* Despite everything, it's still you. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
determinedest) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2016-10-07 03:55 pm
determinedest) wrote in entranceway2016-10-07 03:55 pm
Entry tags:
- dangan ronpa: mikan tsumiki,
- gravity falls: mabel pines,
- legends of tomorrow: leonard snart,
- life is strange: max caulfield,
- off: zacharie,
- persona 4: seta souji,
- steven universe: connie maheswaran,
- the picture of dorian gray: dorian gray,
- the walking dead game: clementine,
- undertale: alphys,
- undertale: chara,
- undertale: frisk,
- undertale: mettaton,
- undertale: napstablook,
- undertale: sans
video/action; who said that every wish would be heard and answered
[Based on the shot of the grass and the surrounding floral backdrop, it's clear that the feed has switched on in the garden. The phone itself is buried in the grass, tilted at such an angle that the back of Frisk's head is visible as they bend over a crackling piece of paper.
They've a very - singular look to them today, it seems, complete with an oversized blue jacket reminiscent of the one Sans might typically be seen wearing, the sleeves awkwardly bunched at the elbows where they've been rolled up. On their head is something thick and white and almost woolen - a hat that, on closer inspection, has soft horns and long goatlike ears knitted into it. A gift. Something they haven't worn a single time since Toriel's arrival. It had felt too much like an insult to do so.
But currently, they don't intend for anyone to see or hear this except Napstablook, whom they'd been hoping to impress with how much they'd worked on trying to learn the song the little ghost helpfully wrote out for them. The recording isn't private, however, as they must have intended it to be.
Frisk settles onto the grass, facing mostly away from the recording device. For a moment they pluck idly at the strings of the instrument they're holding, one that the musically-inclined might recognize as a ukulele, before they begin to play. They're clumsy and halting, starting and stopping periodically as they struggle to master the instrument. It is difficult, after all, to play with hands that are perpetually bandaged.
Soon, though, Frisk's wavering voice joins the thrumming of the strings. They are not an experienced singer, nor is their playing perfect. Occasionally they have to stop mid-lyric to adjust their fingering, or to play a part of the song over a bit more smoothly. But the music peels out into the crisp autumn air regardless.
Can you hear it?
For a few minutes after the song's conclusion, Frisk sits there on the hump of grass overlooking the garden, apparently contemplating the empty air in front of them.
Then the feed fades out.]
They've a very - singular look to them today, it seems, complete with an oversized blue jacket reminiscent of the one Sans might typically be seen wearing, the sleeves awkwardly bunched at the elbows where they've been rolled up. On their head is something thick and white and almost woolen - a hat that, on closer inspection, has soft horns and long goatlike ears knitted into it. A gift. Something they haven't worn a single time since Toriel's arrival. It had felt too much like an insult to do so.
But currently, they don't intend for anyone to see or hear this except Napstablook, whom they'd been hoping to impress with how much they'd worked on trying to learn the song the little ghost helpfully wrote out for them. The recording isn't private, however, as they must have intended it to be.
Frisk settles onto the grass, facing mostly away from the recording device. For a moment they pluck idly at the strings of the instrument they're holding, one that the musically-inclined might recognize as a ukulele, before they begin to play. They're clumsy and halting, starting and stopping periodically as they struggle to master the instrument. It is difficult, after all, to play with hands that are perpetually bandaged.
Soon, though, Frisk's wavering voice joins the thrumming of the strings. They are not an experienced singer, nor is their playing perfect. Occasionally they have to stop mid-lyric to adjust their fingering, or to play a part of the song over a bit more smoothly. But the music peels out into the crisp autumn air regardless.
Can you hear it?
For a few minutes after the song's conclusion, Frisk sits there on the hump of grass overlooking the garden, apparently contemplating the empty air in front of them.
Then the feed fades out.]
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They try not to think about it too hard. Don't lose focus, don't do anything that might make this connection waver.]
"Anyone but myself" certainly sounds like an improvement, if you ask me.
[They'd take any name that fit, true or not. "Don't think of it as really me when I do bad things," ha ha. Wonder if they could get away with trying to pull something like that.
Don't think about that too hard, either. That kind of vicious, unsympathetic bitterness isn't very Frisklike, is it? Have to hold on a little harder than that. Stick to the kind of self-loathing that keeps itself bundled up in a neat, tidy little parcel, the kind that doesn't take up space or draw the eye.]
Let's hope Fraska is a little nicer than the sum of their parts!
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Frisk laughs a little, again. Anyone but myself. Anywhere but here.]
I think so. I think...
[There's the jolt of something bitter, self-directed, that familiar loathing rising like bile in the back of the throat. Perhaps that would be enough to jar them both out of it, if only - if only it didn't feed so easily into Frisk's. Just on a different scale. In a different sense.]
* It's...us.
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They don't ask out loud. It's an idle, fleeting thought, one that isn't important enough to say, and the threads suspended between them probably carry the curiosity along as effortlessly as they carry the concept of fusion.]
* It's us.
[The agreement is quiet, aching, warm. An echo, like it should be.]
As close to a constant as this world will allow us.
[They're trying to be reassuring, secure, but it would be a lie to say it can't be taken away. Wonderland has given then spans of time where they existed without each other. A week where Frisk had not even known the red letters in their head could possibly exist as an independent person, up until their consequence came knocking at their door. A week far worse than the Hogwarts one, where superpowers meant nothing at all when it meant the roads in their false memories had diverged long, long ago.
But they want it to be one bit of stability. One thing that didn't change. One thing Frisk didn't lose when Wonderland stopped playing its games and reset everything back to zero. One thing so important they've both turned their backs on the home they knew, the world they belong to.
If ever they could be safe, then let them be safe for Frisk. Somehow, somehow. Impossibly. Just... let these frail threads be a safety harness, an anchor in a storm. Not snaring roots, not chains.]
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Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Everything reset back to zero.
Exactly what they've been trying not to think about. Only even when the words creep up, even in passing, their thoughts tunnel down, honing in on it with a fierceness, a vicious, hateful alacrity.
The connection -
It wavers. Or maybe it snaps. Frisk...they don't know. They can't say for certain. They don't know, they don't know, because their focus abruptly narrows down and they're crying, crying without laughing, crying because the memories that they've been trying not to think about flood their mind again.
Toriel smiling at them patiently. The scent of butterscotch-cinnamon pie, the way she kneaded the dough evenly so the crust came out delicate and flaky, they way she knew they loved it. Asgore bundling them up effortlessly in his massive paws to balance them across his broad shoulders. Chara, face flushed red with the snap of the cold and with laughter as they pitched an expertly-packed snowball in Frisk's direction and scored a direct hit, white snow spattering across the black front of their winter robes. The wand that lit up with a spark of energy, pear wood and phoenix feather, its core - its core shared with Chara's wand, because they are connected. Because, even in worlds and scenarios that do not exist, they are always - connected.
Frisk is crying.
They're crying. They're grieving, they realize. Mourning the loss of a life they never had, that was never theirs to begin with. The loss of a family that never existed.]
I'm - I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry -
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Their link breaks like a rubber band stretched too far, and alone slams back into them with stunning velocity. The ever-present ache of a breaking SOUL tears back through them, like it's splintering into bits for the first time, and their fingers snap closed around thin air in a reflexive twitch of painful shock.
They smile, force a smile, because it's better than looking like they've been slapped, than letting on some sort of manipulative, attention-thirsty signal that they felt the jolt of stumbling back to their baseline. Better than losing focus on who this is really about.
They said the wrong thing. Or thought the wrong thing, or were the wrong thing, Something went wrong. This was supposed to comfort, but now Frisk is apologizing and apologizing, sobbing their eyes out, utterly crushed by whatever misstep they made. They're sorry, Frisk. They're the one who's sorry. Only they don't say so - they never do - and they can't think so, all they can do is thrust out their hands in panicked invitation, trying to make the urgency of it not seem like a demand.]
I'm still here. I'm still here, Frisk. You still have me. That hasn't changed, that won't change.
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They shouldn't apologize. Shouldn't say "sorry." Everyone's so sick of sorry. Frisk is so sick of sorry.
They scrub the heels of their hands over their eyes, trying to keep their breathing from escalating into something uncontrolled, something panicked. Trying to make it all better.]
I - I know. I'm just - I don't know how to fix it. How to - we were happy, we were a family -
[And what about Asriel? What about one of the most important person in all of their lives? Did Frisk just - just take his place, slotting in like he was that replaceable? Who did they think they were? They shouldn't do that, shouldn't - don't you dare drag him into this, Frisk! This was never about YOU.]
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They don't know a reassuring answer. They don't know how to soothe this.
They can't... all this power to make people love them, to trick and deceive and manipulate, and they can't make Mom and Dad - can't make Toriel and Asgore love each other again. Can't make them lift Frisk up and call them "my child." They can't bend the world to be what Frisk wants, what Frisk should have, what Frisk needs to have.
It's funny, right? How bitter that memory now tastes. How it feels like Wonderland mocking them, tricking them into having something utterly impossible, something they don't deserve. Stealing away Asriel's parents, stealing away the happy ending he was meant to have, like it's at all possible to live happily ever after without him. Stealing away Frisk's future, taunting them with it when they know -
They know whose fault it is that this kind of happy family isn't possible. Know exactly why Toriel and Asgore don't love each other anymore. That Toriel and Asgore can't be happy, that Frisk can't have a Mom and a Dad, because they're all stuck paying the price of somebody else's bad choices.]
I'm sorry.
[They hate every syllable, every stupid useless insincere letter that spews out of them. It's not enough. It's never enough.]
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[They know what the problem is. They know what it is, because it isn't Chara, it was never Chara, no matter how much they might be bent on thinking it must be.]
It's not your fault. It's...mine.
[Their hands cover their face, their eyes.]
I did that to you. I took it all, I - I took his place.
[The words squeak out like something forbidden, a cursed word, a panicked, nervous, terrible thing. They should stop talking. Shouldn't bring him up - shouldn't dare bring him into this equation. Not when they rubbed out his face like an eraser over pencil marks, and slipped their own in instead.
And it wouldn't have done so if it weren't - if there weren't some kind of basis for it, if they didn't long for something that they did not deserve.]
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That's not... is that...?
Best friends, they whisper, hand in hand. My family, Chara hisses wholeheartedly. They press their fingers against a bracelet around their wrist, one they haven't taken off since they got it, one that's still bright red and new because their long sleeves keep it safe from the sun's fading rays.
Took his place.
The one person who they'd give their SOUL to. The one person who understands them. Someone who matters so much, they'll turn their back on the whole entire world, plunge into the cauldron of hell and never look back. Someone they'll dedicate their life to, serve like a knight would serve a prince.
And it's... they made their peace with never going home, with losing him and never again being reunited. He didn't need them anymore.
Because he'd replaced them with Frisk.
Chara laughs, a startled, too-loud bolt of noise. Something that covers up the incomprehensible sick feeling in their throat, because that's not... they didn't...]
There's - you didn't... there's room for both of you, isn't there?
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[And they hate it. They hate it they hate it they hate it they hate it they hate it. They hate it because they know, they know, they know that they must have taken his place. Like he was - replaceable. Expendable. And he's not. Not something that precious to Chara, not something that important.
But. But! What must Toriel think? What must Asgore, who just wanted to see his son, who missed his family so desperately but once he got it back, got it back broken and wrong?
It swells up like bile in their throat. Like buttercups. Like daffodils. Like death.
They can't speak for a moment, coiling tighter and tighter around themselves. Hating this. Hating it. Hating you. You are filled with disgust. You are filled with loathing. You are filled with -
You are filled with nothing. Nothing at all.]
I don't ever want that, [Frisk whispers into their hands. Their voice shrinks as they continue, a horrible, hateful litany.]
I don't ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever...
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Took his place.
They... were happy during that week, weren't they? Didn't once feel like something was missing, like they were incomplete, like it wasn't right? Have they... been disloyal? Betrayed him? Tossed him out so effortlessly now that they found something new, even if they know how much it hurts to be overwritten like that?
Is Frisk... right? Did they replace him?]
Frisk, it's... don't talk like that. I still... I...
[Hard words to say. Guilt, shame, heavy coiling feelings.]
I Chara-bout you?
[Ha ha, like that stupid horrible pun Sans made to try and squirm his way out of being cut down. Funny, right? Too bad they can't think of a good joke that uses Frisk's name. Just... just keep trying. Say something. Help them, because nobody else will. Nobody else is their Chara.]
We're partners no matter what. You're not a blank space, you're not - you're not some kind of wild card people can toss in wherever they want. You're Frisk. My Frisk.
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A foolish thing. A stupid pun Sans made in the face of his imminent death. Staving off the inevitable. Or maybe not, because Frisk had stolen that choice from under Chara's nose, like they steal everything else. Impose themselves upon a life they don't deserve. Losing what they don't deserve. And now - now what? What right do they have to any of it? To mourn this, to grieve for a family that never existed, that never should have existed?
Why wasn't he there? Why couldn't Wonderland have given them the family they all wanted? Frisk didn't even have to be there, why couldn't they just have been g o n e.]
I didn't wanna take that from you, from - from everyone. I shouldn't've been there. I shouldn't've even been there. He should've - that would've been perfect!
[Since when did they have any right to that perfect life and perfect ending and perfect family?
Since when?]
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[They spit the words more vehemently than they mean to. But... they can't think about this now. Can't think about... did they really replace Asriel? Could they be that thoughtless, that callous, to someone so irreplaceable, someone who was their whole world?
Don't think about it now. Frisk needs someone. And Chara - Chara can't abandon their partner, can't forsake someone like Frisk, even if it tangles what they understand of loyalty, tugs it in two directions. If they leave Frisk alone with this, nobody else will make it right. Nobody else will help. Nobody else will understand.]
Since when do you get to decide if I want you in my family or not? Who said you were taking anything at all? What, did you politely ask Wonderland to set everything up that way? Was it your decision that Asriel - that he's not here? That... that whole week, you and I were - it didn't change what you are to me at all!
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Why, god why couldn't he have been there instead of them?
They wouldn't have ever had to fall in the first place! Ha ha!
They cringe, hands going around their arms, squeezing at their biceps, fingers - not digging into skin, because the thick folds of those pushed-up sleeves get in the way. They knew there was a reason they picked this one. Turned out its size was useful after all, huh?]
I didn't...I didn't want that, [they say, quietly, eyes downcast. Unable to look at them.] I didn't wanna take that from anyone. I didn't mean to.
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[Aren't they?
No. No, they're not. Asriel's - Asriel's not here. Asriel's been gone for a long time. (The very sentence makes them feel sick.) Surely it'd be... it wouldn't help, if they stayed loyal to someone who isn't even here to know that they are - who doesn't even remember anything that happened here.
(Asriel stayed loyal to them. Called and called, even when he was no longer capable of caring about anyone.)
Stop.
It's not wrong to care about Frisk, right? It's not cruel or selfish to care about someone. It's okay, isn't it?]
If that's the logic you're gonna use, then - then aren't I the one replacing you now? Stealing all of Toriel's love away from the kid she's supposed to have! Forcing them to never, ever move on! Maybe I replaced him when I fell! Took his parents away and hogged them, when they aren't even mine.
Is that how it is, Frisk? Is that how it works? Is love just - just taking and taking?
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Is love just - just taking and taking?
Frisk almost erupts into raucous laughter at that instant. Almost just completely loses it. Shrieks with loud, horrible, bitter, humorless sounds, but they - don't, stop, can't. Don't do that, that's not you.
What are you? Isn't that exactly what you're doing now? Taking everyone's love away! Making them love you because they pity you. And Mettaton, he's living proof that that's only going to last until people discover the real them! Like they said. Like they tried to tell everyone, only no one believes them - not until it's convenient.]
Toriel was your mom first! She's your mom, she was - she's not mine! She never was.
[Never will be, either.
They don't know when they progressed to shouting. They don't even know why they're shouting. They just - they simply are now!]
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[They snap back, frustration bubbling up hot and fierce inside of them.]
I'm not - this isn't some kind of stupid suffer olympics! I'm trying to say that...
[That what? Frisk has to apply the standards they apply to Chara to themself? Ha ha, it's probably a horrible idea to want anyone to use the standards they apply to Chara on anyone else! Try and phrase that one a little better, won't you?]
You can't just... beat yourself up over - have you even asked anyone how they actually feel? Or are you just deciding how they feel for them and kicking yourself in the teeth on their behalf? Maybe Asgore's hoping you'll still call him Dad. Maybe Toriel can see you a little differently now. Maybe if Asriel were here, he'd be happy that the friend he always wished he had could be the sibling he hoped for, too.
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[They stop mid-sentence, horrified, hating that - that it's true, it's all true. Why do they decide, huh? What gives them the right?
Frisk's hands go tremblingly to their mouth, then down again. They look aghast for a moment, stricken. Their fingers work into tight little fists and then open up again, a nervous tic, an agonized flexing of tired muscles.]
I'm too...I can't. I can't.
[Because it's better, if only marginally, to agonize over potentialities than to be told, outright -
Than to be told no.
You're not part of our family, Frisk. You never were.
And you never will be.]
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[They're being too mean, too sharp, too angry. Is getting mad the only way they know how to respond to things? They're supposed to comfort Frisk. Give them "it's okay if" and "sorry" and all the other things Frisk keeps saying to them.]
...Do you want me to talk to them for you?
[No, of course they don't. Of course Chara knows it's better to burn hope before it can ever dare to take root. Just accept they didn't love you. They just pretended, because you made sure they had to. He only wants to see his son, she's replaced them seven times over.]
I don't know what else I can give you, Frisk. Even if it's not enough, it's nowhere near enough... you have me. That's all I can...
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Or...
Or maybe just for two.
Frisk cringes again, scrubbing away the wet streaks on their cheeks with the butt of their palm. The bandages scratch lightly at their skin. Not enough to hurt. They wish they did.]
You're - no. It's okay. You're it, Chara. I've told you. I - I don't mind being alone, as long as I'm with you, 'cause then I'm not...I'm not really alone at all.
[When have they ever been?]
I'm sor - I mean, I didn't...I don't want you to think you're, that you're not - you're my best friend. Family.
I don't want that to change.
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[It feels woefully inadequate. What good is the culmination of your being when it falls woefully short, when it's only a few dully, scabby remnants, not even a whole person? They wish they could be more than just... just an eighth. More than even just one. Give Frisk everything they're starving for. A family. Friends they can tell anything to, can rely on, friends who will carry them when they need it and even sometimes when they don't. Make it so they never have to get used to that hungry, absent feeling, never have to make do with the little they're permitted to have.]
I wish there was more I could do. So you don't have to keep feeling like this.
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[It sounds like a caveat, a blatant reversal of what they just said, when they phrase things like that. They need to...
They take a deep breath. It shudders in their chest, hushes out with a pained slowness. Breathe. Breathe. Hold fast to your determination. Not your anger, not your guilt. Simply - simply stay determined.]
I just...don't know what to do. Feeling like that, like everything was safe and happy, and then it's all just -
[They open a hand, cupping it with the palm facing skyward, the arcs of their fingers forming a strange silhouette with the way the bandages straggle around the edges, threads coming loose and undone.]
Every time I did that, every time it happened, I was the one doing it. And now I...
[Now you have to live with the consequences, Frisk.
It's harder when it's just you, isn't it?]
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[The worst feeling in the world. Nothing is worse than being powerless, being helpless, being a victim. At least if you make everything go wrong on purpose, you can say you had agency, you had all your circumstances firmly in your grasp. It's not an out of control downward slide into the abyss, screaming and clawing for purchase. It's a fun, elegant swandive!]
Is it ingrateful to resent Wonderland ever giving us hope in the first place? What's the point of lifting us up if we're just going to be slammed back down where we were a week ago?
[Ha, ha. Why even try, right? Action might be worth it, but hope... the hopeful light in their eyes is long gone. It's never coming back.
They've seen, far too many times, what happens when you start to hope.
But Frisk... their hopeful light hasn't been snuffed out, right? Nothing in common with Chara but fashion. (Do bandages count as fashion, Asriel?) They look away, keep trying.]
Perhaps, though... perhaps it's not entirely out of your reach. You have a talent for molding the world to your tastes, regardless of the rules. Who's to say that you won't be able to achieve an ending like that here?
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[The words emerge a low whisper, tired and resigned.]
Toriel - I can't force her to like me, Chara. It's not like she's confused, or she doesn't see me for who I really am. Not like she just needs to see the real me. She's seen that.
I killed her. I killed her, I killed her, and I killed her again. 'Cause I felt like it. 'Cause I was mad at her. 'Cause I wanted LOVE.
[Asgore - maybe he backed them into a corner as he did it, but he was the same, wasn't he? They'd killed him or watched him die. Watched him turn his trident upon himself.]
I can't - I can't fix that. I don't know how to fix things. I just know how to make it so they never happened.
[Their tone assumes a bitter edge, dripping with a coldness. Turning the blade on themself in the same way Asgore did, and giving it a hearty twist for good measure.]
Things can be different here, right?
So I guess they are.
I guess they always will be.
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[It aches to see this. Is this something Chara taught Frisk? Did this cold, steely resignation rub off on them?
It's a "we," isn't it? Wasn't that what Frisk was trying to show them? We killed Toriel. We lashed out in anger and grief and desperation. We hurt others just so we wouldn't have to feel anymore. We heckled Snowdrake. We decorated Gyftrot.
Maybe, somehow... we spared monsters. We tried to make it better? We... we SAVED Asriel?
No, don't think that. They already reminded themselves what hope leads to.
Hell, maybe that "we" is a lie. Only counts when it's convenient. When Chara needs to be talked into something. And now, when there's nothing to bend them into thinking, it's all you.]
Tell me. As my partner - my guidance - tell me.
What's the answer? Do you think... do you think it's possible for people to change? For even the worst person to be better? For... for a person to learn how to love something they used to despise?
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cw self harm mentions
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