someone else's fire:
Chara: Asriel, I want this. I wouldn't be bringing it up if I didn't. You don't want to be stuck here forever, do you? If I can do that for you—that's more than I can ask for. It means even my life can have some sort of meaning in the end.
Chara: I could never surrender my soul to anyone but you, Asriel.
They're only very small, like you, but you think they look poised, holy, in the low light.
Asriel: It was supposed to be quick and painless. You said it'd be quick and painless. Chara, what's going on?
Chara: Just a miscalculation.
Chara lifts their hands off the bedspread to set them on top of yours. They're actually trying to comfort you. Somehow this makes you feel even worse.
You finally feel as though it is—tentatively—okay after all.
It is not okay. It will never be okay. Never, never, never.
It is not okay. It will never be okay. Never, never, never.
Chara: I know what happens to children when they're no longer wanted, Asriel.
Chara: I wish I'd been born as your heart. Then I never would've had to go through all this, and I could be with you all the time. So if I have to keep existing—if I could become a part of you—that wouldn't be so bad.
"Mom, Dad," you say, heart starting to beat wildly, "I have to talk to you about something."
You feel foolish, but since you're whimpering like a baby anyway— "You won't let Mom chase them out of the house?"
He smiles. "I do not think that she will try," he says, "but if it comes down to that, yes, I will find some way to placate her."
He smiles. "I do not think that she will try," he says, "but if it comes down to that, yes, I will find some way to placate her."
Asriel: I don't want to let you go to someplace I can't touch you anymore.
somebody out there needs you:
There's no rhyme or reason to the things that time has repaired and the things it hasn't.
It’s ridiculous. It’s senseless. You were so happy, once, to have this woman who taught you how to knit and made terrible jokes with you and didn’t frown when you got carried away and used your full vocabulary in casual conversation. To have this man be so kind and warm, and make you tea and give you chocolate, and make you feel at home in his arms when you never thought that was something you could have with an adult. And you ruined that, you put a knife in it and twisted and twisted and you didn’t even have the decency to die properly after all that.
They love you, and it hurts, because you aren't worthy of it.
Mentally you're a million miles away, adrenaline turning your veins into highways of coursing stardust.
Chara: If I hadn't taken it, do you really think I'd complain about it?
“I do not know why, or how you could have harmed yourself in this manner,” she goes on.
You drop her hand like it’s hot metal. “I didn’t,” you say, but it comes out strangled.
Toriel breathes in, closes her eyes. “Oh. I apologize. That was a poor choice of words on my part. I do not know how you could have sustained harm like this—is that a little better?”
You drop her hand like it’s hot metal. “I didn’t,” you say, but it comes out strangled.
Toriel breathes in, closes her eyes. “Oh. I apologize. That was a poor choice of words on my part. I do not know how you could have sustained harm like this—is that a little better?”
“Then what’s—” Your voice is trembling. You can’t do this. You raise your fist instead, and finger-spell it out, shaking with—anger. Yes. Anger.
W-H-A-T-S W-R-O-N-G W-I-T-H M-E
W-H-A-T-S W-R-O-N-G W-I-T-H M-E
Prase: Not knowing what's going to happen to you's...really scary.
love does not make me gentle or kind:
They’re so—light, almost delicate. You don’t know when that happened. Usually you’re not too terribly conscious of it, but sometimes when you wake up or when you hug them it just sneaks up on you and bowls you over, filling your heart up with a helpless tenderness you don’t know what to do with.
You watch them a little longer, in the low light. A couple strands of their hair are caught in the edge of their mouth. The white streaks shot through the red peek out here and there, like veins of silver in the mountain walls, or hidden treasure in a storybook.
You watch them a little longer, in the low light. A couple strands of their hair are caught in the edge of their mouth. The white streaks shot through the red peek out here and there, like veins of silver in the mountain walls, or hidden treasure in a storybook.
You lift your locket from the top of the dresser and slip it over your head. The longer chain was last year’s birthday gift from Chara—they joked about being sick of doing up the clasp for you, but their smile was too thin. You’d waited until you were alone with them to promise that no matter how big you get, you’ll never outgrow wanting to wear your locket. That swell of love and pride you get every time you see its twin on Chara’s chest, the security of knowing they belong to you—well. You want them to have that too, because you belong to them on the same elemental level. It’s only fair.
The Riverperson: The heart is the most treacherous foe of all.
Chara: I can’t believe someone put all these perfectly good books in a perfectly good Tupperware and just threw them away! Humans are idiots.
“I would like you to sum up for me as much as you actually heard of my lecture on Snowdin’s economics, so that I may get us back on track.”
“Uh,” you tell her. “I, uh. Um.”
Your mother sighs dramatically. “I knew your attention was elsewhere, but it saddens me that you have not listened to me at all. For the record, I have been explaining today about projected overcrowding in Waterfall for the next century. Snowdin has not even gotten a mention.”
“Oh,” you say. It’s just like her to test you like this.
“Uh,” you tell her. “I, uh. Um.”
Your mother sighs dramatically. “I knew your attention was elsewhere, but it saddens me that you have not listened to me at all. For the record, I have been explaining today about projected overcrowding in Waterfall for the next century. Snowdin has not even gotten a mention.”
“Oh,” you say. It’s just like her to test you like this.
There’s a little voice that tells you that this isn’t a fair way to look at things—Chara specifically said that they wanted Prase around because you wouldn’t always be available, didn’t they? So Prase is still second best to them, which is what should be important.
You quash the voice, swamped by fresh irritation. Just being Chara’s favorite isn’t good enough. You want to be their only. Isn’t that what love is supposed to be about?
You don’t know what’s gotten into them anyway, deciding to meet the new kid all of a sudden. They’ve avoided it since he fell. Heck, it wasn’t even until last year that they could stand for Prase to touch them without having an anxiety attack! It’s too weird. The Chara you know is shy and cautious and afraid of humans, above all. You’d bet anything that Prase put them up to this somehow. They’re no good for Chara.
Even though Chara has gotten more relaxed over the past couple of years? says the little voice, popping up uninvited again.
You roll over and very carefully do not growl. You don’t want Chara to hear you and worry that you’re mad at them. Because you aren’t. Well, you sort of are, but mostly you’re not really. You’re just… worried. Because they don’t know what’s best for them.
That’s right. That’s what they need you for. They’ve needed you for that since you were both ten, and they tried to talk you into that awful plan of theirs. You stopped them then. It’s your responsibility to do something now, too.
You quash the voice, swamped by fresh irritation. Just being Chara’s favorite isn’t good enough. You want to be their only. Isn’t that what love is supposed to be about?
You don’t know what’s gotten into them anyway, deciding to meet the new kid all of a sudden. They’ve avoided it since he fell. Heck, it wasn’t even until last year that they could stand for Prase to touch them without having an anxiety attack! It’s too weird. The Chara you know is shy and cautious and afraid of humans, above all. You’d bet anything that Prase put them up to this somehow. They’re no good for Chara.
Even though Chara has gotten more relaxed over the past couple of years? says the little voice, popping up uninvited again.
You roll over and very carefully do not growl. You don’t want Chara to hear you and worry that you’re mad at them. Because you aren’t. Well, you sort of are, but mostly you’re not really. You’re just… worried. Because they don’t know what’s best for them.
That’s right. That’s what they need you for. They’ve needed you for that since you were both ten, and they tried to talk you into that awful plan of theirs. You stopped them then. It’s your responsibility to do something now, too.
Chara: I suppose I can deal with the great inconvenience of wakefulness if it means I get to pet dogs. Alas. Such woe is the unbearable Charaness of being.
Chara: Ah yes. We neglected to mention that today’s boat ride would come with a complimentary comedy routine. How lucky you are.
Prase: Hey, Chara! That might have to be enough for now, your fur coat’s getting lonely. Come pet him too before he gets too jealous.
You sigh and slump, because that’s it, isn’t it; even after all this time, you’ll follow Chara to hell and back when they tell you that. At least this new brilliant plan of theirs doesn’t involve suicide.
Chara: I am-—I’m not fond of humans on principle.
“There’s nothing that I miss,” Chara says. “Nothing at all.” And they lean into your side. “Everything I need is right here.”
Asriel: You’re starting to talk like you ate the dictionary again. Which means it’s bedtime for you, Mx Party Person.
The worst part is that your thoughts keep straying, and halfway through your promises to do your best and learn from your people with humility and grace, you get all muddled and wind up trying to explain that you love Chara and have always loved them and please, you must understand.
Toriel: It must have been difficult, feeling as though you had to hide your relationship from us… You do not have to fear anymore. You already have our blessing.
These are people whose hopes and dreams you want to protect.
the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul:
You take it back. You’re the furthest thing from okay.
His arms are all corded muscle underneath their soft layer of fat, and he exerts his considerable strength to keep you seated. He leans in to kiss you at the base of your jaw—it’s probably an attempt to soothe you, but the contact just leaves you cold. You’re shaking so hard your teeth rattle; you don’t know whether it’s from your fear or your fury. And Asriel still does not seem compelled to view your distress as anything other than silly.
Try as you might, you still need him. You’re useless without him. And—you love him, you do; you like to think that you would have chosen Asriel anyway, even without all this. He supports you, treasures you, makes you laugh, makes you feel safe. But the more you think about just how dependent on him you are, the more exhausted you become. If he is a bastion of safety, then you are the ivy wrapped around the walls. You may very well pull him down with you, in the end. You nearly did once already, back when you were children.
You hate it when he treats you like a child to be coddled instead of as his equal, but—you’re not his equal, really. You’ve never been. From the day Asriel found you, he’s given you so much, and the only time you might have been able to give anything back, you were doing it more for yourself than for the Dreemurrs. And look where that’s gotten you: This useless body, this fragile mind. You’re doing your best. They all know it—Asgore, Toriel, Asriel. Prase and their family. Rufus and your other friends in Snowdin. They know that sometimes your best is very little, they understand why, and they don’t ask for more than you can give. It’s enough for them.
It just isn’t enough for you. Not anymore.
You hate it when he treats you like a child to be coddled instead of as his equal, but—you’re not his equal, really. You’ve never been. From the day Asriel found you, he’s given you so much, and the only time you might have been able to give anything back, you were doing it more for yourself than for the Dreemurrs. And look where that’s gotten you: This useless body, this fragile mind. You’re doing your best. They all know it—Asgore, Toriel, Asriel. Prase and their family. Rufus and your other friends in Snowdin. They know that sometimes your best is very little, they understand why, and they don’t ask for more than you can give. It’s enough for them.
It just isn’t enough for you. Not anymore.
Chara: I'm the only one whose body isn't held together by dust and magic.
The fourth time he's refused you this, the fourth knife in your heart.
Chara: I don’t—-have any illusions of being your knight or your savior. But—-your honor guard. Your last resort, in case of emergency. Something. Someone worthy of standing at your shoulder instead of hiding behind you.
Prase: Being a housewife probably isn't so bad if you actually decided to be one on your own.
Chara: But I didn't.
Prase: Exactly.
Chara: But I didn't.
Prase: Exactly.
You fold your lower lip between your teeth for a while. “I know that you can defend yourself, but I don’t think that the extra help would go amiss,” you say carefully, deliberating over each phrase before it leaves your lips. “If I can prove to you that you aren’t as infallible on the field of combat as you think, would you be willing to accept me as your honor guard once Asgore deems me ready?”
Asriel blinks at you. “Not as infallible on the field of combat as I think? What’s that supposed to mean, Chara?”
You lean back in the chair. “One hit,” you remind him, holding up a forefinger. “A human with truly murderous intent would only need to strike you once for it to be fatal. If I’m able to hit you even once, that means that you would be vulnerable in that particular situation—-especially if your opponent were more able-bodied than me. Therefore, it would be safer if I were there to help you. Don’t you think so?”
He stares at you for a moment—and then begins to laugh, which cuts you much deeper than the scorn and upset you had been expecting. “Chara, there’s no way you can beat me. I’m bigger, stronger, and healthier, and I have magic too. If that’s really what it’ll take to satisfy you—-trying and seeing how pointless it is—-then okay, I guess you can try. But you’ll never be able to touch me in a fight. It’s just not possible.”
Your temper is fraying merely listening to him dismiss you again, but you just give him your most superficial smile. “We will see about that,” is all you say.
Asriel blinks at you. “Not as infallible on the field of combat as I think? What’s that supposed to mean, Chara?”
You lean back in the chair. “One hit,” you remind him, holding up a forefinger. “A human with truly murderous intent would only need to strike you once for it to be fatal. If I’m able to hit you even once, that means that you would be vulnerable in that particular situation—-especially if your opponent were more able-bodied than me. Therefore, it would be safer if I were there to help you. Don’t you think so?”
He stares at you for a moment—and then begins to laugh, which cuts you much deeper than the scorn and upset you had been expecting. “Chara, there’s no way you can beat me. I’m bigger, stronger, and healthier, and I have magic too. If that’s really what it’ll take to satisfy you—-trying and seeing how pointless it is—-then okay, I guess you can try. But you’ll never be able to touch me in a fight. It’s just not possible.”
Your temper is fraying merely listening to him dismiss you again, but you just give him your most superficial smile. “We will see about that,” is all you say.
Anyway, if you gave up now, Innig would be disappointed in you for being untrue to yourself, and Undyne would probably call you a big weenie or something.
Chara: Even if I stop needing you, I'll always want you.
“Chara,” Asgore continues, “our appointing you to this position means that we trust you with our son’s very life. Tori and I believe that it is time we demonstrate a measure of our trust in you.”
He turns to Toriel, and the two of them smile at each other and nod while you tilt your head, mystified. Toriel draws something from the pockets of her robes—-something small and oblong, wrapped in soft white cloth. She holds it out to you, balanced on both palms.
You look at her to make sure that it’s really something you’re allowed to take, and she nods, so you carefully lift it and begin to unwrap it.
The cloth falls away. You catch your breath.
It’s your knife.
The nick in the hilt, the red sheath patterned in pretty swirls—-they’re just as you remember them. You draw it with shaking hands. The blade is silver, glittery as a mirror—-it’s been maintained carefully. It was getting rusty when Toriel and Asgore took it away from you.
You sheathe the weapon. Your vision is hazing, your eyes are hot and itchy; you don’t want to cry all over the blade after all the work that must have gone into keeping it pristine for you.
“Your life has value—-to us, to Asriel, to the underground,” Toriel says, gentle. “By giving you this, we mean to demonstrate that we know you will not use it to destroy that which we value.”
He turns to Toriel, and the two of them smile at each other and nod while you tilt your head, mystified. Toriel draws something from the pockets of her robes—-something small and oblong, wrapped in soft white cloth. She holds it out to you, balanced on both palms.
You look at her to make sure that it’s really something you’re allowed to take, and she nods, so you carefully lift it and begin to unwrap it.
The cloth falls away. You catch your breath.
It’s your knife.
The nick in the hilt, the red sheath patterned in pretty swirls—-they’re just as you remember them. You draw it with shaking hands. The blade is silver, glittery as a mirror—-it’s been maintained carefully. It was getting rusty when Toriel and Asgore took it away from you.
You sheathe the weapon. Your vision is hazing, your eyes are hot and itchy; you don’t want to cry all over the blade after all the work that must have gone into keeping it pristine for you.
“Your life has value—-to us, to Asriel, to the underground,” Toriel says, gentle. “By giving you this, we mean to demonstrate that we know you will not use it to destroy that which we value.”
live inside a green moment:
You can't keep your hands to yourself.
Asriel takes his hands off your legs, and you’re disappointed to lose his touch for only a split second, because when he brings his padded palms together something glows between them. He opens his hands gently, gently, and you gasp: He’s spun a miniature galaxy between his fingers, soft and shining green.
He lets them go, pale and glowing, flickering like lazy fireflies—or like your increasingly distant memories of snow. His palms, warm with your body heat and his and the spell he’s released, settle once more on the outsides of your calves.
The little stars bead on your skin, and sink into your scratches. They don’t tickle; they’re soft points of heat, like warm wax. They smell like lightning and freshly rained-on wild herbs. You wonder if they would have a taste, if you caught one on your tongue. What they would taste like, if anything. You imagine the best kinds of mint candy—-those soft comforting peppermints you used to steal in fistfuls from those baskets with the “take one!” signs and hide in your pockets for later, the ones that would melt on your tongue and make you feel better. They have the same tenderness to them, and they’re better than candy because even when they melt into you that sense of comfort lingers.
But Asriel keeps his spun constellations hovering around your legs, so there’s no room for you to surreptitiously open your mouth and catch one. Too bad.
He lets them go, pale and glowing, flickering like lazy fireflies—or like your increasingly distant memories of snow. His palms, warm with your body heat and his and the spell he’s released, settle once more on the outsides of your calves.
The little stars bead on your skin, and sink into your scratches. They don’t tickle; they’re soft points of heat, like warm wax. They smell like lightning and freshly rained-on wild herbs. You wonder if they would have a taste, if you caught one on your tongue. What they would taste like, if anything. You imagine the best kinds of mint candy—-those soft comforting peppermints you used to steal in fistfuls from those baskets with the “take one!” signs and hide in your pockets for later, the ones that would melt on your tongue and make you feel better. They have the same tenderness to them, and they’re better than candy because even when they melt into you that sense of comfort lingers.
But Asriel keeps his spun constellations hovering around your legs, so there’s no room for you to surreptitiously open your mouth and catch one. Too bad.
You give him the finger, starting to laugh despite yourself. “I am not a dork. I am adorkable. I am cute and precious and strong and you should appreciate me. I’m adorkabadass.”
He catches your hand and kisses your upraised finger, and you gasp before you can stop yourself, face probably the same color as your underwear. “You’re my favorite dork,” he says. “I cannot believe you just memed on me when we’re trying to have sex.”
He catches your hand and kisses your upraised finger, and you gasp before you can stop yourself, face probably the same color as your underwear. “You’re my favorite dork,” he says. “I cannot believe you just memed on me when we’re trying to have sex.”
a wish you tell a star and no one else:
“I plead the excuse of my terrible knees and lungs,” Chara replies, shrugging. “But then I was never aiming for the Royal Guard anyway. Being this one’s honor guard is more than enough for me.” And they jerk a thumb at you, smiling.
You catch their hand in yours, and bring it up to your mouth to kiss their knuckles. They giggle and pull away.
Undyne and Innig just look at each other and shake their heads in unison.
“Absolutely disgusting,” Innig says.
“…ly adorable!” Undyne finishes.
“Oh, shut up,” Chara says, their ears going pink.
You catch their hand in yours, and bring it up to your mouth to kiss their knuckles. They giggle and pull away.
Undyne and Innig just look at each other and shake their heads in unison.
“Absolutely disgusting,” Innig says.
“…ly adorable!” Undyne finishes.
“Oh, shut up,” Chara says, their ears going pink.
Chara: Loving you makes me feel stronger.
“What is it?” Chara asks as you frown at your phone.
“I’m being summoned,” you tell them and Innig, showing them your screen.
“You’d better go, then,” Chara pronounces after reading Alphys’ message over. “You’re a prince; it’s your job to go rescue damsels.”
“It feels so weird being told that by you,” you complain. “You’re the only damsel I actually want to rescue, all in all.”
Chara blushes, but they cross their arms and raise their eyebrows at you nevertheless. “You’ve got that backwards,” they say. “In our case, you’re the damsel, because I’m your honor guard. Get it straight, Ree.”
“I’m being summoned,” you tell them and Innig, showing them your screen.
“You’d better go, then,” Chara pronounces after reading Alphys’ message over. “You’re a prince; it’s your job to go rescue damsels.”
“It feels so weird being told that by you,” you complain. “You’re the only damsel I actually want to rescue, all in all.”
Chara blushes, but they cross their arms and raise their eyebrows at you nevertheless. “You’ve got that backwards,” they say. “In our case, you’re the damsel, because I’m your honor guard. Get it straight, Ree.”
You turn, a little hesitant, and—Liron is standing up, hir right hand held out and up, a sphere of gold-white light sitting just above hir palm. It looks like—like your mother with her fire. Almost like monster magic.
Mettaton rises and falls slightly as if taking a deep breath—do ghosts need to take deep breaths?—and once Alphys has flipped a small switch beneath the robot’s big compound screen, he floats up close to it, his form seeming to fade the closer he gets until he’s completely transparent.
There’s a very long, very tense pause.
“Ohhh?” It’s definitely Mettaton’s voice, but more synthetic-sounding, and it’s coming from the speakers in the robot’s front. “Ohhhhh?? Darling, what is this sensation? It’s marvelous!”
There’s a very long, very tense pause.
“Ohhh?” It’s definitely Mettaton’s voice, but more synthetic-sounding, and it’s coming from the speakers in the robot’s front. “Ohhhhh?? Darling, what is this sensation? It’s marvelous!”
Chara: Please forgive me for not standing to greet you. I'm having a bit of a bad knees day.
Chara: It makes us a shut up and stop teasing me or I will not only introduce Alphys to all your favorite books, I will also dig up all your old God of Hyperdeath stories and read them not only to her but to Sans and Papyrus and Prase.
“I’m… really grateful that you and all the other fallen humans care so much about us monsters, to be willing to make a gesture like that. But that solution really s—stinks,” you correct yourself mid-syllable, suddenly very mindful of your mother’s upraised eyebrows.
You do your best to keep a straight face while discussing what you want with your tailors—a robe like your mother’s, but in darker blues and blacks and with a capelet and maybe an actual cape too—but you catch Chara raising their eyebrows at you from the other side of the fitting room and have to literally bite your tongue to keep from protesting that you’re not demanding your clothes to be made out of ever-shifting rainbow colors, so it’s fine, leave you alone.
“Also a circlet,” they add, nonchalant. “With horns. Because if you are going to be self-indulgent and dress up as your old self-insert OC—” you squawk, because they might have had the decency to keep shut about it in front of other people, but it’s embarrassing— “then I have a right to revisit those terrible old drawings I used to do of what I would look like if I’d been properly born a Boss Monster like you all.”
Chara’s still self-destructive sometimes, but they aren’t stupid, and you and they both know that they won’t be able to handle today without taking any painkillers.
“Mom?” you say.
She looks up and regards you over the rims of her glasses. “What is it, my dear? It must be important, for you to have left Chara.”
You nod. “They’re sleeping, so I have a chance now, and—it is important.” You find yourself suddenly unable to meet her eyes, so you turn and look around the room instead. Some of Chara’s yarn is inexplicably propped atop the bookcase, a spare pair of needles crossed over one of your father’s scrapbooks. They left a book on the table yesterday, and it’s still there, next to their barely-touched plate, which your mother has politely left a napkin atop to keep the toast warm.
You love Chara so much you might die. Their presence is everywhere, even when they can’t be with you, and it’s overwhelming. You whirl back to your mother, clasping your hands together.
“I can’t actually go take care of anything now,” you preface, your traitor voice wavering a little. “But I know that you’d know, because you make Chara’s gloves yourself. I—I need to know their ring size.”
She looks up and regards you over the rims of her glasses. “What is it, my dear? It must be important, for you to have left Chara.”
You nod. “They’re sleeping, so I have a chance now, and—it is important.” You find yourself suddenly unable to meet her eyes, so you turn and look around the room instead. Some of Chara’s yarn is inexplicably propped atop the bookcase, a spare pair of needles crossed over one of your father’s scrapbooks. They left a book on the table yesterday, and it’s still there, next to their barely-touched plate, which your mother has politely left a napkin atop to keep the toast warm.
You love Chara so much you might die. Their presence is everywhere, even when they can’t be with you, and it’s overwhelming. You whirl back to your mother, clasping your hands together.
“I can’t actually go take care of anything now,” you preface, your traitor voice wavering a little. “But I know that you’d know, because you make Chara’s gloves yourself. I—I need to know their ring size.”
The robes that they have you try on are still held together with pins in places, and the tailor is checking you over meticulously, so you can’t twirl around in them. But oh, you want to. The sleeves are pristine white, and the long full skirts are crisp and fluid, the color of the air when you gaze towards the castle from the long overlook in Waterfall where mountain runoff sometimes causes it to rain underground. Your cape is a thinner material, pearly-pale silver and silky, wrapped around your shoulders too so that it will flare dramatically when you gesture with your arms.
But the capelet and its collar! You never asked such a thing of the tailors, but the fabric is studded with beautiful star patterns in carefully stitched silver thread. You keep looking at yourself in the mirror and catching your breath. Your locket stands out a mile where it rests on your chest, gold like an illustration of the sun, just as eye-catching as the Delta Rune inscribed on your front.
You don’t look like the Absolute God of Hyperdeath at all—when you were a kid, you drew grown-up you a lot skinnier, and without the big mane you have now. But you’re pretty sure that if you had the chance to show the shy pudgy boy you used to be what you look like right now, in these clothes, grown into all your muscle and fat and looking absolutely majestic, he’d faint from joy. You look fantastic. You look way better than your old superpowered character ever could have.
But the capelet and its collar! You never asked such a thing of the tailors, but the fabric is studded with beautiful star patterns in carefully stitched silver thread. You keep looking at yourself in the mirror and catching your breath. Your locket stands out a mile where it rests on your chest, gold like an illustration of the sun, just as eye-catching as the Delta Rune inscribed on your front.
You don’t look like the Absolute God of Hyperdeath at all—when you were a kid, you drew grown-up you a lot skinnier, and without the big mane you have now. But you’re pretty sure that if you had the chance to show the shy pudgy boy you used to be what you look like right now, in these clothes, grown into all your muscle and fat and looking absolutely majestic, he’d faint from joy. You look fantastic. You look way better than your old superpowered character ever could have.
Up here, the diffuse light from the distant Barrier and the little openings and holes that lead to the surface frames their profile in silver. They look poised. Holy. But instead of grave and distracted, their expression is warm, and their eyes are fixed on you.
Asriel: I don’t suppose there’s anything that involves proposals, because I could really, really use some references right about now.
Your father nods to you, his molten gold eyes filled with emotion. You take one last deep breath and kneel before him, head slightly bowed.
The whole room holds its breath.
You watch as your father removes the crown from his own head and slowly, slowly lowers it to set it upon yours.
It’s light, incredibly so. Far too light, compared to all the responsibility it represents. It feels strange and alien against your fur, a foreign body. Even though your heart is swooping in your chest, you force yourself not to fidget. You’ll become accustomed to it in time.
The whole room holds its breath.
You watch as your father removes the crown from his own head and slowly, slowly lowers it to set it upon yours.
It’s light, incredibly so. Far too light, compared to all the responsibility it represents. It feels strange and alien against your fur, a foreign body. Even though your heart is swooping in your chest, you force yourself not to fidget. You’ll become accustomed to it in time.
You’re an adult, now. They’re old. They’ve always been old, but an ageless kind of old, centuries hiding behind bright eyes. That’s different now. You knew it was happening, distantly. That their bodies were aging as yours did, as their souls’ power trickled into yours. But realizing it viscerally like this makes you want to turn and run away, to fling your arms around them and apologize.
Their gazes on you, though, are kind and proud. Their belief in you is unshakable. Where you might falter and sink to your knees, their love buoys you up. Maybe it always has been.
Their gazes on you, though, are kind and proud. Their belief in you is unshakable. Where you might falter and sink to your knees, their love buoys you up. Maybe it always has been.
Asriel: Even with all that stuff? I still choose you. I choose you above everyone else in the world. All that doesn’t really matter to me. I love you. That’s so much bigger than your thoughts on whether or not to procreate or your lifespan. You’re so much bigger and so much more than that. I’m ready to face all that with you—to take the future as it comes. If we’re together, none of that can scare me. It’s up to you, Chara. I’m ready for anything. This is your choice now, and nobody else’s. Will you marry me?
They take another deep, deep breath, and push your hand away to run both of their own over their face. They wipe their palms on their nice new slacks, and their face screwed up with the same determination you saw in them when they defeated you in combat four years ago, they swipe their arm out and snatch the ring box from your palm.
You open your mouth to—you don’t know what, but Chara ignores you, plucking the ring you had made for them from the cushion. They hold it up between their thumb and forefinger, turning it one way and then the other in the light as if admiring or appraising it—
And then, casual as anything, they slide it onto their left ring finger.
Your jaw drops.
Looking oddly satisfied, they close the now-empty box and slap it back into your outstretched palm. It glitters like a star on their hand as they plant their fists on their hips and grin at you fiercely.
“What do you think, idiot?” they say, voice still thick with tears.
You open your mouth to—you don’t know what, but Chara ignores you, plucking the ring you had made for them from the cushion. They hold it up between their thumb and forefinger, turning it one way and then the other in the light as if admiring or appraising it—
And then, casual as anything, they slide it onto their left ring finger.
Your jaw drops.
Looking oddly satisfied, they close the now-empty box and slap it back into your outstretched palm. It glitters like a star on their hand as they plant their fists on their hips and grin at you fiercely.
“What do you think, idiot?” they say, voice still thick with tears.
For now, the whole world is you and Chara here in the gentle lamplit dark. And your heart has never felt so full.
you in your veil and your pale white dress:
You look at him now and you don’t even have to think the words: They rise up from your heart, gold and shining. "Still, to cease living is unacceptable."
Liron: The orphanage I lived at as a kid—the caretakers taught us a few things about all the Abrahamic traditions. Christianity and Islam were both pretty in one ear and out the other. But my paperwork says I’m half Israeli, so when they talked about Judaism I paid attention. The religion wasn’t really for me, when I learned about it. But it’s still something relevant to me. One of the things that makes up my existence and why I’m here. So I thought it would be worth learning. Can’t promise my memory will be perfect, but I’ve probably got some books. We should be able to work something out.
“I’m going to break the glass,” was your first demand—more than a little manic, pitched with anxious energy.
“Chara,” Asriel said gently, hands held up, pacifying, “you’re the only one who can break the glass. You’ll be wearing shoes. I might get glass stuck in my foot if I tried.”
“Don’t care,” you went on, grinning. “If we have to smash something, I call dibs on the smashing.”
“Chara,” Asriel said gently, hands held up, pacifying, “you’re the only one who can break the glass. You’ll be wearing shoes. I might get glass stuck in my foot if I tried.”
“Don’t care,” you went on, grinning. “If we have to smash something, I call dibs on the smashing.”
Monsters barely even have religion at all, let alone convenient rabbis who will know the words to a blessing that the author of this book didn’t bother to write down for the sake of Jews in exile to learn because no one was there to teach them.
Liron: Isn't that up to you? I'm not the one getting married.
Prase: [over text] building big dt extractors is super fiddly who knew
Prase: Chara, you know Asriel and I don’t like each other very much. Do you really want to give me a soapbox at your wedding? Do you really have that much faith that I won’t use the opportunity to drag him?
Chara: I do, because you’re very fair, and Asriel hasn’t done anything to merit getting dragged in years and years.
Prase: I suppose he has kept his fuzzy nose more or less clean for the past nine years.
Chara: I do, because you’re very fair, and Asriel hasn’t done anything to merit getting dragged in years and years.
Prase: I suppose he has kept his fuzzy nose more or less clean for the past nine years.
Prase: And you’re definitely Jewish enough. If anyone starts saying that you’re not, I’ll let Rufus know so that he can punch them in the teeth. Innig and Undyne will probably help.
Chara: You might want to have someone else introduce you to escargot. Toriel can get a little overenthusiastic when it comes to her favorite food.
Astis scratches his head. “Anyway, uh—can I try making food next time, though? There’s a lot of stuff I can make, depending on what you like. I can do toast, waffles, pancakes, flan, latkes—”
You sit up, and so does he, eyes wide in surprise.
“Astis,” you say very seriously, “you said latkes just now, didn’t you?”
He nods, uncertain at first—but whatever he sees in your face makes his expression brighten. “Yeah,” he says. “I know a couple different recipes, actually.”
“I haven’t eaten proper Jewish food since I was a very small child.” It’s supposed to come out controlled, a neutral statement, but the wistfulness is clear in your words. “May I impose?”
Astis’ grin is brilliant in his dark face. “Of course! I’d love to make you some. Next time I’ll bring the potatoes and eggs.”
You sit up, and so does he, eyes wide in surprise.
“Astis,” you say very seriously, “you said latkes just now, didn’t you?”
He nods, uncertain at first—but whatever he sees in your face makes his expression brighten. “Yeah,” he says. “I know a couple different recipes, actually.”
“I haven’t eaten proper Jewish food since I was a very small child.” It’s supposed to come out controlled, a neutral statement, but the wistfulness is clear in your words. “May I impose?”
Astis’ grin is brilliant in his dark face. “Of course! I’d love to make you some. Next time I’ll bring the potatoes and eggs.”
He also explained to you that traditional wedding garb for monsters who are getting married is robes, as long as they have a body shape that can fit into them.
Therein lies the source of your anxiety. If monsters are supposed to wear robes, humans with bodies like yours are supposed to wear dresses, and the only other traditional option for humans—suits—still feels too masculine for comfort, just what are you supposed to do?
Therein lies the source of your anxiety. If monsters are supposed to wear robes, humans with bodies like yours are supposed to wear dresses, and the only other traditional option for humans—suits—still feels too masculine for comfort, just what are you supposed to do?
“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “Now that I think of it, this might actually be my only chance to not wear the royal colors for a while. I still want to wear blue, but—a lighter blue, maybe? Hmmm. Chara’s kinda gonna be dressed in garden colors, so it would be fun to wear sky colors so that we can still sort of match.”
You elbow him a little, starting to grin. “Are we going to theme this as the marriage of heaven and earth or something?”
“Chara,” Asriel exclaims, maybe about half scandalized and half delighted.
“They might be on to something there, Majesty,” the tailor says—they’re actually writing it down, to your amusement. “This is already a marriage of monster and human, and you like your star patterns well enough that the people already associate you with sky imagery. Blue and green, with silver and gold accents, is a nice harmonious palette to work with, too.”
Your face feels hot as you think of it. Honestly, you were joking, but now that the tailor has framed it like that… it sounds a bit romantic.
You elbow him a little, starting to grin. “Are we going to theme this as the marriage of heaven and earth or something?”
“Chara,” Asriel exclaims, maybe about half scandalized and half delighted.
“They might be on to something there, Majesty,” the tailor says—they’re actually writing it down, to your amusement. “This is already a marriage of monster and human, and you like your star patterns well enough that the people already associate you with sky imagery. Blue and green, with silver and gold accents, is a nice harmonious palette to work with, too.”
Your face feels hot as you think of it. Honestly, you were joking, but now that the tailor has framed it like that… it sounds a bit romantic.
“She and all the others can’t hurt you anymore,” he says, the rare note of a growl in his voice. “You’re here and you’re safe and you can wear whatever you damn well want.”
You giggle a little. “Don’t swear in public, Your Majesty, it’s rude.”
He bends down to kiss the top of your head. “If I can’t swear at the memory of all the people on the surface who were bad and cruel to you, then what’s the point of knowing bad words?” he says, all light and reasonable. “I do use them as sparingly as I can. Heck, even Mom swears sometimes, so she’d probably agree with me that this is something that merits a little cursing.”
“Far be it from me to argue with Toriel,” you say, and wiggle in his arms until he lets you go.
You giggle a little. “Don’t swear in public, Your Majesty, it’s rude.”
He bends down to kiss the top of your head. “If I can’t swear at the memory of all the people on the surface who were bad and cruel to you, then what’s the point of knowing bad words?” he says, all light and reasonable. “I do use them as sparingly as I can. Heck, even Mom swears sometimes, so she’d probably agree with me that this is something that merits a little cursing.”
“Far be it from me to argue with Toriel,” you say, and wiggle in his arms until he lets you go.
Sans: There’s five volunteers, which plus the former king and queen makes seven. Meaning I am officially off the hook.
Prase: Nice. Next you’ll be offering up Asriel’s pizza to the rest of us because he already ate, won’t you?
Chara: Asriel, whatever I might say for the sake of making a silly joke, you of all people should be well aware that I am always and will always be thirsty.
Prase: If you two can’t save the come-ons for later, I’m going to grab a glass of water to pour down the front of each of your pants to cool you off. At least try to keep it PG-13 when you’ve got company?
Chara: I can't believe you’ve been nagging us to this effect for twelve years now.
Prase: I can't believe I still have to.
Prase: If you two can’t save the come-ons for later, I’m going to grab a glass of water to pour down the front of each of your pants to cool you off. At least try to keep it PG-13 when you’ve got company?
Chara: I can't believe you’ve been nagging us to this effect for twelve years now.
Prase: I can't believe I still have to.
Chara: A bit different from what I can remember, but I like the texture and the tartness. It has—I can only think to phrase it as a gentle flavor, which I can only attribute to the temperament of the chef.
Chara: It always seemed cruel to me that Juno, or Hera, or whatever it’s better to call her—that she’s the goddess of marriage. I mean. Her own marriage was such a disaster.
Chara: Save your weakness for times when it's strategically beneficial.
It’s sage advice, after all; the garden and the kitchen are the most apropos settings for it in the world. You smile at your own joke, and file it away for later, to annoy Asriel with or to make Toriel or Sans laugh.
Chara: I’ve never been able to consider you my father, and that’s why. Because you’re too good. You’re too kind. You chose me, you took me into your home, you accepted me despite all my baggage and all my flaws.
Asgore: I get the feeling that the both of us could use a cup of tea.
Chara: My only connection to my cultural heritage was my mother, and my relationship with her… does not bear comment. But now… thanks to you, Astis, I have new memories and experiences with one of my favorite foods as a child that have no connection with my past whatsoever. Plus… it’s good to see the diversity in my people’s practices, even if it’s just culinary ones, even if it’s by proxy. It makes me feel better about a lot of things. I have a lot to thank you and Liron for. You don’t have to be upset if you can’t recreate my mother’s cooking; what you’ve already given me is infinitely more precious in my eyes.
Rufus: Stop necking and come help unpack already!
Chara: I loved my mother. I loved her even though she hurt me, with words and with actions and physical abuse sometimes too. She wasn’t as bad, she wasn’t as evil, she was suffering too, so I loved her and I trusted her and every time, she betrayed me, she let me down. And then she would turn around and be kind again, in the strangest ways.
Toriel: You are alive, and you are safe, and you are recovering. That is what matters most.
Chara: No jokes about how little you love turning me over to Asriel?
Prase: Oh, don't cry, I just did your makeup!
You’re left poleaxed and gape-mouthed for several seconds, "thank you" and "yes please" and "why are you being so nice to me?" warring for dominance in your throat. You close your mouth at last, swallow, and nod to her.
Asriel stands before you, dressed in the sky.
Gerson: But now, at last, we stand at the absolute—at the union of our two peoples, and of two loving hearts. I am extraordinarily proud of both you kids.
The band is thin gold etched with a thorny vine pattern, leading to three delicately wrought red roses, each with a small diamond seated in the middle of the petals. It’s a beautiful piece of work, and the floral motif works well with the engagement ring that sits on the ring finger of your other hand. But what occurs to you even as you think this is that you’re glad both rings have upraised designs—this way you’ll have makeshift knuckledusters if you ever need them. The thought makes you grin.
You let your fingertips linger over Cor Caroli and Chara, drawing Asriel’s gaze to the star whose name you took for your own.
Chara: Ani l'dodi, ve dodi li.That's Hebrew for...
Heat washes over all of you, along with a very peculiar sensation. All at once, the vivid memory of your and Asriel’s first kiss washes over you, then that of the first time you held him in your hands, and the first time he was inside you. That same sense of intimacy, of utter vulnerability, comes over you now; you feel entirely exposed, but where you ought to feel afraid or ashamed, you simply relax. You can almost feel Asriel’s hands cupping your whole body, and you wonder if he feels yours. If he does—you hope he feels just as safe as you do now.
Rufus: They were still supposed to be dating in secret back when I met ‘em, and like?? It was so obvious that they were in big sloppy mushy goofy love, even then when they were trying to hide it. They’re as bad as the old king and queen, and my parents. I’m glad you goobers are finally tying the knot officially, ‘cause even a ten year old like I was could tell how goddamn married you’ve always been.
Undyne: There’s no better way to get to know somebody than meeting them with PASSION on the field of battle! Even if it’s just a practice match and Asgore’s making you do weapons drills for ages. Chara and Asriel’ve both had faith in me since I was just some rowdy shrimpy little brat that wanted to fight everything all the time. They’ve had more faith in me than a lot of people I knew—more than my family did, at the beginning. We’ve all helped each other become the adults we are today. I’m proud of who I am thanks to them! And I’m proud of who they are thanks to each other!! And they should be proud too!!! I’m honored to serve them—not just as their subject, but as their friend! So good luck with your blissful matrimony, you great big nerds!
Chara: Do you know, this stage of a wedding is apparently controversial depending on which Jewish community you ask? Liron showed me a book that said there are some who believe the seclusion compromises our modesty.
Asriel: I think our modesty's already good and compromised, Chara.
Chara: It’s true. Ten minutes might have been enough for us when we were younger, but I think I’d rather wait until the wedding night—we’ll have privacy in the house to take our leisure with one another.
Asriel: I think our modesty's already good and compromised, Chara.
Chara: It’s true. Ten minutes might have been enough for us when we were younger, but I think I’d rather wait until the wedding night—we’ll have privacy in the house to take our leisure with one another.
seal our lips until we're found:
They’re casual in their nakedness in a way that seems oddly natural.
Chara: I hardly have your modesty fluff.
Chara: We're newlyweds. We're allowed—expected, even—to be enthusiastic.
Chara: Ree, I can feel your heartbeat in me.
If humans could purr, you bet they would be right now, and you allow yourself to be pleased by this.
Your heart is so full of hope and love, it could burst.
under my skin, there will be flowers:
You open your eyes and regret your decision instantly. Every tiny detail of your and Asriel’s bedroom seems to swamp your optic nerves all at once, a visual avalanche that sends your skull clanging with migraine warning signs. Fear and disgust roil through you. You close your right eye to try to cut down on the amount of input you’re getting. It doesn’t help much.
Asriel: Bad dream?
Chara: [signing] Don't remember. Don't think so. I ought to be having flashbacks by now if it were.
Chara: [signing] Don't remember. Don't think so. I ought to be having flashbacks by now if it were.
Toriel: This human has LOVE.The significance of this statement is a spoiler you ought to know if you're reading this series, but here goes...
Chara: Asriel, when I was a frightened, confused, angry child, you and I planned a mass murder.
While your local robotic celebrity adores his new, more humanoid form, its fuel consumption is still pretty heavy, and it’s much more vulnerable to attack. His first form—the one Papyrus likes to call a “sexy rectangle”—is all but immune to physical damage, and he might be able to stop the human if that comes to be necessary.
Asriel: Endogeny scares you half to death more often than not, and you love dogs. The poor new human would probably be terrified out of her wits.
Chara: Papyrus may be on duty with them today, which may or may not be a good thing. He’s inexperienced, yes, but he has hairpin control of his magic and he’s learned the art of friendliness at your knee since he was a baby. He might make progress with our intruder where others wouldn’t. On the other hand, if anything happens to him, we won’t even need to worry about the human because Sans will kill us.
You grunt as he takes the glass back, closing your eyes again. “Whatever these are, they need to go away now. You and I both have better to do.”
Asriel hmms at you, not even reacting to the old inside joke. “We’ve gotten a lot of stress handed to us today, and you know those and panic attacks don’t make a good combination.”
You make a face. “Don’t think these are panic attacks, Ree.”
“They look like one to me—what do you mean?”
“Sensory overload, nausea, migraines, paranoia. Doesn’t fit the usual ‘my brain’s having a fire drill and I feel like I’m dying of a heart attack’ pattern.” And you don’t think that the stress of the human’s appearance is the cause—you proved years ago with Astis that you can handle new humans without going to pieces emotionally anymore. Plus, the first attack was before you got the call from Asgore and Toriel.
Could be exacerbating things, though. It’s always hard to tell when your rickety piece of shit body and brain start acting up.
Asriel hmms at you, not even reacting to the old inside joke. “We’ve gotten a lot of stress handed to us today, and you know those and panic attacks don’t make a good combination.”
You make a face. “Don’t think these are panic attacks, Ree.”
“They look like one to me—what do you mean?”
“Sensory overload, nausea, migraines, paranoia. Doesn’t fit the usual ‘my brain’s having a fire drill and I feel like I’m dying of a heart attack’ pattern.” And you don’t think that the stress of the human’s appearance is the cause—you proved years ago with Astis that you can handle new humans without going to pieces emotionally anymore. Plus, the first attack was before you got the call from Asgore and Toriel.
Could be exacerbating things, though. It’s always hard to tell when your rickety piece of shit body and brain start acting up.
Rufus: Mom and Dad and the other Guards who were stationed in the forest all reported that she didn’t pick a fight with any monsters—everyone was listening to Asriel and keeping a respectful distance. So you can imagine what a surprise it was for us to walk over and find her holding up Grillby’s.
Rufus: She said that since she couldn’t pay anyway, she might as well be up front about stealing food instead of trying to eat and run.
Rufus: She really does know how to handle that gun. For her to have something like this when she’s somewhere between ten and twelve, someone’s definitely taught her how to use it. So she knows that you’re only supposed to point a gun at someone you’re willing to kill. Whatever weird sense of honor or action thriller oversaturation’s behind her trying to threaten her way into free food instead of stealing… I’m not sure how okay she is. She could be dangerous.
When you were both much younger, you overheard him protesting to your mother that she shouldn’t let you have first aid materials readily available—didn’t that just encourage you to hurt yourself? Before your shock had even worn off, Toriel had sternly asked him which he would prefer—you being able to take care of your wounds in secret, or being unable to and still hiding them, risking infection. Shaming you and putting your health at risk would only hurt you, and wouldn’t at all help you find healthier ways to ground yourself.
You had thanked Toriel, red-faced and shaking, and then spent ten minutes weeping into Asgore’s chest. Asriel had waited until after you had calmed down to apologize for upsetting you, and then the very next day, he asked his parents to teach him how to use the first aid things.
You had thanked Toriel, red-faced and shaking, and then spent ten minutes weeping into Asgore’s chest. Asriel had waited until after you had calmed down to apologize for upsetting you, and then the very next day, he asked his parents to teach him how to use the first aid things.
Liron: She knows that killing you is her only way out of here.
Chara: I have no intention of dying.
Chara: If there's some sort of cold going through the Underground, I don't suppose it would be too much to hope for that the new human has it too, would it?
Chara: If the situation arises where it’s kill or be killed, I will kill. Because if it’s her life or your life, your life is more important. To me—to the whole underground. I won’t let you die, Ree. If the only way I can keep you alive is to kill someone, I’ll do it. I can live with that. I know it may not sit easy on your conscience. You’re a better person than me, after all. But even if it makes you hate me, I won’t let you die.
Chara: So all I have to do to make it out of this alive is to not get shot and keep some human kid from savescumming. That sounds easy enough.
Holly: I'm already a murderer, so what should one or two more lives matter to me?
Chara: And whether you stand down or not, I have no intention of allowing you to murder my husband just because you feel guilty for defending yourself and want to self-flagellate.
Holly: Why are you being so nice to me? I tried to kill you. I would’ve killed the king. I just can’t understand.
Chara: Because I’m not exactly the greatest person either. Because I’ve asked the same thing as you just now, time and time again. I can understand.
Chara: Because I’m not exactly the greatest person either. Because I’ve asked the same thing as you just now, time and time again. I can understand.
Chara: Thank you for staying where it was safe. And thank you for coming to help me again when I needed it.
Asriel: I'll always come running when you need me. Thank you for staying alive.
Asriel: I'll always come running when you need me. Thank you for staying alive.
Holly: And, despite everything—it's nice to meet you.
to rest in crypts and wake in gardens:
Chara: And what pronouns do you prefer?
Frisk: [signing] They.
Chara: Will you look at that, we match.
Frisk: [signing] They.
Chara: Will you look at that, we match.
Their voice is very soft—you can’t pick up on any annoyance in their tone at all. They must be better at hiding it than anyone you’ve ever met.
“You don’t have to apologize,” they say very quietly. “It’s alright. I understand.”
Somehow, that’s very difficult to believe.
“I do understand,” Chara says, and despite yourself you tilt your chin up just enough that you can see their face.
Their eyes are narrowed and their brow furrowed with something resembling but not quite the same as concern, and they’re smiling as if through pain, the bow of their mouth lopsided and a little too flat.
Seeing you looking at them, they pull their right sleeve up so that its cuff is crumpled at their elbow, exposing a few inches of pale forearm past the edge of their wrist brace. Scars, some old and white, some half-healed pink, some so faded they’re barely visible, crisscross Chara’s skin like tallies. Unthinking, you reach out with the desire to trace them, like Chara’s skin is rough-textured paint on canvas in a museum, so enticing you’d have to stick your hands in your pockets to keep from rubbing it and getting shouted at. You just barely restrain yourself at the last moment now, too, remembering that Chara is a person and one you’ve only just met. You deliberately retract your hand to your waist, and push your thumb through your belt loop.
“I understand,” Chara says again, and they tug their sleeve back down over their scars and the end of their brace.
Somehow, that’s very difficult to believe.
“I do understand,” Chara says, and despite yourself you tilt your chin up just enough that you can see their face.
Their eyes are narrowed and their brow furrowed with something resembling but not quite the same as concern, and they’re smiling as if through pain, the bow of their mouth lopsided and a little too flat.
Seeing you looking at them, they pull their right sleeve up so that its cuff is crumpled at their elbow, exposing a few inches of pale forearm past the edge of their wrist brace. Scars, some old and white, some half-healed pink, some so faded they’re barely visible, crisscross Chara’s skin like tallies. Unthinking, you reach out with the desire to trace them, like Chara’s skin is rough-textured paint on canvas in a museum, so enticing you’d have to stick your hands in your pockets to keep from rubbing it and getting shouted at. You just barely restrain yourself at the last moment now, too, remembering that Chara is a person and one you’ve only just met. You deliberately retract your hand to your waist, and push your thumb through your belt loop.
“I understand,” Chara says again, and they tug their sleeve back down over their scars and the end of their brace.
You get the strong urge to pinch yourself, but your wrist still stings like nettles, and shouldn’t that be all the proof you need that this is real? A whole country, even one small enough to fit inside a mountain, where you won’t have to force yourself to speak out loud to be understood. You feel downright guilty, to have such a gift dropped into your lap.
Chara: Somehow I always wind up picking the licorice ones. Even I know when to quit.
Asriel sits on the rug, legs sprawled out so that you can see his paw pads if you tilt your head a little; Chara curls up in his lap and leans into his chest, closing their eyes. Asriel rests his chin atop their head. They both look—comfortable. Peaceful, even; this is probably the most relaxed Chara has been all day. They fit together with a long-standing ease—you don’t think you’ve seen your parents, or any of your classmates’ parents, look this natural. From the childhood photos on the wall, Chara must have been around your age when they fell; spending nearly thirty years growing up together and falling in love must do that, you guess.
Maybe you just hit your head really, really hard when you jumped down the hole and you’re just hallucinating all these nice people. That makes more sense than a whole four grown-ups who are this ready to make room for you in their own personal space for no reason, right?
Chara: Fuck whatever freak of genetics decided I could do fine with next to zero pigment in my irises.
Papyrus: In case of concern, you may address me as Papyrus (additional ‘the great’ is optional), he, or ‘you there’!!
Together, you, Chara, and Asriel—mostly Asriel—escort Endogeny back to the station with Doggo, who now appears to be smoking (?) a dog treat (????).
You can’t say no to an expression like that, any more than you can say no to free food, even if it’s not actually free and even if you feel guilty about that despite Asriel’s position presumably meaning he’s got deep pockets.
You don’t think you’ll be able to do it—you still can’t be sure that Chara’s pretty words aren’t just lip service. But you understand.
Gaster: [signing] We may play a game of hot potato with blame all we like, but I doubt we will come to any sort of satisfactory conclusion. Blame lies with everyone and no one at once. Besides, I make a very poor participant for hot potato.
The mattress creaks as Chara scoots up to its edge, sitting where you’d slept and setting their bare feet on the floor. “Oh, yes,” they say, so brightly it rings false to your ear. “We fallen humans seem disproportionately prejudiced to believe kindness and generosity to be conditional, something we must work to earn or are in danger of losing. It is only possible to rewrite that conditioning through time, effort, and patience.”
“That might have been a little verbose, hon,” Asriel says.
“I literally just woke up. This is my natural state. Let me live my life.” Chara pauses to yawn and stretch enormously. “What I mean to say is—it’s okay to accept nice things from us, Frisk. We wouldn’t offer if we weren’t genuine, and we’re not going to stop caring about you halfway into things.”
Experience begs to differ, but they’re still being kind to you after yesterday. They still haven’t lost their patience with you yet, despite how you failed them. Maybe they do mean it, or at least think they do.
“That might have been a little verbose, hon,” Asriel says.
“I literally just woke up. This is my natural state. Let me live my life.” Chara pauses to yawn and stretch enormously. “What I mean to say is—it’s okay to accept nice things from us, Frisk. We wouldn’t offer if we weren’t genuine, and we’re not going to stop caring about you halfway into things.”
Experience begs to differ, but they’re still being kind to you after yesterday. They still haven’t lost their patience with you yet, despite how you failed them. Maybe they do mean it, or at least think they do.
Chara: It’s been damned lonely as literally the only Jew in the entire underground.
For some reason, there’s a little white dog sitting on you.
Against all odds—against everything you’ve accepted as common sense—they want you around.
Asriel: Then we can google gender-neutral terms for maternal instincts on the undernet until we get tired.
Chara: I’ll be sure to praise you more next time you make me breakfast, then. Like [doing an impression of the God of Hyperdeath] ‘isn’t that just delicious?’
Undyne: Sometimes I wonder coming through here if I should just… overwrite these dumb Echo Flowers with whatever. But somebody would come and recreate that conversation anyway, even if I did. Makes you wonder if people ever really think about what it feels like for those two, having something like this memorialized even though it’s painful for them.
Asriel: Is there a reason people keep feeding us mussels, anyway? Like this is delicious and I have no other complaints about it, but…
Astis: Well, just think of it as all of us cheering you and Chara on in our own way.
Astis: Well, just think of it as all of us cheering you and Chara on in our own way.
Catty: So like, who’s on pizza duty tonight?
Chara: I am. Let me and Frisk order, and I’ll pass my phone around. Let’s try to keep it to ten toppings or less per person tonight—this is a lot of pizzas and it will make things easier for the pizza place and the delivery monster if we keep this as uncomplicated as possible.
Rufus: Yeah, okay, mom!
Chara: [feigning annoyance] Gender-neutral terms when you talk back or Shut.
Chara: I am. Let me and Frisk order, and I’ll pass my phone around. Let’s try to keep it to ten toppings or less per person tonight—this is a lot of pizzas and it will make things easier for the pizza place and the delivery monster if we keep this as uncomplicated as possible.
Rufus: Yeah, okay, mom!
Chara: [feigning annoyance] Gender-neutral terms when you talk back or Shut.
Frisk: I want to stay with you.
we light ourselves up from the deepest of pits:
Toriel and Asgore are, you notice, both watching you, but their eyes on you are neutral, and you don’t think that they’re thinking anything particularly judgmental just because you’ve chosen to omit what sort of clothes shopping it is to your best friend.
You’ve got to duck your head a little to hide your smile at their calm and irreverence, calling their own king’s father (not to mention their own tutor’s husband) ‘dude’.
The Riverperson: Great rewards await after great trials, and the greatest approaches. Hmm… what sort of rewards could be waiting after that…?
Chara: Sometimes it pays to have a reputation for being very shy.
Your braids settle heavy on your shoulders, weight like expectations.
You thought that they looked as fierce and vibrant as a saint. Like Joan of Arc, maybe. But you knew that they wouldn’t appreciate being compared to a Christian or to a woman, so you’d kept your mouth shut and watched in silence.
Sans shuffles in at five thirty still in his lab coat, climbs up onto one of the bar stools, drinks an entire bottle of ketchup, and falls asleep. Grillby sighs a little and polishes the bar around him.
Papyrus marches stiffly in at five forty-five to shout at his brother and drag him out (you strongly suspect that Prase or Alphys texted him to do this). Grillby sighs a little more and marks something down on the clipboard he uses to keep track of customers’ tabs; you frown at the door a little. Sans makes his payments monthly-ish, but you still do wish that he would pay for his food and drinks (and ketchup) when he’s here. It’s not very polite.
Papyrus marches stiffly in at five forty-five to shout at his brother and drag him out (you strongly suspect that Prase or Alphys texted him to do this). Grillby sighs a little more and marks something down on the clipboard he uses to keep track of customers’ tabs; you frown at the door a little. Sans makes his payments monthly-ish, but you still do wish that he would pay for his food and drinks (and ketchup) when he’s here. It’s not very polite.
Six years ago when you took your hat and the gun and left for the mountain, you tucked a note half under your mother’s placemat. There is no question that they believe you to be dead.
If they still live in Ebott Town—if you can find them, even if they do—you can’t be certain that they will like what they find of you. The girl they had been raising into a little lady, who has turned into an atheist, who loves women when she loves anyone, who wears the boys’ uniform to school.
But it’s only right for you to meet them, let them know that you’re alive, take responsibility for what you’ve done.
If they still live in Ebott Town—if you can find them, even if they do—you can’t be certain that they will like what they find of you. The girl they had been raising into a little lady, who has turned into an atheist, who loves women when she loves anyone, who wears the boys’ uniform to school.
But it’s only right for you to meet them, let them know that you’re alive, take responsibility for what you’ve done.
You don’t doubt for a second that Bratty would give you an inch-long pixie cut if you asked for it. You could ask for it. And it surprises you to think of it with a little curiosity instead of scandalized shock.
Frisk is very cute, but you think most of their look they can only get away with because they’re twelve.
In your next dream you’re wearing chaps and squinting across a red-brown horizon, bright and colorful as a child’s picture book.
Needless to say, it’s awesome.
Needless to say, it’s awesome.
This dish calls for very thick sausages, and you’d swallowed so hard handling them that the box of your larynx had bobbed very uncomfortably, thinking of Liron.
It doesn’t take much to get you thinking of Liron, really; you do wish that you could turn that off while you’re cooking. Especially at work. At home you could probably find times to pry an eye off the stove, but it would be really unprofessional to excuse yourself over and over again here.
Your friends, most of them, would tease you gently for this if they were around. It doesn’t bother you the way it might from somebody else, given that you were all close during the horniest spates of everybody’s teenage years, but it’s still a little embarrassing sometimes.
Liron—God, you know exactly what reaction ze’d have, because you’ve gotten it out of hir so many times before: The bland stare, the raised eyebrow, the minute adjustment of hir thick-rimmed glasses. Then the discreetly raised corner of hir mouth and the dry, “Sugar, you are a randy boy.”
The memory alone makes you feel more sixteen than you did when you were actually sixteen and you and Burgerpants had progressed to clueless fumbling. Liron always manages to get you hot.
It doesn’t take much to get you thinking of Liron, really; you do wish that you could turn that off while you’re cooking. Especially at work. At home you could probably find times to pry an eye off the stove, but it would be really unprofessional to excuse yourself over and over again here.
Your friends, most of them, would tease you gently for this if they were around. It doesn’t bother you the way it might from somebody else, given that you were all close during the horniest spates of everybody’s teenage years, but it’s still a little embarrassing sometimes.
Liron—God, you know exactly what reaction ze’d have, because you’ve gotten it out of hir so many times before: The bland stare, the raised eyebrow, the minute adjustment of hir thick-rimmed glasses. Then the discreetly raised corner of hir mouth and the dry, “Sugar, you are a randy boy.”
The memory alone makes you feel more sixteen than you did when you were actually sixteen and you and Burgerpants had progressed to clueless fumbling. Liron always manages to get you hot.
Chara: Ruling a kingdom is stressful, but at least I don’t have to juggle a full-time job with a Hott New Relationship and being the local mom friend. You’re young, but you’re still risking burning out again.
Astis: I know. I’ll be careful, so you don’t have to worry about me on top of the whole kingdom. Also, please tell me I’m imagining it that I heard ‘hot new relationship’ capitalized and misspelled.
Chara: Oh good, I was worrying that nuance wouldn’t carry over voice.
Astis: I know. I’ll be careful, so you don’t have to worry about me on top of the whole kingdom. Also, please tell me I’m imagining it that I heard ‘hot new relationship’ capitalized and misspelled.
Chara: Oh good, I was worrying that nuance wouldn’t carry over voice.
You’ve been in love so many times in your life—Papyrus, Burgerpants’ current boyfriend, Burgerpants himself, Bratty and Catty—but it’s never felt so intense, like a force of nature, like the veins of deep magic that govern the monsters’ world.
Astis: The only thing I want to hold on to for sure is you.
You love, have always loved, surprises; if you do not expect a thing that happens, it has not happened because you expected it to. There is magic thrumming in your body and you do not know the bounds of its power. You can never really be sure that you do not shape the world around you subconsciously, like a child’s fantasy story, unless the world is defying all possibilities you had considered.
If anything can pry Innig off of her own face it will be breakfast.
Prayer is not exactly the word for what you do.
Gratitude—respect—acknowledgement is what it is your role to provide, as one who knows.
Innig, who prefers classical music and old alternative pop and hip-hop from the 2010s and 2020s, has muttered darkly about Napstablook’s taste being unlistenable, especially after they gifted Undyne with a mixtape of autotuned athlete screams.
Mountain goat, mountain lion, bergentrückung, in every respect a mountain of a man; this world is governed by numerical code and also by shitty puns, for reasons you will never be able to fathom.
You can’t really bench press a person with your mind on something else—even if it weren’t a safety hazard, Rufus is warm in your hands and depending on where you’re holding him up you can feel his quick little hummingbird pulse through your palms, it’s almost humbling.
So you only spare Chara one more look before you consciously shut your worries out. Even so, it still occurs to you almost uncomfortably that the amount of white in their hair has to have quintupled since you first met them.
So you only spare Chara one more look before you consciously shut your worries out. Even so, it still occurs to you almost uncomfortably that the amount of white in their hair has to have quintupled since you first met them.
You are fairly certain that you are going to have to find a polite way to turn Chara and Asriel’s job offer down flat sometime in the very near future.
Innig: I was happy to leave the business royalty life behind when I came here.
Ska: Kid blew up half the science classroom and school got let out early while them and the teachers clean it up. Wicked awesome if you ask me.
Dancing with Mettaton is ridiculous because he is ridiculous, and it’s also ridiculously fun.
He’s not drinking—he hardly ever does, he’s a lightweight—but you’d forgive a stranger for jumping to conclusions just now because of the general atmosphere.
Rufus: Some poor sap left their number on a fishing pole in the river because they took ‘there are plenty of fish in the sea’ too literally, not realizing that this would make them a prime target for pranking by rambunctious teens.
More space to be alone together. That’s another thing you have to look forward to, when you’re out of here.
Across the counter, Grillby gives a small crackly sigh and fetches another ketchup bottle from lower than you can see. Truly, he is the hero that none of you deserve.
Rufus: I wanna eat my lunch in peace without having to deal with a bar brawl.
The teens are a mostly harmless nuisance. Pissing off poor Gyftrot is a time-honored tradition, and lately somebody (Jerry, you suspect) has been altering Lesser Dog’s snow sculptures so that they’re anatomically correct. But the most trouble they tend to get into is getting stuck in Papyrus’ puzzles, being rude to people, and worrying their parents. Which is downright cute compared to packs of bullies back in Ebott Town, so you’ll take it.
You get yourself another lemon bar to celebrate. In your defense, you’re hungry, and you’re supporting the local economy.
You gaze out over the tops of conifers and contemplate a little how it feels to live in a nation ruled by a king who uses the terms “speedrunning” and “malarkey” in the same sentence.
Hell, your literal royal family lives way more humbly than all this ritz.
Rufus: And if you still want to do this—look—I will personally march up to your old man and tell him to choke on his own dick if he so much as thinks about coming near you after all this time. He’s the real problem here. If not for him you wouldn’t have anything to be scared of.
Sans: Excellent. More time to laze around.
Prase: Sometimes I think the two of you should go back to talk to Asgore and Toriel to review your old lessons on a little thing called delegation. I promise it would make your lives significantly easier if you could just employ it.
The past week has worn Chara all but threadbare. They’ve complained to you about all the work, they’ve complained to you of the necessity to lie and the stress of keeping the secret a secret; they’ve even spoken low into their own knees of Frisk overhearing them talking to Asriel about preparing for the possibility of their child’s birth parents horning in to dispute custody. In short, they’ve talked to you about everything except whatever the real problem is. You don’t even know if Asriel has heard what’s actually eating them.
The Riverperson: Sometimes the hardest answer to find is the most obvious.
Prase: [this whole conversation is over text] lmao check this out
Chara: Prase, what and why and also how the fuck.
Prase: ok ykno that one dog that rly likes to bother m bro
Chara: Ah. Suddenly I understand everything.
Chara: Prase, what and why and also how the fuck.
Prase: ok ykno that one dog that rly likes to bother m bro
Chara: Ah. Suddenly I understand everything.
Prase: Are you sick right now?
Chara: I am not. Only a little exhausted.
Prase: Are you pregnant??
Chara: No, seeing as the only person I’ve ever had sex with is a giant lion goat wolf man, with whom I am most likely reproductively incompatible based on the fact that the underground literally has no human-friendly contraception available and yet he has not managed to knock me up yet. What the fuck, Prase.
Chara: I am not. Only a little exhausted.
Prase: Are you pregnant??
Chara: No, seeing as the only person I’ve ever had sex with is a giant lion goat wolf man, with whom I am most likely reproductively incompatible based on the fact that the underground literally has no human-friendly contraception available and yet he has not managed to knock me up yet. What the fuck, Prase.
Prase: Moirail privileges. Deal with it.
You lovingly give him the finger as Frisk half hauls you out of the throne room. Rufus sticks his tongue out at you as you go, and it almost feels normal.
Still. One more day plus change. You can keep all this buttoned up for that long, at least.
There’s still work to be done, and it’s your duty to do all that you possibly can until the end.
Asriel offers you his arm as the two of you leave the castle main to walk the city streets, and you take it, bearing yourself up on his solid warmth. He would probably carry you if you asked, but you won’t. He’s worried enough as it is, and you don’t want him to catch on to how bad you really feel.
“Shall I wash the dishes, then?”
“No, Frisk and I’ll get ‘em,” Asriel says immediately and naturally, already standing up. Frisk gets up too without complaint, following their father back into the kitchen. “You just stay put for a minute or two.”
You lift your hands briefly in resigned disgust. “This show of chivalry is probably not as cute and winning as you believe it to be, my dears.”
From the kitchen, you hear the faucet begin to run, and then above it Asriel’s voice: “Oh, don’t worry, this is just until you’re feeling better. Then you can do as many dishes as you want forever.”
You roll your eyes and deliberately choose not to make a remark that will alarm them both, resting your weight back in your chair.
“No, Frisk and I’ll get ‘em,” Asriel says immediately and naturally, already standing up. Frisk gets up too without complaint, following their father back into the kitchen. “You just stay put for a minute or two.”
You lift your hands briefly in resigned disgust. “This show of chivalry is probably not as cute and winning as you believe it to be, my dears.”
From the kitchen, you hear the faucet begin to run, and then above it Asriel’s voice: “Oh, don’t worry, this is just until you’re feeling better. Then you can do as many dishes as you want forever.”
You roll your eyes and deliberately choose not to make a remark that will alarm them both, resting your weight back in your chair.
Looking at them fills you with a bone-deep ease that’s almost a sadness. You know they’re going to be all right, no matter what.
And he just sounds so openly loving and concerned that you breathe in without even thinking about it first. Your brain catches up to you the next second, so that you hold it and then breathe out instead.
Did you know that in the old story, Moses never reached the Promised Land? That in some of the interpretations, they say that it was as a penance for the mistakes he made?
But if you say that to Asriel he won’t understand, and will want you to explain—or he will understand, and will understand too much. So you elect to remain silent.
Did you know that in the old story, Moses never reached the Promised Land? That in some of the interpretations, they say that it was as a penance for the mistakes he made?
But if you say that to Asriel he won’t understand, and will want you to explain—or he will understand, and will understand too much. So you elect to remain silent.
At last he rests you back against the pillows, and spends a while again with his mouth on yours, tender, languid.
And with those gentle hands, with his gentle mouth, he shows you: Touching and kissing the loose flesh of your chest where it’s lost elasticity, your stomach and your thighs where you’ve lost weight. He goes on showing you, warm and mellow but stubborn, until you’re sighing, smiling, guiding him with hands laid softly atop his head.
You have him like that, over and over, as many times and in as many ways as you can stand: And you feel something that you had given up on feeling ever again, a lovely loose sensation like your whole body is made of liquid light.
And with those gentle hands, with his gentle mouth, he shows you: Touching and kissing the loose flesh of your chest where it’s lost elasticity, your stomach and your thighs where you’ve lost weight. He goes on showing you, warm and mellow but stubborn, until you’re sighing, smiling, guiding him with hands laid softly atop his head.
You have him like that, over and over, as many times and in as many ways as you can stand: And you feel something that you had given up on feeling ever again, a lovely loose sensation like your whole body is made of liquid light.
You wake up the next morning feeling rested for the first time in a long, long while: A small mercy. You lie eyes open in the dark for some time, staring up at the ceiling, not really thinking about anything at all. Your heart ought to be racing, you ought to feel downright sick, but your primary emotion is unnatural calm.
Still you feel no fear. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. Creeping towards the huge hole in the cave with the thought to jump into it, even just intending to assess it first, your heart had been hammering, you’d been terrified. Bedbound and dying of poison, you’d thought a lot about death and what it would feel like to lose your body—you’d been scared the whole time, had just pushed that feeling aside with determination. This morning, facing the destruction of the Barrier, the end of everything—you still only feel placid, like photos of an inch of rain over salt flats, reflecting a perfect seamless mirror of the sky.
You look around the house—around your precious home, the only real home you’ve ever had. Every inch is packed with memories, good and bad; though your heart is still tranquil, your vision blurs for just a moment, and you have to reach up and brush your fingers over your cheeks quickly so that Asriel doesn’t walk back in to find tears on your face.
The nemophila sitting in the vase on the table are bright; they draw your eye no matter how you try to look away. The monsters will get to see the sky soon for real, and not just through humans’ discarded media and tiny cracks in the cave ceiling. Will they weep at its beauty? Or will it feel alien to them, after so long being safely covered in stone and earth?
The nemophila sitting in the vase on the table are bright; they draw your eye no matter how you try to look away. The monsters will get to see the sky soon for real, and not just through humans’ discarded media and tiny cracks in the cave ceiling. Will they weep at its beauty? Or will it feel alien to them, after so long being safely covered in stone and earth?
Chara: I love you. I will always love you. I wanted to keep you from the first day we met, Frisk. I love you with all my heart. Please always trust in that.
If it weren’t for your father, a lot of things would be different, you suppose. It might even have taken longer for you to come to Mt. Ebott, although you’re sure you would still have wound up here—would still have fallen in love with Asriel and made all the same mistakes—anyway.
You take a deep breath, hold it, and let it go.
Even if it’s imperfect, it’s still the best you can offer, and so you offer it: With what little power you have.
Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad.This is more Hebrew...
And you close your eyes.
You take a deep breath, hold it, and let it go.
Even if it’s imperfect, it’s still the best you can offer, and so you offer it: With what little power you have.
Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad.This is more Hebrew...
And you close your eyes.
Rufus’ SSS unit lights up. He keeps watching Innig to the end, until his soul emerges. It feels alien to watch him lie so still.
And with a rending sound—the world tears open.
"Lifdoff," Chara and Prase chorus in your head, like a couple of memeing heralds.
You release Holly’s soul; at least this way, you think while you’re gritting your teeth through her pulling apart from you, she’ll be spared any future dick jokes. (Astis snickers; Chara is quiet.)
Chara: I’m not going back, Asriel.
Chara: Moses was never meant to make it to the Promised Land. I always felt it, deep down, that I was never going to make it to the surface alive. And I’ve made my peace with that. Because here—because the underground, and living with you and all the monsters—this has been the Promised Land for me, don’t you understand? I don’t need the surface. I don’t need freedom. I’ve had thirty years of happiness here with you and everyone. That’s enough for me.
Everything they must have been barely holding back before, everything you never looked at closely because all the other humans’ minds and your task were too big a distraction—it scorches your hands like you’re being branded, flowing up your arms and drowning your brain.
Rocks, bricks, empty bottles being thrown; the sick thud of impact, of blood crawling. A thousand screaming chanting voices, the sheer animal terror of being chased, hands grabbing for the hem of a skirt, a leg, the side of underwear once. The terrifying, unpredictable swings of their mother from being as loving and nurturing as your own parents to slapping and withholding meals, getting her fingers into Chara’s hair and yanking, refusing to acknowledge the real them, shouting that she wished she’d never given birth to them. Always, always, the chant of their deadname. You want to cover your ears to it, to scour it out of your brain, to divorce it from them like any other four-letter word.
The shadowy, half-remembered figure of an adult man, at least three times Chara’s size: The smell of cheap, sour beer and the weight, the force of the huge meaty hands around their throat. A voice like cracked gravel in their ear, stubble scratching their cheek, their own father promising to rape them raw and bloody. Promising to cut them open while they’re still alive like they did in the camps—you have only a few seconds to be confused by this until you aren’t, oh god, you aren’t, you didn’t know, you didn’t—and toss their gutted carcass out with the kindling to burn in the yard when he was done. Their mother standing by the wall with a bloody mouth, her nose dripping onto her shirt, expressionless, staring disinterested into the distance, ignoring them calling for help.
Creak of a floorboard in the night, might as well be the snap of a trap on a mouse, awake and covering their own mouth to mute their tears, looking around wildly for a hiding place that isn’t there because what if tonight is the night.
Your chest—your stomach clutches. Your breath’s coming sharp and ragged. You swallow hard against the fear your bile’ll be rising any second. Oh, god. Oh god. You knew it was bad, but you never—you never even thought. How could they—how could anyone be so evil as to say those things to their own child?
Rocks, bricks, empty bottles being thrown; the sick thud of impact, of blood crawling. A thousand screaming chanting voices, the sheer animal terror of being chased, hands grabbing for the hem of a skirt, a leg, the side of underwear once. The terrifying, unpredictable swings of their mother from being as loving and nurturing as your own parents to slapping and withholding meals, getting her fingers into Chara’s hair and yanking, refusing to acknowledge the real them, shouting that she wished she’d never given birth to them. Always, always, the chant of their deadname. You want to cover your ears to it, to scour it out of your brain, to divorce it from them like any other four-letter word.
The shadowy, half-remembered figure of an adult man, at least three times Chara’s size: The smell of cheap, sour beer and the weight, the force of the huge meaty hands around their throat. A voice like cracked gravel in their ear, stubble scratching their cheek, their own father promising to rape them raw and bloody. Promising to cut them open while they’re still alive like they did in the camps—you have only a few seconds to be confused by this until you aren’t, oh god, you aren’t, you didn’t know, you didn’t—and toss their gutted carcass out with the kindling to burn in the yard when he was done. Their mother standing by the wall with a bloody mouth, her nose dripping onto her shirt, expressionless, staring disinterested into the distance, ignoring them calling for help.
Creak of a floorboard in the night, might as well be the snap of a trap on a mouse, awake and covering their own mouth to mute their tears, looking around wildly for a hiding place that isn’t there because what if tonight is the night.
Your chest—your stomach clutches. Your breath’s coming sharp and ragged. You swallow hard against the fear your bile’ll be rising any second. Oh, god. Oh god. You knew it was bad, but you never—you never even thought. How could they—how could anyone be so evil as to say those things to their own child?
Chara: I won’t return to my body. But… if you’re really so determined to keep me with you… Absorb my soul, permanently this time. I am not able to face the surface on my own, as myself, as a target. But with you… with you, that might be different. That world isn’t worth living in. But if I must keep existing—if I could become part of you—that wouldn’t be so bad. I could “live” with that, you know. Being your heart. Let me die, or take my soul. Those are your choices. I’m fine with either. I’m so tired of being alive, Ree. I’ve done everything I could. I have nothing more to give. Please just let me die.
Asriel: I'm doing this...because you're special, Chara. Because I love you, more than anybody else. So I don’t want this to end just yet. I’m not ready for this to be over, Chara, I’m not ready for you to leave. I don’t want to say goodbye to someone as precious as you just yet. And… it’s still just like I told you, all those years ago. If I took your soul… we’d always be together, but it wouldn’t be the same. I still want to hold you. I still want to kiss you, and hold your hand, and cuddle with you. I still want to see your face when I wake up every morning. Maybe this is just me being selfish again. But… I love you, Chara. I don’t want to let you go just yet. I promise that we can still make this work in a way that’s not going to hurt you. If you’re tired, we can let you rest, and if you’re scared, then we won’t put you in danger. If you’re feeling sick and weak, then we’ll talk to Mom and Dad, and talk about what we need to do for your health. I promise, Chara. Whatever it takes to make this work out, I’ll see it done. Chara, you’re…You were just desperate when you came here, and we put too much pressure on you, but even so… you appeared to us like an angel, and you guided us through our fear and our despair for thirty years. Just because you doubted sometimes, just because you got angry and were afraid and made mistakes, that doesn’t mean that you have to be punished for it. You don’t have to look at the time we’ve had together and say that that’s enough for you. There’s so much that you still wanted to do in life, isn’t there…? You’ve still gotta see how that silly comic of yours ends. We’ve still gotta watch Frisk grow up. So… If you still want to do that… It’s okay to stay here with the people who love you.
And finally, finally, Chara sits up.
They run their fingers through their hair, and you… you finally notice, and you gasp a little. “Chara, your—your hair.”
They turn to you, still stiff and shaky, all red-faced from crying.
“D’you, uh,” you babble, shaking your head. “Alphys, do you have an, uhh…”
“N—no mirror, but I have,” she stammers, and produces her phone from one pocket, batting at it with her claws until she comes up with the selfie app. She holds it up for Chara so that they can see their reflection.
Chara looks, and then narrows their eyes, face contorting with disbelief. “Well, fuck!”
You have no idea when exactly it happened, but their hair is white—all white, now, except for a few little stripes of their original dark red.
Chara starts to giggle. First it’s tiny bursts of laughter, and then they’re all but cackling into their hands, half laughing and half sobbing.
“I d-don’t,” Alphys says, fidgeting. “I d-don’t think that this, uhh, I mean there’s always… there’s always d-dye, b-but…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Chara says, breathing deep, still giggling a little in between their exclamations. “It’s—it’s fine. God, I probably brought it on myself for never being able to drop my—my stupid Moses fixation. It’s fine. It’s whatever. This is just my life now.”
They run their fingers through their hair, and you… you finally notice, and you gasp a little. “Chara, your—your hair.”
They turn to you, still stiff and shaky, all red-faced from crying.
“D’you, uh,” you babble, shaking your head. “Alphys, do you have an, uhh…”
“N—no mirror, but I have,” she stammers, and produces her phone from one pocket, batting at it with her claws until she comes up with the selfie app. She holds it up for Chara so that they can see their reflection.
Chara looks, and then narrows their eyes, face contorting with disbelief. “Well, fuck!”
You have no idea when exactly it happened, but their hair is white—all white, now, except for a few little stripes of their original dark red.
Chara starts to giggle. First it’s tiny bursts of laughter, and then they’re all but cackling into their hands, half laughing and half sobbing.
“I d-don’t,” Alphys says, fidgeting. “I d-don’t think that this, uhh, I mean there’s always… there’s always d-dye, b-but…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Chara says, breathing deep, still giggling a little in between their exclamations. “It’s—it’s fine. God, I probably brought it on myself for never being able to drop my—my stupid Moses fixation. It’s fine. It’s whatever. This is just my life now.”
There’s moss on the ground underneath your paw, soft and fuzzy and a little slippery, and you flex your toes on it, considering. The world around you is lit from the side and slightly above, in a pale light that’s different somehow in tone or in color than the magical light and tiny puddles of natural light you’re used to.
You give up on trying to analyze it, and lift your head—and your mouth drops open as you gasp.
There’s just so much to take in: From the mountainside you’re as high up as, as the castle ramparts, and can look down on the sprawling surface world below, but it’s—the whole world is green and gold and red, and the silhouette of a town is still some ways away, just close enough for you to be able to clearly count the tallest buildings. The world spreads out in every direction, coming up against other mountains, which are so much bigger than you thought they’d look just from pictures from human books, and, and there are huge lakes that reflect light so shiny it hurts your eyes, and—
And you look up, and your eyes blur.
The sky. The sky. The sky. It’s dark blue where you look up, dotted with tiny pinpricks of white that must be the real stars, but then it turns rich purples and pinks, fading into even richer golds along the horizon. This—this must be what they call the sunrise.
You give up on trying to analyze it, and lift your head—and your mouth drops open as you gasp.
There’s just so much to take in: From the mountainside you’re as high up as, as the castle ramparts, and can look down on the sprawling surface world below, but it’s—the whole world is green and gold and red, and the silhouette of a town is still some ways away, just close enough for you to be able to clearly count the tallest buildings. The world spreads out in every direction, coming up against other mountains, which are so much bigger than you thought they’d look just from pictures from human books, and, and there are huge lakes that reflect light so shiny it hurts your eyes, and—
And you look up, and your eyes blur.
The sky. The sky. The sky. It’s dark blue where you look up, dotted with tiny pinpricks of white that must be the real stars, but then it turns rich purples and pinks, fading into even richer golds along the horizon. This—this must be what they call the sunrise.
“I’m glad you stayed,” they whisper, their voice so tiny you have to strain your ears to catch it properly. “Thank you. I would have missed you so much.”
Chara folds their own arms around Frisk’s body and closes their eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I almost…”
Frisk shakes their head. “It’s not your fault.”
“Frisk is right,” you say, and hug them both to you. “You have good reasons to hate humanity and fear this world. But I promise—I swear to you, Chara—that everything is going to be okay. We’ve worked so hard for this happy ending… I promise, I’m not going to let everything you’ve done for us go to waste. I love you and Frisk so much—and I’ll make sure it’s okay.”
Chara leans against your chest and closes their eyes. “I trust you.”
Chara folds their own arms around Frisk’s body and closes their eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I almost…”
Frisk shakes their head. “It’s not your fault.”
“Frisk is right,” you say, and hug them both to you. “You have good reasons to hate humanity and fear this world. But I promise—I swear to you, Chara—that everything is going to be okay. We’ve worked so hard for this happy ending… I promise, I’m not going to let everything you’ve done for us go to waste. I love you and Frisk so much—and I’ll make sure it’s okay.”
Chara leans against your chest and closes their eyes. “I trust you.”
