Watching yourself be held in a tight grip, hugged against the chest of someone who once shared your mind, body and SOUL, as they plunged a knife into your chest over and over-- it's not supposed to be pretty. It's not supposed to feel good. It doesn't make you happy and it doesn't make you feel loved, or safe.
It's horrifying. It's horrifying. Didn't Asriel ever tell you, Chara? Didn't you hear about kill or be killed, that it's not the right way after all?
Of course
Frisk would actually have to believe that, to think it. Instead, they watch that blade come down, and down, and down, and though their body cringes at each sickening thud as the hilt slams into their chest, they don't bother to look away. Let their fingers tighten on Sans' ankle, flinching outright when something (someone, and they're sorry, they didn't mean to, they're sorry) touches their shoulder.
It disappears after a moment, just after Sans starts talking. Trying to calm Chara down. Trying to tell them it's okay. They can stop. It's okay. It's really
Not. Frisk doesn't think, no matter how much they'd like to, that this is a moment in time where either of them should be saying they, or it, or anything, is okay.
Getting up is torture. If it wasn't for Sans right next to them, they wouldn't manage it; even with a jacket to grip tightly, it's a struggle. It's a momentous struggle, with pained breaths that they don't want to take, a shake in knees that threaten to buckle, but that's the thing about kids like them, right? They're, uh, determined. Too determined to be on their feet, using Sans as their source of balance as they grip their way across his arm, drag their body into following the line of his ulna.
They don't know what to say. They don't know how- if, ever, Chara wants to be touched, or wants to see them, or wants to let anyone near, ever again, but they push their way in as Frisk does, intrudes on their life and their death (their death, this time. Not funny) until they've got one arm around Chara's shoulder and the other gripped tight and tangled in Sans' sleeve, their own- corpse, trapped between them all.
no subject
No.
Watching yourself be held in a tight grip, hugged against the chest of someone who once shared your mind, body and SOUL, as they plunged a knife into your chest over and over-- it's not supposed to be pretty. It's not supposed to feel good. It doesn't make you happy and it doesn't make you feel loved, or safe.
It's horrifying. It's horrifying. Didn't Asriel ever tell you, Chara? Didn't you hear about kill or be killed, that it's not the right way after all?
Of course
Frisk would actually have to believe that, to think it. Instead, they watch that blade come down, and down, and down, and though their body cringes at each sickening thud as the hilt slams into their chest, they don't bother to look away. Let their fingers tighten on Sans' ankle, flinching outright when something (someone, and they're sorry, they didn't mean to, they're sorry) touches their shoulder.
It disappears after a moment, just after Sans starts talking. Trying to calm Chara down. Trying to tell them it's okay. They can stop. It's okay. It's really
Not. Frisk doesn't think, no matter how much they'd like to, that this is a moment in time where either of them should be saying they, or it, or anything, is okay.
Getting up is torture. If it wasn't for Sans right next to them, they wouldn't manage it; even with a jacket to grip tightly, it's a struggle. It's a momentous struggle, with pained breaths that they don't want to take, a shake in knees that threaten to buckle, but that's the thing about kids like them, right? They're, uh, determined. Too determined to be on their feet, using Sans as their source of balance as they grip their way across his arm, drag their body into following the line of his ulna.
They don't know what to say. They don't know how- if, ever, Chara wants to be touched, or wants to see them, or wants to let anyone near, ever again, but they push their way in as Frisk does, intrudes on their life and their death (their death, this time. Not funny) until they've got one arm around Chara's shoulder and the other gripped tight and tangled in Sans' sleeve, their own- corpse, trapped between them all.
No one is letting go.
Please, don't let go.]