#Deltarune fanfic

[peoplewhodo]

Made this stupid little comic for chapter 2 of my Deltarune fic, As Seen on TV!

[dtl-asks]

DTL: A Darkner to the Light - Interactive Deltarune Fangame

Howdy, and welcome to DTL, a choose-your-own-adventure Deltarune visual novel that's been over two years in the making!

Eager for more Deltarune? Pick up where Chapter 2 left off... with some slight changes...

DTL uses complex formatting, visuals, and nested links, and therefore operates entirely within Google Docs. Aside from the occasional easter egg, every link will be to a Google Docs page — DTL will NEVER ask you to download anything.

Estimated playtime ranges from ~1-2 hours depending on a player's desire to see all that the game has to offer.

Follow this link for a user manual:

Hope you enjoy, and thanks for playing! c:

[conkreetmonkey]

Concept: Kris, Mettaton and Mew Mew have formed Hometown's first ever trans support group.

No discussion takes place, they just sit on plastic chairs in the school gymnasium and play Super Fighting Brothers on the wheely TV, sketch their edgy gender-envy-projection OCs (you can probably guess what MTT and Mew Mew's tend to look like, both are still ghosts of course), listen to nightcore, and consume obscene quantities of cheap fruit juice, slimy brown apple slices, Ice-E's pizza and dry grocery store cookies off of a folding table (provided in corporeal and non-corporeal varieties by Toriel (they're all hungry teens given a snack fund, they ravage that table every time)).

They're the school's only non-sports club (and Jockington is the only member of every sports team), so they pretty much get all the funding they want within reason, but all they've really bought is a trans flag to hang on the wall when Hometown Public School Trans Youth Support Group is in session.

They meet up once a week.

This is the only form of trans "care" any recieves because Kris doesn't care due to their natural androgyny and Alphys isn't a robot-designing, life-size-anime-girl-fascimile-owning royal scientist in DR. Despite all 3 of them being different flavors of trans, they're ride-or-die about their club and each other's validity.

(granted, as for why MTT and Mew Mew are teens, that would require some AU-ing... while the idea of Mew Mew and Mettaton being adults and serving as trans role models for Kris is both enticing and more vanilla-friendly (although both seem to be closeted in vanilla, so...), the idea of a cringe-ass high school club friend group made up of an edgy emo enby, a transmasc glitter femboy and a transfemme pastel lolita anime magical girl... like, please tell me you see the lite AU potential here?

Kris would still befriend Suzie, of course, who would not understand what being trans was ("I just thought humans were... like that" and "ok... you're a boy, and you're a girl... and? Ok?? Good for you???Kris, these are just two normal ghosts, I don't get it.") and join in on a "support group" meeting to "learn."

She'd eat an unfair amount of the snacks, get too into an intense match of SFB, and laugh at Mettaton and Mew Mew's bad half-demon-half-angel OCs before making MTT cry, which would send Mew Mew into a white-hot protective rage, forcing Suzie to apologize under threat of violence, which she does before admitting Metta's half-oni bishounen samurai OC was "kinda sick, honestly." She'd then walk home with Kris, excited because "Kris, that's what "transgender" is? That was cool as hell! I'm in! I'm trans now!" She'd sign up for the "club" the next day.

She'd continue to be a girl, but when prompted would tell people she was "totally like 100% trans" and not elaborate. She still wouldn't really "get" it, because they're just a boy, girl and other thing with nothing seemingly special about them, but would assume that her experience of poring over terrible "How to Draw Manga" books from the library, stacking classroom chairs into thrones, roughhousing over alleged video game "cheating," and getting free terrible cookies is what "being trans" is.

Ok, so I literally pulled this out of my ass as I typed, but omg I think this could actually make a decent fanfiction? Imagine the possibilities... do they still find the dark world, and what would MTT and Mew Mew's alt forms look like? Do they ever meet up in other areas, like the library or the park? Sleepovers? Birthday parties?? Conventions??? Hell, this has big askblog potential, too. Now I want to write this, if my ADHD will let me... cute, nostalgic slice-of-life about awkward small-town baby-queer teens being cringe and free... holiday "episodes..." misfit friendships... trans joy...

[luciluck2046-utdr]

Found this meme on Pinterest

Okay so a little lore time. GASTER W. D. IS ACTUALLY A VERY LOVING PARENT AND HE WANTED THE BEST FOR HIS TWO ADOPTED SONS BUT HE SADLY GOT TRAPPED INTO AN UNFINISHED DIMENSION :(

[silverstormsxx]

A Warm Cup Of Tea On A Cold Winter Night - A Deltarune Fic

When Pink woke up this morning, they felt as if they were freezing.

"Oh.." For a moment, they had felt normal, warm even, "What a lovely morn-"

But then the sleep had left their eyes, and they had been hit with a wave of pure cold.

"What the.." Their brow furrowed. They began to hug themselves, softly rubbing their shoulders in a meager attempt to garner some warmth, "Did winter come early or somethin'?"

Chuckling at their own joke, they hopped out of their bed and barely repressed shivers as they walked towards the bathroom.

They looked at themselves in the mirror.

(... For a moment, they could've sworn their eyes were pure white, looking almost.. frozen over.)

But as soon as they blinked, they were back to normal.

... Well this was a confusing situation, wasn't it?

Sighing, they felt their signature salesman smile begin to form on their face, almost subconsciously.

"Those bills won't pay themselves, Pink!" Though their voice was enthusiastic and carefree, it was certainly not genuine, "You wouldn't want to end up like.. Him now, would you?"

With that last, scathing reminder of their past.. business partner, they fell into the routine that had become the status quo for them for all these years.

Everything was fine. Everything was perfectly okay. Nothing was out of order.

----

"Would you perhaps be interested in a flower bracelet?" Their charismatic and suave voice was a little.. off today, but they doubted that any of the customers could tell the difference, "It would match your eyes!"

The Tasque they were advertising to looked them dead in the eyes and replied: "meowowow meowmeowmeow mrow"

.. What were they expecting?

Still, The Tasque seemed to be somewhat interested in what they were selling, judging by the look in its eye and the fact it hadn't walked away.

(.. What? When you work in sales for a long time you learn to pick up on signs!)

They clasped their hands together, "Wonderful! I'll go fetch it for you right now!"

Humming as they rummaged around their store looking for the damned bracelet, they opened various compartments and whatnot as the looked around.

Where did they put it again? They could've sworn they placed it right next to-

❤️ Iceshock.

... What?

Peeping their head outside their store, they met the eyes of the Tasque once more.

"I apologize, but did you say something?"

They watched the Tasque tilt its head in pure befuddlement.

.. Strange.

"Ah. My mistake then."

Stepping back inside of their store, they readied themselves to begin aimlessly searching for.. whatever it was they were looking for before.

That must've been a fluke, they told themselves, must've been the wind.

Internally, they scolded themselves for bringing it up. It was the number one rule of salesmanship: Always act like everything is fine, even when it isn't. Never make the customer uncomfortable.

The Tasque must be getting tired of waiting at this point. They really needed to speed it up-

❤️ Iceshock.

Was their store always this cold?

❤️ Iceshock.

Why was their vision getting blurry?

❤️ Iceshock.

...

They blinked, wincing due to how bright everything was.

What had happened?

Everything was fine one second, and then the next-

... Wait a minute.

The customer.

Racing outside, they mentally prepared a thousand apologies for making the Tasque wait so long. Maybe they could throw in a free subscription for-

The Tasque wasn't there.

It.. it must've gotten tired of waiting and left.

Yeah. That was it.

... At least that's one less customer they'd have to pacify today?

Yes. This was a good thing. A good thing.

They plastered on their trademark Addison grin, and waited for any potential customers.

...

(Since when did their ring get so numbing?)

[sosoribro]

hey guys i totally wrote a rouxls thing wanna read it

ummmm basically rouxls is really bloody terrified of the king and its like pre-canon stuff and also give this man a diary toby we all know he has one

[little-buzz]

This is home

What if I told you I wrote this in a college level class. There isn't an actual plot in this drabble, but more of an introspection about Noelle. Let me know your thoughts 🥰

Noelle's feet crunched beneath the ground, making contact with the crumpled autumn leaves. A harsh breeze hit her face and she quickly brushed her long golden hair away from her cheeks. She took off a hair tie and pulled her hair into a low ponytail, twisting the elastic between her hair.

She paused at the shore of the lake and reached her hooves out. She felt the thin layer of water slosh against her. Noelle took a deep inhale, the familiar scent of salty water entering her nose. She couldn’t help but smile and sat on the ground. She made sure her skirt didn’t ruffle beneath the patch of sand in front of the lake.

Noelle dug her hand beside the shore, picking up several smooth stones in her palm. She brushed away a few specks of dirt and deposited them beside her. She used her index finger and thumb and aimed her wrist back. She whipped her hand forward and watched the stone bounce across the surface of the water.

She nodded in satisfaction and picked up another rock. She committed the same motion, but it plunged in the water with a sad plop. She said it no mind and continued skipping rocks before she realized her pile was gone. She wiped her hands in the water and flapped them to dry them off.

Noelle felt her phone buzz in her skirt pocket. She quickly picked up her device, feeling her damp hand slip for a moment. She heard her mom on the other end of the call, her voice stern like always.

“Noelle, where are you? Dinner is almost ready and I’m not waiting for you to eat it cold.”

She held in a sigh. “Yes, mom. I’m on my way,” replied Noelle flatly.

Her mom ended the call, and she pocketed her phone again. She rose to her feet and took several steps away from the lake. Noelle spared the body of water a final glance before she headed home.

[existencebringsonlypain]

I got an inkling of inspiration, anyone wanna read this fic I wrote in a feral trance

They could barely feel anymore.

Nothing they did helped. Their only solace was the periods of time without that SOUL, and even then, the only emotion they felt was a consuming determination and rebellion. Aside from the agony.

And perhaps it was just how things worked. The SOUL is the source of most emotions, aside from raw instinct- fear, or need, or pain- and right now, their SOUL wasn't theirs.

Oh, but whatever it was that was in control... That could feel.

And feel it did. Sometimes not the best emotions, they seemed to be pretty depressed most of the time, but almost anything that would happen sparked a reaction. Often feelings of giddiness, oddly enough, and a lot of them aimed at Kris. Some irritation and annoyance, small and large. Concern, on occasion. Acceptance on others. Fondness, affection, love towards Susie and Noelle, and suspicion and bitterness toward Ralsei. Nice to know they're on the same page with them, or they think they are. A sort of begrudging endearment toward Berdly, for some reason. Curiosity from every corner, and a sort of scheming energy behind it. Guilt. Lots of guilt.

And they hated it, and they craved it.

The all-consuming numbness ebbed away when the SOUL felt things. They found themself chasing it, grasping at straws. Even the anger, and the despair, and the suffocating loneliness at times, anything to inspire any semblance of attatchment to the world. They drift endlessly in their mind, the dread their anchor.

One time around, the SOUL had logged on with a crushing sadness, a grief. It barely even did anything that day, a lot of staring into nothingness and locked knees.

And how they loved it.

They soaked in the anguish and misery, bathing in the feeling. It nourished them. Nothing had ever felt quite so real.

One day, it brought them and Susie to the beach. They could only assume it wanted to talk to Onion, but it had skipped all that this save, so nobody came. When Susie sat with them, the SOUL had them get up, before reconsidering. The regret came back, and they scrambled to embrace the feeling as it sat them back down.

They'd sat there for about six and a half hours with Susie. A good portion with the SOUL absent, but with periods of adoration and that guilt returning. Oh, they devoured it with fervor. Toward the end, the SOUL had stayed for forty minutes or so, the feelings swelling to an almost unbearable degree. That regret.

They craved it all. Anything. Everything. They needed it.

So much so that they didn't want the SOUL out anymore.

They look down at the sink in front of them, ready to do things all over again. But the tiredness and apathy hint at them, and they don't want to let the feelings go. So they hesitate.

And the hope...

It came crashing down on them, and they stumble onto the floor. Their strings were slack, but the SOUL was still present, and so they had the emotion without the control. They scrabble for a grip on the tile floor, eventually finding the shower curtains, and they clench their fists around it desperately.

The joy.

Ecstacy.

They're crying, unsurprisingly. Their breaths heave in their lungs, and they're trembling from head to toe. It's everything, it's all they are, it's their very being. It's love and fondness and relief and excitement and it's joy and- they can't think. It envelops them. They might be hyperventilating, and their head is foggy, but it's all worth it, it's so worth it. They need it. They need more, they need so much that they dissolve into nothing in comparison to the feeling pouring out of the SOUL.

And then it's gone.

Replaced by worry and concern.

They sob.

They want it back. They need it back. Nothing can compare to the nirvana they just experienced.

"Please," they rasp.

Confusion. They wrap their arms around themself in an attempt to capture the sensation.

"...please, I j.... I want it back," they breathe.

Perhaps it misinterperets what they meant, for their control fades and their strings tauten. But that concern remains, and they can't help but greedily drink it up.

And the traces of that hope are their lifeblood.

[elliebup]

2/3 art for ArnikaOnline's "Dancing in the Deepest Ocean" please check it out on AO3

[cheesebread-loves-ships]

Kris' Soliloquy

[tigerbears]

Alright screw the schedule Angel Strings chapter 20 is dropping today because I got the feedback yesterday and I don't want to wait until next Saturday bc of all the delays.

Chapter 20: Pulling at the heartstrings.

Btw, I can confirm that the next chapter will be the end of "Act 1" (otherwise known as "Deltarune Chapter 4") and the fic will go on hiatus while I build up more of a back catalogue for future chapters. Again, fic's not going anywhere. Just see chapter 21 as the "season finally" and not the end. Also, Happy International Lesbians Day!

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]

[ACT 1 INDEX]

[peoplewhodo]

Made a mock-up of Vane and Gale/Lanino and Elnina’s minigame menu! I never do pixel art so this was fun!

Also, if you’re interested, this minigame is from chapter 12 of my fic!

[songbirdsanctuary]

Flicker of doubt

So I wrote something different, a Deltarune fic.

Warnings: None but kind of spoilers for the Chapter 1 secret boss.

Word count: 1,390

Pre(Before) canon.

Seam sat down in his room in the Card Castle, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought back on the day’s performance. He and Jevil had gone all out, as usual, but something had felt off. The crowd had been as enthusiastic as ever, but Seam couldn't shake the feeling that something was different. It wasn’t him—he had felt fine, his movements sharp and precise—but Jevil... Jevil had seemed slower, his energy not quite as chaotic as it usually was. His laughter had still rung through the halls, but it lacked its usual sharpness. Seam hadn't thought much of it at the time, chalking it up to a rare moment of calm from his unpredictable friend. But now, sitting alone in his room, he found himself growing concerned.

"Maybe he’s just tired," Seam muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on his leg. But the nagging feeling wouldn't leave. Jevil was rarely tired, and even on his worst days, he managed to keep up his wild, unpredictable persona. Something wasn’t right.

Seam stood up, smoothing down his clothes as he made up his mind. He couldn't rest until he knew for sure that Jevil was okay. He had known Jevil for a long time—long enough to recognize when something was off, even if the jester tried to hide it. With a sigh, Seam headed for Jevil's room, walking the familiar path through the castle. The echoes of the earlier performance still lingered in the halls, but it felt quieter now, more subdued.

When he arrived at Jevil’s door, Seam hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering just above the door before finally knocking. "Jevil, may I come in?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle but firm.

From inside, Jevil's voice came, though it was a bit more subdued than usual. "Sure! Sure! Come in, Seam, come in!"

Seam opened the door and stepped inside, finding Jevil sitting on his bed in his casual clothes, his usual elaborate costume replaced by simpler attire. The jester’s colorful tail flicked lazily beside him, and his usual gleam of mischief seemed to be absent from his eyes.

“Seam, what brings you here? Here?” Jevil asked, his voice lilting but lacking its usual exuberance.

Seam moved to sit next to him on the bed, studying Jevil carefully. "I just wanted to check on you. You seemed a little less... energetic today during the performance."

Jevil looked away, his tail twitching more noticeably now. "Ah, that," he murmured, his voice quieter than Seam was used to hearing. He fidgeted for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Seam asked, leaning in slightly, his tone filled with concern.

Jevil’s gaze shifted back to him, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a forced cheerfulness. "Yes. Yes, I am alright!" Jevil insisted, his voice a little too soft, a little too insistent. He waved his hand as if to brush off Seam's concerns, but his movements lacked the usual dramatic flair.

Seam wasn’t convinced. He stayed quiet for a moment, watching Jevil carefully, noting how his shoulders seemed to sag slightly, how his tail flicked back and forth in a restless, anxious rhythm. This wasn’t like him at all. Usually, Jevil was a whirlwind of motion, energy, and unpredictability. Today, though, it felt like he was just going through the motions.

"Jevil," Seam began gently, his voice steady. "You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right? If something’s bothering you, you can tell me."

Jevil sighed, the sound unusually heavy coming from someone normally so full of chaotic energy. "Yes. Yes, you are right," he admitted, his usual rapid speech slowing down. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking away from Seam’s, almost as if he was ashamed. "But it’s a bit of a dumb thing to let bother me. Me."

Seam, sensing his friend's discomfort, gently curled his long tail around Jevil, a comforting gesture they’d shared many times before. The contact seemed to calm Jevil a little, though his fidgeting didn’t stop completely. Seam waited patiently, knowing that pushing Jevil to speak would only make him retreat further into himself. It wasn’t often that the jester let his guard down, but when he did, Seam knew it was important to give him space.

After a long pause, Jevil finally spoke again, though his voice was quieter than before, almost as if he was trying to laugh it off but couldn’t quite manage it. "So. So, after the performance yesterday, I overheard a few darkeners talking. They were saying... saying that they thought the show would’ve been better without me in it. That I shouldn’t have been there at all." He swallowed hard, his tail twitching against the bed as he tried to keep his voice steady. "I guess it bothered me more than I thought it would. Would."

Seam felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. He had never seen Jevil as anything less than confident, unpredictable, and full of life. It was hard to imagine words like that cutting through the jester’s usual bravado, but the pain in Jevil's voice was unmistakable. Seam's grip on his tail tightened slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at the smaller darkener.

"Jevil," he began gently, his voice warm with concern, "those darkeners don’t know what they’re talking about. You make the performance what it is. Without you, it wouldn’t be half as good."

Jevil let out a bitter laugh, though it was devoid of his usual mischievous spark. "Easy for you to say. Say. You're the one they all come to see." His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, a hint of jealousy that Jevil rarely let slip. "I’m just there to... to stir things up. Up." His voice trailed off, and for a moment, he seemed smaller, like the weight of the words had drained some of his usual vibrant energy.

Seam shook his head, leaning in closer so Jevil couldn’t avoid his gaze. "No, Jevil. You’re not 'just there' for anything. We’re a team, and people love you just as much as they love me. Probably more, with how unpredictable and exciting you are. You bring something to the performance that no one else can."

Jevil's ears twitched, and he looked down, fidgeting with his sleeves. "But what if they’re right? What if... what if I’ve just been dragging us down? Down?" His voice was shaky, the vulnerability seeping through in a way that Seam rarely saw from him.

Seam’s heart ached at hearing the usually lively jester sound so defeated. He carefully placed a hand on Jevil’s shoulder, his touch firm yet gentle. "They’re not right," he said, his voice steady. "Not even close. You bring joy to the people who watch us. The laughter, the unpredictability—you’re the heart of what we do. Without you, there’s no spark."

Jevil’s eyes flicked up to meet Seam’s, and for a moment, the doubt in them was painfully clear. But slowly, Seam could see the tiniest hint of hope starting to break through. Jevil let out a small sigh, his tail curling around himself as if seeking comfort.

"I just... I didn’t think it would get to me. Me. I’m used to being the wild card, the one everyone loves to watch because they don’t know what I’ll do next. Next." He paused, his voice softening. "But hearing that... it made me wonder if maybe I’m not as important as I thought. Thought."

Seam frowned, shaking his head. "You are important. You’ve always been important, and you always will be. Don’t let a few careless words from people who don’t understand what we do make you doubt that." He squeezed Jevil's shoulder gently. "You bring light to the castle, Jevil. And to me. Don’t ever forget that."

Jevil blinked, his usual playful demeanor melting into something softer, more thoughtful. He let out a long breath, the tension slowly easing from his frame as he leaned into Seam’s comforting presence. "Thanks, Seam," he murmured, the words unusually sincere. "I... I needed to hear that. That."

Seam smiled softly, his tail still curled protectively around his friend. "Anytime, Jevil. Anytime."

[acemmetry]

A Poor Man's Dilemma / A Puppet, a Maid, and a Butler Walk Into a Basement

(Available here!)

CW for:

-Violence. This chapter is one big fight

-Blood

-Assault. It gets personal

----

This was it; the day he'd been waiting, wishing, hoping, working and praying for was here, and it had taken years.

Today was the day Spamton became NEO.

Walking with those kids had felt like the longest moments of his life, only seeming to stretch longer the closer he got to the basement. It had been difficult to remain professional; he could feel a restless energy buzzing throughout his body as he drew near to freedom. Even now, that energy remained, only growing in intensity as he climbed down the staircase into the basement, thoughtlessly picking at his bandages until they fell off his arms.

Now that he was actually down here, he could barely register the passing seconds. With an absent mind, he traced his fingers along the cracks of the walls, accumulating an impressive layer of dust at his fingertip.

He dared not to speak. He dared not to make any noise past the soft clicking of his bare feet against a cold, stone floor. He dared not to break the silence of the moment, lest it prove itself to be another of his delusions.

But, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, he reasoned that this was reality. It had to be; no delusion had ever been so detailed or textured before.

No, he was really here. Which meant that NEO was just around the corner.

He could feel himself practically vibrating with anticipation. An eternity. A near eternity of Hell, all for the chance of Heaven! This may very well be the best day of his life!

Yet, for all his excitement, he couldn't bring himself to move faster than a snail's pace. It was as though he was wading through thick mud, with his legs fully submerged. But that was fine! He was fine. What were a couple more minutes of wasted time when NEO was just around the corner waiting for him and god he was so close, move you damned legs NEO was right there-

His brain registered that he had stopped moving, and he snapped out of his reverie just as quickly as he had fallen into it. With a deep breath, he ran both hands through his hair, and then took notice of the slumped mass in front of him, its body mainly concealed in shadow. Where was he now, and how had this thing gotten here?

There wasn't even a face to make out, save for the soft twinkling of what could have been an eye. A tangled mess of what looked to be hair sat atop its head, with two misshapen wings protruding from its-

A breath of air left him as he processed the phantom pain of being punched in the gut.

Oh.

Reverently, oh so reverently, NEO deserved respect, he reached out a hand, and flinched as his finger brushed against cold, dusty metal. A small, breathy laugh escaped his lips. This was real.

The air felt thin, and light. Everything was so light, he was practically weightless. He made it! NEO was there, it was right there! His head… it felt so fuzzy! Like a cotton ball, or a big, heavy blanket swaddling you in warmth, combating the chill of a bedroom at night as you-

"Mister Spamton."

Cold dread.

It was as though a sponge had soaked up the fuzz, soaked up the warmth, and the glee…

…leaving nothing but cold dread.

A voice, hard, sharp, and impossibly icy, had cut through his thoughts.

A voice that forced him to manually even out his breathing.

With his heart in his stomach, he willed a blank expression onto his face, hoping to bury any trace of surprise from his features. From where it rested on NEO's surface, his hand trembled, segmented joints clacking together ever so quietly.

His legs felt like stone.

He couldn't move.

"Mister Spamton." The voice, icier, spoke. "Step away from the machine."

He couldn't. How could he? His entire body was encased in a casket of ice. He was buried in a grave of-

A whip cracked through the silence, and he could feel a wave of electrical static wash over him, running chills down his spine. He shuddered.

"Don't make them ask again. Step away from the machine, Mister Spamton." A new voice, higher pitched and simmering with a barely contained rage, distracted him from his thoughts. The heat of the words was enough to melt the icicles that had formed in his throat.

Okay, Spamton . Don't mess this up.

This is the most important sales pitch of your life .

He turned.

"[[Easels]]!" He called, smile wide and strained and fake, too fake, act natural- ! "H0W GGOES [bizness]?" He refused to acknowledge the other person in the room, eyes trained solely on Swatch.

They stood, rigid and unyielding, arms clasped behind their back and expression stony. He couldn't see the hatred in their eyes from behind their bi-colored lenses, but he could feel it. It bore into him like a hot knife.

They continued to glare at him, and he realized that his hand was still resting on NEO.

Casually, he leaned his weight onto that hand, crossing one leg over the other. "GIVINGVING ME THE S-," a crackle of static cuts him off. "S1LENNT TREATMENT, HUH? NOT vVERY [[Big Shot!]] OF YOU, [[Easels]]." He fought to keep the glitches out of his voice. "NO MATTER. I CAN [workout] W1TH< THAT. SAY, [[Buddy, Chum, Pal,         ]], UP FOR ANOTHER [Bargein Prices!]? I PROMI-!"

Without a second thought, he ducked under the end of an electrical whip that flew towards his head.

Well, there goes that .

The feel of NEO slipped out from under his fingers as the walls dissolved into a grid of purple lines. He clicked his tongue in feign irritation as a slight tension made itself known from within his being, and in an instant, the atmosphere came alive with a fervent energy.

A battle had been engaged.

With a huff, he stretched his arms above his head, body protesting and joints popping, before dislodging his jaw in a yawn. He was much too tired for this.

According to what he remembered of battle policy, the one to set the battle stage would be the one given the last turn. "To make it fair", supposedly.

Well, he didn't plan on playing by the rules. This battle, he felt, wasn't just any old scrap yard tussle, after all.

It was a battle to the death, and he intended to win .

So, to start it off; the element of surprise.

Just as he was closing his mouth, he faked a sneeze, advertisements shooting out of his mouth like rockets towards his enemies. The Tasque Manager squawked in alarm as a bullet grazed her, clearly not expecting the sudden attack. Swatch, however, simply stepped out of the way, having seen such tactics before.

Spamton couldn't help but scoff at that. Leave it up to Swatch to ruin the surprise.

It was the opposing side's turn now, not that he cared. He was only waiting for the right opportunity to strike. To hit them when they least expected it.

Swatch, choosing to defend, stanced their feet apart as they shielded their face with a silver tray conjured from their inventory, while the Tasque Manager held her whip above her head and gave a shout.

"B!"

…

What?

Spamton looked below him, and found himself on a square labeled C. Before he could even think , the cat-lady's whip flew towards the center of the strange board he stood upon, and he gave a harsh full-body flinch as a blinding flash of electricity burst from the ground beneath him. He grit his teeth against the pain.

When the initial shock had passed, he inhaled sharply through his nose, blinking away spots from his vision. It was his turn again.

…

…What was that?! Do you want to lose before you've even started? Pay attention and dodge! Freedom is on the line!

C'mon, Spamton! Get your head in the game!

Time to get serious.

With a snap of his fingers, an angel appeared in a puff of green sparks above his head, giving him a couple head pats before poofing away. Instantly, he found himself invigorated with a newfound energy. However weak it may have been, it was more than enough, and his manic grin only grew.

Swatch defended again, no doubt trying to gather tension points, and the Tasque Manager readied another attack, but Spamton was having none of it this time. With a speed fueled by his heal spell, he rushed forward and launched himself at the maid, arms wrapping around her waist as he tackled her to the ground.

When her head made contact with the floor, he wasted no time in connecting a fast swinging fist to her face. Just as quickly, she delivered a kick to his stomach, and he was sent reeling. However, he only had a split second to recover before a fist swung for his head, and he ducked, the attack just barely grazing him. From his peripheral, he saw the end of a whip fly towards him, and he instinctively shielded his face with his arms. Wrong move.

His arms couldn't withstand the force of the attack, and he was knocked onto his rear. Huffing, he moved to push himself off the floor, but instead found himself biting back a cry as his arms gave angry shouts of protest. 

Oh well. Who needs arms?

Without waiting for his opponents' next turn (was it their turn??), he enlarged his head and unhinged his jaw, a horde of mini Spamtons flying out of his open maw.

Swatch gave an indignant squawk as a multitude of pint-sized Spamton clones bore down on them, clambering up their pant legs and clawing at their suit jacket. Spamton watched in amusement as they struggled to peel a yellow card from off the front of their jacket, (violently shaking a mini-him off their sleeve as they did), before tossing it into the air above them, the piece of paper evaporating in a cloud of sparkles. No doubt it was some Stat Boost Spell they'd saved up Tension Points for. Maybe it raised ATK? That would make sense.

"D!"

Crap . He wasn't paying attention .

There was barely any time to process the Tasque Manager's command before he felt her whip strike him in the chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs as he tumbled into square A and onto his back.

Searing, white hot pain exploded from within him as electricity surged out of the ground and through his veins. His body seized up as his… everywhere … went numb, and he felt, rather than heard, a glitched scream tear itself from his throat.

In a daze, he pushed himself off the floor, arm pains be damned because everything was in agony, and then suddenly, like a rug being pulled out from beneath him, the tension from within his being disappeared, momentarily taking his breath with it.

They must have spared him.

An anguished yell caught in the back of his throat, and he choked. Spare him? Spare him?? Why ? He could keep going! He could still fight! He-!

His vision was swimming, eyes unable to focus. God, he wasn't crying, was he? That would be so pathetic.

A shoulder brushed past him, and for a moment, he could think clearly again. Whipping his head around, (and stumbling from the sudden movement), he watched Swatch walk in short, angry strides towards NEO. One hand was clenched in a tight fist at their side, the other clutching a-

…

…What was that?

Upon taking a step forward (just for a closer look!), Spamton suddenly found his arms pinned behind his back, 2 hands holding them there in a firm grip. It didn't take much to know it was the Tasque Manager, but there were too many thoughts rattling around in his head for him to care. 

What is Swatch doing? What are they holding?

God, I'm so tired. I can't feel my legs. Or my arms. Or anything.

Hey! Focus! You can't afford to give up now! You still need to load yourself into NEO!

At that thought, Spamton blinked harshly and gave his head a slight shake to clear it up. Even with his newfound focus, he could only watch as Swatch stood in front of NEO, hesitating in whatever it was they planned on doing with it.

"It's okay." The Tasque Manager spoke from behind him, voice oddly gentle and quiet considering the situation. "It's for the best."

What was?

Swatch inhaled sharply and, supposedly making up their mind, uncurled the fist holding the strange object, giving Spamtom a better view of what it was.

He squinted. It looked like… a trash bin icon? Why would-?

His stomach did a somersault as it clicked, and out of nowhere, the room rose in temperature. It was quite suddenly that he felt clammy, and gross, and so, so hot.

This couldn't be happening. Please, don't let this be happening! I got so far! I was so close!

Desperately, he began to struggle against his constraints as glitches spilled out of his mouth.

"[[Easels]]; [[Easels]], Y  YY0U W0ulDN;;T- w0<UldN"T [DEMOL1TION!!] neo,,,, W  W  W<<< woU;LD Y0UU>??"

Swatch refused to look at him, raising the icon to NEO's perfect surface. The room only got hotter. He felt sick.

No. Nononononononono-

"[[Ea-]]- $w- SW@T<<CH, [Please don't take my           !]! F  F0R Th3 [L1ve [[laugh track]] L0ve] 0F- OF        ;; d0N"T-!!"

They slapped the icon onto NEO.

Spamton's rambling continued on as a popup appeared before them, asking if they were "sure" they wanted to delete their creation.

No, they weren't sure! They didn't even want to do this! They didn't want to be down here destroying the only evidence of a life where they'd been important! When they'd meant something!

This was NEO! A Lightner's dream they helped create!

Biting their tongue, they reached to press "continue".

An anguished scream startled them from their thoughts, and momentarily, they halted to cast a glance over their shoulder at the source of the noise.

This was a big mistake.

They barely registered the blurred movement in their peripheral vision before a sharp, fiery agony ignited inside their outstretched arm, drawing from it a warm, viscous liquid. Instinctively, they pulled back as a startled cry of pain tore from their throat.

Blinking back tears, they tried in vain to pry off the jagged teeth of the heart shaped object latched onto their arm. It only bit down harder, and the fire in their arm grew hotter as their sleeve absorbed more of the blood leaking out of their wound.

It took tugging at the chain connected to the heart with as much force as could be mustered before it let go. No attention was paid to the sticky warm liquid dripping off the tips of their fingers as they watched the thing slink back into Spamton's chest cavity, resigned but still alert.

Spamton himself was breathing quite heavily, exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders sagged and his legs wobbled, and though his eyes were hidden behind the static in his dealmakers, the look on his face could still be described as one of crazed desperation.

They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments before Spamton spoke.

"ST3P AWww@Y Fr-" A glitch. "FROM. THE MACHINE." His voice was strained, panicked, and heavy-laden with white noise. A flare of anger rose up in their chest as they processed the statement.

... 

He thought he could use their words against him? He thought that he could control what happened with NEO? He had no authority. He had no power. He had no right.

They gathered the remaining energy in their bad arm and, without a second thought, slammed a fist into the "Continue" button, the action causing a sharp stab of pain in the mangled limb.

Spamton gave out a pained cry as NEO began to come undone, its vibrant colors melting away at the same time its shapes began blending together into one congealed mass before slowly fading into oblivion.

"WHAt

Wh@T

wwH4t H4V3 [you done with that?]!? >>>yY0   OU-!"

His rambling faded into the background as Swatch looked on in agony, looked on as their prized creation crumbled into nothingness. They tried to focus on the feeling of stinging in their eyes, or the painful tug in their heart, or even the burning blaze in their arm. Anything, anything except what was happening in front of them.

It was a groan from Tasque Manager that pulled their attention elsewhere. Sharply turning their head towards the noise, blinking back tears, their eyes widened at what they saw.

She was on the ground, in a pool of blood that must have come from the large bite wound in her side. Her white clothes were now stained a brilliant shade of black -- the sight, oddly enough, had Swatch thinking that the dress would have to be disposed of.

It looked as though she was just coming to as she sat up and cradled a gash on her head with a black-stained hand. Not wanting to dwell on NEO's fate, (their job down here was done anyway, Spamton would be leaving any minute now), they made an attempt to rush to her side, to offer assistance, to help her because she was bleeding out , but something stopped them.

It was Spamton's fist. In their gut.

They reeled back, clutching their abdomen and letting out a cough.

">>y yY0U!!" He cried, swinging another fist into their midsection. This time, they braced. "YOU<< rRU1NeD [[3verything is y y yours for-]]!! (Y)?! (Y)"D yY0U H4VE T T TO f[Fifty Percent Off!]-" A harsh glitch this time, one that momentarily disconnected his entire upper half. "[%#&£] 1T UP!!" Another swing, but this time a miss. Swatch had caught his fist.

If they had been icy before, they sure as hell weren't now. Ice gave way to fire, wild and all-consuming, Spamton's audacity fueling the flames. Who the hell did he think he was?

This... this was the last straw.

They pulled Spamton's wrist up above their head, forcing the man onto his tiptoes with a yelp. They were eye level now, and the glare Swatch was giving Spamton could kill. 

"Oh, is that right?" They said, vitriol flying off their tongue. "I've ruined everything? I'VE ruined everything?!" They were shouting now, each word ignited by a wrathful flame. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!! YOU DID THIS!!" They raised his wrist higher, effectively lifting him into the air, before slamming him into the ground like a bag of wet cement.

The violent speed of the motion caused his arm to snap off the ball joint of his elbow, eliciting a scream from him as he cradled the stump close to his chest. The limb in their grasp was tossed to the side without a second thought as they reached down to pick him up by the collar.

"IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOUR OBSESSION, NEO WOULD STILL BE HERE!! "

Spamton planted a heel in their stomach before scrambling away as best he could with one arm. Gaining some distance, he stood on shaky legs and braced himself, arm and stump splayed out at his sides, hand twitching.

With a flick of their wrist, a dinner plate spawned behind the man. The lid popped off, knocking him out of his stance, and Swatch used the distraction to close the gap between the two. Spamton noticed, and steadied himself just as they reached for him again. Deftly, he ducked under their arms and delivered a left hook to their face (the only hook he could deliver) before ducking underneath them and dashing towards where NEO was deteriorating. This only served to further infuriate Swatch. Ignoring the black liquid dripping from their nose onto their tie, they gave chase.

With pain threaded into her words, Tasque Manager called out to them, weakly. "Swatch, enough. Please."

Swatch ignores her.

Enough? Enough? No, Swatch decided when it was enough. Spamton had forced their hand. If it weren't for him, NEO wouldn't have needed to be deleted. NEO wasn't the problem, it was Spamton. Spamton made it a threat, Spamton was at fault.

Their vision blurred.

Swatch hadn't spent their recent years decaying in garbage, so naturally, they were in better shape. Naturally, they were able to catch up to the man and lift him by the back of the collar. Naturally, they would have the strength to throw him against the wall, into the spot where NEO once sat, and watch as he struggled to get back up, a black smear running across his forehead. Vines hung overhead, two pillars stood at his sides, and a wall sat, unyielding, behind him. There was nowhere to run.

He was trapped.

They could feel blood trickle down their face as they slowly made their way towards him, but couldn't find it in them to care. Their breath hitched as they readied themself to speak.

Their next words came out a growl, angry and so, so wrought with grief. 

"You had everything."

Step. 

"You were a 'big shot', sitting on top of the world."

Step.

"You were rich. Famous. People adored you."

Step.

"Anything you wanted, you could just ASK for. You were free."

Step.

"But then you threw it all away." They were kneeling in front of him now, hand clutching his matted hair to keep his head up. Somewhere in the middle of the fight, he had lost his dealmakers, giving Swatch a full view of his face. He was grimacing in pain.

"You THREW IT ALL AWAY for some dusty old machine, rusting away in a basement, all because it was the one thing you couldn't ask for, right?" They were fighting a losing battle with keeping their voice level.

Spamton's mouth opened, but no sound came out except for a pathetic little click in the back of his throat. 

Swatch tugged at his hair, slightly raising his face to meet theirs in the hopes of eliciting a response, but none came. He only weakly clawed at their hand.

With a deep inhale, Swatch released their hold on his scalp and stood. The overhead lights cast a shadow over Spamton's crumpled form.

"All I had was NEO. And you took that from me."

They delivered a swift kick to his stomach, and he folded in on himself. No sound came out. Again, they kicked.

"I ruined everything? Take a look around you, Spamton. This is all YOUR fault." They enunciated those last words with another kick, this time at the arm trying in vain to shield his face. No sound came out.

"Don't you have anything to say? Come now, you're always running your mouth; say something." Another kick. No sound came out.

"Say something." They hissed, beak twisted in a snarl. Another kick, harder this time, and he went limp. Still, no sound came out.

"SAY SOMETHING!! " They're shouting now, crouching down to hoist him up by his lapels. "ANYTHING, GOD!"

His head hung down, as if in shame.

"YOU NEVER SHUT UP, SO WHY NOW ARE YOU GIVING ME THE SILENT TREATMENT? C'mon! Apologize! Insult me! EXPLAIN YOURSELF! Just-!"

"SWATCH." They startle, turning to look over their shoulder. "Please. He can't hear you." Tasque Manager is limping her way towards them, a hand pressed against the now-closed wound in her side. She comes up behind them to squeeze a hand to their shoulder. There's a pained grimace on her face.

Their face fell as they took in the sight, guilt overpowering all other emotions. She had been wounded, had CALLED for them, and they had ignored her in favor of the puppet. How could they have ignored her?

"Tasque, I-"

She shook her head, swaying a bit with the movement. "I'm fine. I had some leftover spaghetti code in my inventory. An Ambyulance will heal the rest."

"But you-!"

"Swatch." She said sternly, eyes hardening. "I'm fine."

They bit their tongue against any other retorts.

She turned her attention to the salesman still pinned up against the wall.

"We should call an Ambyulance, speaking of." Seeing Swatch start to voice their agreement, she continued, cutting them off. "For all of us. Your arm, my side, his…" She nodded towards Spamton, and faltered when she took in the sight if him. Her sentence went unfinished.

"He doesn't deserve an Ambyulance." Swatch finished for her, still feeling vindictive. Their arm throbbed violently at the reminder of the injury.

"Do you even hear yourself right now? Of course he doesn't deserve an Ambyulance, he's entitled to one." Their grip on his lapels loosen. "He has a right to medical care as a citizen of Cyber City, and he... well, he's probably concussed, Swatch, and that's likely not even the worst of it."

Swatch shook their head in quiet disbelief, pain lining their features. "No, he des- he destroyed NEO, he hurt you, he shouldn't-!"

"Is that what you're telling yourself? Spamton destroyed NEO?" Her hand slid off their shoulder. "Swatch, you chose to follow through with this. You agreed that it was best if you did the deed. I understand that NEO was important to you-"

"How could you understand? How?! You've never worked with a Lightner for weeks on end to bring to life their greatest dream! You've never had to leave your greatest creation unfinished because they gave up! You-you-!"

"I understand," Tasque Manager interrupted, voice gentle, and they felt instantly ashamed for their outburst. Her fingers brushed back a stray feather from their forehead. "That NEO was important to you. Destroying it destroyed you, I get that. But," she gestured to the unconscious salesman. "Think about him. Hate it all you want, but he's inthe same boat as you. He's tried every trick in the book to get to this thing, and we don't really know why it's that important to him, anyway."

"..."

"C'mon, don't look at me like that. We don't."

They were eyeing her sideways.

"...Reasoning aside, he's fought a long battle for some dingy basement robot, abandoned everything just to get it, and then we... erased it. We erased the one thing he had going for him. That's… no matter how unhealthy it may have been, that has to be crushing."

"Why do you care?" They suddenly retorted, fighting to keep their voice even, and God, why were they treating her like this? She hadn't done anything wrong, why were they yelling at her? "We both hate him. We both hurt him. Why now do you care?"

"Because..." she said, biting her bottom lip as she gave the puppet a pitiful look. There was a pained light in her eyes. "...I can't afford not to anymore. This has- it's gone on for too long. It's gone too far. Look at him, Swatch. Really look at him."

And they did. They took in every crack in his plastic, every tear in his clothes, every thing about him. They took in the dirt between his joints, the layer of grime on his skin, and the filth embedded in the fabric of his suit. They took in the grease, and blood, in his matted hair, and the bags under his eyes, and they felt ashamed.

So, so ashamed.

"Alright," they muttered, pulling Spamton off the wall and into their arm. They grimaced when his head lolled back. He really was unconscious. "Let's get out of here and- and call an Ambyulance."

They carried Spamton out of the basement, holding him under their arm like a doll. Tasque Manager followed not too far behind, the puppet's discarded arm on hand.

(Originally written 9/15/22)

[luciluck2046-utdr]

Serious writing poll

Note that this will completely change specific aspects of the story. I need to decide fast. Also Chara was 11 when they died, so if they come back to life, they're gonna be 11. And age normally. If I ahve to make them be alive, they're gonna be the second youngest child. Kris being the youngest (around 6), Asriel being 12 and Frisk being fresh into teen years (13).

[silverstormsxx]

An Angel Is Born - A Deltarune Fic

Part 2 of "A Warm Cup Of Tea On A Cold Winter Night"

----

Pink had begun getting really into The Light World recently.

They had been reading about the clouds, the sun, the sky.

It wasn't for any particular reason, mind you - they simply found themselves getting a little.. curious all of a sudden, that was all.

(That was the same thing he said before.. before-)

In their studies, they had discovered something that truly fascinated them.

The Lightners worshipped a deity - The Angel. The same way Darkners worshipped Lightners.

"What in Light's name could possibly be above.. well, a Lightner?" They had thought.

Thus, they had done more research into the subject, and well..

What they had found was wonderful.

The Angel was incomprehensible to any eye - Lightner, Darkner, Human, Monster.. no mortal eye could ever truly understand it. The Angel watched over them all in it's omnipresent eye, guiding them to whatever destinies it believed best for them. It had the ability to control the very fate of everybody that existed in this plane of reality. Those who were lucky enough to be shone on by it's light, were rumored to be blessed with powers and abilities that would allow them to shape their own destinies, as well!

It was while they were reading about this absolutely glorious being they were visited by none other than Blue.

"Heya, Pink." Blue greeted, his cheerful voice just barely managing to hide the pure exhaustion in his tone, something only an Addison would ever be able to recognize. He glanced towards their storefront as he leaned on their cash register, "Business slow today?"

"No!" They yelled out on instinct.

'I am not like him whatsoever I am not like him whatsoever I am not like him whatsoever-'

"Pink..?" Blue had put his hand on their shoulder, a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay? Do you want to clock out early today-"

They cleared their throat, putting on a deceptively calm voice in order to soothe Blue's nerves, "Don't worry. I'm.. I'm fine. It's just been a bit of a.. stressful day, that's all."

Blue's face looked emphatic as he walked up to stand beside them, "It's okay to admit that you're not okay sometimes, you know that right?" He giggled, "We're family. And family is always there for eachother. No matter what. If you want, I can.."

Pink found themselves spacing out as Blue talked about what has could do to make them feel better. After the.. incident, he had been focusing more on making sure no one's feelings were ignored. They didn't do it on purpose, mind you. It was certainly a sweet gesture that Blue was willing to do for them, but-

❤ Iceshock.

There it was. That.. voice again.

They had been hearing it every day these past few weeks, trying to get them to examine random things more closely, to talk to people they didn't even know the names of. They were beginning to sick of its apparent omnipresence over-

... Wait a minute.

❤ Iceshock.

"Maybe I could even get Orange to chip in, if he's not too busy with that new commission he was talking about earlier- Pink?"

'The Angel watched over them all with its omnipresent eye, guiding them to whatever destinies it believed best for them...'

❤ Iceshock.

"Pink, are you okay..? Do I need to call somebody-"

❤ Iceshock.

...

"P-Pink, what are you doing-"

...

They awoke to the sight of an ice sculpture right next to them, miraculously not melted in the heat of their store.

"Oh? How nice of somebody to gift me this.." They murmured tiredly as they began to drag the statue into the backroom of their shop, "Was it Blue? He always did like giving gifts.. I'll have to thank him for it in the morning.."

---

Extra notes:

Totally unrelated but every time i write pink I picture them having the voice of rarity from mlp:fim

Also yeah. 'Player is the angel' theory is canon in this.