s c a p e g o a t.

[soilsleeping]

cupsofbuttercups:

“Either Santa isn’t real or he’s like a genie that gives you what you asked for but not what you wanted.”

    “Santa is real, you just deserve to get fricked over on Christmas. That’s all.”

[soilsleeping]

judgehund:

       You’re wrong.

  It was the first thing a creature like him would think───                                                                              You’re wrong.

   He wanted to say it. The fiery passion to ignite hate in people so they would despise him as much as he did ─ he felt it every day; the temptation to act out so badly he’d be left behind and loathed like he deserved. He didn’t want to be alone in this feeling. Maybe he felt like he’d committed a crime in the sense that nobody hated him ── he feels like he’s robbed people of how they should really feel, and it is ugly.

      The infection in his HOPE seems to ignite. He feels the droplet of blood run from his nose, which is quickly wiped away ──── He wanted to get rid of it before they even had a chance to see it, but even then, now a big red stain tainted the sleeve of his coat.

 They were a good kid.   They’d made mistakes ─ but they were good. They were still young, and Sans knew how difficult it must be to be dragged back into a world that never wanted you to live in the first place. Sans knew it very well ──── Even when he was brought back after a reset, he didn’t understand. This infection was bound to kill him in the same day Chara came that fateful day. It was his last day, and if Frisk hadn’t stopped him from killing himself - the disease would have done the job for him.

      It was the new hope, the hope that survived and endured.            It was their determination.

  …But something was still wrong.    Because people like him do not recover.

  “…”

      You’re just Sans.     He feels himself choke up again ──── So powerfully that jaws part and a wheeze sounds. He sounded like he was dying, and yet ─ it was just the pain stabbing right into his soul. Why? Why did they think SANS was good?

                  “Sans” means “without,”             And he must be “without” for a reason.

        It’s such an ugly stir up of feelings. He wants to hold them, but his body doesn’t move.              He lets their head stay on him─ but it’s after that wheeze out, he says something,

                          “────did you see me when i first came to the surface?”

       The air feels weighted.

        “─did frisk let you see me?”

    When they were younger, before they ever fell into the underground, their biological family had a garden wall. It was as tall as they were, perfectly separating the end of the yard from the brambly wilds that led to the forest. Each brick fit into each other perfectly, their worn red faces perfect for sharpening rocks and sticks into pretend weapons and arrowheads. They broke one of those bricks one day. It came loose under the weight of its own advanced age, coming out on their small hands. Not wanting to get in trouble, Chara hastily shoved it back into the hole it left and kept playing like nothing had happened. The damage was invisible, seamless. It was as if it never happened. 

    They wish that whatever they had done to upset Sans, that they could just push it back. That they could simply leave it alone, seamless and perfectly undone from what it was before. If it was all hidden well enough, it was as if everything hadn’t happened. They wish that this was as easy as the garden wall had been. 

    Sans’ words are like static in the air and they don’t dare move. They can hardly breathe. They’re floored by how tired they are, how small, how young. How strange it is to be over a century old, but still only a child. How stranger still it is to feel as frightened as one, and yet as tired as the corpse they should have been. 

    Did Frisk let you see me? 

    They don’t like to talk about That Day. The day that they broke through to the surface and finally set everything right. The day that they finally got their True Ending. They don’t like to talk about it because it had been one of the worst days of their life. 

    Their own brother saying that they weren’t a good person. Their own brother saying he would have preferred Frisk. Their own destiny-- the will and desire to save the only creatures who ever showed Chara love-- finding Frisk instead of them. Because they were a failure, and always will be. Frisk is the golden child, the ambassador, the better person. The savior. 

    Little did anyone know the horrifying things Frisk had done. How they had broken Chara’s disembodied spirit after timeline after timeline of agony. How Frisk had covered their little fingers in dust and shuffled gleefully through the emptied halls of the Underground, only to be handed the world on a silver platter after doing it all right once. But sure, Chara is the bad person. 

    Yeah, they don’t like to talk about That Day. 

    They drop their arms to their sides limply, still leaning their forehead against him. “No,” Their voice is small, soft, as if it belongs to someone else. “I um...I actually wasn’t there. I went away for a bit. To sleep. I was tired.” It’s not a lie, but not the full truth. 

    They were heartbroken. 

[soilsleeping]

    “I say ‘fig me’ instead of ‘fight me’ by accident one time and nobody will let it the fuck go.”

[virtualhell]

[soilsleeping]

judgehund replied to your post “    “Just so you know, I’ve replaced all of the CDs with burned copies...”

* an' that's a BAD thing?

* kid, look at this photograph.

    “You disgust me to my very core.”

[soilsleeping]

    “Just so you know, I’ve replaced all of the CDs with burned copies of Nickelback albums and I won’t tell you were the real ones are unless you buy me ice cream.”

[soilsleeping]

    ooc; i’ve been so busy, but mutuals please like this for a mischievous chara in your inbox! 

[soilsleeping]

    ooc; i’ve been so busy, but mutuals please like this for a mischievous chara in your inbox! 

[soilsleeping]

    “You know what sounds good right now?”

    “Dying.”

[soilsleeping]

judgehund:

       He felt past intentions crawl up him like spiders crawling between his bones. They bite down on any magic they can find, and soon, the familiar feeling of self loathing starts to seep in. It steals the light from his soul and the feeling to his tears ─── The tears stop as quickly as they began, and soon, the skeleton is numb.

         But he keeps them close,          And he listens to them the best he could.

   "───it’s our secret,“ a shaky breath out, he keeps running fingers through their hair. Sockets falling shut, and a slow breath wafting through his bones ──── The ache stayed, but he tried to keep it away. The truth of the matter was, even with their disbelief, he wanted to tell them. He felt it was despicable.

      He really wanted to tell them, but they’d already reached a point where if they hated him ─ for anything ─ he would be placed in the ward. His disorder sunk it’s teeth deepest when there were people he loved; and for Chara, they’d quickly become someone he was SO afraid of losing.

            What would they do if they knew?              About him? About his disease? About what he did? What he continued to do?

    About how someone they’d let in, was likely just going to die?       Maybe they’d be relieved if he’d stayed dead.

There were so many elements to who he was that he wanted them to know, and yet ─ he was too afraid they wouldn’t forgive him. The sheer thought makes him cling to them harder ─ his deepest fear would be losing family, and they would always be… his family.

     At their final statement, Sans physically winces. There’s the jolt as if the knife had cut his soul right in half all over again ─── The shock splitting through him, before he crumbles. He parts from them and doesn’t say anything. Brows furrowed, the heat in his soul BURNED,

       He hated himself so much.

          He looks up to them, silently, right after they’d said that. As if he wanted to say something, but the words were too afraid to leave him ──── his eyes are begging, and his soul was frightened. His hand clamped up, and he still doesn’t say anything.

Keep reading

    It’s our secret. It’s what they want to hear, and yet it doesn’t make them feel any comfort. They know that there should be some solace in this pact. They’re safe again from tattling. The peace will be kept in the Dreemurr home. Everything goes on. But there is something tugging at Sans’ voice each time he says something to them. They just can’t name what it is. 

    They’ve done something to upset him, their small hands curling at their sides. For one small, dangerous moment, they wonder what it feels like to break a window with their bare fist. They wonder it it hurts, or if it takes a lot of band aids. They wonder if there’s a way to make it look accidental. 

   "I see,” They murmur, because what else can they say? Their tired little head drops so they can rest their forehead against him with eyes closed. They’re so tired, they wonder if it’ll all feel like a dream in the morning. They decide that it will. After a long pause, they fight off sleep enough to speak again. 

    “I forgive you.” They know how healing those words can be. They know how they’ve saved their life many times over. “Mmm...I forgive you.”  Because it’s the best that Chara ca do. It’s the best anyone can do, they suspect. To fold up all of the words that can’t be said and send them drifting away from them both, forgiveness as the wind that pushes them further out to sea until they disappear on the long blue horizon line. 

    They’re ready to forgive a transgression that they don’t even know about. They’re ready to let go. 

    Whatever Sans holds, he’s saving them from the weight of it. They can only imagine what it is. But they choose not to. He wouldn’t want them to. So instead, they rest their forehead against him and let their heavy eyes lull closed as the embarrassing damp trails dry across their cheeks. They’ve cried themself out before. They did it a lot back then. Asriel would slip into their bed and pet their hair and whisper to them, or Toriel would overhear and intervene. She was always so soft, her large arms gathering Chara up like a toy doll and humming to them until the noise became a distant lullaby. She would carry them back to bed like a baby, but the learned not to mind. They miss how safe she made them feel. 

    “You’re not bad.” They murmur, “You’re just Sans.”

[soilsleeping]

unalxgnment:

“No.” Frisk forces the word out of their mouth, and it drops to the floor like a brick. Even with it out, the weight of their voice lingers on their tongue with the harshness of the chlorine they tried to drown themself in years ago.

｢You shouldn’t trust me. Not after everything I did.｣

When Chara suddenly leans against them, Frisk nearly falls over. They give a quiet sigh and wrap their arms around the other. Then, they lie back against the pillows, gently pulling Chara down with them. Maybe a nap would do them some good. Maybe it would do both of them some good.

Frisk threads their fingers through Chara’s hair and quietly hums. They do their best to keep their fingers from trembling, but it’s difficult. Their heart and their arms ache as fear settles in a heavy knot in their stomach.

There is a flower sitting on the windowsill, out of sight from the two in the blanket fort. He has been awfully quiet since Chara showed up. Maybe he knows how they feel about him. Maybe he doesn’t want to upset them any more.

Frisk focuses their thoughts on the child curled up against their chest and the flower swaying gently in the sunlight. The fear does not lessen even as their determination strengthens. This is the right choice, they are sure of it.

They kiss Chara’s temple.

    Chara is laughing. It comes quietly from their mouth, like an afterthought. Like a symptom of shock. Like anything but an expression of amusement. It is numb and cold around the edges, quietly settling around them like dust in an empty room. It’s funny, the desire to shake apart. If they came undone, if nobody could stitch them back together again, they wouldn’t need to be afraid anymore. It would be over. The end. Finito. If they finally let themself collapse, then maybe it wouldn’t all be so exhausting anymore. Your arms can’t get tired from a weight you’re no longer upholding. 

    “No,” They repeat, detached. They touch their fingertips to their lips as Frisk coaxes them into laying down. Frisk’s touch is soft. Chara’s eyes want to flutter closed as they card gently through Chara’s hair. Their mother used to do this to help them sleep. Their adoptive mother. Their real mother. Toriel. Their body is trained to relax at this particular touch, a muscle memory leading them to unwind, if only a little bit. 

    Wriggling around but not leaving Frisk’s arms, they stare them down. 

    “I hate you,” They repeat it, eyes wide and empty. But their voice wilts. Reaching up to place their fingertips to Frisk’s lips, their head drops down against Frisk’s chest and they close their eyes. “I hate you,” 

    It means nothing, like many of the things Chara says. They know it means nothing and it always will. It’s too late to hate Frisk, and on some level they know it. And they know it’s messed up. They know they should hate Frisk. They want to so badly. It’s a rising and falling ache in their chest that tells them to regret and rage and hate. But they just can’t do it. Frisk feels too much like home. How can you hate someone you shared a body with for so long? 

    Their head feels as if it’s been stuffed with cotton batting when they close their eyes and swallow a dry mouthful of air. “You’re just trying to manipulate me.” 

    Even as they say it, they know that they don’t believe it.

[soilsleeping]

wait youre back!!! i thought you'd be inactive forever! i missed your posts. TT_TT

    ooc; yes ! i am here ! i uh...i don’t very much love this fandom, but i’m dragging my broken body through because i love chara and im love my friends very much..........

[levitalize]

Visit Original Link

So crawl on my belly ‘til the sun goes down I’ll never wear your broken crown I can take the road and I can fuck it all away But in this twilight our choices seal our fate

[cupsofbuttercups]

"My body... It feels like it's splitting apart..."

Fallen Down | Accepting

“Chara…”

Trembling fingers card through maroon hair, pushing the strands away from where they stuck to their alternate’s forehead.

“Chara, just keep looking at me.”

“I’m here. We’re both here. It’s okay.”

The sympathetic smile falls away as another round of retching makes their stomach twist. They can’t help but look away.

“Just keep looking at me,” Chara repeats. “It’s just the flu. Frisk has it, too.” They pick up the rag and use a clean space to wipe the other’s mouth. “It’s just the flu. I’m right here.”

They repeat it over and over.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

[soilsleeping]

    “Yes, I did write a letter to Satan. No, I didn’t mean Santa.”

[soilsleeping]

judgehund:

       I want to die again.

   If Sans had skin, it would be crawling. It was eerie, with every word they said, he thought of himself. He didn’t have it in him to be angry at them ──── He didn’t say it often enough, but he loved them. He understood them, and he heard them. Even if ─

                  He wasn’t supposed to die. Only me.                                   * 1HP remaining.

     He was supposed to be the only one to die. He was going to die, and everyone was going to carry on without him ──── HP was fading by the day, cutting through him in splatters of blood and fingermarks scraped into the wall. HP was shot from him in the sensation of bones breaking and hunched backs, of vomit on the floor from pain, and losing consciousness.

         He wasn’t supposed to die. Only me.

      please don’t leave me to die alone, papyrus.

     He tries to pull a smile, but soon, with bone wrinkling and throat closed, Sans was choking before he dared speak. He tried so hard to smile, but the corners of his jaws quivered ─── His magic struggled, and his breath heaved.

            I want to die again.          He wasn’t supposed to die. Only me.

                          it’s my last day today.                      i think I’m goin’ ‘ta make pap a quiche.

      …

         why are the ruins so quiet?

         Tears hit the ground with a light pitter-pat. He’s silent in his approach, but the next thing Chara comes to feel are large arms wrapped around them, teeth pressed to the crown of their head. Brows furrow, and Sans makes not a single essence of noise. It was pure, silent agony ──── Muted voice being the only one to scream out, but alas, the world was much too loud to hear him.

        He holds them as if they were between him, and something that could kill them───          A great monster. A monster that wanted them dead more than anyone else.

  He’ll stand between anything that wants to harm them, and thus, he holds them to remind them they are not alone. Tears dampen their hair, but he only brushes his fingers through it. He forces himself to talk.

        “..th..at’s pretty mean, k..id,” he sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

                  “..i d..id the..”

     A swallow. It takes him a while, before, “..y..ou’re not al..one..”

    It’s funny, but all along they had been waiting for a punishment. Maybe that was why they confessed it to him. It was a secret that festered and rotted in their gut, a horrible awful something that they carried around quietly and discreetly. The only other person who knew was Frisk, and they hadn’t been shared on purpose.

    As it turns out, it’s hard to keep secrets when you live in someone’s head for over a year. 

    They had been expecting some negative consequence; something to affirm that yes, they are an insufferable creature. They had been waiting for a punishment, and it’s only when they flinch in his arms that they realize it. Why are you being so nice to me? Why are you being so nice to me? Why are you--? It echoes in their head like a feedback loop until their eyes open wide and their head pounds. 

    Oh. Oh, that’s right. That’s what people do for other people when they’re distressed: They offer comfort. Is that what this is? They bury their face in his shoulder and let him hold them. There is something else attached to it, a weight that drags their stomach down and towards the cold tile floor. There is something else in this for him, but they don’t know what it is. He’s getting emotional, they can feel it in his grip, in the drip of his tears, in the rattle of his voice like the hollowing of the wind. This is about something bigger than themself. 

    So they close their eyes again against all of the questions they’re afraid to ask and don’t know how to answer. “Y-you could never--” --do that to Papyrus. They can’t even say it, hiccups quietly choking the words out as they swallow another bout of tears. “I am alone. I’m so human. It’s disgusting.” 

    They are the thing that they had always hated: Human injustice. Human callousness. Human deceit. And their own capacity for hurting others scares them. Being mean is only fun when it’s a game. When it’s a sport and everyone involved knows the rules and the score. Being cruel is only fun when it’s a joke. So then why did they do the things that they did and call it love? 

    “Please don’t tell Mom. Or Dad.” It’s childish, asking him not to tattle. But it feels like the biggest weight in their chest. “They wouldn’t love me anymore.” 

    “Or worse--” It would bring back memories of a very sick little kid in a very sick little plot to save the underground. It would bring back whispers of a truth they’ve never been able to tell their parents to this day. “--they’d be afraid of --” losing me again. Another phrase they can’t bring themself to say. 

    Because making Toriel cry again is something they can’t live with. 

    “Please don’t think you’ve done anything as bad as what I’ve done.”

[soilsleeping]

buttercupsandcinnamon:

He hugs them tighter when they admit their affection. Even if they can’t say the proper words, it’s enough for him. He can say ‘I love you’ enough for the both of them. 

Asriel’s eyes fall closed.

“You’re the best sibling. And my best friend.”

He clings onto consciousness, but just barely. Just enough to quietly hum a lullaby their mom used to sing to him, long before Chara came into their lives.

After a few moments, the humming tapers off. He doesn’t know if the other is still awake or asleep. As he whispers, Asriel isn’t sure which he would rather them be.

“…Before you came here, I was so lonely.”

    The tune sounds unfamiliar, not any product of the human world. Of the surface that Chara hates so much. And that in and of itself is a source of comfort to them. 

    There is comfort in distance from humans. They want to wrap themself in monster culture like armor against the cruel world they had so vehemently rejected and fled from. 

    “Mmmrgh...” They stir at Asriel’s words, brows furrowing. The idea of him being lonely...unhappy leaves a bitter taste in their mouth. They can hardly do anything right, nor can they take credit for his happiness. But if they could be some small contribution to it... “Don’t make it...cheesy. ‘M trying to sleep.” 

    Still, they hug him tightly and nuzzle into his shoulder with affection.