Remembers Resets

hanahaki is so good if you ignore the part where it's caused by unrequited love. you're dying because i don't like you romantically??? it's my fault??? seriously?????? absolutely nothingburger trope

From the outside looking in it looks like the saiki fandom has done that thing where a character says they like a food and they made the character obsessed with it but, no saiki is just straight up like that. He once nearly got his house blown up because he got excited about coffee jelly. He disguised himself as a girl to get sweets. He spends all his pocket money on coffee jelly. He once nearly got scammed online trying to get a really good coffee jelly machine. Truly the character of all time

I wish there was a way to completely OPT OUT of AI. Like you could set your ENTIRE Internet browser to NOT shove it down your throat.

When social media was getting big, you could just NOT get a Facebook or a Twitter. It was simple as that. You can't do that with AI.

Trying to find a job? It goes straight to an AI filter. Trying to look at art? Here's 100+ ai shit. Trying to look up who was in what movie from the 1980s? GOOGLE GEMINI IS HERE WITH THE COMPLETELY WRONG ANSWER!

Someone PLEASE create a way to allow people to get AI the FUCK OUT of our lives if we DO NOT WANT IT!

can i have a treat... the most i really have in mind is something about post-pacifist flowey/flowey having a good time cause i want to see my funny little dingus happy

your wish is my command.

A solitary leaf drifted lazily off a tree. Flowey watched through the murky windowpane as it reached its destination, joining its brethren in cushioning the falls of pedestrian feet. 

“Really pretty, huh?”

Flowey turned his gaze from the window to see Frisk sauntering over and saddling up to star. “Bet you didn’t have them this pretty in the Underground.”

Flowey didn’t answer their statement, instead electing to return stars gaze to the window. Frisk either didn’t get the memo or simply didn’t care, as they continued standing next to Flowey, bouncing on the balls of their feet, awaiting a response. After a long moment, Flowey whispered a sigh and, without turning his head, spoke back to Frisk bluntly.

“I don’t see anything pretty about them. They’re dying husks of things that used to be living, all shriveled up and DEAD. All they’re doing is putting on a good show before their eventual demise.”

Frisk was silent for a while and Flowey gave them a glance to see that they’d covered up their mouth with their hand. Surely Flowey hadn’t shocked them THAT much, had he? They knew that star was a soulless husk, of course he wouldn’t find dumb leaves PRETTY! 

Frisk made a weird noise with their mouth and Flowey realized they were covering up a snicker. “I never knew you were a leaf nihilist, Flowey.”

Flowey stared at them, trying to figure out what blatantly incorrect assumption was most worthy of counteracting. “I’m not—leaf nihilist isn’t even a real—it’s TRUE, isn’t it? Sure, the leaves LOOK pretty. But that’s just a cover-up. A way of hiding that they’re dying on the inside!”

“Are we still talking about leaves?”

“YES!”

“If you say so.”

Frisk stared at Flowey for a moment, trying to read his thoughts. “That’s not what the leaves make me think of. You know, leaves aren’t ‘alive’ alive. They’re part of the tree.”

“So? The tree is dying, then. It’s losing parts of itself until it rots away completely!”

“The tree.”

“YES, the tree!”

“Alright. But I don’t think the leaves are part of it. They’re like… fingernails, or something.”

“Fingernails.”

“Well, that sounds kinda gross… it’s like… I dunno, like how dogs shed their fur, right? And they’re still the same, living dog underneath. They just get a new coat! And just because their outsides are different doesn’t mean the tree isn’t the same on the inside!”

Flowey contemplated this for a moment. Star didn’t… hate that idea. He looked back down towards the trampled leaves, red and golden in the light of the drowsy sun.

“But, y’know, you could try not making everything about death and gloom and stuff. The leaves can just be leaves. Pretty leaves. You have to admit they’re pretty.”

Flowey was silent.

Frisk gently placed their hand beneath Flowey’s face and shifted it upwards so his gaze rested on the trees.

“Especially the ones not on the ground.”

Sunlight beamed through the branches, lighting the trees aflame with color and vibrance. Flowey let out a sigh despite himself as somewhere deep within him a singular knot unraveled. 

Frisk was right, star admitted. This was so much better than the leaves underground. To say the least.

Flowey grudgingly tore his head away from the sight and looked at Frisk, aggravated to see that they were covering their mouth again. “What?” The question came out less aggressive than he’d intended.

“Nothing. You just looked so starstruck. You REALLY need to get out more. And maybe look up more. Though I see how that could be a problem, considering.” They moved their hands a foot apart and grinned.

“What’s that even supposed to—HEY!”

Frisk giggled. Flowey adamantly fought any desire to join in. He was not about to injure his pride in such a manner. Flowey took a deep breath. No need to acknowledge what they’d said, that would only encourage them, it would only—

A little ways away from star, Flowey heard Frisk whisper a single word. “Shortie.”

Flowey launched himself off the windowsill. “YOU WANNA SAY THAT TO MY FACE, YOU LITTLE—”

They found themselves breathless on the floor, Flowey claiming it was from rage and knowing it was from laughter.

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.

deltarune sillies + 1 undertale one

Krispy Deltarune

i was going for a feeling

a feeling i don't know

all i need is one single feeling

please i just need one single feeling

i'd do anything for a single feeling

what I think is interesting about this interaction is that phoenix displays a familiarity of edgeworth’s responses to this sort of thing that as an adult he just shouldn’t have which leads me to believe he’s going off of knowledge from when they were kids.

which makes me think there was some time in grade school where edgeworth pulled this exact shit and when phoenix did laugh he promptly did in fact 1) get mad and 2) burst into tears

the big, defining difference between underfell and canon flowey is that while uf flowey is deprived of love, canon flowey refuses to let himself be touched by it.

flowey has no lack in exposure to love. he’s the prince of the underground! but i think there’s a big roadblock stopping him from connecting the love to himself. because flowey quickly goes from “asriel” to “flowey.” and everyone loves “asriel.” not him.

and if that fails, it’s simply a matter of them not knowing what he’s done. yeah, sure, papyrus “cares,” but no matter how much he does so, he’s only doing it to someone who’s never killed before! because who could care about someone like that? who could care about flowey? he’s not supposed to be cared about.

flowey has all the love he needs, but he refuses to let it in. refuses to let it touch him. it drives his character. he’s looking for someone who likes him for him, who’s like him. that’s why he doesn’t see the people who care in spite of everything he’s done, not because of it.