Rand0mstuff349 - :3

anyone else load up the photoshop flowey fight just to feel something?

do u ever lose your mind over how, in one way or another, each element of this form ties back into who he is and why?

flowey's aim in this fight is to instill a terror in you that defies reason. he wants you horrified, out of your mind. trapped. stuck.

but above all, he wants you to feel HELPLESS.

what better way to pull that off than by using his own horrors?

flowey didn’t need to conjure up new nightmares; the ones that haunt him are more than enough.

those grotesque human eyes glaring down at you. probably the same eyes that once looked at him, filled with hatred and fear. the cold judging eyes that saw him as nothing but a monster, something to be destroyed—erased—for something he never even did. the vines, those long, suffocating tendrils, reach out to strangle you, replicating the suffocation of being stuck in a flower. and then there’s the tv head. the literal device on which his greatest failure can be played—REPEATEDLY.

this is flowey's desperate attempt to make you experience the same helplessness he’s known for so long. he didn’t choose this. who would? flowey was made into this, by forces far beyond his control, and now he’s lashing out because there’s nothing else left for him.

the fight is brutal. it feels impossible. hopeless. he succeeds, if for a brief moment, in making you feel powerless and at his mercy.

but... with whatever little strength you have left, you call out for help—just as he once did.

six times you do this. six times, help arrives.

how is that fair?

he begged for help too, but no one answered. nobody ever came. he was left alone, his pleas sinking into an unforgiving stillness

why wasn’t he worth saving?

the fight resumes and you get help a seventh time. seven times. when he couldn’t get just one.

you're saved. you get to walk away, victorious. whereas he is left, abandoned once again, in silence.

more of these three

Misaaaaaa

the whole thing's devastating in itself, but would you guys believe me if i told you this part specifically makes me so super sad

flowey doesn’t allow himself to feel the snow. not really. he won’t talk about how the cold steadies him, or how it stirs memories of simpler times. he avoids thinking about the quiet. the way the world slows down under the weight of winter, how everything feels softer, almost bearable.

the peace feels too close. too easy.

thoughts like that aren’t for him. perhaps they never were. they belong to someone else. and flowey doesn’t get to be him. not anymore.

so, instead, he ignores it. kills it in its infancy. turns away from the idea before it drags up pieces of a life he refuses to remember. he acts like happiness isn’t something that should happen to him. a mistake. an error in the system that needs to be corrected.

there’s always this jaggedness to his words, something sharp enough to keep anything tender at bay. if something feels good, he cuts it down to size—turns it bitter, spits it back out as cruelty. it’s instinct by now, as natural as breathing.

that’s what flowey does. he tears things apart before they can convince him he deserves more. after all, it’s much easier to laugh at the world than to feel it.

this is just the way things are. the way they have to be.

the softness never feels right anyway. it’s awkward, like trying to cup water in clenched fists. like touching something delicate with hands meant only to destroy.

he’s flowey. he has to be flowey. and flowey doesn’t get to savor things. he doesn’t stop to enjoy the way the snow hushes the world or let the cold bite just enough to remind him he’s alive.

he knows better.

there's almost comfort in that. in shutting things down, in turning them brittle before they can take root. it’s neat. predictable. safe. no dangerous hope worming its way into places it doesn’t belong. no warmth overstaying its welcome. just the same old ache he’s carried for as long as he can remember—steady, familiar, dull.

manageable.

because if he let something good in… what then?

would it stay? refuse to leave? would it start to matter?

would he start to matter?

flowey knows exactly who he is. the villain. the failure. the one who tried to make things right and only made it worse. if there was ever a chance to be anything else, it’s long gone. whatever good might have existed in him has been buried beneath years of mistakes, smothered by everything he couldn’t save.

he had a plan once. a way to undo it all. make things right again. but it didn’t work. he didn’t work. he couldn’t save chara. couldn't save the monsters.

couldn’t even save himself.

and this… this is what’s left.

flowey. the version of him that learned to survive by not needing anything. the one who gave up on hope, joy, and peace because letting them in would mean the walls he built were never needed at all.

it would mean that somewhere inside, there’s still something soft. something worthy.

and he doesn’t know how to live with that. he’s not even sure he wants to.

control is all that makes sense anymore. he decides when the pain comes, how much, and from whom. he decides. no one else.

he’s built everything on that control—this image of who he’s supposed to be, what he’s supposed to feel. but what if he stopped? what if he let the bitterness go? what would be left?

just asriel?

and what would that mean? that there had always been another way?

no. he can’t let that be true.

so he copes. he compartmentalizes. keeps things boxed up neatly. flowey and asriel. good. evil. pain. hope. life. death. they don’t touch. they’ll never touch. he’d lose control if they did. and control is all he has left.

he makes sure to break things down before they have the chance to become anything real. he’s always the one to close the door first—better to leave than to be left behind.

if not, he might remember what it’s like to be exposed. vulnerable. weak.

and that’s something he cannot accept. the possibility that asriel is still in there. that there’s still a way back.

that maybe… he was never as far gone as he wants to believe.

it’s almost funny, in a way, because he’s already changed, whether he knows it or not. the fact that he’s still here, still witnessing the world after everything that’s happened, proves he’s not as detached as he wants to believe.

the fighting stopped. the cycle ended. the monsters are free. and even if he won’t admit it, even if he’s not ready to come to terms with it—there’s a quiet kind of peace in that.

even so, he will dig in his heels. even so, he will play into the role in a war that’s long over. even so, he won’t let anything awaken the barest trace of what it once meant to be asriel.

he is flowey.

the snow will keep falling. it’ll land on his petals.

it doesn’t stay.

neither does he.

because it’s easier that way.

true story!

oh my god all the deltarune kids are so fucking lonely

what if deltarune is about lonely childhoods and being misunderstood while you really just want to be a kid

or what if the world is made of pudding idk i could be spewing gobbledygook

Henry!

He a smol bean

joyous creature

It means everything

this is a repost from my tiktok