yeah uhh don't mind my stupud self i'm just. chilling for a min. gotta figure out / read up on the coding and then set up frisk's account and all that jazz. feel free to hnu here tho, i'd love the company
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[...] disgusting little bug in the grand scheme of things, a flower to be stepped on time and time again. they are not the breathing buttercup beneath desert sun where blood curls walls and bodies boil, not the songbird dancing among eve of spring, not the doll with sad ocean eyes, nor the constellation child protected under a moon king's waning smile and gun powder voice. they are not all of what hypokrisis says they are, but they want to be. oh, how they want to.
— frisk, in waterway after the rebuild
[...] true enough, an almost piteously weak yell rips out of the shepherd's throat when heather greys land on the kitten, teary-eyed and as terrified as their words let on. frisk. frisk. a soul as beautiful and soft as the flowers weaving their way through various injuries on their little frame. a soul who has demonstrated that even the prettiest flowers have thorns. a soul who has marred him for the rest of his life.
— whitelace komaeda