Incase Its Unclear The She/her Pronouns Are Referring To Toriel And Her Fight Being The First We Get - Tumblr Posts
[ obsidian ] for frisk!
[ obsidian ] for a traumatic memory.
They can still taste the first time they died. ― their mouth was full of blood, the world was hazy and scalding red, they could feel themselves burning in every nerve and entirely too distant all at once. like the pain was in a different room, and pressed taut to their form like an oil-fire on skin, glowing hot iron against shaking begging muscle, tendons tearing themselves in efforts to flee- to fight, to do anything. they can still feel the way they’d slammed their head against the indigo stones, brick crumbling and how they never saw her falter, never saw past the way her eyes were cold like polished rubies you’d never crack- and then they cracked instead, and they only caught the half-second twitch of movement ( her eyes went so wide, hands flying to her mouth as the trial dictated an execution, and god, they wish they’d stayed dead. they wish ― ) before the world went black and they lost themselves. they lost it ―― with the sound of themselves shattering, reverberating in their ears like a promise they broke ― she broke, somewhere along the way, blood pouring from their mouth, head ringing ― ringing ― ringing.
and then they wake up again, and she’s all soft hands and white fur and fresh laundry and they hate it ― god, they hate it ― does that make them a bad person? to loathe it like they do? to taste the fire, burn the sugar and get sweet poured into their jaws breaths after blood? does that make them loathsome? ― god, they want to be if it means they wont feel that again, they want to be, they want ――― but what they want doesn’t matter. it never has. so they keep getting thrown back, again and again and again, and Undyne is almost respite because at least she hates them as much as they hate themselves, and Asgore is almost grief because he can’t do it, and they can’t blame him ― god, they can’t blame him. hang the angel off the cross by the wings, nailed down and sacrificed and ever the heart continues beating ―― and they wish it didn’t, they wish it didn’t, they wish wish wish― but wishing is not enough.
