mountain king.

With no outside threat, just a fire in your chest; and you’re melting all over everything. ASGORE DREEMURR affiliated with isola radiale

[charadrxxmxrr]

“Mettaton and Alphys were here for a few scant months. But I did not talk with them often. They. . . did not know me. Not the way they knew. . .”

Frisk. Chara wills their eyes to stay dry. The child swallows and accepts the handkerchief back, tucking it away before folding their hands together. They won’t cry. They won’t cause Asgore any pain.

They will be good. They will be good.

“I am fine.” They won’t say they’re not lonely, though they know it’s a selfish feeling. They have friends here. It’s not right for them to say they’re lonely when they have friends. It’s unfair and cruel, so Chara keeps it to themself. “I am residing with a married couple in a quiet neighborhood I am headed to. But. . .”

Chara can tell Asgore is getting uncomfortable. They pause, before offering their hand.

“Would you like to go to my garden with me? It will be quieter. You will be able to process things properly.”

[dreemurrder]

Mettaton and Alphys were here. He files that information away. It's good to know. Unfortunate that he missed them, but the entertainment robot hadn't ever seemed too thrilled to actually be in his presence, and Royal Scientist had grown quite nervous around him ever since... the...

Chara draws his mind away from that. They've been cared for. That's good. A married couple. There is, admittedly, a harsh sting of—jealousy? Envy? He isn't sure. There is relief, too, that Chara has trusted someone else enough to allow them to care for them during their time here.

Maybe he could meet them, just to say thank you. They must be good people for Chara to put their well-being in their hands.

"Your garden?" He seems to perk up a bit at that. Asgore glances at the tiny hand outstretched towards him. The wobbly smile gets a little more genuine. "I think I'd like that. I'd love to see the little ones you've been tendin' to...!"

He pushes himself up to his feet. The exposed hand reaches down to envelop Chara's entirely, along with a good portion of their forearm. Asgore's hold is not too tight, allowing them enough room to slip out of his grasp if they desire it.

There is still a part of him that isn't sure if this is real, even with the assurance it isn't some sick dream. But, for now, he can hope, right? That for a little while, he has... part of his family back with him.

[komattamono]

Visit Original Link

[dreemurrder]

s-starter call...? capping at 3 but utdr muses're exempt from the cap o(-(

[charadrxxmxrr]

“You did not frighten me”

Chara plucks a handkerchief from their pocket and silently offers it up. It would look laughably tiny in Asgore’s hands, but it would have to do for now. Until Chara made him a properly sized one to keep on his person.

“The one who should apologize is myself,” they say automatically. Deflecting any blame Asgore might place on his own person and instead turning it back onto themself. An easy, automatic thought. Chara picks at the skin of their bottom lip with their teeth and glances to the ground.

“It would be easier if this was a dream,” they admit, hands clasping in front of them so they stop picking their blisters. “But unfortunately, it is not. This is a ‘different world’ from the surface. The Angels above are gods that pick and choose which people from a good many number of worlds to reside here. However, it is temporary for most, and the time in our worlds does not pass while we reside here.”

It’s easy to talk facts. Emotions are hard. Facts don’t change. Chara focuses on that and not the flip-flop of their stomach.

“I am sorry. you must stay here until the time comes that you are returned. No one else from our ‘world’ is here. It is. . . only me.”

It’s just you

[dreemurrder]

What Chara might not realize is Asgore can recognize this behavior, still, after all these years: steeling themselves, swallowing their own feelings, focusing on the easy things rather than whatever emotions were brewing within them. He had tried to encourage them to be more open, once upon a time. That expressing themselves was perfectly fine. He isn't sure if that would be welcome here. It's been a long time.

He accepts the tiny handkerchief. It's used to dab at his face, picking up stray white hairs that stick to the tears. Asgore gives a trembling breath, neatly folds the handkerchief back up, and returns it to his child.

"Thank you," he says, and whether it's thanks for the handkerchief or thanks for the explanation is not specified. There are many thoughts swirling about in his troubled head. Everything is getting loud again. Asgore remains kneeling there in front of Chara, staring at them with wide, damp, red-rimmed eyes. "You... you have nothing to apologize for."

They were just a child, after all. Taking on so much weight and responsibility, and for what?

"Only you," he echoes solemnly. Asgore breathes in again, his eyes fluttering shut for a few moments. "It must have been... quite lonely."

There is still a lump in his throat. He continues trying to compose himself, because a king needn't cry in public, and Chara does not need his tears right now.

"But you look healthy, my child. That... that makes me real happy to see. Is someone takin' care of you?"

He barely notices the regal, careful way he tries to speak slipping back into familiar casualness, the accent he tries to cover up, reserved only for those dearest to him.

[charadrxxmxrr]

Chara hated it when Asgore cried. They always did.

People were only supposed to cry when they were hurt. When something bad has happened. Usually, when people cried before, it was because Chara was bad, for reasons the child had never been able to understand.

They tried to be good. They tried to be like all the other kids. they just. . . failed miserably.

Chara used to flinch when Asgore began to cry. Worried that those paws would strike, or that they would be locked somewhere cold and dark — colder and darker than the underground, anyway. They had never said as much, but they had the feeling that Toriel and Asgore knew anyway, because the times Asgore cried were less, if only because he would excuse himself every time.

He cried a lot during those last days and didn’t bother to hide it.

They don’t flinch now, even when the monster cradles their face. Chara freezes, instead, as Asgore’s paw examines them. The bumps, the bruises, everything that composed their fragile human body. It seems to make him cry harder, and Chara feels their chest seize up with that familiar panic.

Their lips turn up reflexively. Their scary face, as Asriel used to call it. The way their mouth twisted into a smile when they were frightened.

“There is nothing . . . to apologize for.”

[dreemurrder]

There is more guilt that comes with crying in front of this child, like he's putting his emotions on them. He does not want them to feel as though they need to comfort him, no, that isn't their responsibility. There is a ringing in his ears and his eyes are hot. Tears wet the fur on his face. His nostrils flare.

Oh, his head is starting to hurt.

Asgore feels them tense up and immediately he places them back down, makes sure they're standing, and draws back. His exposed hand scrubs uselessly at his face.

"There is so much to apologize for, but—"

He cannot seek absolution from a child.

"I..."

They look scared. It feels like a knife to the gut, something familiar to him in quite the literal sense.

(He remembers an excitable child, once, in her little blue dress and her red Mary Janes, dancing around him and laughing, and then sliding a knife through the tiniest gap in his armor. It was the most any of them had ever managed to hurt him.)

"Did- did I frighten you? Forgive me, my child." Asgore tries for a smile. It's wobbly. "I just... seeing your face again, I..."

He swallows thickly. Immediately, his expression crumbles and he bows his head.

"It's like a dream," he continues, his rumbling voice pitifully small. "Is this a dream?"

[charadrxxmxrr]

They had received news about the newest recruits brought to the spirale by the eclipse as they were getting out of work. Chara always checked, every time, because —

…because of what? Hope? Fear? Eagerness? Anxiety? Maybe all of them, mixed up in their head and filling their stomach with a heavy pit of conflicted feelings.

They miss home. They want someone familiar. Someone who knew them, actually knew them.

They never want to see any of their family again, because Chara would rather die than have to face them.

They saw Asgore’s name and their mind went blank.

Part of them thinks — hopes — that maybe it’s the other Asgore. The one that Kris is the child to. A stranger to them. Something safer than someone known.

But luck has never been a friend to the little Dreemurr. So, of course, the person they were running straight home from work to avoid is the one that they land into. Chara’s body seizes up as they tumble to the ground, and they look up at Asgore with wide, terrified red eyes.

That grief stricken look on the monsters definitely belongs to their father.

Chara opens their mouth, trying to find words, but none come to them. The child closes their mouth with a click, and lowers their eyes, hand going to pick at the blisters on their palm.

“. . . I am fine.”

[dreemurrder]

He hasn't heard that voice in so long. He hasn't seen that expression in so long. The nervous way they pick at their wounds, how they have trouble looking at him directly. Everything is so familiar, and it all feels so real.

Maybe any other bereaved parent would have broken down into tears immediately. Certainly, he expected he would have; Asriel did get his tendency to be easily moved to tears from him, after all, or that's what Toriel would always tease. Here, now, he doesn't. The world around them seems to go quiet. All that exists in this moment is him and the child on the ground.

This child was the catalyst for everything.

This child was his. Even without fur or fangs or horns, they were his. And for years he had been too torn up to even utter their name, like doing so would bring back another spectre of the past to haunt him forever.

Asgore is not sure how he feels. Really, he doesn't know if this is real, or if he's simply gone mad with the pain.

Slowly, he lowers himself down to one knee, his armor clanking with his movements. One hand (shaky, hesitant) reaches out slowly, pauses, wonders if they would accept the touch still. Hurriedly, almost clumsily, he pulls off the gauntlet, exposing the padded palm of his hand, the claws, the white fur.

"You..."

He touches their cheek first. Warm. He can feel their pulse. Alive. Their head is dwarfed by the size of his hand. Asgore is so, so delicately careful when he moves his hand to their hair. A little stringy. Needs a wash. Things you notice when you are— were a father.

"Y-you—"

There they are, those treacherous tears. He gives a wet gasp, the precursor to a heaving sob. Asgore picks them up then, pulls their tiny frame against the broad expanse of his chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

[dreemurrder]

The Surface is this: loud.

It's also this: bright.

It took some time for his eyes to adjust to sunshine, and the amount of noise was nigh-overwhelming at first. Even the streets of New Home weren't this busy. He was offered some reprieve from it when he was beckoned to cram himself into a car a little too small for him (even when he noticed he seemed just a tad shorter than usual), the engine of the vehicle a little more of a familiar sound—like the turning gears and cogs and rattling motors within Hotland.

No one else he recognizes is here with him, which he finds odd. The others did follow, didn't they? He doesn't even see Mount Ebott anywhere. This place looks nothing like he imagined. The breeze is warm and carries with it the scent of the ocean, something he has not smelled in many, many years.

His footsteps are still heavy. Here, in this part of the city, no one gives him a second glance, unlike the other areas where he had been given a wide berth. It's nice here. Green. The air is fresh. It smells nice. There are flowers.

From around the corner of a building, someone cuts in front of him, clearly not watching where they were going, and he nearly stumbles over them as if they were a housecat weaving between his legs.

"I'm so sorry. I should pay more attention to where I am going. Maybe my eyesight has grown poor in my old age, ha ha...! Are you—..."

Asgore looks at them. Really looks at them. And he falls silent, his mouth hanging open and eyes widening.

There were some days where he heard children's laughter in the garden and would rush to see, only to find it was merely grief's phantom—a memory, his mind toying with him. He suspects this is much the same.

"...all right?"

@charadrxxmxrr

[isolaradiale]

howdy! on prior reserve, here's asgore dreemurr from undertale. his app can be found under /app, or the third link on my blog. let me know if there are any issues.

Welcome!

You'll be staying in APARTMENT 306!

You'll be able to create small orbs of fire that burn out pretty quickly! And you will find yourself... shrunk! Just enough to fit through doors!

You'll be given a wooden trident!

Enjoy your stay!

--Mod Lyra