Inktober is upon us! Rejoice! It'll be good prep for NaNoWriMo.
This is… creepy. Possibly the creepiest thing I've published. Not sure if I like it or not.
This is a canon Flowey depiction, though I suspect that a lot of these prompts will go off into random AUs that I'm currently hooked on. That being said, I have a LOT of headcannons that I've picked up. Somewhere along the way, I had read a fic that had differentiated age-groups… children wore stripes (this is actually relatively canonical). I really liked that idea, and it rung with some novels I've read over the years, so ran with it.
Flowey
He jerked back to awareness, his roots trembling in the mealy soil. Memories from before the RESET hit him like a cresting wave, sending waves of almost orgasmic pleasure from his root-tips to petals.
Before him was the human child, lying on a nest of golden flowers, still unconscious from the fall to the Underground… and the trauma of a RESET. His leaves rustled as his memories settled like a warm blanket. He slithered closer, his roots wrapping snaking forward, wrapping around rocks, and dragging his body forward. His tongue stuck out in the exertion, and he bit it, relishing the angry pulse.
So fragile… so tiny. This human, still wearing the stripes of childhood, so helpless. Straightening his stalk, he stretched into the tiny sliver of daylight that broke through the crevice above and rode the tide, losing himself to it.
A tendril, prehensile and delicate, trailed its way over the human's face. Distantly, he remembered her doing that to him, before he… became. From the corner of the child's eye, around to the top of the jawbone, delicately tracing down to the chin, then back up the other side.
He shuddered, coming back to himself, again riding a dizzying sense… he couldn't even term it, but it felt good. It took a moment of conscious thought to unclench his tendrils and roots, and even more to not sink into the lassitude that his stalks so desperately craved.
The child stirred, and he jerked his tendril back. It had somehow ended up tracing down the kid's arm in what otherwise would have been a tender expression.
His eyes picked up a crazed gleam as he slunk back, away from the sunlight and golden, pure flowers. It was time for the game to start again, and his roots clenched in unconscious pleasure.