Fics like channel 3

Tenna could hear the kitchen. The clatter of plates. The deep rumble of Asgore’s voice, rising—then flattening into something hoarse. Toriel’s sharper. Less like a yell, more like a scab picked sore too many times. Kris would wander in, shoulders stiff, and press their cheek to the static. Sometimes, if the TV was warm from recent use, the glass would fog. They’d breathe slow. Not watching anything. Just being close. He’d glow soft blue beneath them. He always kept his volume low. Just enough to give them something steady. He thought of himself, in those times, as a nightlight. Something for a scared kid to feel near when they didn’t want to cry. And then, sometimes, Kris would draw. Little stick figures with marker right on the screen. Green for themselves. Brown for Noelle. Big loopy lines for antlers. Red for Dess. a big triangle with gashing spikes . Toriel would scold them gently when she caught them, but she never got angry. She’d say, “Markers are for paper,” and Kris would shrug and say “Okay,” and do it again next week. —— ode to the cathode

Fics like channel 3

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