smiling pieces, go to ashes all over the garden, than to so much as scratch anyone who harms you, but that didn't stop them. Didn't keep them from listening to everything Flowey pushed them to learn, didn't keep them from hunting down every last monster, spreading their roots all over the Underground and reducing it to a cherry-red number that ticked lower and lower.
They sit like dead weight against Frisk's stiff, uneasy side. Smile at nothing in particular.]
If you can tell a thing like me that there's no shame in protecting yourself... what about you, Frisk? How can I believe that at all when we both know you chose not to FIGHT?
no subject
[And even with the knowledge Chara fed them, the descriptions of monsters that must have had homes and families and people that loved them, Frisk had cut swatches through them anyway. Simply because they could, and because they could, they "had" to.]
Maybe 'cause I...'cause I wish I did FIGHT back. Not the monsters. My...
[The word sticks there, clotting in their throat. It's wrong. It's wrong.]
My p-parents. I wish I'd...done something. Anything. Not just sitting there and taking it. Running away, and then coming back because I always - where else was I gonna go?
[It hurts. Hard to talk about, think about. Why they never talk frankly about this.]
Did me just...just sitting there and letting them do whatever they - did that make it okay? If I'd said something, done something, m-maybe they would've stopped. Maybe they would've seen how bad it was. But I never did. I never said anything. I could've, but I -
[Little children who aren't willing to fight for what they want... deserve what they get.
They must've always had it coming, hadn't they?]
continuing trend of cw EVERYTHING POSSIBLE
[They spit it furiously, vehemently. More sure about that than they've ever been about anything, because they had every second of trying to live like that carved into them. It isn't okay. It's not. It's hell to live that way. Nobody should ever have to.]
...I... tried it your way. Before I...
[Fell. It comes out faltering, stumbly, in fits. Like they can only vomit up the poison one heave at a time.]
I called out for help.
[Spare the rod and spoil the child. I'm sure they still love you, Chara, I'm sure they have your best interests at heart. It won't happen again. But they're such nice folks, Chara. You really are a difficult child, inventing stories like that. Don't you know the kind of trouble you could cause for your family?
Frisk knows how it ends.
* But nobody came.]
I tried running away.
[Loitering in diners until the waitresses got suspicious, trying to avoid eye contact with the truck drivers who asked what a girl like them is doing out so late at night, because only girls wear makeup, because girls can say they're 16 when they're nowhere near that, not even close, but 16 year old girls can get away with sneaking out at night, and it still feels like a slap to the face every time someone pins that word against their flesh.]
I tried begging, pleading. Tried to be so good I never made them mad at me. Tried to be so quiet and out of the way they never tried to- to love me.
[Wish they really could have been an angel, because wings would have made them light enough to tiptoe across those eggshells without ever breaking one. But when they know you run away, they don't let you lock your door. They search your room. They never take away the scissors or count their disposable razors, because they don't notice or don't care, but they take away the food you try to hide, the change you try to save up to get out of this place, the pamphlet you slid up your sleeve during a church retreat. They punish you all the same.]
They always had power over us, didn't they? Never showed an ounce of MERCY, no matter what pathetic little token resistance we managed to put up.
...You know what happened when I tried to FIGHT.
[Just six. Six who deserved it, hateful, wretched creatures who had crimes to answer for. Who should have been grateful that their evil existences would be able to accomplish one good thing, at least, would be able to atone in their last moments. Buy themselves a place in heaven. Vanish, and leave room for the good, compassionate monsters they locked away.
Ha ha.]
It just made us tall enough that I could look into my father's eyes as he took a swing.
[Locked immobile by Asriel's will, feeling every ounce of his-their-our horror and fear and disgust, hearing his screams, our screams, his tears, none of them would listen, none of them cared about how much the child had loved those flowers. One of them trod on the limp corpse in the scuffle, and that, not the pain, made him kneel down and pick it up and smile - no, and smile - and walk sadly away.]
None of it was enough. None of it freed us. The only thing - the only thing that made us safe from them was...
[Why would you climb a mountain like that, Frisk?]
no subject
You call out for help.
They told you to stop lying.
You begged for MERCY.
They told you do not deserve it.
Maybe they didn't say so out loud, but they said it with their dismissive words, with the way they could go weeks and days without ever exchanging a word with the people who were saddled with a child they didn't want, a child they couldn't afford, a child they didn't know how to take care of. A child they left at a bus stop, saying, with a reassuring smile, that they'd be right back. A child that got left outside a fire station because the people there would surely know how to take care of them, even if they leered and milled around and ignored the quiet child that sat there, poking at weeds with a twig and pretending they were stronger and bigger than they were.]
Some things are just - some things really don't change at all, huh?
[Their voice is wobbling, even if they try to say it like it's a joke, or an inane observation. But it bites deeper, deeper than they could imagine, and their hands are sunk into fists again. Can imagine what it's like, all too well. Monster flesh is so fragile. It probably felt like tissue paper, caving beneath the knuckles of someone who must have relished the excuse to exert violence on another living creature. Especially if it was one that could fight back but simply chose not to.
Revulsion. Anger coils in their gut, hot and thick. They'd wanted that. That LOVE, that power. That feeling that no one, no one would be able to control them or tell them no ever again. Eradicating their enemies, never able to hurt or be hurt again. Not with LOVE hardening their heart, not with 99 ATK and 99 DEF at their beck and call, immune to even the most determined of humans or monsters, the most desperate of pleas.]
I still hate them, sometimes. [The words emerge a whisper, low and cold and furious.] I hated them even before I - before I knew how bad they hurt you. Before I knew you at all.
I know I shouldn't. Supposed to be the perfect...supposed to be the savior everyone says I am. But I - I hate them. For hurting me. For hurting you. For every human out there, for every kid that might've fallen because they knew they wouldn't be missed, for every kid that, that actually did fall, I -
[Their throat is too taut, their eyes hot with unshed, furious tears.]
I hate them so much.
no subject
[Spat viciously, coldly, with all the long-festering resentment and venom born of years and years of being born wrong, growing up wronged, dying wronged. The aching, searing injustice of an empty coffin, an unmarked grave, of knowing that the humans who destroyed everything probably celebrated themselves as righteous, justified, heroic. The slow-crawling poison of realizing it happened again and again, seven more times.]
They're not sorry. None of them are sorry. None of them even tried to understand!
[Why else did they cut down a monster before they had a chance to explain? Why else did they drive child after child to want to disappear? Why else did Frisk - Frisk, who's just a kid, just a hurt, lonely kid - grow to hate humanity?]
I don't care how imperfect it makes you. They haven't even made a single attempt to earn your forgiveness! What's the point of forgiving someone who doesn't care that they hurt you?
[Their hands are mirroring (ha ha, another loaded word) Frisk's, clenched into fists, nails trying to stab into flesh. They - they want to wrap their arms around Frisk right then and there, cover them like a blanket, like a suit of armor, like they can retroactively shield Frisk from the... from the things that make a child feel this way. But they don't, but they can't, these tense furious arms might grip so hard Frisk goes to dust, might just feel the way that an adult's arms do.]
Fuck the other cheek! Forget that stupid stuff about how it gets better if you just wait it out or karma will reward you someday! That's just supposed to make you feel happy with being trapped! Like it's any kind of consolation that the only way out is oh, they're in a better place now!
Save your forgiveness for the people who deserve it. Not... not them. Not your mirror. Not the people who drove you up that mountain.
no subject
But monsters...monsters are better, aren't they? Chara's anger is vicious, blazing, as dense and uncontained as they are. And they...they feel it dragging at them like a razor blade over skin, the cherry-bright and crescent-shaped like a smile or the apposed edges of flesh and muscle that come from a throat slit open with one clean stroke.
Does it make them a bad person? They're trying to be good. They're always choosing to be good, continuously choosing it, even if they mess up sometimes.]
There are lots of Floweys out there.
[The words are quiet and strange and controlled, more even than they should be.]
Lots of people who...who'll kill or be killed. And if I didn't choose to go with her, with Toriel - where would I have gone? Back there?
[How long would that last before someone threw something that landed too heavily, struck their temple too hard, left them outside too long, or just plain couldn't take the incessant whining of a little child anymore? Only they wouldn't say "child." They'd say all the words that they hate, terms that weren't them, while the other kids would say, matter-of-factly, how h▒▒ Mom and Dad didn't want h░▒. They'd never want a broken thing like h▒░.]
Maybe...maybe it's okay if we don't. Maybe it doesn't make us bad. If people hurt us, and never changed, and never said sorry, never tried to make it better - maybe it's okay if we don't...
[It sounds so wrong in their mouth they have to swallow and try again.]
I forgave everyone I met Underground, for everything they did. But, but that's because they - they were hurt by humans, and they fought back because they had to. And then, then they felt bad, and said sorry. But those people, those humans, they - they never even tried to make anything better.
[Are they allowed? Allowed to hate people? They've mentioned such things, obliquely, tentatively, to Mettaton and to Sans and to Alphys, and not one of them passed a judgment that made them feel worse for it.]
Maybe they're not worth it. Our forgiveness. Our thoughts. Any of it.
I don't wanna hurt them. But I don't - I don't think I - I don't think I wanna forgive them. They don't - I don't wanna ever think of them again.
no subject
That kind of life kills you. They can't go back to that life. They can't.]
Some things are better off erased, are they not?
[Their smile is brittle and calcified, a strawberry-sweet lid clamped over the years and years of locked-away helpless fury still churning in their gut.]
We keep being told... loving someone isn't a conscious choice. Just... an accident. A thing that happens by itself, whether you will it to or not.
["It just happened." Like that's any comfort at all. Nobody wanted this, Chara just made them care. All they do is make people do and say things they never would have if that little parasite had never been born.]
Maybe hate's like that, too. We can't just go... "oh, you know what, I think I'm not gonna feel that way about you anymore." Can't wake up one morning and decide "yeah, that's enough, I feel totally fine with what happened to me now!" I don't even... I don't think we should have to.
[They're never going to look back on it and think it's okay. Never going to be able to dredge up the feeling of Asriel's pain and terror as he clutched that limp corpse and think "it all happened for a reason" or "it was part of God's plan for you." Never going to accept being curled up under the bed, face pressed into a pillow so nobody could hear or see your sobs. Big kids don't cry.]
You should be mad. It was an injustice. You didn't have it coming, you didn't - you didn't ask for it. Your mirror, your parents... they just hurt you because they had power over you and wanted you to know it.
no subject
Is it their responsibility, to like everyone? To love everyone and SAVE everyone and appreciate them and listen to them talk about their issues and solve their every problem flawlessly? They've met humans, incomprehensible as it sounds, who are good and kind, who have become trusted people, friends, family. And they can no sooner choose to mistrust them than they can choose to hate them.
Frisk's tightly-clenched fists relax, fingers opening once more (fingers that snapped so easily, got caught in car doors like the Mirror must have remembered they did, got left inside the locked car with the heat and the thick air and the nothing, nothing, nothing that came when they called for someone to remember they were still inside), folding across their lap.]
Don't have to forgive anyone. Don't have to SAVE anyone just, just because I can. I can, but I don't have to, do I?
[They've never turned that statement around like that. Regarded it for the positive as well as the negative.]
Maybe I don't have to hurt them. I can - I can choose what I do with, with how much I hate them. Even if that's doing nothing.
But I don't have to say it's okay, either.
no subject
[It's another of those moments where they have to forcefully bite down a feeling they don't really understand. Frisk's the crybaby, not them.
They're still uncertain. Don't trust any of their ideas or opinions to be good, no matter how much they might fake it. Not sure if it's really okay to teach Frisk that they're allowed to hate. Shouldn't they be the one trying to be more like Frisk and Asriel are? Maybe this is just... just dragging Frisk down to their level. Pulling a feather or two out of an angel's wings.
But... they know it's not that black and white, don't they?]
You're not an angel.
[That prophecy was never about either of them.]
You're not perfect. But I...
[The word claws in their throat. Love. Too difficult, too raw, still an open wound.]
I like your imperfections. I don't want an angel. I don't want those spaces blanked out. You don't have to be a flawless pristine snowbank, or - or an empty canvas everyone else can write their worries on. You're Frisk - my Frisk - and you have the right to hate what happened to you.
It's okay to not be okay, right?
no subject
They're not the only one out there. Not the only one who braved the Underground. There's not even a common thread besides the name, the name that links them all together.
It settles deep and heavy in their gut, that knowledge. They'd not wanted it, not a single second of it. But maybe it doesn't matter, so much, if they're one Frisk of many Frisks, one Chara of many Charas. There's no Chara they'd rather have than theirs, and they think Chara...feels the same.]
Right.
[The word is nearly soundless but for the soft clip of the "t" coming together with the apposition of tongue and teeth.]
I like you too, okay? Everything you say you hate, it - it doesn't matter to me. It doesn't matter if you've hurt people or been hurt by people. I don't care. I can't - I can't really choose to stop caring about you, just like I can't stop hating them.
[One corner of their mouth ticks upward in an uneven smile.]
But I...I think like you a lot more than I hate them.
no subject
They're not sure if there's anything in the world that's capable of being stronger than all the hate that they've got, but maybe, if it'd be anything at all... maybe they like Frisk more than they hate humanity, too.
Yeah, right.]
I... ha ha, I know it's weird that I get relieved when you get mad about something, but... I am.
[Still just as incapable of understanding how Frisk can possibly look at all the things Chara hates about themself and sees something worthy of love, but definitely capable of that inexplicable backwards relief. Even if they don't know if it's a good thing to encourage, even if they don't know if it's helping or not, just... just seeing Frisk able to make peace with not forgiving is enough. Seeing them closer to viewing what happened as another person wronging them, not a guilt-laden memory of what they failed to be, failed to do, failed to forgive.
If it helps, just a little. If it even brings the tiniest measure of solace. If it makes it just a shade easier to swallow... then that's enough.]
Um. Frisk. ...Do you wanna be touched right now?
[Chara - Chara doesn't want to hold hands. Finds them hard to look at. Is terrified of being too strong, too rough, too horrible to touch fragile, mending fingers. Don't expect that hugs make it all better, that it'll make everything okay with a single gesture. But being held... that was what Asriel had understood "comfort" to mean. What Frisk had, too, because they'd chosen to comfort him, right?]
Or... I don't know, do you need something else? I'm not - this has never been my forte.
no subject
[The words feel foreign, strange to say aloud. It's okay to be mad. Has anyone ever told them that before? Ever acknowledged that their anger, their pain, their suffering is - relevant?
It's always been secondary, they thought. To the pain of monsters, to the pain of people who knew them. Their pain was just a stepping stone to someone else's, and it wouldn't matter how many times they died or got hurt or were nearly killed by the people they called their friends. It didn't matter, because those people didn't mean it, because they were more important, because they didn't have the special power that enabled Frisk to always come out unscathed.
Maybe not unscathed.
But...alive.
They turn slightly. It's hard to look Chara in the eyes based on the position they're both in, but that's okay. They don't think they need to. They try to smile, but they don't think they really succeed.
Maybe that's okay too.]
It's okay if you want to, um...[They're kind of already leaning against each other, aren't they, ha ha.] I mean, I'm okay with it.
no subject
Isn't that the most far-out thing you've ever heard? Anger's evil. They're really... ha, they're really coming up with some wild stuff together, aren't they? But it's not like Chara can even begin to think it's evil of Frisk to be angry. It's not. They really, truly, don't see wrongness in that.
Funny, because they can't even tell if this is Chara's guidance, or Frisk's.
They shift, work one arm free. Rest it against Frisk's back. Their hand hesitates. Lightly, cautiously, not certain if it'll spur a flinch or brush against a concealed nick or goose egg or welt, they bring it up to Frisk's hair. Easy to duck away from, not touching their body because they both know how easy it is to bruise up the places that clothing covers up, because they know what the impact of a boot against ribs feels like. Just... cradling their hair, offering a shoulder to rest their head on. A baby step, something they hope doesn't hurt or press in or smother.]
It's not really even about what I wanna do. I just...
[They shrug their free shoulder. Laugh again, because they're just a nonstop barrel of laughs.]
I'm trying to figure out what you want? I don't know... I dunno what feels safe for you, I guess.
[Does anything feel safe, really, when you've been taught touch is... when you've been... after all of this?]
no subject
They laugh a little, lightly, a faint huffing chuckle.]
You feel safe, mostly. I...trust you. You know I do.
[They are their partner, in many things, in all things, and there's...there's not really anything they'd do to change whatever this is, this sort of bond they share. It's without a doubt the most important connection they've shared with another person in their life.]
Thank you. For...for talking to me. Helping me. You really are - I mean, I know I say we're friends, best friends, but I dunno if that really...covers it. I mean, uh.
[They're saying this all wrong, aren't they?]
What do you call someone who've shared a SOUL with?
no subject
You don't have to thank me. That's... it should really be the bare minimum you expect, you know.
[It had always been the worst part of life on the surface. That nobody would talk about it. That nobody was willing to hear it. Always easier to assume that it won't happen again, or they're a tough kid so they'll sort it out themselves, or they're smiling and going about their business so they clearly must be totally fine. It's not as easy as scooping the prinxce out of the tower and living happily ever after. It isn't just about rescuing them from the big bad mirror. There's more that comes after that. Everyone should know that, should be thinking about Frisk still. There should be more Snarts out there, even if Chara might've giggled for a full minute about Frisk talking to somebody named Snart.
And even if there aren't, Chara will be. Chara'll fill the empty spaces people leave around Frisk. Can't be a Toriel, for all their trying, but... they can, at least, manage being a Chara.]
...I still think "soulmates" has a nice ring to it.
[A stronger word than friends. Than best friends, than family, than partners. It does... it does feel hard to cram an entire fathomless ocean of feeling into a single word, doesn't it? But soulmates, at least, has the cushioning punchline to it that "Mrs. Dreemom" or "Mr. Dad Guy" has. If you can say it and there's the possibility that you're joking, then it's not so raw, so vulnerable, so exposed.]
no subject
[What it's like.
It's not for a very happy reason. But even unhappy reasons, they think, maybe, can shape them into something they can come to love? Maybe the unhappy reasons aren't all that they are.
Soulmates. Not simply SOULmates, but...soulmates. It's nice. It's simple. They like it.
Frisk smiles faintly.]
Okay. Then that's what we can be, then.
[They say it with the air of finality, like signing a contract. Boom, soulmates. And it means...ha ha, well it's kind of literal too, isn't it? They've shared a SOUL. They've seen the best and the worst of each other and came out loving one another anyway. Best friends, maybe, doesn't quite cover it.
Maybe it's not always perfect. But Sans kind of said, more or less, that loving someone else is one of the strangest, most terrifying things someone can do to another person. It's scary, opening yourself up like that.
But they don't mind it so much. It's worth it.]