#before the first communion chapter

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 7

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Angst, religious guilt, mentions of religious trauma, mentions of masturbation. Mentions of anti-choice propaganda.

Masterlist

Authors note: Maybe grab a cup of tea for this one.

_________

Noah Davis didn’t like to think of his actions in terms of morality. He understood that right and wrong were subjective. That life didn’t exist in binaries of good vs. evil, and that things like virtue and righteousness weren’t so easily defined. 

That didn’t mean there weren’t some steadfast rules he followed: 

Do his best to act in a way that aligns with his internal moral compass

Reduce harm much as possible

Do what’s best for the collective, while still keeping his best interests in mind

That line of thinking has served him well over the course of his lifetime. He’d freed himself from moral obligations and had done what he truly felt was best, and in doing so, he was able to walk through life with his head held high, standing by his actions. 

The idea that some of his behavior was sinful had not entered his mind since he formally left the church. 

But now, as he laid in bed, recovering from the tsunami of brain chemicals that just flooded his system, he felt like a sinner . 

The sin coursed through his body, sick and bittersweet. It flowed through his veins, infecting his cells and rotting his bones like a poison. Like a drug. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face, clammy palm meeting clammy forehead, cock still twitching with the aftershock. 

He’d expected you to put up more of a fight. He’d banked on you shutting him down, batting him away and telling him to behave himself, but you’d walked so willingly into his snare, so eager and needy, offering up yourself on a platter with almost no hesitation. 

It was a vile thing that you brought out of Noah. An ugly, profane creature that lurked in the shadows of his soul. He’d been aware of its existence in his periphery. It had been a sleeping beast. One he’d hoped he’d never have to contend with. 

But now? It had taken its first shuddering breath, and with it, thrown down its gauntlet. Its demand? You—not as a partner, but as a sacrifice. Sprawled out on an altar for it to consume and defile. To claim for the sake of hubris. 

Noah longed to find a way to cleanse himself—confess his sins and pray the rosary. Baptize himself in holy water. Take communion and walk forth a forgiven man. Would that be enough? 

War had been waged within Noah, and the odds were stacked against him. He was David, standing at the feet of Goliath. Jonah, staring down the gullet of the whale. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and the image of you at the apex of pleasure flashed across his vision. You’d made that offering to him. It was sacred. He’d cherish it for the rest of his life.  

_______

Noah had no holy water available to him to wash his sins away. He did have a hot shower, though, and at least that was a start. 

Turning on the water, he allowed the steam to gather in clouds around his bathroom. His skin had grown sticky with sweat, and his shoulders ached. As soon as he stepped under the spray, the tension began to dissipate. 

He pressed his forehead against the cool tile wall and allowed the stream to trickle down his back. 

He had a duty to himself—and to you. There was no denying his affection for you, but therein lied a glaring problem: you were ready for more. You deserved more. You deserved to push past these boundaries of purity and explore who you were outside of faith, and that made you vulnerable. Because whatever sickness lived inside Noah was itching to exploit that vulnerability. Not for your benefit, but for its own.

“Help me figure this out,” he whispered against the shower wall. It was a prayer in the most ironic sense. He wasn’t sure if he even believed in what he was praying to, but without any other ideas, it felt like the right thing to do. “I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m afraid.” 

He received nothing but silence in response. 

He scoffed at his own actions. What did he expect? Divine understanding? 

He grabbed the soap, lathering it up before scrubbing it over his disgusting, unclean body. Why did he even bother? He learned long ago that nobody was going to save him but himself. If he wanted his demons to die, he’d have to be the one to kill them. 

________

On a snowy Sunday morning, Noah didn’t have a church to attend, but he did have a pair of work boots, a heavy coat, and a trail through the woods that allowed him to commune with nature. 

He also had a pre-roll he stole from Nick, which he cupped against his jacket to light. It took a few tries. The wind wasn’t biting, but it was present, and it flickered the flame in his lighter. He eventually got it lit though, and he took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs and waiting for it to take effect. 

Exhaling slowly through his nose, he closed his eyes to focus on the high setting in. His body began to lift, a warm, cloudy, hollow feeling expanding out from his chest to his limbs, and ten minutes later, the joint was spent and Noah was intricately connected to the forest around him.

He walked on the trail, delighting in the way the frozen leaves crunched under his boots. He forgot his gloves again, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked. 

You were probably in church right now. Might even be on stage leading the praise and worship music alongside Isaac, where you were safe. 

No, that wasn’t true. You deserved more than the life you’d find within the church. If you stayed put, you’d eventually find yourself on the arm of some 30-something with a trust fund and a perfect attendance record at Sunday school. You’d have to hide who you were from society, pretending to fit in where you didn’t belong. 

Noah dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He wanted you to have more than that, but he wasn’t the right person to give it to you. At least not in his current state. 

Giving up the idea of you was painful, yes. But it also gave him time to figure out how to contend with the ugly parts of himself. If he could let go of his desire for you, then he wouldn’t have to risk that part of him taking over. He could lock it back into the cage he’s kept it in for so many years and continue on in life as if nothing had ever happened. 

He’d never have to know that hunger again. 

He breathed in deep, allowing the frigid air to sting his lungs and throat. It wasn’t painful enough for him. He needed to toil and sweat and suffer to repent for his sins. He picked up his pace, letting his feet fall heavy onto the ground. Within a few minutes, his heart rate sped up, lungs stretching to accommodate his increased need for oxygen. All systems firing to pump fresh blood through his body. 

That helped. Maybe he could sweat the fever out. Force the toxicity to exit through carbon dioxide and leave it as an offering to the forest so it can convert it back to oxygen. 

He broke out into a run, thinking back to the time he caught you running in the rain and wondering if you’d been seeking the same energetic cleanse. 

You’d cried in his arms that night. 

He slowed his pace, down from a run to a jog. 

It was the first time he’d noticed something wrong—the first time he sensed that his control was slipping. 

A stray root caught his foot and he fell hard to the ground, catching himself with his palms and knees. He stayed there for a moment to assess his body and see if any damage had occurred, and when he found none, he rolled onto his back and laid in the snow and mud, stretching his arms and legs to the side and creating a snow angel. 

The snow fell lightly, catching on his eyelashes. He stuck out his tongue, allowing the tiny flakes to melt upon contact and tasting the nothingness of it all. 

He closed his eyes, and he was thirteen again. A nude magazine lay open on his floor. He’d just finished masturbating for the third time that day. Sobbing, he grabbed the leather belt hanging over his desk chair and whipped himself across the back with it. Harder this time than last. Perhaps with enough pain, he would learn his lesson. 

He bunched a shirt up and stuffed it into his mouth, biting down hard to muffle himself as he wept. God surely wouldn’t forgive him again after this. He would be sent to hell for being so unclean. 

For months, he’d tried to break this disgusting habit, but it was to no avail. He was sick and perverted, and lacked the self-control he needed to resist temptation.  

He didn’t want to go to confessional. He didn’t want to have to hear his priest’s disappointed voice telling him to say ten hail-marys. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath in, noticing how the icy air stabbed at his lungs. He didn’t want to dwell too long on that memory. He could already feel his throat constricting. 

It wasn’t until he befriended Ruffilo that he realized he wasn’t uniquely perverted. Ruffilo hadn’t been raised in a church. He talked about porn as if it was something exciting, rather than shameful. He’d been the first one to bring up the subject of masturbation, making casual comments and jokes about how often he got himself off. 

Ruffilo’s world—a world without shame—had been a foreign concept to Noah. After being exposed to it, he realized that faith and freedom were mutually exclusive. There was no way to balance the two, so he chose freedom and never looked back. 

Noah’s fingers found a frozen leaf. He caressed the edges, feeling how smooth they were and remembered brushing bits of leaves off your coat that time you’d jumped in the leaf pile. He remembered how you gasped when his frigid hands ghosted over the nape of your neck. He could have cut the tension with a knife. 

He couldn’t go back to the church. There was too much pain there to revisit. He cut off that part of him a long time ago, back when believing in God meant engaging in his own self-destruction. 

Being with you meant dipping his toes back in the water of religion. You and faith were a package deal. He knew that. You weren’t going to give it up any time soon, and certainly not for him. 

He closed his eyes again and felt the sting of saltwater. He wasn’t going to cry. He’d done enough of that in his adolescence. But the feelings were there, and they weren’t going to let him off the hook without being felt. 

It was you or self-preservation.

He inhaled deeply and forced himself back up, turning to start the long trek back to town. A conversation needed to be had. 

________

There was no priest to whom he could confess his sins, but there was Folio, and late on a Sunday afternoon, he could be found stoned in his room. 

“I fucked up,” he announced, standing in the doorway.

Nick was on his bed, controller in his hands and headset on. From where Noah stood, he couldn’t see the screen, but he guessed his friend was mowing down enemies in Call of Duty. 

“In the middle of something,” he said. “Give me a few.” 

Noah invited himself into the room and sat in Nick’s desk chair, observing the décor. Nick decorated his walls with posters of women in various states of undress. Some of them were holding fish. Others were posed on top of cars. 

His fishing rod and tackle box rested in the corner next to his desk. An electric drum kit lined the far wall. Clothes were strewn about the room, along with drumsticks, food wrappers, and half-empty water bottles. A few cans of beer spilled out of the overfull trash can. On the nightstand sat an ashtray with the spent ends of several blunts stuffed in the center. 

Quite the confessional booth. 

“What’s up?” he said, taking his headset off and turning his attention to Noah. 

“I fucked up,” Noah repeated. 

Nick blinked twice, but made no other movement. “Okay,” he said. “In what way?” 

“You already know.” 

“The pastor’s daughter?” Nick guessed, tilting his head lower to stare at Noah through furrowed brows. “Did you fuck her?” His tone was accusatory, and deservedly so. 

Noah shook his head. “Not exactly.” 

Nick turned on his bed to face Noah head-on. “What did you do?” 

Noah deliberated over exactly how much to tell his friend. What happened between the two of you last night was private and he didn’t want to share your business with someone else unless you said it was okay, but he needed to get some things off his chest. 

“So,” he began, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. “I think I need to stay away from her for a while. I’ve got some stuff to sort out and until I do, I might hurt her.” 

Nick gave himself time to fully process what Noah had just said. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting his eyes drift away from Noah and relaxing his focus as he mulled it over. 

“You really care about her?” he asked. 

Noah nodded. 

“Want me to stay away from her, too?” It was an honest question, and Noah was suddenly struck with how much his friends cared about him. 

Noah squeezed and relaxed his hands a few times to increase circulation in his fingers. They were still cold from his walk. 

“No, actually. If anything, I think you’d be a really good influence for her. She could use someone like you.” 

Nick’s eyebrows pulled up in the center. He tilted his head to the side. “Why do you say that?” 

“She needs to have more fun,” he said. “She’s been repressed for a really long time and I think she’s ready to break out of that and live life.” 

Nick’s eyes went wide and he  pointed to his chest. “And you want me to be the one to help with that?” 

Noah didn’t want Nick to do that. The last thing he wanted was to see you enjoying yourself without him, but if it was between that and you staying miserable under the church’s influence, he at least wanted you to be happy. 

“I think you’d be good for her,” he said, working hard to make sure he didn’t sound bitter at all. 

“What if I fuck her?” he asked, his momentary sincerity seemingly over. 

Noah’s face dropped. “Don’t fuck her.” 

“But what if I do?” 

Noah clenched his jaw, grinding his molars together as he steadied himself. He knew Nick didn’t mean anything by it. He was just being himself and trying to rile Noah up, but Noah wasn’t about to give in. 

“Then make sure you’re on the same page with her about what it means. Don’t lead her on.” 

Nick chewed on his tongue. “Where is all this coming from?” He asked. “Why do you think you’ll hurt her?” 

“I guess,” Noah said, picking at a bit of dead skin on his lip, “It’s sort of just a gut feeling? I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s something in there that tells me I gotta sort myself out before I get involved with anyone.” 

Nick blinked up at his friend, softening. “I didn’t realize you were so serious about her.” 

“I don’t know what I feel,” said Noah. “I just need some time to figure that out.” 

“You okay?” he asked, hand coming up to scratch an itch at the back of his neck. 

Noah nodded. “I will be,” he said. It was true, he would be okay eventually. He was sure of that. He’d survived worse than this. He just needed to figure out what the best course of action would be. 

Nick’s eyes flicked back to the paused game on the screen. “So you’re saying it’s cool if I fuck her then?” he said. 

Nick could be a real asshole at times. He was abrasive by nature. Many found his personality overwhelming, but the ones who stuck around knew that he was an antagonist, not to be mean, but to challenge people—coax them out of their comfort zones and force them to confront their triggers. He wasn’t always right, and he often stuck his own foot in his mouth, but when he was right, he was so right, it made up for all the other times. 

This time, however, he used his skill to diffuse the tension. 

“Man, fuck you,” said Noah, slapping the ash tray off the end table. It tipped over sideways and spilled its contents onto Nick’s bed, coating his sheets with ash and spent roaches. 

“Bro!” Nick shouted, but Noah was already out of the room, hissing to himself with laughter, and Nick was too couch locked to chase him. 

________

“Noah said to tell you he’s sorry. He got called in for overtime again,” Nick said as he walked into the community center seven minutes late. 

Your heart sank. Not just because you wouldn’t get to see Noah, but because he could have easily texted this information to you himself. 

It was as you’d suspected. Noah was avoiding you.

Over the course of the week, you’d grown more and more stressed. Sunday was fine. You’d woken up feeling well rested, having dreamt of Noah throughout the night. At church, you couldn’t focus on any of the sermon because you were too consumed reliving the previous night. 

Monday came and went with no word from Noah. You thought for sure he would have texted you to say hi or check up on you. Some sort of acknowledgement that the dynamic between the two of you had shifted. But you’d also heard it was customary to wait three days. 

So you waited. 

By Wednesday, your patience had grown thin. You’d given him the benefit of the doubt, wondering if maybe he was nervous and waiting for you to reach out, so you had, sending him a casual hey . 

He never responded. You’d been checking your phone religiously over the course of the week, but it had been radio silence on his end. 

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” You kept a straight face and a steady voice while you spoke, but it took effort. “We’re supposed to be shoveling snow today but since there’s only us, I’m going to veto that.” 

Nick sighed in relief. “Thank god . I wasn’t built for the cold.” 

“Get inside,” you nodded towards the doors. “We’ll start with windows.” 

He offered up a salute and bounded through the doors, eager to escape the cold. 

As Nick got to work, you processed this information. 

Noah’s silence was deafening. 

Was this your punishment? Was God unhappy with your behavior and was this his way of letting you know? 

An element to this was fitting. This was the cost, you realized. This was the price you paid for giving into temptation. 

A bitter laugh escaped under your breath. 

Was the church right about everything? Was there a reason you shouldn’t fall into temptation? 

Maybe Hell did exist—and it wasn’t a lake of fire, but the absence of Heaven after you’d already tasted it.  

Even after everything, you probably would still have done it all over again if you had the opportunity. He’d introduced you to a part of yourself that had been dormant for a long time and for that, you were grateful. 

But the price was steep. 

Your biggest regret was that you hadn’t even gotten to touch him before it was all over. You felt so stupid. Why couldn’t you have held out a little longer? Resisted temptation until you had him fully within your grasp? 

But then again, perhaps the loss of him would be even more painful, wouldn’t it? 

You sighed and stretched your arms up, resting your forearms on your head as you observed Nick spraying down the windows with cleaner. 

You could get through this. It would be hard, but it was within your grasp. People have survived much worse. In the grand scheme of things, this heartache was minor. It would hurt for a while, but eventually you’d recover and life would go on. 

It was just a matter of getting to the other side. 

You wanted to remember this pain. Savor the full impact and hopefully this would be the only time you needed to learn this lesson. You’d grow, heal, and move on a better and stronger version of yourself. 

Eventually. 

Right now, you needed to focus on the task at hand: overseeing community service without getting yourself into any more trouble. And that’s what you were going to do.  ________

That did prove to be a tougher job than you anticipated. Nick was charismatic as ever and kept trying to get your attention. 

You’d throw him a bone every once in a while, if only because it genuinely did lift your spirits to be around him. He was a much safer presence. 

“How many weeks do I have left?” 

You were strewn across the back pew, doing your best not to wallow, but failing pretty spectacularly, when Nick’s voice broke you out of your ruminations. 

“I’m not sure,” you said, sitting up and looking at him. He leaned casually against the back of the pew, rag thrown over his shoulder. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the wood. “I have it written down somewhere. I’d have to look.” 

“Can you let me know next week?” he asked, bouncing on his heels. You could see what attracted Ava to him so much. 

“Yeah.” 

“Or actually, maybe this Friday. Isn’t that when your Christmas thing is?” 

You blinked stupidly up at him. You’d forgotten all about the upcoming showcase. 

“Oh, yeah. It is. I didn’t realize you knew about it.” 

“Yeah,” he said, and then shifted on his feet as if he was trying to figure out a way to avoid saying that Noah told him about it. Which would mean that Nick was also aware of the awkwardness between the two of you. 

“Were you thinking of going?” you asked. “You don’t have to.” 

“I thought it might be fun to see you sing,” he said, voice soft and lips smiling.  

You were momentarily taken aback. You didn’t think Nick cared about anything you were doing. The thought that he might be interested in your life outside of community service was one that hadn’t crossed your mind. 

“Really?” you asked. 

He looked side to side and nodded, as if it should have been obvious to you. 

“Nick, that would mean so much. I would love for you to come.” 

“Good,” he said, a self-satisfied smile back on his face. “But try not to suck or I won’t be donating anything.” 

You snorted loudly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“Anytime.” 

The conversation died down, and you could feel the elephant in the room rearing its head. 

You could ask how Noah was doing. It wouldn’t be too out-of-character. But you’d give yourself away easily if you did. 

Besides, nothing good would come of it. If Noah wanted to contact you, he would. If he didn’t, then he was just someone you needed to get over. 

Nick lingered, just as hesitant to leave the conversation. 

“You doin’ okay?” he asked. 

You sighed, leaning into the back of the pew. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.” 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked. 

You rolled your head across the pew to look over at him. His face held a neutral expression, but there was softness in his eyes. 

“Maybe some other time,” you said. “Thank you, though.” 

“No problem,” he said. “I’m here if you need me.” He punctuated it with a squeeze to your shoulder and your hand came up to clasp over his on its own accord. He was warm, and truth be told, you really needed the gesture. 

Perhaps you’d be okay. 

_______

“And there were no signs prior to this?” 

“No,” you said, collapsing on Ava’s bed while she worked on her Contemporary Art project from her desk. It looked like a big lump of Styrofoam. She held a strip of sandpaper, rubbing it back and forth over a corner and causing little pieces to flake off and litter the desk and floor beneath her. 

“And neither of you talked beforehand about what it would mean?” 

“No,” you grumbled, recognizing your first mistake. You absolutely should have talked about what it meant for the both of you before doing anything, and you can’t understand why you’d been so foolish to skip over that. “It just sort of…happened?” 

Ava fixed you with an imploring stare. 

“Babe, I’m really sorry that you got hurt, but. I don’t know,” she began. “Aren’t you always the one preaching about that kind of thing? It seems like you could have used a little bit of your own advice, don’t you think?” 

You turned over and let out a loud groan into Ava’s pillow. 

“Not helping.” 

“I know, I know. That was probably insensitive. I just,” she trailed off, turning back to her project. “Maybe this was a lesson you needed to learn? Not to look down on others for the things they struggle with. And maybe also to recognize that we’re all human. We’re all sinners. Even you?” 

You pouted. “You really think I needed to learn that?” 

“You’ve been known to judge in the past.” 

“I’ve been better about that!” you said, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“I know,” she said. “I know you have.” She pouted back at you. “Maybe I’m not the best person for this kind of talk.” 

You sighed, crossing your arms over your stomach. “No, you’re fine. I think I’m just feeling sorry for myself is all.” 

Ava got up from her desk, brushing as many Styrofoam flakes from her clothes as she could, and crawled into her bed with you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You melded into her touch. “You’re allowed to feel hurt. He did send you mixed signals.” 

“What about you and Nick?” you asked. She chewed on her lip for a moment. 

“Nick and I…we talked about it beforehand. We knew it was just for that night going into it.” She rested her chin on your shoulder. 

“You didn’t want to pursue anything more?” 

Ava shrugged beside you. “Neither of us is looking for anything.” 

You leaned your head on her shoulder. It would have been nice had you had the same disposition going into the encounter with Noah. You could have just enjoyed it for what it was and then went your separate ways without any complicated feelings. You admired Ava’s ability to do that. 

“You’re right,” you said. “We should have talked about it beforehand. Made sure we were on the same page.” 

You turned to bury your face in her shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut to keep any tears from escaping. 

“It doesn’t always work out that way,” she said. “Don’t judge yourself for your mistakes.” 

She stroked your back as you failed to prevent your eyes from leaking. “Is it okay if I cry on you?” you asked, voice muffled by her shirt, a stray piece of Styrofoam finding its way into your mouth. 

“Babe, of course. I’m here for you.” 

You nodded into her shoulder, allowing the first of many sobs to fall. She continued to stroke your back, soothing you as you wept. 

It hurt. You’d trusted Noah to care for you. You never would have believed him to be the type to get what he wants and then not call. 

Plus, he still had five weeks of community service (you’d checked), and there wasn’t any way he could get out of that. 

“How am I supposed to face him on Saturday?” you whined. 

“Hmmm,” she said. “Is Folio talking to you?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “He’s actually been really nice.” 

“What if you just talk to him? Use him as a distraction so you don’t have to talk to Noah. Who knows? Maybe having fun with him would help you move on.” 

You pulled away to look at her. 

“You mean like…?” you trailed off. 

She laughed. “I’m not saying have sex with the guy,” she said. “I doubt he’d do that since Noah’s like, his best friend. But he’s a good guy and he’s fun to be around. And you could use that kind of energy in your life.” 

You sniffled again and let your head drop back down to rest on her, spitting out another fleck of Styrofoam. It truly was everywhere. 

You doubted that hanging out with Nick would help you get over Noah. If anything, it would just remind you of him. But you did need more friends in your life, and he was someone you could see yourself getting along with. 

Perhaps focusing on your friendships would help. You squeezed Ava’s middle. 

“I love you,” you said. “Please be my friend forever.” 

She breathed softly, squeezing you back. “If you play your cards right.” 

______

Friday’s showcase had a much larger turnout than expected. People lined the pews and even stood in the back after all the available seats had been filled. You peeked through one of the side doors that entered onto the stage and saw Nick sitting in a middle row. Ava sat a few rows in front of him. She caught your eye and gave you a big thumbs-up for good luck. 

Your eyes scanned over the crowd, searching for a tall, tattooed figure and coming up short. 

He said he was going to come. He was the one who had pressed you for the information in the first place. 

You looked down at your phone screen. 6:53. He still had seven minutes to make it. 

You exhaled a deep breath and shook your hands out, trying to calm your nerves. 

“Want to pray?” came Isaac’s deep voice to your right. You looked over to find him standing quite close to you. His usual v-neck and beanie had been swapped out for a white button-down and black tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was tied neatly in a bun atop his head. 

“Sure,” you breathed, figuring you could use some prayer. 

He grasped your hands in his. His were warm. Steady. They helped to soothe your nerves. 

“God,” he began, “please watch over us and guide us as we work to spread the good news of Jesus’s birth. Let us not falter. Allow our voices to ring true and fall on ears willing to hear. In your name. Amen.” 

“Amen,” you repeated, working hard not to roll your eyes. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the prayer. It was just that Isaac talked as if he were living a hundred years ago, trying his best to sound profound, and you weren’t entirely convinced it was solely for God’s listening pleasure. He was a performer, after all. 

He squeezed your hands, smiling. “Almost time. Are you nervous?” he asked. 

“A little bit,” you said, noticing the discomfort in your gut. 

“Don’t be. You’ve got this. It’s just the one solo and then you’re in the choir for the rest of it.” His thumbs rubbed over the backs of your hands, and you were about to pull your hands away from him, but it actually was quite soothing. He seemed like he genuinely cared about you. And he smelled nice. Some sort of expensive-smelling cologne that was the complete opposite of whatever spiced oil Noah wore, but in a really good, clean way. 

“You look great, by the way,” he added, taking a step back and giving you a once-over. “I like the dress.” 

The dress in question was a high-necked A-line in a bright shade of red to match the holiday theme (Christmas theme, your father would correct you, because apparently no other holidays existed to him). 

You wore a dark green cardigan overtop, along with a gold necklace and black heels. Your lips were painted to match the dress. It was the most dressed-up you’d been since last Christmas. When you chose the outfit, you were still under the impression that a certain tattooed someone would see it. 

“Thanks,” you said. 

You could tell by the way Isaac lingered that he wanted to continue the conversation, but you didn’t feel much like talking. Needing an exit, you excused yourself to go get a drink of water. 

Weaving through other soloists and members of the church choir, you made your way down one of the two hallways that flanked either side of the main sanctuary. You rounded the corner, where one of the members of your church’s worship band—Darian—was passing out programs for the event. 

“Hey! You ready for your solo?” he asked when he saw you. 

You smiled, breathing out a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” you said, scanning the stragglers still arriving for any sign of Noah. 

“I’d be nervous if I was on first,” he said. You took your eyes off the latecomers and looked to find him smiling encouragingly at you. 

“Yeah,” you said, shifting your weight awkwardly. “Isaac insisted for some reason that I open.” 

Your stomach sank even more. You couldn’t see Noah anywhere. 

“He mentioned it was because your song would set the tone for the evening,” said Darian, but you were only half-listening. “Do you want one of these?” 

You looked back at him. “What?”

He held out a program for you to take. “In case you wanted to keep it. For posterity, or scrapbooking or whatever.” 

“Yeah, sure,” you said, grabbing it without really thinking. 

Your emotional bandwidth had been all but used up, chest tight and head foggy. You felt bad that you weren’t really engaging in conversation, or even paying attention to it for that matter, but hoped Darian would forgive you. 

Sensing that you weren’t in the headspace to talk, Darian wished you luck and went back to handing out programs. You thanked him and continued walking across the foyer and down the opposite hallway with no real destination in mind. You were to go on in less than a minute. 

You shook your head, trying to get out of it and into your body. You needed to connect with your voice in order to perform, but you couldn’t seem to steady your breathing. 

The sanctuary was laid out in a rectangle, with the foyer lining the back, hallways with classrooms running the length of either side, and then a room behind the main stage, so from where you stood at the end of the hall, you could see through the windows of the doors to the stage that the lights had dimmed. 

Isaac walked out to the center of the stage from the hallway opposite you. A spotlight appeared on him, and with an abundance of charismatic charm, he thanked the audience that had gathered, before leading them in yet another prayer to bless the evening’s performance and to let God’s will be done. 

Throughout the entirety of his introduction, you’d zoned in and out. Your nerves ate at you, consuming your focus and leaving you feeling detached from your surroundings. 

You’d performed this song a dozen times at least, and in front of much of the same audience, too. You performed every week in front of the congregation on Sundays. Perhaps you’d struggled with stage fright at one point in your life, a decade ago when you were still fairly new to performing, but these days you were at-home in front of a microphone. 

And yet. 

Your knees shook. A cold sweat had broken out on the back of your neck, and your stomach clenched and released several times in quick succession. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please enjoy O Holy Night, performed by my dear personal friend, and co-leader of our praise and worship team,” Isaac began. 

You heard your name being called, snapping you out of the haze. 

The audience applauded. Isaac gestured to the doorway opposite you, where he assumed you would be entering from. 

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and walked to the center of the stage. Isaac turned when he heard the doors open, looking caught off-guard for a moment, but he recovered quickly, gesturing to you and clapping to signal to the audience that they should keep their applause going. 

He slowly backed away and gave you a double thumbs-up before exiting the stage. 

Recognizing you were still holding the program Darian had handed you, you clasped your hands behind your back and stepped up to the microphone. 

The soft piano intro played out over the loud speakers. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. 

O holy night,  

The stars are brightly shining,  

It is the night of our dear savior’s birth.  

The first note came out shaky. You’d pushed too hard with your diaphragm, allowing more air than was needed to pass through your vocal folds. You closed your eyes and focused on breath control, feeling the spotlight heat your skin. 

Long lay the world 

In sin and error pining  

‘till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.  

Back in the late 1843, a church in the south of France had its organ renovated. After the renovations were complete, the church reached out to a French poet by the name of Placide Cappeau, asking him to write a poem that could be used as a hymn. In response, Cappeau penned the first iteration of O Holy Night.  

Placide Cappeau was a known atheist.  

A thrill of hope. The weary world rejoices  

When the Catholic Church got wind of an atheist creating a Christmas carol, they did their best to bury the song. They claimed it lacked musical flavor. At the time, the idea of all men and women owning souls was highly radical. 

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.  

O Holy Night has since become one of the most popular Christmas carols known to western society, thanks in part to John Sullivan Dwight translating it to English in 1855. 

You knew this, because you’d written a history of the carol for an end-of-semester project back when you went to high school at Calvary Baptist. 

Fall on your knees. O hear the angel voices,  

At the time, you’d wondered how an atheist—someone who, in your mind, stood against everything you stood for, could write such a beautiful song that touched the hearts of you and so many others. 

O night, divine. O night, when Christ was born.  

How could someone with no connection to God write something that so clearly captures the essence of the Holy Spirit?

You chanced a look out at the crowd, once more searching for the familiar face you so wanted to see. The atheist who understood more about Christ’s love than so many in the church ever would, and found no sign of him. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the high note that signaled the climax of the song. 

O night, O holy night. 

Your voice rang out, loud and with a pleasing vibrato you’d finally learned to control three years ago. You paused for effect. The music cut out, and you sang the last line. 

O night divine!  

It was over. You’d done it. The piano melody came back in for the closing notes, and you curtseyed elegantly as the crowd applauded. 

You exited through the same doors you entered, heading straight for the restroom so you could take a moment to yourself before you had to be back on stage in the choir for O Come All Ye Faithful.  

Placing your program on the sink counter, you ran your hands under cool water, intending to splash some on your face when a small blurb on the bottom of the pamphlet caught your eye. 

Collection plates will be passed around. Please help us save countless unborn lives by making a donation. 

Unborn lives. 

Isaac was donating the proceeds to a pro-life organization. 

You’d been unknowingly roped in to an anti-choice fundraiser. 

A wave of anger erupted from deep within you, washing over your entire body and pulsating through it. 

You snatched the program from the counter, storming out the bathroom, across the foyer, and to the adjacent hallway Isaac stood at the end of. 

“What the Hell, Isaac!?” you near-shouted, bounding toward him. 

Isaac’s eyes widened upon your approach. He took several steps back, running into two of the other choir members, but it wasn’t enough. You slammed the program into his sternum. 

“Whoa!” he said, grasping the program you’d thrust at him with one hand and holding the other out to keep you from coming any closer. “Where’s the fire?” 

“What is this?!” you said, stabbing the program on his chest with your finger where the blurb appeared. 

He looked at you bewildered, then down to where your index finger pushed into his chest, and then back to you like you were a mad woman. “We said we wanted to give the proceeds to charity.” 

“Yeah,” you said, ripping the program out of his hand and throwing it down at his feet. “Like a soup kitchen or a toy drive. Not to Life Alliance!” 

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together in blatant confusion. “What’s better than saving innocent lives?” he said. 

“Oh my God,” you scoffed, not caring whether or not it counted as taking the Lord’s name in vain. 

 Suddenly all the air in the room felt like it had been vacuumed out and you found yourself struggling to breathe. 

Taking a step backwards, it dawned on you that this was your limit. The church had compressed you your entire life, and you’d finally reached your breaking point. “I can’t participate in this.” You said it not to Isaac, but to yourself. “I have to go.” 

“Hey! Hold on,” Isaac said. “You can’t leave. You’re our first soprano. We need you for the high G.” 

You shook your head, turning on your heel. You wouldn’t have been able to hit that note even if you wanted to with how your throat was constricting. 

“We can talk about this. Maybe we can do more than one charity,” he said, but you were already halfway down the hall, tears threatening to spill over. 

The heels you wore made it hard to run down the icy sidewalk, but run you did. Down the sidewalk, down the street. You didn’t stop running until you’d put several blocks between you and the church. 

You’d once thought of it as a sacred place—a home away from home. 

Now, the only time you felt at home in it was on Saturday mornings, sharing the space with two delinquents who didn’t even believe in God. 

Nowhere felt sacred anymore. 

Nowhere except the shed in the backyard of Jolly’s house. But you were cut off from that now, too. 

Where did you belong now?  __________ How are we all feeling after that? Also, if anyone has any artistic skills and would like to help me make a moldboard or a banner or something for this story, I would be forever grateful!

Taglist: @dem11, @starcrossedwasteland @alm0std3add @reyadawn @karenfranco, @glam-cherry-bomb @simpingforniragi, @koalakoala8, @themorticians-world, @sleepytoken99, @xmagdalenaxbrenaxorestes, @dark-mist666, @fuck-me-muke, @xmads-omensx, @just-randomm-stuff @spookychaosstranger, @gravitysembrace, @somebodyels3, @sundamariis, @noahsebastions, @cyber-tiny @livingdeceasedgirl @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls @rain-down-on-me @ilovemewwwww75 @poisongirl616 Click here to join the taglist!

[canarycolemine]

The Cardinale

Pairing: Cardinal Terzo x Female Reader

Summary: Cardinal Terzo is one arragont motherfucker.

AO3 Link

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only. hate sex. lots of it. cardinal is a little cheeky piece of shit. WC 4.4k.

Heavily inspired by @mardyart's depiction of Cardi T. Such a phenomenal artist!

Cocky, arrogant, headstrong.

The third Emeritus brother, destined to become Papa one day, nepotism to the highest degree. His suave, angular face and his overly confident charms - how he assumes every Sister will fall into his bed.

How I despise him. How I hope to never fall under his gaze, never be subjected to his attention.

Imagine my rage when Sister Superior informed me that I, her star pupil, will be responsible for tutoring the bastard in English.

He was “reassigned” to the country-side Abbey after displaying what I can only imagine was simply inappropriate behavior for an upper clergy member. The man believes that he can seduce and bed any living thing! Perhaps it’s not a matter of belief, but a goal, rather. At his current pace, he will have had most of the Sisters in his bed before the year is up!

Watching him saunter through the halls, smoking his little cigarettes - inside! I always made a concerted effort to cough as I walked past, head held high. He would simply perish, it seems, if he did not attempt to woo a woman a day. Kissing their hands, wearing his stupid white gloves, and winking that shining white eye.

I love my Sisters, but please, have some self-respect.

Quite frankly, I’ve always been appalled by his behavior. He has never led an entire black mass by himself, needing his brothers to finish the job. There was even one instance where I could have sworn he had a sister hidden under the pulpit from where he stood, evidently having communion. No, Cardinal Terzo only ever wanted to lead the rituals - the demon and ghoul summonings (he needs new things to fuck), the mystic elements (anything he can light on fire), and of course, orgies. (duh!).

It was early fall when Sister Superior invited me to her office. I was promised tea; secretly, I had hoped she would invite me to teach a seminar or two over the semester. My lecture series on the invocation of Lilith and Samuel could rival even the Dark One’s knowledge, himself!

But, no.

“The Cardinal is in desperate need of more restraint, and he could benefit from a more rigorous understanding of the English language. He prefers to speak in his mother tongue, and truthfully, it is not accommodating to international chapters.” Superior started, my ears perked at the mention of my personal enemy. I brought the steaming cup to my mouth. “I could think of none other to teach him all of these skills rather than you, Sister.”

I could hardly register the hind notes of the tea before it went straight through my nose, burning the whole way up! I coughed and sputtered the hot liquid at the shock of my assignment.

Still catching my breath, “My apologies, Sister, but… why me?”

“Give yourself credit, Sister. You are a star pupil!” A shine in her eyes, a smirk in her mouth let me know two things - she meant what she said and there was another reason, too.

My eyes narrowed, seeking the answers in her eyes.

“And you’re the only student that the Cardinal has not gotten to know… intimately.” Her lips pursed, looking towards the ground.

“Sister Superior…” I started, not above begging.

“Sister, I will make it worth your while. I will make sure you have your lecture series as a mandatory presentation for all first-year novicates.” A smile crossed my face, but dropped; still, the deal was unsatisfactory.

I sat up a little straighter, now making a dare. “And, no kitchen duty for the entirety of his lessons.” I hated the kitchens. Everything I’ve ever made was burnt to a crispr, so I’ve always been delegated to cleaning the dishes - the worst thing in the world.

She nodded, “That can be arranged.”

I smiled, relaxing a little, but how it only lasted so long. Resigned to my fate, I was excused to prepare for my lesson with the Cardinal this Tuesday.

A pause from my duties was provided in anticipation - he needed to be assessed for his English skills - grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation. From my understanding, he had a functional grasp on the language. But I did not really know.

Truth be told, I have never spoken even a word to the Cardinal - always avoiding him, always souring my face when his eyes gazed at me. I wanted to be wholly unappealing to the man. For the most part, he had taken the hint and left me alone. Although, I could have sworn he said something in Italian as I walked past, something like “how I want to be the stick up her…” I didn’t inquire further.

By Lucifer’s grace, I had successfully avoided him. Until the sunset on the second day of the week, when our paths collide.

I arrived at our designated location - one of the older classrooms, repurposed for private studying, long abandoned by the day. Thirty minutes early to the beginning of the lesson, how I tidied our space, laid the materials out and cleaned the chalkboard.

The hanging wall clock, the ever present heartbeat, kept steady. It was almost unnerving, as if keeping me in tempo with the eventual encounter with the asshole. The old bell tower clock rang out 6 times.

And the aforementioned asshole was not here. The door was unlocked, the sun firmly setting. My lips tightened to a pout. I will give him five minutes - no more.

Electing to sit in one of the old desks I rearranged, I pulled out a trusty book, as I had anticipated his tardiness.

Some twenty odd pages in, and I had lost track of time entirely - forgotten the reason I was in this dusty room. The bastard didn’t even show up, easily thirty minutes late! Quite frankly, it was embarrassing that I managed to stay this long. But now, I elected to start the process of cleaning my things.

In the morning, I planned to tell Sister Superior that I will simply not take the Cardinal as a student, he had no respect for my time. Future Papa or not, not enough breaths on this Earth could be spared for a man with little regard for others.

I managed to talk myself through this script as I cleaned up my belongings, nearly whispering her retorts back. But I would not be deterred! Lost in the monologue, I heard a hoard of boys giggling, getting closer to the door.

No, no. It could not be.

The door opened, the raven haired cardinal stumbled in - his pack of brothers falling behind him. Laughing at some lewd joke, no doubt. He turned to look at me, suddenly stiffening his posture. The smug smile falling from his face. He offered some excuse to the men behind him, closing the door to the two of us. He leaned against the old door frame, creaking under his weight. As if that would make him look cooler. The black cassock he preferred was immaculately ironed - surely not by his own hands. Maybe he was screwing the laundry girls.

I tried hard to keep my gaze away from him. My rage and my pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Scusa sorella, I, eh, lost the time.” He offered with a shrug of his shoulders. His voice was rich with his mother tongue.

“Well, Cardinal, I won’t keep you long, then. Our lesson is canceled.” I coldly retorted.

“Che cosa?”

“Canceled, cardinal.” I spat back, lifting my book and walking towards him. “You were late.”

“But I am here now, no?” That white eye twinkled - a charm that assuredly got him into many sisters’ beds.

“And I have been here, Cardinal. For thirty minutes past our scheduled time. Either your watch is broken or you have so little regard for others that time is no object to you?” I said, every syllable articulated, glaring at him.

His eyebrow quirked, a challenge, he supposed. A grin crossed his face, a chuckle that died in his throat.

“It really is you, eh sister?”

“What?” I shot back, whatever could he mean by that?

“You - you,” he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one to his lips, lighting it, and puffing the smoke away from us, “I thought my school would be with you. You are the sister that always walks with a stick up her ass.”

I made a pointed effort to cough at his smoke.

“Some of us have priorities besides fucking an entire congregation, Cardinal.”

“Am I really so evil, Sorella?” he feigned offense, the cigarette affecting his enunciation. Removing from his lips, another puff. “To celebrate our eh, how do you say, istinti?”

“Instincts.” I corrected.

“Ah, si, instincts. That is why we are here, no? Our Lord calls us to do just that.”

“You’ve got quite the head start on the sin of lust, Cardinal, I don’t think you could ever live long enough to dedicate your life to such… dedicated studies of the other sins.”

“It is my favorite.” His white gloves took the cigarette from his mouth, curling it between his fingers, before dropping it to the ground to extinguish the flame. His shoes shined brilliantly, even I could admit, but as I gazed at his shoes, I swore he winked at me through the reflection of his face.

“You really shouldn’t smoke, you know.”

“It is not good for me, this I know.” “I couldn’t care about what happens to you, the flame isn’t good for these old buildings. You’d burn down the whole abbey.”

“You say you don’t care about me sister.” He moved past me, further into the room, settling in one of the old teachers' desks. He kicked those expensive shoes onto the desk, relaxing back into the chair. “But I do not think that is so true.”

I faced him fully, still standing near the door. “I promise you, I do not.”

“Hm,” he chuckled, bringing his gloved hand to his mouth, running the fabric gently against his lower, unpainted lip. “No.” He said so sternly.

“What?”

“What?” he mocked me, a voice that was far too high pitched to be an imitation of me.

I let out an exasperated sigh, to which he laughed.

“Fuck you.” I went for my bag, still at the old desk.

“Do you want to know how I know this?” He said, staring at my rage.

“I doubt you ever shut up, so it doesn’t really matter what I want.”

“Sorella,” he sat up in the chair, his feet meeting the ground and his hands coming together on the desk. “We have not spoken any words to each other. But you hate me so much?”

I huffed. “You have no respect for anyone but yourself!” I could feel an all too familiar lump in my throat.

“How do you know this?” His patience now wearing thin, I could hear it.

“You walk around the abbey like you own the place. I get it, I know you’re the future Papa, but God damn it, you are so arrogant. You’ve never had to work for anything in your life! You think you can just fuck anyone and anything that walks through these doors. You’ve had everything handed to you by a silver spoon, and I hate it.”

My eyes watered, I couldn’t look at him. Whether from my rage or some secret hopes I had, I could feel the emotion.

“I’ve worked so fucking hard to get where I am, and I will never be anything close to you, just because you’re, fucking, you! And now, I have to waste my time teaching you English because you can’t stay focused for more than five seconds!”

My fist met the school table. His face leaned into his hands, thinking too carefully about the situation. His eyebrow quirked.

“... You are jealous of me, then?” He hid a smirk behind his hands.

I glared at him, how I wish my stare could kill.

“Fuck. You.”

“That does not sound like a no.” No effort in hiding his smirk now.

“Since when does ‘no’ matter to you?” I baited.

He feigned offense, yet again, bringing his hand to his chest. “Sorella, I am offended! I can promise you all of my sexual encounters have been enthusiastic by all parties. I would not dare to violate another!”

“What a well constructed sentence, Cardinal. It seems like you have no need for any help with the English language.”

“Ah, she has gotten me off of the topic…”

“All I had to do was talk about sex, so it wasn’t too hard, was it now?”

“No, no, no, we were talking about you, si! About how you are so jealous of me.” He ran that stupid fucking gloved hand through his hair, slicked with grease.

“Even now, you cannot say you are not jealous of me. Admit it.”

I paused. “So what?”

He clapped his hands, catching me apparently.

“She is! She is very jealous of my status and my future. But, I think she is jealous of not only me, no?” His tone shifted, in a direction I was not comfortable with.

“What?”

“She is also very jealous of all of the people that I get to fuck.” He punctuated the syllables far too clearly.

I huffed again, rolling my eyes. “There it is again. She does not say ‘no!’”

I hated how well he was reading me.

“Why do you even care? You fuck everything with a pulse, so why do you care?”

Fuck. I was not selling this very well. His gaze told me everything. The raised eyebrow, the smug pull of his painted lips.

He tilted his head, as if to study me further. I could feel myself recoil.

“You have done too much assuming, Sorella. About me, about yourself.”

He stood from the chair and stalked towards me. Instinctively, I crept back from him, nearing the wall for safety.

“You think I do not care about anyone but me, and that is not true. You think I abuse my future position, but that is not true either. And you think I fuck anything with a pulse.” He reached me, cornering me against the wall.

“And that,” he brought his finger to my chin, forcing my eyes to his, “is not true. I only fuck the pretty ones.”

Here is where I could be offended, he never fucked me. I thought that I was fairly pretty, so damn, that kinda hurt my feelings.

Sensing the monologue, “And you are a pretty one.” His painted lips gently touched mine.

God damn it. I hated how good that felt.

“So you see, sister, I knew you thought all of this.” His other hand reached for my waist, exploring the dip of my body. “I saw the way you scowled at me, pretending to hate me. It was all jealousy. But there is something about the way you hated me that pulled me so, so close. I needed to have you.”

“But how to get to you?” His hands reached for mine, holding them in place, behind my back.

“Who better to teach me restraint?” he purred.

“I act like an asshole for a while, speak in Italian with my friends. I get the attention of the Sister Superior, who will certainly demand I be subdued by studies.” His painted lips traveled a path along my jaw to my ear. “And who here have I not fucked?”

His teeth grazed my earlobe. “I could deceive the world for you.”

I bit my lip. His gaze returned to mine.

“Pretty good, no?”

“Pretending you’re stupid was a very believable act, apparently.” I mustered out, flustered as I was.

“Don’t deceive me now, Sorella.” His lips met mine again, pressing his forehead to mine. “There is one thing I need to hear you say.” His words left his mouth easily, but he was not unaffected. Just as flustered as I.

I huffed, pausing for only a moment.

“Si.”

His lips crashed to mine, with a fire that was barely restrained before. He released my hands from behind my back; his hands traveled to my hips, lifting me. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

We traveled through the room, locked in the heated kiss, when he sat me on the teacher’s desk.

“On the teacher’s desk?” I giggled, taking in the chosen location.

“It’s always been a fantasy.” He laughed back, then resumed his fury on my neck.

His large hands reached for my habit, pulling it off in a fell swoop. Evident of his experience, it hardly hurt. He pulled away from me, just gazing at me for a moment.

“Pretty one.” As if he didn’t know he said it.

Fuck.

I lead the charge back to his mouth, my hands now locking into his raven locks. The diligent work of unbuttoning that goddamn stupid black cassock. I gave it my best shot. My hands kept slipping on the buttons, struggling to unhook them. He chuckled from our kiss, removing my hands from him.

“Having trouble, darling? It’s always difficult.” His gloved hands made the show unbuttoning each cotton button - traveling down in body in quite the show.

Once to the bottom, he stepped out of the garment and removed his crisp white undershirt. I was out of my body, unaware of how I looked as I looked at him. Each new sight of his skin lit a fire in me. He was as slender as I thought he would be, well defined, certainly. A healthy patch of hair on his chest - he was certainly Italian.

A glance to his eyes knew how I enjoyed his spectacle.

Cocky, arrogant, and headstrong was the Cardinale.

“Your turn.”

He came back to my neck, teasing the delicate flesh. The first moan slipped from my lips as he sucked the skin purple.

“Good girl.” He purred. He lifted my habit from my legs, over my head, leaving me in my undergarments. Pausing his efforts to take in my form. A glance in his eyes - like my body was a feast for his soul. Another look at my undergarments, “Matching?” in reference to the black bra and panties I was sporting.

Guilty.

He leaned closer to me, resting an arm on the table. Teasingly, looking into me.

“Women match when they are planning to be fucked.” My eyes turned from his, embarrassing me again. His other hand came to my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Was there someone else, Sorella?”

I opened my mouth, but the words failed me.

“No.” He answered for me, feigning sympathy. “There wasn’t, was there?”

My mouth hung open, but I couldn’t admit it.

“Say it, then.”

Bastard.

“Say it, pretty one, I do not have all night.” His voice nearly sang.

The fire his was stroking in me burned, “I need you to fuck me.” I whined, my eyes nearly starting to water.

His hand, holding my gaze, went to my shoulder, forcing me to lay on the old, creaking desk. Quickly, he made work removing my bra. Adoringly, he stared at the exposed skin.

Wordlessly, he painted my breasts with his lips. As his lips latched around my nipple, I whimpered, already so sensitive. His other hand toyed with the opposite breast, kneading the flesh. As his teeth grazed the delicate flesh, he nearly pinched the opposite.

Another gasp escaped.

“She likes it when it hurts?”

Obviously. I fucking hated him so much.

He mirrored his actions on the opposite breasts before trailing his kisses further down my torso. Nipping at the skin, kissing it, dragging his tongue.

He left a particularly gentle kiss below my navel, as he gazed back at me. Wordlessly asking.

I nodded.

He hooked his hands to the elastic of the lacy panties, dragging them off of my legs in a well-practiced motion.

“Spread your legs.” I obliged, as he pulled the teacher’s chair to sit in between my legs.

His gaze never left my core, which he could see how he affected me. He lifted my legs onto his shoulders, granting a better view. Biting the fingers of his gloves, removing them. Gently working the muscle of my inner thighs, unconsciously creeping higher.

Reaching my core, his uncovered hands spread me open further to him. He gazed reverently.

“Pretty, pretty girl.” He stroked my slit delicately, I shivered and whined at the feeling. “Such a pretty girl.”

He brought his face close, kissing my mound and licking the slit all the way up. He left gentle kisses onto my already sensitive clit, dying for attention. He latched his lips around the bud, suckling softly.

As his tongue flicked my clit, I bucked my hips into his mouth, firming my grip in his hair.

He unlatched to drag his tongue, flattened, up and down my core. His tongue prodded at my entrance, lapping at my slick. His fingers moved towards my center, replacing his mouth, pressing into me.

One finger - pumping slowly into me - adjusting the feeling. Adding another one, stretching slightly. His eyes studied my face for discomfort. Once I adjusted, his divine mouth returned to my clit, alternating between kissing and suckling. His fingers curled into me, searching. When they found the spongy tissue inside, the moans fell easily. Begging him. He teased the spot, expertly. Pressing into it with each pump, as he sucked on my clit.

“Cardinal-” I started. “I’m getting - close” I managed to get out.

I could feel a smile on his lips as he continued, speeding his actions.

The band in my stomach was burning, stretching, white hot. At the precipice, as my cries started to build.

When suddenly he stopped. Sitting back, removing his mouth and fingers from me.

I shuddered at the loss of sensation, being so close. I sat up slightly to look at him.

The fucker was wiping my slick from his chin, licking his fingers clean.

Apparently, my face told him how close I was, how it was moments away.

“I wanted to feel it on my cock, darling.” His eyebrow raised. “Plus, it feels better when you ruin it a little bit.”

A fight was breaking in my head, an internal debate I was having with him.

His belt jingled, his pants being slid down and discarded. Left in pristine white boxers, which he lowered. His cock sprang free, dripping with his precum.

“I could have came just from tasting you, you know?” as he began languidly stroking himself, using himself to lubricate the movements. “All of your little sounds, they sounded so sweet. And you were oh so close, weren’t you?”

His teasing was back, his hand sped up, only to build himself up more. I whined.

“Just think. Even an hour ago, you were cursing my name, wanting me dead. Look at you now - begging for my cock.”

He pressed his cock into my core, rubbing the reddened head onto my clit. A guttural noise fell from me. An animalistic cry.

“She was so jealous of me, too. And now all she wants to be is fucked by me. Maybe she’ll die if she doesn’t get it, what do you think?”

“Please, Terzo.” “Oh, using my name now? What happened to ‘asshole?’” His voice cracked, unaffected by his own need.

“Please fuck me.” I cried out, a tear falling from my eye.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Tumbling out.

On command, he aligned himself and pressed into my dripping heat. Feeling every inch of my warmth, he shuddered and groaned.

“So, so good” he whispered.

He filled me exquisitely, pressing in carefully, allowing me to adjust. My nails marked his back, savoring every inch.

His hips finally met mine, I swore I could feel him in my stomach. He let out a breath, unsteadied from restraint.

“Don’t have that restraint now, Cardinal.” I teased. “Move.”

A low groan from him, as his hips rolled, moving back. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I don't.”

“Try your worst.”

He slammed forward again, now setting a punishing pace. Feeling the drag of his cock on my walls, I whined. His hands tilted my hips further up, angling to my sweet spot. I gasped at the pressure. It was returning - the precipice. He couldn’t rob me a second time.

“Perhaps, sorella, it is you who needs a lesson, eh?” He nearly coughed through, maintaining his pace. “I could teach you something.”

His hand moved towards we were joined, circling my clit. It was becoming too much - the sweet pressure of him inside and now his devious fingers.

His fingers moved quickly on my clit, building the fire again. My moans telling him it all. As if in perfect rhythm, his pistoning hips and circling fingers.

“Let’s countdown, darling. In Italian.”

His other hand came to my chin, forcing my gaze. He nodded, as if to reassert his power. “It goes…dieci, nove…”

The fire was reaching a breaking point, I knew what he was doing now. His fingers still moved with a steady speed.

“Otto, sette, sei…”

“...Terzo…” I whined.

“Cinque, quattro, tre…”

“I’m gonna…”

“Due, uno.”

The waves of pleasure crashed down on me, my legs shaking. My vision blurry, white hot. His hips stuttered, as I felt him swell inside, riding out my pleasure. Milking him for all he had. The course of our cries rang in the old room. His fingers didn’t stop until I whined with oversensitivity, his spend leaking from me.

He stayed inside, pressing his full weight onto me.

We held each other in an embrace, coming down from divinity. Our breaths in sync, slowing down.

My breath nearly returned to me as I came to, laughing with what air I had.

“What’s so funny?” His smirk shined with a warmth I had not seen before.

“A countdown to my orgasm. Cheeky.”

He laughed. “It worked, eh?”

“Don’t be too full of yourself.”

“I cannot, you are full of me.”

“Ew! Don’t say it like that, dumbass.”

“There is the girl that hates me. I missed her.” He gazed at me, smiling more softly now, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. Holding my face in his hand, so gently. He placed the last soft his to my lips.

“And I’ll never stop hating you, Cardinal.”

“So be it, but it has worked out well for me so far, huh?”

Bastard.

[onskepa]

Syawn ch 2

request:

Halo Hello Halo! I hope you are having a mighty fine day/night!

I hope this is alright but could I request a neteyam x avatar,na'vi! Reader?

Basically the reader is pregnant with what's supposed to be their first born. However, fate would have it that y/n would give birth to triplets! A never before heard of phenomena, due to na'vi usually having children one at a time and even then twins were a very rare event to occur!

I dunno I just like the idea of reader giving birth to triplets much to the sully family's surprise. Plus I couldn't help but think of how funny it would be for neteyam to be pacing outside the door for hours and the almost faint when finds out he doesn't just have one or two babies, but three!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is part two of Syawn request. Go check that out before reading this one! Now that aside! here is the awaited chapter two! enjoy!

Syawn series

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

This communion with Eywa will be one for the books. Or in this case, a mark in na'vi history. Word spread of Eywa's miracle. Three na'vi children born at once! and from a dream walker no less!

All na'vi clans near and far wanted go and see for themselves. Because many refuse to believe such words, thinking its merely lies. But curiosity got the best of them.

When a day was set for the triplets communion with Eywa, many clans were set to witness it for themselves.

When such news got back to the Omatikaya clan, the world "overwhelmed" doesn't even begin to cover what everyone is feeling. While it is a huge honor for the clan to receive such guests, there is so little time to prepare who knows how many!

While jake and neytiri who are respectfully the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik of their clan, it was neteyam and syawn that were overwhelmed to the max.

So many people are coming to see their children bond with Eywa. The fear of seeing so many people just because of a impossibility happened.

Neyetam and syawn worry for their little ones as many people can scar them. Only having them for a few days and already both parents are being over protective and only want to keep their children safe.

"is this right...?" syawn asks neteyam as they gently rock the children's large basinet with them sleeping. "Let so many come see them...?" syawn says with clear worry in her eyes. Afraid that maybe what is happening isnt right.

"This is the first time many clans have come to see another's communion. It is a high honor....but I understand you yawne..." neteyam looks down at his sweet children. So small and already the three were making a impact on the world.

"to have them be shown like some spectacle, I fear the clans would see them as something else. Tell me nete, am I in the wrong? is this just my mother instincts seeing danger everywhere?" syawn goes on.

Neteyam brings her to his chest, her arms over his neck and his around her hips. The need to be closer to each other as means for comfort never dimmed with time.

"I can speak with my parents...I know they will understand and take our side" neteyam suggests. He felt his mate nod, her breathing slow as she relaxes in his embrace.

However as much as jake and neytiri understands their concerns, it was too late. By the next day, three clans arrived.

The Tipani clan, Anurai clan, and the Twakami clan.

And they all brought gifts for the children and the parents. Neteyam and syawn were grateful, but their worries never waivered despite the kind generosity the clans showed.

As the day goes by more clans appeared, even their closest ally, the Metkayina clan. Ao'nung and his beloved tsahik, Unyor came as well as bearing gifts from their island.

Tonowari and ronal, aged well but still in their prime, congratulate the couple and surprisingly, they along with the other metkayina members were allowed to the see the triplets first before everyone else.

Syawn understands the deep trust the sully family has with the metkayina clan, so she puts her trust in them too.

Ronal, Tonowari and their youngest, Ti'ong were given the privilege to carry one of the triplets in their arms. Ronal was happy, even though she isn't Tsahik anymore, she still blessing them like one. Giving each one a prayer and to hope for them a bright future.

As a warrior, Tonowari senses great strength in each of the little ones, sensing their hearts beating mighty and strong. Why, the one he holds already has a strong grip on his finger. That says a lot about them.

Ti'nong was looking at them with love and adoration in the young one's eyes. So small and so cute! Already seeing themselves as like a older distant cousin. But a fun cousin no less!

Ao'nung and Unyor were next to carry the two. Ronal held the other triplet a bit longer. Reminding herself of when her children were young.

"May Eywa bless you three with thriving joy and great bliss. Enjoy the gift she has given you and brace it to the fullest" Unyor says as she blessed the children. Syawn smiles, feeling pride and joy that her children were giving such blessings.

"I still don't understand how it is possible" ao'nung says, still confused of seeing triplets for the first time in his life.

"believe me brother, we don't either" neteyam replies.

"It is Eywa's will. She saw syawn worthy and blessed her with a great gift. That all is to it" ronal quickly tells. As Tsahik, one of the main things to do is try to understand and interpret what Eywa's will is and repeat it to the people.

The time came, where neteyam and Syawn's children would have their communion with Eywa. Thousands of na'vi from many tribes came to witness it. To see for their eyes of three of a kind na'vi.

Neytiri took charge, smiling happily as she recites the words, as neteyam, syawn, and kiri were each holding one of the triplets.

Neytiri took her time on each child, gently holding their queue and connecting them to one of the hanging vines, feeling joy as she is reminded of her children's communion.

She makes eye contact with neteyem. Love and pride seep from her golden eyes, smiling proudly at her eldest son.

"I am so proud of you ma'itan" she says lowly. Neteyam smiles, "thank you sa'nok". She goes to syawn and they make eyes contact with the same love and pride.

"May Eywa bless you ma'ite, to live long enough to see your children thrive. Protect and love these beautiful children unconditionally" neytiri says. Syawn nods and smiles lovingly, "yes, with all my heart".

It was a beautiful sight. Kiri felt proud to be part of the communion, to see her brother and his mate smile and beam with joy. She knows Eywa feels the same, deep in her heart.

Seeing the three children's golden eyes light up, smiling in daze. She wonder's what the triplets are seeing. Maybe seeing their great grandfather, Eytukan, or someone else. But either way, she is happy to see them happy.

After the communion, the celebration was large and loud. Many still hand neteyam and syawn gifts. There was so many, it began to build a hill. From fruits, medicines, beads, necklaces, bands, bows, arrows, you name it. There was so much, the parents believed they wont worry about shortage. All the Olo'eyktan's and Tsahik's gave their blessings to the triplets. Their eyes now believing the expansion of Eywa's gift.

For what they witnessed will be told throughout time. That the future generations must know about this wonderful night.

By the end of the night, everyone was tired. Syawn and neteyam brought their children back home. Where its warm, safe, and cozy. The children themselves were tired and slept peacefully, the three holding each other and snoozing as one. The three tucked in their big soft bassinet and syawn rocks them gently.

Neteyam adds beads to their children's songchords, singing out their life story, even if its short. Now a new bead to add of their communion. Syawn doing the same, as parents seeing their children connection with their great mother for the first time. She adds three purple colored beads, different shades, one for each child. She sings of her love and joy into her songchord.

Neteyam and syawn hug each other once more, and once again looking down at their children. Love is all they feel for their little ones. As they can only hope and see what will become of their little ones. And Eywa wonders too, to see what her little three souls will do with her gift.

Aaaaaaaaaaand that is it for ch 2! I loved this one and I hope you all do! Until next time! see ya!

taglisht: @quirkyhero , @theunfortunateplace , @moonchildxoxx

Unyor = sweetly aromatic, (a flowery or aromatic woody sort of smell). (may also refer to some spices used in Na’vi cooking)

Ti'nong = blooming, unfolding

[oftenwantedafton]

Confession - Priest Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Word Count - 1.8k

Rating - Explicit

CW - CAUTION - religious themes

Also available on AO3

taglist @charlottecutepie @robin-munson @ahsxual

William Afton thinks this is, perhaps, his best alias yet.

A man of the cloth, as they say, and though he subscribes to no religion, professes no faith himself, the diocese doesn’t need to know that. Just like they don’t need to know his real name, or anything about his past.

So he is now Father Steve Raglan, a pitifully easy role to adopt. He’s had years of practice forging documents and smooth talking his way through sticky situations. This was a piece of cake compared to the challenges he’d faced in the past. Guiding a small congregation in a dusty town still within close reach of his restaurant—he was hardly going to surrender that—naturally suited his needs. The words for his sermons spilled from his fingers easily. Lies interspersed with quoted scripture to placate the devout attendees each Sunday.

He’s lost none of his charisma as he’s aged; has even seemed to gain some, in fact. The old ladies constantly plied him with baked goods and crocheted items. The middle aged crowd donated heartily when the collection plate was passed around. There were endless invites to gatherings around dinner tables. The troubled sought his wisdom behind the slats of the confessional. Depending on his mood he’d add or subtract more than the standard amounts of prayers on the rosary. There were whispers among some of the women—and surely some of the men too, though he wasn’t specifically aware of this—of how handsome he was. He hardly needed his ego inflated any further, but they were only too happy to oblige. So here he was. A man of God who did not believe in a higher power, because he felt he himself was that absolute deity. Answering to no one.

He’d been enjoying his newfound success for a couple of months when a new member of the flock comes into the fold.

The bearded man’s used to letting his eyes wander during the delivery of his sermons, while pacing in front of the altar, or standing before the pulpit preaching the Gospel, never fixing on any particular parishioner or pew or stained glass window, yet he does a double take when he sees you for the first time.

Steve cannot say exactly what it is that draws you to him so suddenly. Something in your eyes, perhaps. Not glassy with boredom like the teenage youth in the fourth row who’s clearly daydreaming; not shining with hope like the mother with the sick daughter in the hospital; not evasive like the man Raglan knows for a fact is having an extramarital affair with the woman in the row in front of him. No, your look was something quite different. You did not just see his physical appearance: the graying dark brown hair and neatly trimmed beard; the crows feet and laugh lines on otherwise smooth skin, belying his actual age; the easy smile which never quite touched his pale steel eyes, set just a touch farther apart than the standard—no, it felt, when your gazes linked, as if you could see directly into him. Past the facade of a holy man. Into his very soul.

He nearly stumbles mid sentence but manages to recover, the years of deception once again rushing to his aid, and no one in his audience seems the wiser.

Except perhaps you.

When it’s time for the gathering to make their way up to the altar to take communion, he’s forced to confront you directly. So many people lowered their eyes in respect, or bowed their heads once receiving the Eucharist. But you do neither of these things. You meet his stare unfalteringly and part your lips and he seats the wafer on your tongue. An inexplicable heat floods through him, the tips of his fingers just lightly brushing that moist carpet at the base of your mouth. Your lips close so rapidly he doesn’t yet have time to move his hand—or perhaps he himself is at fault, lingering too long—and you close your mouth, capturing a taste of manicured nails and calloused pads before he snatches his hand back as if burned. No reaction from you. You turn and make your way back to your seat.

The rest of the mass seems to drag on. At last it is time for the final song. He cringes inwardly. The keyboardist is an aging, half-deaf woman who hits more wrong notes than correct ones, the melody jarring along. He himself has a decent enough singing voice, or so he’s been told. Even with the harsh tune in the background, the voices he leads do a decent job.

At last the hymn is finished and the mass draws to a close. Now Father Raglan assumes his customary position by the entrance of the church, bidding farewell to his visitors, making vague noncommittal promises to attend the many occasions he’s invited to attend. You are the last to leave. The false priest is determined to regain some of his authority, starting here and now.

“We haven’t had a chance to be introduced yet. I’m Father Raglan. Welcome to the congregation.”

You say your name. Steve is forced to raise a hand as a makeshift visor. He should have stood on the opposite side of the walkway. The sun is beating down fiercely and he can barely make out your features.

“Are you new in town? Or just new to our church?”

“Both.”

“And what do you do for work? Or are you in school, perhaps?” It’s difficult to determine your age.

“I’m a seamstress.”

“Ah. Well, that’s a useful skill.” Steve’s stomach is growling. He typically eats a light breakfast before mass, preferring to indulge in a generous meal afterwards.

“You’re hungry,” you observe.

“Heard that, did you?” He grins ruefully.

“Starving.” The smile slips from his features. He does not think you are speaking about nourishment in the traditional sense of food and drink. He has that uncomfortable sensation of being exposed again.

“Right. Well, it was nice to meet you. I’ve got things to attend to. I’ll see you next Sunday.”

He hurries back up the stairs, eager to be away from your intrusive stare. The oak doors slide shut and he’s forced to blink for a few moments, trying to dash away the lingering sun spots. He can feel his heart racing; something he has not experienced in some time.

Who are you?

***

Confession day.

The amount of visitors seeking to serve penance varies. Certainly higher volumes preceding holidays, when they are reminded of their religious obligations. Lately it has been fairly quiet.

Steve does not mind the narrow confines of the confession booth. It reminds him of being sheltered within his favorite animatronic suit. Close and comforting, albeit that residence came with the added danger of the springlocks, which he knew only too well, having fallen victim to them years ago, narrowly escaping with his life.

Here though, there was nothing to die of save sheer boredom, perhaps. He can smell the polish recently applied to the wood. The bench creaks slightly when he shifts positions. He does wish it allowed for a little more room height-wise; his six foot four frame was forced to fold and crouch a little more than he’d like.

He hears footsteps on the flooring outside. A woman’s walk. Lighter tred. The click of the sharp point of a high heel. Clearing his throat, he readies his hand to draw back the wooden clapboard on his side of the booth. The figure enters, the seat on the opposite creaking similarly as his had. He exposes the privacy screen dividing your faces and sucks in his breath sharply. It’s you.

You make the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six weeks since my last confession.” You pause. “I’m not the one who should be asking for forgiveness, though, am I, Father?” You say this honorific with a note of mockery.

“My child, I am afraid I don’t understand your meaning.”

“I am not your child. Not one of those poor unfortunates you’ve tortured.”

Steve’s fingers curl into a fist. “Who are you?” It’s impossible for you to recognize him. To know what he’s done. He has always been so careful. Deceiving the authorities. Concealing his crimes. You couldn’t possibly know.

“That’s not important. The name that should be revealed is your own: William Afton.”

His blood runs cold. The first fear he’s known in a long time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Steve Raglan.”

“Your name isn’t Steve Raglan, nor are you an ordained priest. So stop pretending. We both know better.”

“What do you want?” His mind is racing, trying to figure out the best way to dispose of you. Best to do it now, while the rest of the chapel was still unoccupied. He’s wracking his brain trying to think of what he can use as a weapon. Something from the altar, maybe.

“I want you to acknowledge your sins.”

He scoffs, some of his standard cockiness returning. “That won’t be happening.”

He sees you exit the booth and he drags the velvet curtain back, joining you outside the confessional.

“You should go lock the front doors. Wouldn’t want to be disturbed, would we?”

Afton frowns. He does want to lock the doors. The question is, why do you want them locked?

“I’ll wait here for you.”

Turning his back on you seems a bad idea. But he has no choice. He strides briskly to the entrance to the chapel, withdrawing the ring of keys from his pants pocket and hastily slotting the metal into the lock. When he turns back, he finds you standing exactly where he’d left you.

For a moment, your shadow cast against the white chapel walls changes shape. Arches stretch out from your shoulders, like the crests of an angel’s wings. Gone again so suddenly he’s convinced he imagined it. Just his nerves. He needs to regain control of the situation.

“Name your price. Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. I have numerous resources available to me.” He walks towards you slowly. A wolf cautiously approaching its prey.

“My price?”

“For your silence.” William has no intention of letting you go, of course. He’s merely stalling. Trying to decide what item within reach will dispatch you the fastest and most neatly. He doesn’t relish the thought of cleaning blood off these pristine floors.

“I have no interest in revealing your secrets to anyone. I’m here to hear them from your own lips.”

“Not happening,” he snaps.

“I could taste your sin the other day. Heavy, so strong it drowned out the flavor of Christ’s body.”

The man jerks to a halt when he’s a foot away. “Who are you?”

“What am I is a better question. I can be your salvation and guide you to the path of redemption. Or I can lead you straight to hell. A route I think you’ve danced near on more than one occasion. Make your choice, William.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? That’s who you really are. I know what you really are,” you whisper, closing the final distance separating you from the false priest.

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

Behold, a bracket!

Text form below the cut because trying to copy all the 256 into the alt text sounded.... horrifying. Warning for 128 matchups, seriously, this list is long, and so I've avoided adding the artists until the polls.

a note: the pinned post has started misbehaving, so only open polls will be directly linked. closed polls instead have the results page linked in the set header, all the polls are linked from there

Set 1

The Lament for Icarus (Miao He) vs The Lament for Icarus (Herbert Draper)

The angel came to me in a fever hallucination, perched upon my bed as I returned from the bathroom. vs Sweet Brown Snail

Figures vs A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery

Happy Shoppers vs Hubble Deep Field

Lovers Painting vs Bath Curtain

Dr. Helen Taussig vs Une Martyre

Orangoutang étranglant un sauvage de Bornéo (Orangutan strangling a Borneo savage) vs Can’t Help Myself

Rape vs Technicolor Hiroshima

Set 2

A Walk at Dusk vs Based on “Autoportrait with the Model” by Maria-Rayevska Ivanova

Diary Page vs Les Jours Gigantesques (The Titanic Days)

Dead of Night vs You Won't

Christina's World vs Bobby

Untitled (I’m Turning Into A Specter Before Your Very Eyes And I’m Going To Haunt You) vs Two Sisters (On the Terrace)

Sharecropper vs Lustmord

The Parca and the Angel of Death vs Untitled (Zdzisław Beksiński)

Stress vs The Fallen Angel

Set 3

Device to Root Out Evil vs Travelling Light

Diana vs Fifty Days at Iliam: The Fire that Consumes All before It

The Plains, from Memory vs Exotic Bodies

Doubting Thomas vs Self-Portrait in the Bathroom Mirror

Empty Nest vs Somebody Fell From Aloft

Anguish vs If I Died

Cat in Obsolete Bath vs You're Not Boring Anymore

Salvator Mundi (Savior of the World) vs Untitled (billboard of an empty unmade bed)

Set 4

There Will Be No Miracles Here vs Symphony of the Sixth Blast Furnace

Fox Hunt vs Tarpaulin

Khajuraho Group of Monuments vs Ranakpur Jain Temple

ปราสาทสัจธรรม (The Sanctuary of Truth) vs Grande Panorama de Lisboa

Heroic Head of Pierre de Wissant, One of the Burghers of Calais vs The Weather

The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit vs If this is art

Statue of Vincent and Theo van Gogh vs Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix (Joan of Arc listening to the Voices)

Fountain vs Judith Slaying Holofernes

Set 5

Cueva de las Manos (Cave of Hands) vs Cave of El Castillo

Chauvet Cave Bear vs Uffington White Horse

Laocoön and His Sons vs Winged Victory of Samothrace

Crouching Aphrodite vs Statue of Taweret

Guardian Figure vs Kūya-Shonin (Saint Kuya)

Ancient Greek doll vs Arena #7 (Bears)

Enbu (炎舞) (Dancing in the Flames) vs Yearning Shadows

Belfast to Byzantium vs Freedom

Set 6

The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayan vs Portraits

The Blood Mirror vs Nighthawks

Electric Fan (Feel it Motherfuckers): Only Unclaimed Item from the Stephen Earabino Estate vs "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw vs Forgotten Dreams

Saint Bride vs Pixeles (a group of 9 works)

War Pieta vs The Sunset

The Handmaidens of Sivawara Preparing the Sacred Bull at Tanjore for a Festival vs Ajax and Cassandra

Nāve (Death) vs Abstraction

Set 7

Yes vs Meeting on the Turret Stair

Hacked to Death II vs Stańczyk

Closeness Lines Over Time vs Voice of Fire

The Maple Trees at Mama, the Tekona Shrine and Tsugihashi Bridge vs Portrait of Sir Thomas More

Survival Series: In a Dream You Saw a Way vs Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre

Death blowing bubbles vs The Kitchen Table Series

Painting 1946 vs In the Grip of Winter

Untitled (Black and Gray) vs NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt

Set 8

Blue Plate Special vs Red Cedar

Palace of Fine Arts vs Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba

Le Château des Pyrénées (The Castle of the Pyrenees) vs Susanna and the Elders, Restored - X-Ray

Moby Dick vs Viva la Vida, Watermelons

Venus Envy Chapter One (Of the First Holy Communion Moments Before the End) vs how to look at art

St. Sebastian vs Untitled #12

Carroña vs The invincible one

Untitled (Two Dogs) vs The Dog

SECOND HALF

Set 9

David (Donatello) vs David (Michelangelo)

The Other Side vs The Temptation of St. Jerome

Seated Woman with Bent Knees vs Starry Night

Headdress - Shadae vs Untitled for the Image Flow's Queer Conscience exhibit

Woman with Dead Child (Frau mit totem Kind) vs Les Amants (The Lovers)

Siroče na majčinom grobu (Orphan on Mother's Grave) vs You Make My World a Better Place to Find

Fighting Against SARS Memorial Architectural Scene (弘揚抗疫精神建築景觀) vs Fallingwater

Resting vs The Hull

Set 10

Olive Trees vs Worship

Glow vs Wheatfield with Crows

Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X vs Untitled (He Plays Very Badly)

D.I.Y. by John Wiswell vs The Tragedy

Judith and the Head of Holofernes vs Beethovenfries (Beethoven Frieze)

The Memory of Me (How Could I Forget) vs oh god i had a really big epiphany about love and personhood but i’m too drunk for words

I am happy because everyone loves me vs 瀕危形態 (Endangered Forms)

Three Scaffolders vs Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan

Set 11

San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk vs Water-Lilies, Reflection of a Weeping Willow

The Grief of the Pasha vs Monolith in Vigeland Sculpture Park

Passion vs Space Diner

Hamlet and Ophelia vs Two Earthlings

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth vs Seer Bonnets

Photograph from "SNAP OSAKA" Collection vs Clytemnestra after the Murder

“Untitled” (Perfect Lovers) vs The Lovers (TIE)

Kedai Ubat Jenun vs Orange Store Front

Set 12

The Apotheosis of War vs Portrait of the Dancer Aleksandr Sakharov

Julie Manet vs Mouth

The Icebergs vs Kaleidoscope Cats III

Maman vs Caza Nocturna (Night Hunt)

The Book of Kells Folio 188r: Luke carpet page vs Ardagh Chalice

Yusuf and Zulaikha vs Dome of the Rock mosaics

Rowan Leaves and Hole vs Untitled (prisonhannibal)

Le Désespéré (The Desperate Man) vs The Dedication

Set 13

Deimos vs Dog and Bridge

The Mocking of Christ vs Prudence

The Broken Column vs Siberian Ice Maiden shoulder tattoo

Transi de René de Chalon (Cadaver Tomb of René of Chalon) vs Head of Christ

The Day vs Spirit of Haida Gwaii

Eleanor Boathouse at Park 571 vs Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban জাতীয় সংসদ ভবন (National Parliament House)

Juventud de Baco (Bacchus Youth) vs Barges on the Seine

Oath of the Horattii closeup vs Visit hos Excentrisk Dam (Visit to an eccentric lady)

Set 14

Christ Crucified (With Donor) vs St. Francis

Thunder Raining Poison vs Piazza d'Italia

The Grove vs Among the Waves

Pintura Mural de Alarcón vs Sagrada Família stained-glass windows

Noonday Heat vs La Dame à la licorne (The Lady and The Unicorn)

Matroser i Gröna Lund (Sailors in Gröna Lund) vs Gielda Plakatu

Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks vs The Garden of Earthly Delights

Kuoleman puutarha (The Garden of Death) vs Haavoittunut enkeli (The Wounded Angel)

Set 15

i've wasted a lifetime pretending to be me vs da oracle

minus #37 vs Panel from Fun Home

Excerpt from illustrated edition of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner vs La Mort de Marat (The Death of Marat)

The Veil vs Düsseldorf 4 (Museum Kunst Palast)

Capriccio vs Zodiac calendar for La Plume

The official imperial portrait of empress dowager Cixi vs José y Maria

Blooming Lilacs vs Lágrimas De Sangre (Tears of Blood)

An Interlude vs Boy Staring at an Apparition

Set 16

Mermer Waiskeder: Stories of the Moving Tide vs The Gran Hotel Ciudad de México Art Nouveau interior

Unfinished Painting vs To Arms!

Memorial to a Marriage vs The Island

Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn vs A Few Small Nips

Saturn Devouring His Son vs Guernica

Fairy Princesses vs Lamentation over the Dead Christ

Mummy with An Inserted Panel Portrait of a Youth vs Little Girl Looking Downstairs at Christmas Party

Agnus vs The Cup Of His Murders Is Flowing Over And In His Coat Shall Be Many Curses

[parasitical-if]

DEMO(Dashingdon) DEMO(Moody.ink) ——— Currently finished—Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three. ~81k words, average playthrough ~30k. ——— His flesh, our sustenance. His blood, our drink. His bones, our foundation, His body, our haven.

Five hundred years ago, the Earth was dying. Water polluted, dirt infertile, forests and meadows crumbling to the wars of steel and fire. And so the Order called His Grace, the Lord of Communion, down from where he rested before and He allowed humanity to rest inside his body.

Or at least, that's the story the Order tells.

You grew up under the masked faces of their Exalted, under the stories of Earth past. Rusted metal and cracked plastic; His bone and His flesh. Conflicting worlds, conflicting times, and soon, it might all come to a head.

Play as a recruit of the Order, an Exalted.

Be male, female, or nonbinary.

Customize your appearance.

Romance five separate characters.

Shape yourself—are you pragmatic or empathetic? Do you speak out or remain silent? Do you trust the Order, and do they trust you?

Align yourself with different factions based on moral imaginings.

Experience a world of greater things than you can imagine, but where your choices still matter.

Tallis/Talyn/Taira: Green eyes and long, auburn hair. Your childhood friend—Or, at least, companion. They aren't the biggest fan of the Order. Perhaps that will have greater implications than simple complaints as the situation grows more dire.

August: Blonde, sharp, and severe, he's the one who brought you into the fold. A zealot, some might call him. The Order doesn't name His Grace as a God, but August certainly seems to think that He is.

El: Long, thick black hair, skin tanned and freckled. She's a mechanic of the Order. Talented, there's no doubt about it, despite her occasional airheadedness. Sometimes, you can't help but feel that she's hiding something.

Jasper: Gender selectable. Muscled either way, with dark skin and deep brown eyes. Loud and arrogant—and they have what it takes to back it up. As the first new arrival to the Commune in… all of history, they could pose as an omen or a savior. Either way, they might shatter everything that you thought you knew.

Icarus: The Head of the Order. Everything else about them is shrouded in mystery.

Copious mentions of blood/flesh(Nonhuman, not caused by violence.)

DISCLAIMER: I'm a student and a slow writer in general, so updates might not be very frequent. Nevertheless, I'll try to see this story through.

3/7/23: First posted with Prologue and 1/2 of Chapter One, ~22k words.

3/11/23: Second half of Chapter One was posted. Story now at ~30.5k words.

4/27/23: Chapter two posted, bringing story to ~47k words.

9/30/23: Chapter three posted, bringing story up to ~81k words.

Up next: Chapter four. For more information, see: Forums page.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Sprout | knj | one

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

Summary: You love your plants, you love your garden, you do not love your new neighbor. You hate him with all your might— he wrecks everything you hold dear so you do the only reasonable thing: retaliate. 

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader 

AUs: neighbors au, gardening au, non!idol au → strangers to enemies (mostly one sided) to friends to lovers 

Genres: slice of life, smut, humor

Rating: mature

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings: Reader is morally grey; she’s being petty and bratty. There’s some immature pranks and vandalism. Yeah, she’s on a warpath. Otherwise this chapter is pretty tame 😛

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Author’s note(1): this ended up being a mini series! After I wrote Friendcation I really wanted to write something shorter… So here it is! I really hope you like it 💜

Taglist: @svnbangtansworld

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there 🙂

Your heart thrives in the lush embrace of your garden, where your love for nurturing life transcends the ordinary. 

It's not merely about gardening; it's an intimate rendezvous with nature's heartbeat. The simple act of plunging your hands into the soil becomes a euphoric ritual, a tactile communion that not only exhilarates your senses but also serves as a conduit to a world where each seed, leaf, and root tells a captivating story of growth and vitality. 

The intimate dance with the earth, the sheer joy that courses through you as you feel the soil's gritty embrace, transcends mere gardening; it's a symphony of life, a celebration of your role as both creator and nurturer.

Cultivating new life from the humble seed is a profound joy that resonates deeply within you. The enchantment unfolds as you witness the delicate emergence of sprouts, each one a testament to the potential contained within a tiny seed. 

It's a captivating journey, from the tentative first leaves unfurling to the triumphant bloom of fruits and vegetables, a tangible manifestation of the joy and sustenance your hands have meticulously cultivated for both you and your roommate to savor.

As the radiant embrace of summer envelops your world, an effusion of life bursts forth, a vibrant bloom unfurling its tendrils both in your garden and within the sanctuary of your greenhouse.

The greenhouse burgeons with a dazzling array of life—a cornucopia of tomatoes, watermelons, peppers, and cucumbers that stretches every inch of its confines. The air is thick with the heady scent of ripening fruit, and the vibrant hues of red, green, and orange create a kaleidoscopic mosaic that beckons exploration.

In your garden, three majestic raised beds stand like regal sentinels, cradling a treasure trove of nature's bounty. Within their elevated embrace, a symphony of flavors and colors converges, boasting a diverse ensemble that includes the earthy allure of onions, the crisp sweetness of carrots, the robust presence of pumpkins, the delicate charm of strawberries, the verdant allure of spinach, and an array of captivating salads. 

Each bed is a symphony of flavors and textures, a carefully orchestrated composition that invites both the eye and the palate to revel in the diverse tapestry of life thriving under your attentive care.

Your garden isn't just a source of pride; it's a living masterpiece, a testament to your dedication and nurturing touch. This verdant haven, bathed in the hues of your hard work, transcends mere admiration; it's your sanctuary, a sacred retreat where the stresses of the world dissolve. 

Each leaf, every bloom, whispers tales of resilience and growth, creating an intimate haven where you find solace and restoration.

In the embrace of nature's symphony, your garden becomes more than soil and seeds—it's a living, breathing refuge, a space where you not only cultivate plants but also cultivate peace and tranquility for your soul to flourish.

Within the heart of your greenhouse, nestled amidst the thriving foliage, is a cozy sanctuary—an inviting lounge set with a round table and two chairs. This intimate corner is not just a seating arrangement; it's a haven where friendship blossoms. Here, you and your friends can unwind, enveloped by the lush greenery, engaging in heartfelt conversations over steaming cups of tea or coffee. 

In the heart of your greenhouse, you stand amidst the verdant symphony, hands adorned with the earth's rich embrace—fertile soil clinging to your fingertips, a testament to the alchemy of growth you orchestrate. Here, amidst the fragrant dance of botanical life, you sow the promise of winter greenery. This isn't your inaugural venture into nurturing winter blooms; it's a sequel to a tale that unfolded with delight last year. 

The memory of vibrant winter greens thriving under your care lingers, a testament to the harmony you crafted within these walls. Driven by the echo of past success and an insatiable love for the seasonal metamorphosis, you embark on this green journey once more.

Within the expansive embrace of your bountiful garden, nature's generosity unfolds, providing an abundant harvest of fruits and vegetables that not only sustains you and your roommate but also extends its benevolent reach to your cherished neighbors.

Which makes you think of the dear Kims—Kim Seokjin and his wife—embarking on a journey to a larger home, carving out space for their expanding family, tugs at the strings of your heart. While you understand the practicality of their move, a somber melancholy settles within you, for they have not just been neighbors; they have been the epitome of kindness and warmth. 

With an earnest yearning, you cling to the hope that your incoming neighbor will show kindness, sweetness, and warmth akin to the cherished friendship you shared with the departing Kims.

He doesn’t.

The day has arrived when your neighbor, Seokjin, faces the bittersweet necessity of moving. The street is lined with colossal trucks, a tangible representation of the imminent change. As tears trace their silent path down your cheeks, you refuse to let the sorrow eclipse the spirit of friendship. 

Despite the weight of emotions, you join forces with Jungkook, your steadfast roommate, to transform the process into a collective effort. Together, you navigate the labyrinth of memories, carrying not just boxes but the shared history of laughter, shared moments, and the neighborly bonds that have woven through the fabric of your days. 

As the reality of parting sets in, the ache of missing Seokjin and his pregnant wife becomes a weight on your heart. Determined to express the depth of your sentiment, you envelop them in tight, lingering hugs, the warmth of your embrace carrying unspoken words of friendship and well-wishes. Amidst the bittersweet farewells, you articulate your genuine hopes for their future, weaving a promise of staying connected. With each heartfelt word, you convey that the physical distance won't sever the ties of friendship.

In a world where genuine connections with neighbors are as rare as finding hidden gems, you've recognized the preciousness of Seokjin and his wife. Their sweetness and kindness have forged a bond that transcends the typical neighborly exchanges. Their generosity extends beyond mere pleasantries—during a challenging chapter in your life, when the looming shadows of unemployment threatened your stability, it was their unwavering support that illuminated your path. 

Together, you navigated the uncertainty, and Seokjin suggested his friend Jungkook as a roommate to help you financially, and Jungkook has since become an integral part of your life as a steadfast and cherished roommate.

Undoubtedly, the Kims have not just been neighbors but pillars of unwavering support and kindness, surpassing any expectations one might have for ideal neighbors. 

In the wake of the Kims' departure, their once-vibrant house now stands silent, a poignant reminder of the cherished moments shared. However, your curiosity, like an invisible magnet, draws you to the window. From your vantage point, you observe with a mix of intrigue and anticipation as a moving truck sidles up next to their now-empty abode. You almost feel like a creep as you watch them unload furniture and boxes.

Whispers in the neighborhood had reached your ears—an intriguing coincidence as a man, bearing the surname 'Kim,' was poised to become your new neighbor. The town's gossip mill hummed with speculation, but you tuned out the rest, your focus fixated on the serendipitous arrival of this mysterious Kim.

Jungkook ambles over, his sudden presence jolting you against the window, prompting an involuntary jump. With a teasing grin, he questions your clandestine observation, his laughter echoing through the room. “Why are you lurking?” he jests, enjoying the playful spectacle of your eye roll in response. 

“I’m observing.” You declare with matter-of-fact precision, and in response, Jungkook simply offers a contemplative ‘hm.’

Throughout the day, the elusive presence of the new neighbor has been a captivating enigma, a puzzle you've been diligently attempting to unravel. Despite your earnest efforts, the quest for a mere glimpse has proven elusive.

“I'm just curious to get a read on the new guy,” you confess, drawing out your words with a touch of playful mystery. As you gracefully step away from the window, the allure of the unknown lingering in the air, you head into the kitchen with purpose.

You fetch the kettle and begin to boil some water for tea.

“Just give the guy some space to settle in, and when the time is right, you can whip up those mouthwatering cookies of yours and give him a warm welcome to the neighborhood,” Jungkook suggests, trailing after you into the kitchen. He deftly retrieves two mugs from the overhead cabinets, placing them in anticipation of the soon-to-be-boiling kettle.

Rummaging through the tea stash, you unearth aromatic sachets—one for yourself and another for Jungkook—and delicately place them into the waiting mugs. As the kettle sings its final crescendo, you pour the steaming water into the mugs, initiating the alchemical process that transforms the humble leaves into an elixir of warmth.

The synchronicity between you and Jungkook is seamless, a finely tuned rhythm born out of the years you've spent living together. Perhaps it's the invisible thread of familiarity that binds you, a connection so deep that you can effortlessly complete each other's sentences, the unspoken language of friendship. He’s much more than a roommate; you love him like a brother, an annoying little brother, even though you’re the same age.

“Good idea! The legendary triple chocolate cookies?” you propose, your eyes lighting up with the prospect of sweet indulgence. Holding your tea mug, you savor the warmth of the liquid against your lips, a comforting ritual that transcends seasons—you're an unapologetic tea enthusiast, even in the heat of summer. 

“Absolutely! Hell yeah!” Jungkook exclaims, his enthusiasm echoing through the room like a burst of unbridled joy. As he eagerly recalls the memory of the last batch you made, his words become a vivid homage to the culinary masterpiece, the taste still lingering on his tongue like a cherished melody. 

Throughout the entire weekend, the symphony of your new neighbor's move has reverberated, a lively crescendo of sound that paints the air with the vibrant hues of laughter and camaraderie. His entourage of friends, a boisterous ensemble, fills the atmosphere with the clatter of unloading boxes and the rhythmic shuffle of furniture being transported from the truck. 

Yet, despite the lively spectacle of your new neighbor's move, his actual presence remains an elusive mystery. The air is thick with anticipation as questions swirl within your mind: Is he old? Is he your age? Does he possess the warmth and kindness that endeared Seokjin and his wife to your heart? Your curiosity becomes a cascade of inquiries, a mental carousel that you acknowledge is just you being noisy.

Up to this point, the sole revelation about your new neighbor is his knack for creating quite the noise. The symphony of sounds, though vibrant in its own way, becomes a stark contrast to the familiar warmth and silence that once emanated from Seokjin and his wife's abode. 

Damn you miss Seokjin and his wife.

While the awareness of ongoing move-in activities tempers your expectations for noise, an unexplainable discomfort begins to settle in. The amalgamation of unfamiliar sounds, even in the midst of anticipated relocation clamor, manages to irk you. 

And you haven’t even met the guy yet.

Several days have elapsed, it appeared that your new neighbor had completed the arduous task of settling in. A glimmer of hope fluttered, suggesting that the relentless clamor would finally recede. Yet, to your dismay, a new auditory storm emerged—his penchant for playing music at an astonishing volume became the unforeseen soundtrack to your days. 

“I already hate him, Guk,” you declare with a melodramatic sulk, dramatically flopping down onto the couch beside Jungkook.

He swivels his head in your direction, a mischievous smile playing on his lips before erupting into a hearty laugh. “Come on, it’s just music. How bad can it get?”

After a patient wait, the oven radiates a palpable heat, reaching the optimal temperature to host the transformation of dough into decadence. With a sense of anticipation, you carefully place the trays laden with the promise of triple chocolate cookies into the fiery embrace of the oven. 

Despite the less-than-ideal introduction to your new neighbor, marred by his thunderous music and a symphony of questionable sounds that you'd rather not contemplate—, there's a resolute yearning within you to extend an olive branch. 

Fueled by the desire for neighborly harmony, you're determined to overcome the initial discord and approach him with a peace offering, a genuine gesture to welcome him into the neighborhood, hoping to mend the dissonant notes that currently define your thoughts about him.

Just as the first tray of cookies begins its enchanting transformation in the oven, your ‘girl boss’ playlist providing a lively backdrop, the symphony is abruptly punctuated by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass echoing from outside. 

A sudden chill races down your spine, the shivers intensified by the ominous realization that the shattering sound emanates from the vicinity of your garden. Locking eyes with Jungkook, a silent exchange of concern, you swiftly transition from baking bliss to a sprinting guardian of your sanctuary. 

The urgency in your steps amplifies the suspense, as you dash outside, propelled by a blend of curiosity and trepidation, determined to unveil the source of the disruptive crash that disrupted the tranquil rhythm of your day.

Shards of glass glisten like misplaced stars in the grass, guiding your gaze to a seemingly innocent purple ball. However, your eyes transform into metaphorical daggers as they lock onto the source of the havoc, revealing a telltale hole in the once-pristine surface of your beloved greenhouse. 

A surge of anger courses through your veins, a visceral reaction to the shattered tranquility mirrored in the glass strewn across the grass. While distant voices from your neighbor try to penetrate your consciousness, your focus remains ensnared by the chaos within the greenhouse—the fractured plants and the disarrayed remnants of what was once a sanctuary. 

Navigating the shards with cautious steps, you venture into the greenhouse, the air heavy with a sense of apprehension and loss. As you survey the wreckage, the toll becomes painfully clear—fragments of tomatoes, cucumbers, and watermelons lay strewn, their promise of abundance now reduced to a heartbreaking scene of destruction.

An inferno of rage surges through your veins, akin to liquid fire or molten lava, an elemental force consuming reason and calm. The greenhouse, once a sanctuary, now stands as a testament to the havoc wrought—its structural integrity compromised, and the once-vibrant plants broken and battered. 

Your gaze fixes on the offending purple ball, and in a sudden revelation, the realization lands like a forceful blow—it's a sinister gift from your new neighbor. A surge of fury engulfs you, a tempest that ignites within, transforming your blood into a boiling cauldron of rage until the world before your eyes is tainted with a visceral shade of red. 

Driven by an uncontrollable wave of anger, you storm outside, seizing the ominous purple ball with a fierce determination. Each step to your new neighbor is punctuated by the rhythmic thud of your stampede, a declaration of intent that resonates with your frustration.

Amidst the clash of emotions, a figure emerges—a man with disheveled silver hair hurtling toward you, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, a young child at his side. 

The ball gripped tightly in your hand becomes both a weapon and a question mark as you confront the silver-haired man. The fury in your voice is palpable, a tempest churning within each word as you demand answers. “What is this?” you seethe, elevating the purple sphere as a visual indictment, challenging him to reckon with the consequences of his actions. 

“A ball?” he responds with a nervous chuckle, his hand seeking solace through the disheveled landscape of silver hair at the back of his head. Beside him, a little boy, no older than six, clings to his leg with a grip that speaks of both innocence and trepidation. 

“You think you’re smart, huh?” you begin, the words laden with a potent mix of frustration and mounting anger. The simmering emotions rise like a tide within you, unleashing a renewed flood of resentment that threatens to engulf your entire being.

“I'm so sorry about the ball. We didn't mean to throw it over the fence—” the man starts to apologize, but your tolerance for explanations dwindles to nothing. You cut him off with an air of absolute dismissal, leaving no room for excuses or justifications.

“You shattered my greenhouse!” you roar in frustration, the anger propelling the ball from your hand towards him. In a deft move, he catches it effortlessly against his chest, the tension in the air palpable.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't mea—” he begins, but you cut through his attempt to explain with a dismissive wave.

“I don't care! You should be mindful of other people's property. I had plants in there that are now broken and useless,” you declare, your voice stern and scolding. The words emerge like a verbal reprimand, each syllable charged with the weight of your anger. As you speak, the intensity manifests physically, your breaths becoming huffs of air, mirroring the turbulent emotions that still churn within you. 

You observe the man's persistent attempts at apology, and the child clings even tighter to his sturdy thigh, as if seeking refuge in the face of the storm brewing in front of him.

“Fuck you. Don't let it happen again,” you spit, the words laden with an unrelenting edge. You observe him swiftly cover the child's ears, shielding innocence from the raw exchange. Just as you pivot to leave, a tense silence lingering, he finds his voice once more. 

Observing him withdraw his hands from the child's ears, he takes a measured step in your direction. “Look, lady,” he begins, his tone a blend of frustration and assertion, “I already apologized. There's no reason to be so crude, especially not in front of a kid.”

Your gaze swiftly traverses them from head to toe, a brusque assessment. “Like I give a shit,” you retort with a dismissive snort.

“Joon, why is the lady mad?” inquires the boy, casting a curious glance at your neighbor. 

“Well, we ruined her greenhouse, which we've already apologized for. Now I'm starting to think she's just stuck up and has a stick up her ass,” your neighbor explains in a composed tone to the child, who simply gapes at the blunt choice of words.

The audacity of his words hits you like an unexpected blow. Stuck up? The incredulity courses through you as you grapple with the absurdity of the accusation. Him, the one who shattered your pride and joy, casting you as the haughty one?

“Well, fuck you!” you scream in frustration, punctuating the sentiment with a defiant middle finger. With a final act of rebellion, you storm away, retreating back into your house, your fury a palpable force propelling your every step. 

Gasping for breath, you stumble inside, a disheveled embodiment of raw emotion. Jungkook gazes at you, confusion etched on his face as he questions, “What happened?”

In a huff, you explain, “Piece of shit neighbor broke my greenhouse,” the words tumble out, each syllable a testament to the frustration gripping you. With a perfunctory motion, you snatch the tray from Jungkook, who had kindly retrieved it from the oven when the cookies were ready. 

Now, the sweet aroma of accomplishment is tainted, and the once-desired treats feel like a bitter offering. You contemplate discarding them, convinced your neighbor doesn't deserve the indulgence born from your hard work and nurturing care.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook queries with genuine concern, his worry palpable in the furrow of his brows and the earnest tone of his voice. Clutching the tray, you navigate towards the trash can, your actions leaving an air of uncertainty hanging between you two.

“Throwing them out?” you retort, the words a sharp echo in the air as you lock eyes with Jungkook. 

“Don't! I'll eat them,” Jungkook pleads, motioning for you to spare the tray from its impending fate in the trash. 

A flicker of reluctance dances in your eyes, but the prospect of salvaging the cookies prevails. After all, it would be a shame to let them go to waste merely because your neighbor is a piece of shit

Despite Jungkook's plea for you to set aside your fury and accept the apology from your new neighbor, the ember of resentment within you refuses to be extinguished. 

For reasons unknown, a bitter taste lingers within you, refusing to let go. The turmoil is inexplicable, but the remnants of resentment persist. He didn't just break your greenhouse; he shattered a piece of your sanctuary. Now, held together with a temporary tapestry of plastic, the wounded structure serves as a constant reminder, a tangible testament to the disruption that's not easily brushed aside.

Not to mention the plants that withered away that fateful day. Yes, they perished under the weight of the intrusion, and no, you refuse to consider it as mere drama, as Jungkook suggested. 

Anger bubbles within you, a volatile force demanding retribution. In the crucible of resentment, a calculated decision takes root: to do the only thing that feels just—sabotage some of his. An eye for an eye, the ancient adage whispers in your mind.

Thus, you find yourself meticulously gluing his mailbox together, rendering it an inoperable shell that denies him the simple act of receiving mail or opening the damn thing! 

A sense of self-satisfaction courses through you as you observe him from the vantage point of your living room window, wrestling with his unyielding mailbox, frustration etched across his face. 

A laugh of vindication escapes your lips as you revel in his futile struggle. His bewildered gaze sweeps the surroundings, a clear sign that he fails to comprehend what's wrong with his once-functional mailbox. Frustration etches lines on his face before he concedes, retreating back into the confines of his home. 

Jungkook sidles up next to you, a quizzical expression on his face. “Is that your handiwork?” he inquires, pointing towards your neighbor's now dysfunctional mailbox. 

A chuckle escapes your lips, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Yeah.”

“You're being childish and mean,” he reproaches, shaking his head in disapproval of your actions. A chuckle escapes him, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I bet you like him,” he remarks with a knowing smile, strolling past you. 

You gape at him, disbelief etched across your face. No. No such thing. “I fucking hate him, and he deserves it,” you retort vehemently, the raw intensity in your voice emphasizing the depth of your disdain. 

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think;  your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

[insanelyadd]

Knight Papyrus Theory

Before we start I am going to lay out everything we know about the Knight so far in Deltarune:

The Knight is choosing abandoned and little used rooms as locations for the fountains.

The Knight seemingly only makes one fountain a day.

The Knight hid in the closet from Noelle and Berdly, making the cyberworld fountain in there which rules out anyone with an alibi for this incident.

The Knight is a lightner because darkners cannot make fountains. 

"Evidence" about the Knight I will ignore on purpose because it holds no weight to me:

The use of exclusively it/they pronouns for the Knight because the use is obviously to maintain the mystery.

The Queen’s holographic depiction of the Knight’s hand cannot be taken as a literal and accurate depiction because the actual film in the mansion states outright that the stream of darkness from the fountain obscures the Knight's true appearance, and the implication is that the Knight immediately left this world unlike the abandoned classroom.

The line about Communion from Spamton because Spamton is deeply unreliable as half of what he says are infomercial taglines. The words in parentheses can easily be interpreted as being synonyms or associated words to what he actually means to say. Plus the line is divorced from its full context in the conversation where his first use of communion without relation to the Knight is about his "transformation". The use of the word communion here is very unlikely to be literal or even religious (as the word communion's very definition has a non-religious variation). Spamton speaks in religious terms because a good chunk of spam emails are about religion, not because it's a legitimate hint.

The rest of this post will be under a read more because this is a Big Boi, like literally almost 4k

Step 1: Discussing Alternative Theories 

I thought Kris was the knight?

We may have seen Kris open a fountain at the end of chapter 2 but this doesn't mean they're The Knight. I feel like the end of the chapter is another misdirect just like chapter 1. "Oh is Kris evil? Are they possessed by Chara?" Nah, they're just a little shit who wanted to go eat some pie. Chapter 2 brings about the same kind of gut reaction questions, which is a fair response, though I feel the need to point out that no mystery in UT or DR is ever so easily handed to us.

Kris, upon seeing the first dark fountain they and Susie encounter, reacts by fearfully backing away. Kris seemingly doesn't know what it is and their gut reaction is that it is scary. This wouldn't be how you'd expect them to react if they had already made one. Secondly the computer lab dark world had to have been made when Noelle and Berdly were already inside (with the closet flavor text implying that the Knight was in there). When the fountain is dispelled they're sitting at a desk with their homework out and they just think they fell asleep while doing it. Kris and Susie come to that world when it has already been made and when it's dispelled they're by the door.

If the characters' physical, light world bodies moved in conjunction with their dark world selves then at the very least they should all be right next to each other because they're so close together in the dark world. I also don't think Noelle and Berdly would have been able to easily dismiss the dark world as a dream if they had (somehow) walked into a Pulsing Darkness. I highly doubt Berdly would have needed more than one look at that to realize it was probably evil and shouldn't be messed with. Noelle is easy frightened and likes to be afraid but I think Berdly isn't the type of person who would make Noelle feel encouraged to do something spooky.

I heard a theory that a dead person reanimated by the dark world is the Knight?

Well to start I know this theory! And darkners can't make fountains. This is not subtext or implications, this is directly stated in chapter 2 by Queen, and Ralsei, who knows even more about how dark worlds work, does not refute this claim. This is why she tried to get Noelle to make a fountain and didn't try to make one herself.

Now this also applies to every theory that supposes a Darkner like Rouxls for instance could be the Knight.

What about Alvin?

I find the supposed motivations for this character to be completely disconnected to what we actually know about him. Beyond that Alvin is literally such a minor character that you could simply never interact with him and that doesn't build very much feelings towards him that would be in some way dismantled by the reveal of him as the Knight. Also the game itself sees him as such a minor character that he doesn't have a talk sprite and if you pick his name when you make your character before chapter 1 the narrator makes no remark about him at all, not even an "Interesting".

What about Asriel?

The man is not even in town. As previously stated the cyberworld fountain had to have been made with Berdly and Noelle already in the room.

What about Sans?

Sans doesn't feel like he wants to end the world or find escapism (the two major Knight profiles that could be argued). There's really nothing I can think of that casts suspicion on him at all. Yeah Sans is a little weirdo but not in DR. All the weird stuff about him is text options we say, that Toby wrote with the major Sans theory hype in mind. Nothing about him specifically is actually suspicious or unusual.

What about Gaster?

Gaster is already heavily implied to be in some way responsible for the creation of the secret bosses. The person responsible for making Jevil lose his mind is talked about by Seam in a way that implies they are a separate character from the Knight as well as giving the impression that Jevil (and Spamton if you consider where he is) were made to be what they are and in the positions they're in for some time before the fountains were made.

Using Gaster, a character we know nothing about, feels like an easy answer that is simultaneously not very compelling because we don't know anything about him. His supposed motivations could be anything, whether he's got good intentions or evil intentions are irrelevant because there's just no way to know. Narratively it means nothing if a man with no history is trying to make dark worlds for reasons none of us can properly guess.

What about the mayor?

Once again the cyberworld being made with two people already in the room (especially since one of them is Noelle) would imply that the mayor left in the middle of the day, but when we check with her aids in the office none of them mention her having left which feels like something notable since she keeps herself so busy. I also want to propose the idea that while she may come across as potentially harsh, I think there’s a non-zero chance that she just threw herself entirely into her work after whatever happened to Dess and has lost touch because of her grief.

What about Dess?

Dess is seemingly lost or even dead with one major possibility being that they are trapped inside the code. For a character in such a position we can't even say if it's possible for her to open the dark fountains. But there's also the still remaining factor that the Knight is sneaking around and doing this. Choosing little used rooms on purpose and hiding in a closet when people enter a room to use it, which isn't something someone who is trapped in seemingly total darkness would feel compelled to do.

What about the player?

Since we are the player I think we can rule us out since we didn't do anything.

The Knight is someone we haven't met yet and have never seen before

For the same reasons as the Gaster theory this doesn't make sense except it would be even worse because we have scraps of info on Gaster (speaks like how old people text, science nerd, possibly malevolent, perhaps deceased but very likely undead)

Step 2: Building a Profile of the Knight

Does the Knight have bad intentions

I feel like there is insufficient proof that the Knight is acting with malicious intent by making these dark worlds. At the moment what we have seen is that the Knight seemingly makes only a single dark world a day. If the Knight wanted to bring about the Roaring, there's no need for them to actively choose little used or totally abandoned rooms and no need for them to do so slowly, if they even know about the roaring at all (which seemingly no one but Ralsei did before the end of Chapter 2).

I feel confident that the probability the Knight even knows about the end of the world side effects is low. If they do know about it, it’s also possible that how ever the Knight even found out how to make dark worlds gave enough information about how they function that they could reason themselves into continuing to make them by saying “oh just one a day isn’t so bad” which once again circles around to the Knight being more irresponsible than outright. Homicidal. Plus it really doesn’t vibe with Toby’s storytelling methods for there to be just a straight up villain who wants to end the world (if you mention Chara I will stomp you to death with my hooves, they have nuances that people ignore).

Does the Knight have "good" intentions

So if it's very unlikely that the Knight wants to end the world on purpose then conversely we must consider the possibility that they have "good" intentions. It's very likely that they could have intentions that align with the kid's intentions in chapter 2. Every single one of them (including Kris despite their lack of vocal approval) loved the dark world because it gave them a sense of purpose and importance, it made them feel like they had control and were given the recognition they craved.

These are not purely noble intentions of course, they're pretty selfish even, but in this scenario the Knight doesn't know about the apocalyptic side effects of opening dark fountains, so self-fulfillment from stabbing the ground until it gives you a magical world doesn’t sound so bad. The desire to feel wanted, helpful, strong, and in control in ways you are not in the light world, I feel, could be a strong and compelling motivation for making dark worlds. Plus, since the Knight hid in the closet knowing two others would be in the dark world when it formed it could also be the desire to be seen as a cool figure since the leader of the dark worlds always seem to revere the Knight to some extent for what they've done and this effect may bleed over onto them, or maybe the Knight thinks that they’ll come to love the dark worlds like they do.

Inferences that can be made if the knight just has similar intentions as the kids did

The Knight feels like they lack purpose in the light world. The Knight is unlikely to have very many friends or social connections and is likely lonely. The Knight may feel strongly powerless about something. The Knight is unsatisfied with their life and wants to find an escape. 

Step 3: Papyrus Points of Interest 

Papyrus is the only main UT character who has yet to even speak to us, and that feels significant somehow. The steam page mentions him, and says he’s “busy”. I know some people who are worried that he won’t even make an appearance but he definitely will, when you type in his name when you make your character you get the response “Interesting” to typing in Papyrus, and also his text voice blips are in the game files.

A quick reminder of something that I find “interesting” is that in UT when you check Papyrus’ closet he says “There’s no one in my closet, except me sometimes”, which, given the place the Knight undoubtedly hid in chapter 2 it’s. Interesting.

You know what else is interesting? All the references that seem relevant to Papyrus (and Sans) specifically that are in Deltarune. The teleportation doors are identical to Sans’ door from undertale, the lounge chairs that Lancer and Susie relax on are almost identical to the one Sans is seen relaxing on in a kickstarter trailer for Undertale, Susie says she invited the guard she beat up to visit the garbage can which is a reference to something Papyrus says if you check the garbage can while on your hangout at his house, Ice-E’s pizza and the word search of course, I think it’s interesting that the first dark world is completely puzzle themed, checkers, legos those make sense for a room for small children but playing cards? CHESS? Those feel out of place for a kindergarten-preschool type room.

Continuing on with the references in the second hospital room when you check the two sinks it says “Perhaps there was one tall sink that was cut in half to create both of them” which is simultaneously a reference to the theory that Sans and Papyrus are pieces of Gaster and to Papyrus’ own Tall Sink from UT that is also referenced in the winter alarm clock dialog. This one probably isn’t a reference but the popup about making a knife out of spaghetti is interesting.

This concludes the little interesting tidbits section.

Step 4: Connections Between Papyrus and the Knight Profile We Have Built

What could Papyrus’ motivation for making these dark worlds even be?

My first instinct with this is actually solely based on the fact that when I was younger my family moved nearly once a year and I never was able to make long time friends. He just moved to town, it’s very unlikely that he knows anyone there, so I think he’s lonely. Sans’ first thought was trying to get Kris to hang out with his brother so surely Sans must be aware that his brother needs to make friends. 

Now, I feel it isn’t a stretch to assume the base personality of every character is roughly similar to how they are in Undertale. Toriel is still motherly and a teacher, Alphys is still a pop culture nerd with anxiety who wants to be liked, Undyne is brash and assertive but good hearted, etc etc. There are - of course - notable differences, but not knowing people or disliking someone they normally like doesn’t really change the core of who they are.

So if we assume that Papyrus’ base personality is the same then it is very easy to say he is lonely and wants friendship, it’s also easy to assume that he would be a bit single-minded and ignore potential risks in his pursuit of his goals. 

How could Papyrus even make the dark worlds?

I feel like just like you could presume that your preferred Knight candidate read about it in a book or heard about it online or something, you could presume the same about Papyrus. I feel like how the Knight even learned it will probably be explained in a later chapter, because it must be something that’s not written anywhere, but that’s all theory crafting for a different post.

Here’s a single sentence about the circumstantial evidence to support Knight Papyrus: The fountains only recently started opening and only recently have the skeletons moved to town. An interesting coincidence.

The Thematic Evidence

Now it’s time for the thematic evidence. There’s actually two sets of thematic evidence I want to go over with this.

I won’t tread too much on this ground when I can just link to the post that goes over one thematic point of your choices not mattering and how that matches Papyrus. Essentially, no matter what you do with Papyrus will change the outcome of your interactions with him, which matches the stated theme of your choices not mattering in Deltarune, which also reflects Flowey and his set up as the main antagonist of Undertale by making the stated theme “kill or be killed” which is something the player must show defiance towards by being merciful. In Deltarune it’s very likely that the final confrontation with the Knight will involve showing that the choices the Knight has made are detrimental and dangerous and they need to change their choices.

As for the other set of thematic evidence…

A continuously recurring theme in all of Deltarune is the theme of being forgotten. From Don’t Forget and nearly every song in chapter one having the leitmotif of it, to all the main characters feeling in some way left behind and abandoned, to all the dark worlds, even the one Kris makes, being in rooms no one uses anymore, and above all else ESPECIALLY the secret bosses.

Kris possibly feels left behind by their brother, Susie was basically left behind by the whole system and all their classmates, Ralsei literally lived alone in a completely empty dark world, Noelle lives essentially all alone because her sister is missing, her father is in the hospital, and her mom is a workaholic, Berdly outright says that he feels like no one cared about it before he became “smart”.

The three dark fountains we’ve seen so far have all been made in rooms that see no use or are totally abandoned, the classroom has likely not seen anyone since Alvin was a child, the computer lab has had a few people in there but is definitely not the bustling hub it presumably used to be with the internet down in town, even the living room hasn’t seen much use because Toriel and Kris just aren’t TV people, leaving the TV dusty and the room unused.

Now the secret bosses are the epitome of this theme, I actually realized this entire thematic throughline and connection to Papyrus because I was using it’s thematic connection to the secret bosses to try figuring out who the secret boss of this next dark world could be. Jevil is forgotten even amongst those of the forgotten classroom not just because he’s been locked away in prison for who knows how long but also because joker cards aren’t needed for most card games and you have to specifically buy packs that include them.

Spamton is forgotten not only because he was evicted from polite society and all traces of his existence have been pasted over with images of Queen so now he lives in a dumpster (the trash bin on a computer), but also spam emails most of the time are automatically flagged and put directly into a special folder you probably don’t even look in unless you’re trying to find an email that might have been accidentally put there by the automated system.

Papyrus is a character in Undertale who tries in every way that he can to be noticed and appreciated. Despite this, you’d be hard pressed to find a single character in Snowdin who even knows his name. His mailbox in comparison to Sans is surprisingly empty, and while you can read it as him just checking his box more often, he refers to his mailbox as his “emptiness” and the already discussed implication seems to be that he just doesn’t get mail from anyone. He says that he’s a dozen followers away from double digits online. He says “I NEVER WONDER WHAT HAVING LOTS OF FRIENDS IS LIKE” which is an obvious lie.

And of course. In the no mercy route, what does his check information say?

Forgettable

Papyrus has been on theme for Deltarune since 2015.

Step 5: But What about These Things?

How did he know of the classroom

Toriel spoke with Sans the day before Kris and Susie discovered the dark fountain in the abandoned classroom, it’s very possible she mentioned something about it to Sans and Sans passed that information on to Papyrus.

How did he get in there

There’s this sick little thing called Breaking And Entering /lh But also yeah it really isn’t out of the question that he broke in. Any Knight candidate that doesn’t actively go to school there or work as a teacher would have to break in to make that world? Seems not out of the realm of possibilities at all.

Why would an Undertale character get such a major role in Deltarune

This is just a personal observation but I think Toby obviously likes Papyrus a lot. He has the most lines of any character in UT by a long shot and is only about 300 lines behind THE NARRATOR. Toby Fox commissioned art of him over a year before the game's release. Toby made a special version of bonestrousle for UT trailers and it has been featured in nearly every single undertale trailer that’s been made. 

Outside of that rather subjective line of reasoning I also think Papyrus could have a major role because, as I have previously laid out, he thematically has very strong ties to deltarune, and we know literally nothing about Papyrus’ backstory in UT. I feel like Papyrus, despite all the lines he gives, is rather understated in his presence in UT. Like you can’t get the TP ending without his help, and if you kill him and only him, Undyne still manages to rally monsters to overthrow Toriel. But these aren’t big flashy moments like Sans’ fight, so they’re rarely acknowledged.

I feel there is potential for him to be important, and it is irrelevant that he was originally from Undertale. The amount of lightner characters (specifically because only they could open the fountains) exclusive to Deltarune are miniscule and most are very obviously not the Knight. Just from a pure numbers perspective the odds of the Knight being a character exclusive to DR are much smaller because there’s still more characters that are here that are also in UT.

Also Toriel is obviously going to be in the darkworld in this next chapter, so the Undertale characters are obviously not totally banned from partaking in the actual Plot.

Why would he be similar to his UT counterpart

As I mentioned, none of the characters at their core are super different to their UT counterparts. This isn’t like the fandom where you can make up whatever personality you want and then have it inhabit a Sans shaped shell. Toby has an obviously different interpretation of AUs, and in his AU the characters are a lot like they are in UT. It would be way more unusual at this point if Papyrus is revealed to be drastically different than his UT counterpart at all. He’s not going to be an asshole, he isn’t going to be internet famous, we’ve already observed that he isn’t outgoing (which, contrary to popular belief, does still fit how UT Papyrus is). You could even take the sounds of trousled bones growing farther away from us when we check the door to mean that Papyrus is moving away from reality and sinking further into the fantasy of the dark worlds.

[your-eternal-lies]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 ╰┈➤ chapter four

𝒏𝒐𝒕-𝒔𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 — do not plagiarize, copy, screenshot, repost/republish, and/or translate any of my work for posting on social media platforms or third party sites. no part of my stories are to be fed into AI software or generators. and please remember: you are responsible for your own media consumption. check for any content warnings before you proceed.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐱 — 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — bucky barnes x agent f!reader

𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — in your experience, relationships only bring drama and heartbreak, and you want absolutely none of it. that is, until an act of sheer recklessness brings bucky barnes back into your life.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 / 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — just more angst, more flashbacks to reader’s time with the kgb/hydra, oh, and did i forget angst? there’s a shit ton of that, if it wasn’t clear.

It’s said that as long as you could still feel the cold, it meant you would live yet another day. 

So, when you first saw him, you thought he was the grim reaper. 

Standing in a darkened corner of your cell, his silhouette was apparent even in the shadows. You almost breathed a sigh of relief, despite the pain, thinking that the sweet respite of death had finally come to claim you. As you laid there on your side, momentarily abandoned in your cell, still sore and bleeding, all you could feel was warmth. 

Maybe he would make your death quick and painless, you thought. When he stepped into the light, he moved so slowly and quietly, you couldn’t even hear his heavy boots on the frozen concrete. He couldn’t have been human, you thought. There was simply no way. 

The dim moonlight illuminated the reaper’s face, revealing to you long shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes, ones that looked impossibly sad. Almost like he had seen too many things that he could never quite say, especially not from behind the mask that covered the rest of his face. 

Regardless, it was like you could hear them. 

Your eyes watered, despite yourself, because you think he can hear them too, echoing in waves straight out of your weary heart. It had been a very difficult life, indeed, but you thought it was a worthy death. Natasha’s secrets, the very little that you knew, would die with you. Your sister would be free. Now, it was time for a long and peaceful rest. Didn’t you at least deserve that much? 

But he always stood there, unmoving and silent, as if simply waiting for you to die. You didn’t mind; it was so much better than dying alone, after all.

And it seemed like even Death had a heart, because one day, and you don’t know when it started, his cold indifference melted away into something you hadn’t seen in a while. The last time you saw it, you found them in the emerald green eyes of Natasha Romanoff. 

Understanding. Regret. Maybe even compassion. 

While your captors tried to pull your most precious secrets out of you, the reaper would avert his gaze, his shoulders stiff, his one good hand balling up into a fist at his side. His nails bit into the palms of his hands, drawing blood of his own, droplets of red drip, drip, dripping onto the concrete. 

And whenever you weren’t being watched, you were being held with a pair of conflicted hands that seemed to sew you back together at the seams. Your lungs would deflate slowly, the air you’d been holding hostage released in a quivering sigh. It would disperse into the room, mingling with the faint scent of gunmetal and leather that clung onto your only companion like an old war medal—a constant reminder of battles fought, of lives irreparably altered. 

The stifling cloak of isolation would lift, unravelling thread by painstaking thread as you allowed yourself to acknowledge the simple truth reflected in the stranger’s gaze: you were not alone in your suffering. 

A silent communion began to form, its foundation built on the remnants of shattered lives and unspeakable pain, daring to be pieced together once more. Your eyes would meet and there was, despite yourselves, a glimmer there, shining through the dampness of unshed tears—a flicker of hope that danced like a fragile flame. 

His palm against yours became an anchor in the cold stillness, his touch a whisper of solidarity that spoke volumes more than words ever could. 

But you knew better than anyone what cruelty Hydra and the KGB were capable of, and you realized with each passing moon, that this man was just like you. He was just as helpless, wanting desperately to break the cycle of despair, but unaware as to how or whether he even could. 

It was enough, however, to know that he wanted to save you. You wanted to save him, too. And nothing like that had ever happened before Natasha, or since. Despite your bleak reality in this underground cell, you could still recognize specialness whenever you saw it. 

Especially when he removed his mask for you, guided your icy fingers to the rugged lines of his face. The stubble along his jaw seemed darker against his pallid skin, the weight of his past evident in the weary tilt of his head. 

He never spoke, your reaper. Words weren’t needed here, not when he looked at you like that, not when you knew how he punished himself for being so powerless in the face of your misery. 

And certainly not when he made a sacrifice that wrecked your heart. You woke to rumbling walls and falling dust, the sounds of distant explosions and gunfire, before you heard her. 

“Wake up now, kroshka,” her gentle hands were on your face, a gasp of a sob escaping her lips when your eyes met. “There you are, little sister. I’m here, I’m sorry it took so long.” 

But you wanted to scream in agony, wanted to demand to know why she would do something so reckless as coming back. You wanted to beg her to go before the guards came back, but no sounds came out when you opened your mouth. Your throat was dry and hoarse, your arms too weak to fight her off as she picked you up in her arms. 

“It’s going to be okay now. I’m going to take you home.” How could someone so slight be so strong, you always wondered. But your eyes began to close again, your body unable to resist the warmth of hers. And despite how much you wished she would leave you behind and save herself, you were secretly overjoyed to see her. 

But it was only when you were halfway out of the cell that you remembered. Your eyes snapped open, your reaper watching silently from the shadows as you went. He nodded, as if telling you it was okay to go, but you grabbed desperately at Natasha’s arm. 

You tried to croak her name, to tell her that there was someone else here who needed saving. But all you could do was open your mouth in a rasping scream, and Natasha mistook your cries as ones of anger directed at her. 

You reached out behind her, heart sinking as your reaper soundlessly stepped between you and the swarming guards just as Natasha rounded a corner. Silent sobs wracked your body, tears dripping down your temples and onto Natasha’s shirt, knowing that if the roles had been reversed, your handlers would have killed you for such a thing. 

The last thought before you passed out were of him, of eyes so blue they reminded you of clear summer skies and crystal ocean waters. 

And when you opened your eyes again, finding yourself in an unfamiliar hospital room, you thought he was long dead. You mourned him as Natasha introduced you to her friends. You thought of him often as you began a new life, telling yourself you’d honour his memory and sacrifice. 

But when Steve handed you a file one day, crinkled all around the edges and stamped with fading Russian letters, all the breath was stolen from your lungs when you flipped it open. 

You thought you would die right then and there. 

The devastating details of Steve’s childhood friend, one James Buchanan Barnes, were all there, transcribed onto two letter-sized pages of black and white. You stared hard at a series of old photographs, of a young handsome sergeant who still smiled, of the Winter Soldier, frozen in time inside a cryogenic chamber. 

And after all those years of bloodshed, after a literal lifetime of agony, smoke, carbon, and flame, as the two of you finally stood in the same room again, only one of you remembered. 

In fact, he looked right through you, as if you never existed at all. And while you knew full well that it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t remember, you couldn’t help the wave of resentment that washed over you, nor the immediate surge of regret that would follow. 

He looked like a frightened child standing in that room, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as if he might scream, and you could no longer will yourself to be angry. 

This man had saved your life, even though he had been given every possible reason not to. You resolved right then to never tell anyone, that the truth would die with you one day. Bucky would never have to know that you had met before; it was your way of atoning, of thanking him for a gesture that had meant everything to you but now meant nothing to him. 

The Soldier who had offered you a tiny morsel of affection and sympathy in a place that normally held none was no longer there. The look in his eyes were blank, compared to the raw, aching thing in your chest that had been shaped by his absence, by what you thought was his death. 

Despite the longing, the undeniable pull despite the chasm of history and time that lay between you, Bucky had felt nothing for you in that moment. 

But still. 

Still, you fell. 

Because it was impossible to know who Bucky Barnes was—for real—underneath all that trauma, and not love him. 

He had a crippling sense of humour. His comedic timing was brilliant, if you were being honest. Always prepared with the best quips, paired with just the right amount of sarcasm, complete with a hint of a smirk that hinted at the mischievous boy he used to be. 

He painted in secret. He never told anybody, but every so often you could smell the scent of acrylics lingering on his clothes. You liked to imagine him in his room, mixing colours on a palette, painting whatever came to mind. 

Sunny yellows, peach pinks, and creamy oranges for sunsets. Soft lavenders, mint greens, and deep crimsons for the most delicate flowers. 

Sky blues, for the shade you’ve always believed his heart to be. 

He liked to read. And what you particularly loved about Bucky is that he was indiscriminate when it came to choosing his reading material. You found notes scrawled in the margins of books that he’d leave all over the compound, on the pages of romance novels, science fictions, fantasies, and thrillers. 

A lot of the time, the notes weren’t even comprehensive. You would smile to yourself when you found a simple exclamation mark next to a passage in Frankenstein, or a heart hastily scrawled beside a particularly breathtaking paragraph in The Song of Achilles.

He tried to pretend like he didn’t, but Bucky cared. You could see it in the way he smiled at Steve, in the way he awkwardly but warmly patted Wanda on the shoulder on her bad days, in the way he put up with Clint and Sam’s good-natured teasing, and even in the way he could never quite look Tony in the eye. 

He cared with his whole being, this man. And it was why you couldn’t tell him. Eventually, he had come to care about you too. He would gaze at you a little too long, as if he could recognize, not you, but the sorrow permanently etched into the tired lines of your face. 

He started standing a little closer to you, in elevators, meetings, in the quinjet just before your next mission. His eyes started scanning rooms and hallways whenever he entered, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding until they landed on you. 

He started calling you by your name. Something told you that was particularly important to him. With each time your name left his lips, emotion crept under your skin, with one in particular threatening to breathe new life back into your weary lungs. 

But there was a very real problem. The further you fell, the more he broke your heart. How could someone be your life-saving solace and the source of your heartache all in one fell swoop? 

And the worst part wasn’t that he had ultimately left without even a word of warning, not even a note hastily scrawled before his departure. It wasn’t the familiar pang of hurt when it occurred to you that Bucky didn’t feel even an ounce of what you did, or that you weren’t high enough on his list of priorities to even think about telling you himself, or that you had to find out about his plans through someone else. 

No—the worst part was, while the Winter Soldier had saved your life, Bucky Barnes made you want to live. As far as you were concerned, that was his biggest and only sin. 

So, you pull away from his hands, one warm and one cold against your back, the ones that make you feel things you thought you put aside a long time ago. Hands that could turn back time, make it feel like you’d never been hurt in the first place. Ones that could piece your heart back together if you would just let them. 

These are the hands that you could belong to, if only you could be brave enough to run towards him instead of away. 

But you aren’t. 

“How long was I out?” The air in the room shifts as you shift back on the bed, angling your body away from him and pulling the quilt back up to your neck, creating a chasm in the room that feels like miles. 

“Almost a full day,” he replies, sitting statue-like, a figure carved out of remorse and rugged edges softened only by the firelight. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching as you try not to make eye contact, each passing second of silence landing like a hammer to your heart. 

You always told yourself that you could live without his love, you never dreamed of having that. But the one thing you can’t live without is his happiness. 

You’ve gotten used to the pain and the hurt, but it was time for him to put all of that in the past. You don’t even want to think about the devastated look he’d give you if he ever found out about the past you share, that you were the only one still cursed to remember. 

And while it hurt to see him leave, you knew how suffocating New York had become for him. The pursuit of his peace of mind took priority, and you knew it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Saying goodbye to Steve, leaving behind the place that used to be home, and turning his back on an ever persistent sense of duty. 

You know that if he knew, he would have stayed. But that wouldn’t have been right. You weren’t, still aren’t, a person strong enough to stand at his side, not when you yourself are falling apart. 

Bucky lifts his hand, a hesitant gesture, into the tension-filled air. Every instinct tells you to bridge the gap, to erase the cool expanse of sheets and distance with the warmth of your touch. Because he’s here now. He’s here, breathing, and real, and you want to hold him and never let go. 

“Please,” you hear him say, his voice breaking at the last second. You lift your head, his eyes meeting yours like a tumultuous sea meeting an immovable cliffside as you fight to keep your own gaze neutral. You find the weight of a hundred things unspoken in the beautiful lines of his face. “I can’t change the past, but I’m here now. Darlin’, if you’ll let me, I’m here.” 

You clutch the quilt closer to your chest, wanting to both hide behind it and throw it off you, to pull him close and feel him against your skin. But once bitten, twice shy, you hesitate to say or do anyhing. His hand descends slowly, but not onto your shoulder or your hand, but back onto the cold sheets. 

“Back then,” he continues, voice a gravelly whisper, “I wasn’t myself… not really. The Winter Soldier… well, you’ve read my file. He did things. Things I can’t ever forget.” 

His eyes meet yours, dark pools reflecting the torment of countless sleepless nights. Your chest tightens, recognizing the ocean of sorrow that thunders inside him, the one that is reflected back at you whenever you look in the mirror. 

“But here…” he trails off, as if not quite knowing how to explain. But you already know; nightmares like your very own, fragmented and splintered, must follow him like ghosts. And right on cue, his cat hops off the headboard where she’d been lazily lounging, laying down on the bed across his metal arm. 

Here, he isn’t unbearably lonely or painfully out of place. Here, there are no expectations, no pressure, of what’s normal and how to get back there. Here, he could just finally be. 

Despite yourself, the hardened ice around your heart softens into a gentle stream. Bucky does indeed look healthier now, his skin no longer waxy and almost grey from a chronic lack of sleep. His eyes are no longer sunken and hollow, but clear and bright despite the dreary northern climate. 

Nothing else matters now except for protecting the peace that he’s found here. You will do anything to keep it. 

You take his hand. 

A few hours later, after a short nap, Bucky lends you some clean clothes and feeds you some warm broth before redressing your wounds. You watch him as he goes back to his baking, which had been interrupted yesterday with your unexpected arrival. 

He hunches over his task, shoulders broad and imposing even in repose, the room lit by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. A five o’clock shadow darkens his jaw, lending him an air of ruggedness that belies the careful attention he gives to his pastries and doughs. 

Across the room, you inspect the cuts on your forearms, your movements deliberate as you dab at a particularly nasty one with a cloth. Bucky’s stitch work is impeccable, but there wasn’t much he could do about the pain as you try not to wince with each touch of the cloth. 

“Careful,” Bucky’s voice is quiet, almost lost in the cabin’s stillness. “That one looks deep.” 

“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, your tone a lot less clipped than it was earlier. Bucky offers a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Alpine diffuses the tension with a soft meow, as if begging for attention. Bucky lifts both his hands with a rueful smile, they’re both covered in flour, so she hops off the countertops and hobbles over to you. 

You pat at her back awkwardly, but enjoying the softness of her fur between your fingers. The corners of your lips are pulled up by some invisible force as she bares her belly to you, something you can only describe as joy. 

But the fragile peace is shattered like glass as the sounds of the first gunshot splits the air. The sound is distant, but also unmistakably close, reverberating through the trees. You freeze, your fingers flat on Alpine’s stomach, her paws curled around your hand. 

Then, there’s another. And another. 

Bucky’s head snaps towards the window, loaf of unbaked bread forgotten, as a bloom of orange fire paints the night sky. Your free hand instinctively goes to your side, seeking a weapon that isn’t there. You let out a quiet curse before you look towards Bucky, your eyes meeting in alarm. 

“Hydra,” you murmur, the name a curse on your lips, a reminder of a past that just refuses to die and stay buried. 

“What? But Steve went to the base, said he took down every single one of them there.” 

You curse again, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “Some of them must have followed me here. Maybe even called for reinforcements on the way, who knows.” 

“Shit,” he says as your gazes hold for a brief second, sharing a wordless understanding. There is time for pain, for grief, and for the tender blooming of something new later. But not now. Now, there is only survival. 

In the next breath, the cabin is a flurry of movement. You pick Alpine up just as the world outside the safe house erupts into a frenzy, but within its walls, time seems to slow as your instincts take over. 

With a swift motion, Bucky grabs the radio and barks into it. “Steve, we need an ETA. Our location is compromised; Hydra agents have got us surrounded.” 

“Damn it!” Steve’s voice rasps over the comms. “Hang tight, we’re only about twenty minutes out. The storm is starting to clear, but not fast enough—” 

“Just get here fast!” Bucky doesn’t have time to say more, dropping the microphone and heading over to a hidden loose floorboard in the corner of the living room, pulling out a rifle and a box of ammunition. 

“Kitchen counter, now,” he orders, voice low but piercing, eyes scanning for any sign of movement through the dirt-streaked window. Your response is immediate, knowing that you’re of no help to him with the extent of your injuries, but he still slides a loaded pistol across the floors in your direction. 

You grab it, folding your body behind the makeshift barrier with practiced ease, but your heart thumps harder and faster against your ribcage at the sinister drumbeat of boots on the forest floor outside. 

“Bucky,” you whisper, pulse racing. The sounds are close—too close, too loud, too many. Much like you were back at their base, there are too many of them and not enough of you. “We’re outnumbered.” 

The way his brows knit together tells you he knows you’re right. The two of you alone can’t hope to fight your way out of this. You have twenty minutes before the team arrives, but who knows if you even have that long. 

Bucky shoulders his rifle, quickly crossing the living room and pulling you out from underneath the counter. Instead, in one of the back bedrooms, he pulls aside the four-poster bed and the ornate rug underneath it, revealing a hidden trap door.

“Get in,” he orders after yanking it open, and with Alpine still cradled in your arms, you carefully lower yourself into the crawlspace. “Got your gun?”

“Yeah, right here,” you tell him. Bucky then tosses a blanket down after you, a welcome respite against the dank and musty interior. You wrap it around yourself before pushing yourself into the corner, careful not to pull too much at your stitches, making as much space for him as you can. 

But your heart drops when you realize he’s not moving, one hand braced against the door. “What are you doing?” 

He looks down at you, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously. “I need to buy us some time until Steve gets here.” 

“No,” you growl, letting Alpine drop out of your arms and onto the floor. You reach out to grasp his arm, the movement tugging at your stitches painfully, but you wrap your fingers around his wrist the best you can and pull hard. He doesn’t even budge. “Get your ass in here, Barnes.” 

“Yeah, and who will move the bed back? They’ll find us in seconds—” 

“You’re not going out there alone. There’s too many of them!” You hiss, trying your best not to shout. 

“We don’t have enough bullets between the two of us.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

“Darlin’—” 

“Don’t darlin’ me. You are not going.” Your voice cracks, tears suddenly blur your vision, surprising you that you’ve still got any left. “You can’t.” 

“Come on, I’m a super soldier,” he tries to grin, tries to lighten the mood with a joke that just falls flat. “I’ll be fine. Piece of cake.” 

“Please,” and for the first time in a long time, you are terrified. Fear grips your throat, seeps into your lungs, and every breath you manage to draw feels ice cold. “Steve will be here so soon.” 

“We’re out of time, doll.” He says, like it isn’t the most devastating thing he could possibly tell you at this moment. But he proves you wrong once again, in a single instant breaking down every single wall you’ve ever built around the pieces of your soul, brick by perfidious brick: “I love you.” 

You blink, wondering if you’ve heard him wrong. Are you filling in the gaps with your own wishful thinking? 

“I love you,” he repeats, brushing some of your hair out of your face. His forehead touches yours, his hand cradling the curve of your jaw. 

“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that to get me to shut up.” You bite back, not wanting to hear it. Not like this. The man just chuckles, like he’s talking to a pouting child, as if he knows your bark is worse than your bite. 

“Listen… I need you to know, leaving New York wasn’t about not wanting to be with you. It was about being someone worthy of standing next to you.” 

“You’ve always been—” 

“So, what kind of man would I be, sweetheart,” he smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, where tears brim at the edge of his lashes. “If I didn’t do everything I could to keep you alive?” 

“No, you can’t.” You beg, because despite his earlier claims that he’d be fine, it sounds like he’s saying goodbye. You don’t know if you can handle another one of those. 

“I don’t know why he did what he did. Galloway, I mean, and I’m definitely not sorry that he’s dead… but he did one thing right: he kept you alive out there. He kept you alive long enough for me to meet you.” He lets out this breathless laugh, brushing away some of your tears, mixed with some of his own. “Can’t let a Hydra agent outdo me, can I?” 

“Don’t do this to me,” Not again, not again, not again.“Stay!” 

“I love you,” he says again in response, accentuating each word with a kiss to each cheek, and then one firmly on your lips. He pulls away, eyes searching yours for another few beats of silence, as if he’s committing your face to memory. “Sometimes, I get the strangest feeling that I have for a really long time.” 

Then he pushes your hand away, closing the trap door on top of you with a dreadful thud. You hear the latch being flipped shut, the furniture being moved back to its usual spot, hiding your existence away from the world and all impending danger. 

You scream, but your cries get muffled against the floorboards, under a hailstorm of bullets, and the dreaded clashing of metal against metal. 

Bucky Barnes is a terrible man. 

One who repeats history. 

One who always tries to repent for sins that aren’t his. 

And worst of all, one who may never know that you love him too.

« Chapter 3 || Chapter 5 »

Taglist — @cjand10 @pbs-theundeadmaggot @nerdreader Please leave a comment or send me a DM if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this story. Note that if you ask and you are a blank blog, I will block you instead.

Notes — Okay, so events are moving pretty quickly, but I did say I didn’t wanna drag this out for too long lmao, and it was always intended to have only five chapters. The last chapter is coming soon! I'm hoping to have the finale posted on Friday.

[lostloveletters]

Bruised Fruit Chapter 1 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Gloria falls like overripe fruit from a wilting tree branch, and Michael Corleone intends to devour her amidst the rot and decay that's long since taken root in his family, intent on dooming her with him for a chance at another heir.

Note: I first posted this and two other chapters to AO3, which I'll link if you'd like to read ahead as I begin cross-posting to here.

Warnings: Canon divergence, sexually explicit content, infidelity, period typical attitudes, negative discussions of abortion, Catholicism, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) related to WWII, breeding kink, death, angst, emotional manipulation

Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

AO3 Link | Masterlist

"I’m going to Cuba," he told her in a quiet, postcoital moment.

"Are you secretly a Red, Michael?” she teased, her brown eyes sparkling in the golden glow of the lamps in the hotel room they occupied. “Getting in with the rebels before they storm Havana? They’ve already got Santa Clara.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. "You and your newspapers. Do you seriously think Castro has a chance?"

She took a long drag on her cigarette, pondering her answer for a moment. "His people have nothing to lose."

"I’ll be fine."

"How long will you be gone?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month," he said, twisting a strand of her long black hair between his fingers, silent for a moment as to test the waters, "I’ll wire you."

"Wire your wife."

"Gloria—"

"I’m not saying that to be confrontational. She’s pregnant, focus on her,” she said, passing him the cigarette. “Where does she think you are tonight?”

“She knows I’m in Vegas, just not with you.”

She hummed, her fingers brushing the tender, bruised skin on her hips, a shade of lavender that would no doubt blossom into a plum monstrosity by the morning. For a man over a decade her senior, he was insatiable, devouring her with a ferocity as if she were ripe for the picking.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his gaze following her fingertips.

She shook her head. “Are you staying over?”

“Yes. I have to head out early, though. Lots of people coming in for Anthony’s first communion.”

“Get some sleep then. Don’t let me keep you up.”

He grinned. “You always keep me up.”

“Bathroom’s that way. I’m tired,” she said jokingly, turning over to bury her face in her pillow.

“I’ll wire you when I get to Havana. A few days from now, probably. I have some things to take care of first.”

She mumbled something from her side of the bed, eyes closed while he continued on in Italian. He landed a playful swat on her ass. Yelping, she turned over, glaring at him.

“Rude,” she scolded, “you know I don’t understand Italian. What’d you say?”

He laughed softly, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “I love you.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I called you lazy and insufferable.”

She smiled. “I love you too.”

“Good night, darling,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Night.”

When Gloria awoke the following morning, Michael was gone, though he’d left a note for her. With no reason to stick around, she returned to her apartment, the third one she has lived in since she moved to Las Vegas. It was more spacious than she needed, but Michael insisted, though he rarely visited her there. Their rendezvous were almost always in the hotel room at the casino that was exclusively reserved for him. Safer that way, a more public place with plenty of his men around. She wasn’t ashamed of their illicit relationship, but it made her feel exposed. As soon as they stepped into that elevator together, everyone knew what they were planning to do.

She sighed, sitting on the couch and running a hand through her hair. Her next shift wasn’t until the following evening, and she wasn’t sure what exactly to do with herself. Michael being in Havana was a test run of what was to come.

After Kay had the baby, she’d see less of Michael, busy being the doting husband, the proud father. Just as she didn’t receive an invitation to Anthony’s first communion, she wouldn’t be welcome at their new son’s baptism. She wasn’t sore about it. If she were Kay, she wouldn’t want her around the family either.

Her fear wasn’t that he wouldn’t return, but rather that he would, and she’d never work up the courage to build a life for herself without him. Moving to Vegas was her first attempt at that, but less than a year into the job, she was practically shoved into his hands, and he hadn’t let go since. 

She glanced at the box of newspaper clippings on the entryway desk, to most people, it was little more than evidence of an obsession with the Pacific Theater. Gloria had been young when the war broke out, not fully understanding the difference between the branches of the military, only that her brother wasn’t fighting in Europe, and she rarely heard from him. The newspapers she had poured over introduced her to places like Guadalcanal and Peleliu, small islands that she could barely see on a map, yet somehow Jackie and millions of other men were there. 

Then Life ran a special edition on war heroes, featuring Marines like her brother. A decade after its publication, when Fredo had requisitioned her to keep his brother company in the casino while he ran off to attend to some last minute business, she recognized Michael immediately, unable to stop herself from asking the former Captain about his service. When Jackie returned from the war, he had little to say about what he experienced in the Pacific. In fact, he had little to say about much of anything. Shell shock, they called it, aptly describing the shell of a man her formerly outgoing brother had become. Michael Corleone wasn’t a shell, enthralling her with the details of such places as Guadalcanal and Peleliu with the emotional distance of an observer rather than a participant. 

As their acquaintanceship escalated into an affair, she saw the scars for herself. Both the physical evidence of his being wounded in action, and the invisible ones that’d rear their ugly heads late at night when they’d begun sharing his hotel room. If not manifesting through bouts of insomnia, then through nightmares that left him dazed and agitated when she managed to wake him from them. 

Between the shell shock and his diabetes, she felt like she had to keep a close eye on him. Not only out of genuine concern, but a matter of personal pride. Just because he wasn’t her husband, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of him. God forbid he return to his wife in anything less than mint condition. It was the least Gloria could do.

He would be gone for some time, though, and as she always did during his longer trips, she grabbed her phone, making plans with friends to keep herself occupied. She had a life without him, secure in her independent lifestyle. If she were busy enough, she didn't think of him that often. 

Almost a week later, she received the telegram from Michael at work, nearly forgetting his promise to wire her from Cuba.

In Havana. Beautiful weather. Miss you.

She asked the front desk to wire him back.

Miss you too. Have fun. Stay safe.

She didn’t expect a response. There was nothing else to say.  

Gloria went about her business as usual, working and meeting friends for dinner and dancing when she could. Her style was undoubtedly cramped by the Corleone family associates who tailed her wherever she went. She wondered if it was humiliating for them to be the ones assigned to covertly babysit the Don’s mistress. After all, if the people behind the attack at his Lake Tahoe home truly wanted to cause her harm, there were ample opportunities to do so in Vegas.

Her bubble was small, safe, and secure despite living in the City of Sin. Her proximity to Michael almost always ensured that. In his absence, a mere phone call popped that bubble. 

“Hello? Is this Gloria Marino? This is Kay Corleone.”

“Kay?” she repeated incredulously.

“Can we talk?”

The two women had met just once in person. Michael briefly introduced them when giving his wife a tour of the casino shortly after the family had moved from New York to Nevada. It was the only time Kay had ever stepped foot in the place. Even then, Gloria was sure Kay was smart enough to size her up at first glance, knew she wasn't just another back-of-house employee.

“I figure I’d be the last person you’d wanna talk to.”

“You’d think, but after all this, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t warn you. No one was there to warn me, or maybe I was too stubborn to care.”

Gloria hesitated. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. Consider it my penance.”

“For what?”

“Michael’s going to divorce me when he gets back from his trip.”

“He would never do that.”

“He will.” The certainty in Kay’s voice was shocking, but she didn’t pry. Kay wasn’t telling her for a reason. Prior knowledge of whatever was being omitted would put her in danger with Michael. “He will, and he’s going to go to you afterward. He trusts you.”

“Kay, I don’t—“

“I did something very selfish and desperate, something I can never be forgiven for,” she said cryptically. “You’re going to bear the brunt of the aftermath. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Gloria whispered, unsure if things would really end up that way. 

“Goodbye, Gloria.”

“Bye, Kay.”

The line went dead, and she stared at the phone in her hand for a few moments. Michael would only divorce Kay if the baby were out of the picture, and the woman’s surety only confirmed that was the case. The aftermath. She could only hazard a guess as to what that meant. Nothing good if she needed to be forewarned.

Days later, when she heard about Kay’s miscarriage through the grapevine, it still didn’t exactly click. Not until there was a knock at the door at a little after one in the morning. She figured if she ignored it long enough, the culprit would get the message and go away, but the knocking was incessant.

Shuffling out of the bedroom, she turned on one of the lamps in her living room. She looked out the peephole, shocked to see Michael standing there, waiting impatiently for her.

“Gloria, open up!” he shouted, banging on the door again, causing her to flinch a little.

She took a deep breath, knowing it was a futile attempt to prepare herself for whatever she was about to get into. His expression unreadable when she opened the door, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Michael, you’re back,” she said cheerfully enough. “How was the trip?”

He was silent as she ushered him inside. Turning on another lamp, she nearly froze at the state of him. Bags under his eyes, unkempt hair as if he’d been running his hands through it. 

“I warned you about those rebels,” she joked, only to receive a glare in return, his dark eyes almost black as they leered into hers. “Sorry, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay,” he scoffed, a coldness laced in his voice that settled as an unfamiliar freeze in her veins. “You have no idea what I’ve been through these past few days.”

“I heard Kay miscarried. I’m—“

“It was an abortion,” he snapped. “She murdered our baby.”

Gloria’s eyes widened at the news. Her hand shook as she made a sign of the cross for his unborn son’s soul.

When Kay had called, she never expected the pious wife to commit a mortal sin, damning herself with no hope of reconciliation. Gloria knew other women who had gotten abortions, an inevitability when they weren’t careful enough with the carousel of carefree men that came through Las Vegas. It wasn’t something respectable women with husbands did. Being the wife of a crime lord was hardly respectable, though.

"He was a boy!" he shouted. His eyes were glassy, voice breaking in a rare display of vulnerability. "We were going to have a boy."

"I’m sorry."

"I can tell."

Exasperated, she asked, "What do you want me to do, Michael?"

"Marry me. I want you to marry me."

"No."

In the four or so years she’d been with Michael, she only experienced the lover, not the husband, a different beast entirely. Husbands meant expectations and ownership, something she was woefully unprepared for. 

"It wasn’t a question."

"Then I suppose you’re going to carry me off like the Arabian Nights? Drag me kicking and screaming to join your harem?”

“No harem. Just you.”

“Michael—“

“You’ll marry me. You’ll give me another son.”

Michael was the furthest from a holy man she could fathom, but the way his eyes blazed with a biblical ferocity, she believed for a moment that he could alter the will of God with the sheer magnitude of his desperation and humiliation. He wanted to send her into the depths of purgatory to retrieve the boy he was entitled to, the sacrificial lamb that freed his soon to be ex-wife from marital bondage. Forget that he already had a son, a young, healthy boy. It was the principle of the thing, a man of his influence and import being deceived by his otherwise unassuming wife, her dainty hand dealing the death blow. ‘It was an abortion.' Checkmate.

“Darling, you’re the only person I trust,” he implored softly, his hands cradling her face as he tried intentional gentleness over impulsive tyranny. “I love you.”

She wasn’t getting any younger. Most people considered her an old maid. Her mother sure did, sending letters that increasingly implored her to come home and settle down before it’s too late. Her best prospect was standing before her, a man who wasn’t one to be denied. Senators and executives bent to his will, whether a flexible reed or a rigid board, they all would bend. If not, they broke. He’d break her just to put the pieces back together in his image, a mosaic of desperate domesticity. 

Her time ran out. Perhaps wishful thinking, or naivety in hindsight, but she always expected Kay to grin and bear it. The expectations of Michael Corleone were her cross to take up. Seeing no better option than to give in, she kissed him, allowing the pads of his thumbs to dig into the peachy skin of her cheeks, deep enough that if they were fruit, the tender flesh would be pierced, juice dripping down his hands. He lapped her up in kind, his mouth laying claim to her.

“Tell me you love me,” he pleaded against her bruised lips.

“I love you, Michael.”

And she did love him, but loving Michael was a burden. She couldn’t blame Kay for what she did. It was a long time to carry that weight. His love was demanding, unforgiving, red-hot to the touch despite his cool exterior. There were only so many times a woman could stand to get burned.

They ended up in her bedroom, no longer her domain but his, she could feel the shift as soon as he walked in, eyes hungrily taking her in like a hawk circling above a rabbit. Her nightclothes quickly discarded, leaving her naked and vulnerable before him. She laid back on the bed as he shed his own clothes, and felt an unfamiliar nervousness settle in her stomach. Perhaps it was the magnitude of the act, no longer for leisure, but purposeful, real. If it didn’t take then, he would try again and again until he got what he wanted.

Michael climbed over her, stroking his hard cock before positioning it at her entrance. Leaning down, he kissed her again, his lips taking the brunt of her pained whimper as he slid his length inside her. 

His fingers made their home on her hips as they always did, squeezing as he thrust harder and deeper inside her. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

“That’s it, darling,” he praised. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Kissing the base of her throat while plowing into her appealed to an animalistic instinct in him, and he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh, claiming her, marking her.

In turn, she dug her long fingernails into his shoulder blades, only to find later she’d drawn blood. 

“Michael, please just—it’s too much,” she choked out.

“Just a little longer.”

He released one of her hips, moving his hand between them to rub circles in her clit. The moan she let out only encouraged him as he thrust faster, bringing the both of them closer to climax. 

Closing her eyes, she felt that familiar tightness build in her abdomen. Pleasure tingled through her brain, to her fingertips. She could grab it if she wanted to, reach out for ectasy and make it hers.

“Look at me, Gloria. I want to see you,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “I want to see you become a mother.”

Her eyes shot open, looking at him in near disbelief at his gentle vulgarity.  

Before she could even attempt to respond, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her clit again, and she came, her cunt squeezing his cock, coating it in her juices, hips involuntarily bucking in his unrelenting grip. His name fell from her lips in a delirious whine as her orgasm coursed through her body. He shuddered, cursing under his breath as he slammed his cock deeper into her, letting her cunt milk him dry.

They were silent for a few moments, save for the weak whine Gloria made when Michael pulled out from her. Glancing at her hips, he could see the familiar blossoming of finger-shaped bruises. He kissed her again, his fingers brushing her sensitive folds, collecting the cum that was leaking out before pushing it back inside her, nothing wasted, nothing left to chance.

His lips trailed down her face, to her neck and each of her breasts until finally settling on her belly. He nuzzled his nose against it, the soft, fertile flesh ripening beneath his touch. She felt almost dizzy at his primal display of affection.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” he whispered against her stomach as it rose and fell with her heavy breaths. “I can feel it.”

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series:The Divine Violence - Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

Wordcount: 5.5K

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Implied eating disorders, Jealousy, Past abuse, Underage drinking, vomiting

Description: Soap approaches you to eat lunch with him, you begrudgingly accept.

A/N: Wooo another chapter done! Finally getting into some of the angsty bits that's gonna be a gateway to things we're going to expand upon later in the story. Everybody stay hydrated and I hope you enjoy it!

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The night is young and beautiful. Stars would cover the sky above you if it wasn't from the pollution of the city lights. You can still count a few, one, two, three, even four. They're bright here, one even seems to be blinking at you before you realize it's a plane.

It feels almost too ceremonial with the full moon in the sky, and Simon standing by the little makeshift fire in the pile of trash. It reminds you a little of your confirmation, years past by now. Though the church was a lot cleaner, the people like minded. Clothing of white making you shine in the sun, your proud mother with her uptight smile, and your father who had never before seemed proud of anything you did, now smiled warm toned at you.

You can still remember each word the priest spoke to you. Etched so deep in your brain it might as well have been carved into the back of your palm.

Thinking back to it, you realize it's different to this, so much different. The grittiness has a charm to it, but the real reason your nerves have skyrocketed is because of him. You take a step closer to the fire, watch him pop open the bottle of vodka. The one he had stolen from his father’s cabinet. Easier now that he wasn't home as much.

"Nervous?"

He grins at you, grabbing your fidgeting hand in his own. "We can still leave it be?" he offers kindly, but you quickly shake your head no. You had asked for this, you wanted to try it, because you knew the closest way you'd ever come to alcohol otherwise was the wine (Which wasn't even wine, it was grape juice) at the communion in church.

Simon had so graciously offered when you mentioned your want in passing. The curious nature in your soul wanting to try it at least once, even if you turned out to dislike it. You squeeze his hand, as if to jitter out your nerves. Being this far from home never felt good to you, a festering anxiety in your mind that your parents would find out and punish you.

There was a lot of things Simon could help you with, even take the fall for you should the situation call for it, but not this. No, this would be on you, and it would not feel good.

The fire crackles in front of you, something sharp snaps and brings your focus away from the bottle. You had no clue what was burning in there, but it provided a warm place for you to be so you didn't have much to complain about.

"Whenever you're ready Little Spider," he teases and brings the bottle to your hand.

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Does it really burn that bad?" you take the bottle with a small grimace. Your eyes nervously flicking from the liquid to him and back again.

"You seem very determined that this is what you want to do, so why don't you take a sip and find out?"

Another moments hesitance, and you bring the bottle to your lips. In the first second it doesn't burn, just so that the little thought of relief can enter your brain, before being squashed by the lit fire in your throat.

He quickly grabs the bottle away from you, when you start coughing and spurting. The sounds of your distress drowned out by his roaring laughter. His hand comes to pat you on the back, his eyes almost filled with tears from his laughter.

"Oh my oh my oh my, why why why did I do this."

"Oh c'mon, it wasn't that bad, was it?" he looks down at the bottle experimentally. Acting as if he hadn't tasted it countless times before. He brings it to his lips when your outburst calms down, taking a sip seamlessly, taking the burn proud and easy.

"How in the world," you sound astonished by his display. He tries to keep a straight face, but fails very quickly when he sees how you look at him like he's crazy. "Hey don't laugh!" you swat his arm, but soon fall into the laughter along with him.

The fire illuminates his face, casting shadows of you both behind on the wall. The soft orange glow makes some of his features stand out more than normal. His little scars close to his mouth that's normally almost invisible, now almost makes him look scary if it wasn't for how his face was lit up with joy.

"Oh wow," you grab the bottle back to read the inscription as if that would give you more clarity. "I don't understand how people drink stuff like this daily...I mean it's not that good."

His smile falls a little, his breathing catching up from the fit of laughter. "Well, drink enough of it and you'll start to feel funny," he explains simply instead of doing in-depth.

"Huh..." you look at the little alcohol percentage on the bottle, "have you been drunk before?"

He doesn't respond immediately, almost as if he seems ashamed of it. "A few times," he admits and trails closer to the wall, "with a few other guys from school." He leans on it, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes him look edgy, his dark attire and the illumination of a dumpster fire. He looks older than he is like that.

You come closer, tilting your head to the side slightly. He looks at you tentatively, taking in all that is you, the way you look, the way you move, the way you position yourself in front of him, so very close.

"What else have you done?" you ask in a knowing tone that didn't know much at all, "that you haven't had the heart to tell me about yet?" His eyes widen slightly panicked for a moment. You already know how he's compiling an excuse in his brain, or some way to explain himself away from anger, but you aren't angry.

"I just didn't think it was your thing...didn't want to bother you with it...make you feel like you had to," he explains quickly. You shake your head, making sure to give him a small smile as reassurance. His shoulders sag more.

"It wasn't..." you tell him, “But now I’m curious."

"Are you now?" his voice turns back to teasing. How you'd love to smear that smug smile off him, one way or another.

You bring the bottle to your lips, drinking way more than you probably should.

"Yeah, so let's find out."

Your throat burns whenever you throw up. It's become a much more frequent occurrence. The stress of your problems taking wear on your mind. You're no more surprised to find a singular grey hair protrude from your scalp, than you are from the blood mixed with bile in the sink.

That had been your breakfast most likely. The only meal you had found yourself able to sneak away to eat in peace of your assigned room. It left your stomach empty again, the pained hollow feeling you despised despite how much of your life was spent in it.

You'd take anything over this. Oh, how you wished you could be like anyone else, the majority of the reasons to throw up being a hangover, or being sick. Though alcohol hasn't touched your lips in years.

The fluorescent lights blink above you, the little buzzing drowned out by your heavy breathing. The space is better than what you've had the past while, but you did miss the privacy of the motel. People had a tendency to stare here.

You turn on the water, guiding it along with your hands to wash away the bile. Blood trickles down from your knuckles, the split ends of flesh flaking off the bone. You can see the white underneath. The sound of the door opening brings your attention away from it. You avoid the mirror despite its desperate pleas.

No what you can't just leave me here! Please you can't be serious! You're just going to let him keep me in here?! Please just look at me, don't go.

You look towards the mohawk showing itself first.

When you first met Soap, you had been taken aback. He had a very intense personality, a fire within that outshined in his actions. You have yet to determine your own disposition on him. He's friendly enough towards you, all things considered.

"Ah there ye are." He's been standing outside that door for who knows how long. He likely heard the wretched sound as your stomach gave in on itself. Why he chose now to step in, eludes you.

You clear your throat, the hunch in your back stretching out after you turn off the running water. Your fingers run over your knuckles; the wounds gone. "Do you need something?" keeping your voice steady and polite proves a more difficult task than you'd like it to.

"Have ye had lunch yet...?" he's being careful with you. It's a revelation you didn't expect to have for him, did he figure something out he shouldn't have? Does he know?

"Ah was gonna invite ye to join us this mornin' for breakfast, but ah couldn't find ye." Good that had been the intention. A part of you did recognize you couldn't hole yourself away forever though. You were already the odd one out in the group of four.

"Oh.."

Your voice is too weak

The mirror echoes.

"Right...I..."

You clear your throat again, it feels too constricted, the air in here is not enough for you.

You catch yourself in his vibrant blue eyes. You could see an ocean in them, the beautiful waves at sea, the smell of salt in the air. You can feel the surgent winds ghosting over your skin, the sting and burn as water enters your lungs, a warm hand on the back of your neck holding you down. A faraway chanting of prayer echoes muffled in your ears.

"No...I haven't" you try to muster a smile.

"Good," he says pleased "ye're with me then."

The sea is faraway.

The mess hall is the exact kind of hell you expected it to be. Loud, obnoxious, filled with potential social threats and unnecessary questions on the verge from the man sitting in front of you. The only bit of luck you seem to have kept, shows itself in the lack of soldiers here at all. Most of them had likely already eaten.

The meal Infront of you looked anything but appetizing. Yet Soap seemed all the more happy to devour it with no complaints. He's been talking your head off ever since you sat down, clueing you in on things at base. Most of it is useful information you manage to retain, but after awhile your ears goes deaf despite how much you want to listen.

Though you have to admit that it sounds like they're a tight knit group. The 141 formed quite awhile ago, managing to take out several high-level threats. It made sense to put them up against the divine principle, but you couldn't help the doubt in your mind that anything would come of it. Even if you managed to take the group down once more, they would just resurface years later until you took out the root of the problem.

You had failed to do it once.

"...are ye listening?"

Your eyes flicker up from your murky food, locking eyes with Soap. What the hell kind of name was that anyway. Was he good at cleaning dishes? A lot of code names tend to be teasing or insults, so maybe he got teased for it?

"Yeah," you reassure him by briefly giving him your undivided attention. You'd quickly trail out again.

"Ye can tell me to shut up, ah know ah talk a lot" he doesn't sound ashamed of it, but you can hear the hint of self deprecation. Someone's definitely shamed him in the past. You had no intention to do so, you quite preferred people who talk a lot. They talk fast, easy, and typically give way more information than they should which paints you a better picture. A bonus point that it fills out the silence you bring.

"No... it’s nice," you mutter and pick up your fork. You might as well try to fight some of it down, you hadn't even touched any of it yet, and Soap was practically done even with his rambling.

You didn't know whether the lack of people in a typically populated space made you more or less anxious.

"So, ye used to hunt these people a few years ago?"

You meet his eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. You're not sure what you were supposed to find in them, but definitely not the curiosity that shines. This entire taskforce is playing with a hellfire they do not understand. It's practically impossible to take it down, even from within, lord knows you've tried.

"Yeah."

You could bite your lip bloody trying to think of ways to continue the conversation from here. He goes wildly quiet for you. Is he expecting for you to elaborate? What does he even want you to say? What were you allowed to say? What did they know? How much information is appropriate over a lunch in a very public area?

You were starting to regret your decision of agreeing to all of this. You hadn't even started and the stress was pulling you down under.

"They're hard to find, even with a full team" he shakes his head amused, "ah can't even imagine what it must've been like hunting them practically all alone."

"I wasn't alone."

He seems surprised. Good.

Kate hadn't told them every detail.

"They were tenacious then; I don't doubt the group wont behave much different this time around. They always end up with the same values, the same goal." You ramble on, catching yourself by biting your tongue.

"What's the goal?" he asks.

"Doomsday preppers in a nutshell, just add a slimy layer of misguided religion on top of it." You finally take a big bite of your food. It slides down your throat slowly, the dryness, or size catching you off-guard.

Soap slides your glass closer to you. "Not new, but also not every day ye see it to this large of an extent."

"It's been organized for years now, they're not likely to stop from a threat from the authorities. Only way is to take out the roots." You mumble on after getting your throat cleared. There were quite a few ways to go about doing that, all of them left an acidic taste in your mouth.

You could see the way he wanted to ask more. He should refrain, wait for it all to be revealed in proper time instead of probing you for information in an informal interrogation. A quite nice one at that.

You had yet to decide on how close you wanted to get to him.

John MacTavish, Soap.

He was a sergeant, chatty nature, one for jokes, witty, smart. A person worthy to note, despite rebellious appearances.

The captain had yet to earn your respect, and likewise yours his. He was impressive on all accounts. He would also be the first person to throw you off this mission at a sign of weakness. Valuable in its own right.

Kyle was indifferent towards you, a bit cold perhaps, though he seemed a gentleman when it came down to it.

Ghost was......Simon.

You didn't know what you expected when you met Simon again. He's a lot more different than you thought he would be. Taking on the persona of Ghost, you suppose you can't blame him for needing an escape, but the motif still stirs something awful in your chest. Neither of you really got over it.

Maybe you'd have preferred it if he wasn't so aloof with you, a bit more direct in your long-awaited reunion. Perhaps it would have been better if it had mimicked TV, the rain and yelling and screaming in a scenic location to make it more meaningful to you. Unfortunately, reality tends to be far more boring.

"So did he always wear that mask?"

"Ghost? Aye, as long as I've known the bastard," he chuckles "can ask Price about before that, he's known 'im the longest."

There's a pang in your heart, something that feels an awful lot like a drop jealousy, but you can't allow that. It wouldn't be one bit fair. If you were the one to walk away from him then, were you really allowed to feel anything at all for him? Certainly not jealousy over the new relationships he'd build. You should be happy, you really should.

But how dare he abandon you so fast.

You shake your head free of the feeling. Wrongful, wishful, thinking wouldn't change the truth nor the fact he was supposedly better off here.

"Known him long?"

"Ever since we got assigned on this taskforce, give or take a few years now. And Ye?"

"Old acquaintances."

There's another sting in your heart that burns something fierce. All the nights you had spent wishing you were still in contact with him coming back to you. Times when it felt like a single word from him would make life worth living again. A single glance from him could make it worth anything.

You tried to ignore that bit.

But the mask had a symbolism you didn't like any better. You'd only be arrogant to think or claim that you still knew him and his thoughts, but it was still distasteful. Had he forgotten? You had both ran from it, difference was he now wore it on his face and you watched it creep in the shadows.

You had always hated the cold streaks in first signs of winter. When the temperature went freezing, the trees losing their colour, the sun hiding more often now behind threatening clouds. However still no snow. All the unfortunate parts with none of the benefits.

And standing on Simon's freezing front porch didn't help. He was taking too long. It had been half a minute since you rung the doorbell. Where the hell was he? His parents were supposed to be out, and despite his little brother still being home, the two of you would take any opportunity you could take.

You wrap your jacket closer around you. The biting frost nipping at your cheeks and nose. For a moment you debate whether you should ring the bell again, but you remember his words clear, he had told you to just go in, even if it felt wrong to do that without a formal invitation straight from the door.

You hadn't been here too many times. Some part of yourself too scared that the smell of smoke would sting your clothes, and that your parents would know exactly where you had been. You needed to be careful, one wrong decision and they'd forbid you from seeing him again.

You aren't sure if you could handle that.

The door creeks when you open it, too loud for your taste. It makes you grimace. You try calling out for him, to no response. There's a smell of freshly baked bread, likely at the hands of his mum.

A smile tugs on your lips, your stomach twisting hungrily in your body. Hurriedly you kick off your shoes, and hang up your jacket, emerging in the home's living room. For a moment you wonder if anyone is even home, it feels cold from the lack of interaction.

"Simon?" it's not like him to leave you alone like that. Was he even home?

You tiptoe towards the hallway peeking down the dark way. When you stare too long, the shadows move occasionally, takes shape like moving smoke. Another time you softly call his name, slowly coming up to Simon's and his brother’s bedroom.

It's cracked open very slightly, the shine of light coming from the slit. It illuminates the dying flowers placed neatly on a bookshelf. You move to open the door, but before you can get there, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, the subtle warm breath from someone else hitting your skin. It felt wrong, and in the back of your mind you knew who it was, what he was doing. You whipped around, the fear having already seeped into your eyes. You were ready to shield yourself, stare into the tall figure that looked like the personification of death.

The scream that erupted from your lungs, weren't only of fear but also from genuine shock. The figure wasn't tall like you had expected, instead you had to glance downwards to meet the eyes behind a white skull mask. You stumble backwards, crashing your body against the door and falling all the way down to the floor.

The boy stands above you, a fit of psychotic little giggles come from him which make your stomach churn with disgust. He holds a butterknife in his hand. It's the only reason you haven't gotten up yet as you stare at his display, trying to mimic his father.

"Tommy what are you doing!" you shout out offended. You hope it covers the tinge of fear you carry. In no universe should Simon's little brother look like this, in no world should he be able to scare you this badly.

The antsy sensation isn't just from the initial surprise, it swirls in your blood at the sight of a raised knife. It doesn't matter that it isn't sharp, it doesn't even matter that it's not directly pointed at you.

It makes you remember. The late nights, the early mornings, the fights that took place within your own home. The list of threats you'd heard, you could recite them as clear as your favourite quote from your favourite book.

"Tommy...put down the knife." You don't hear the tremble in your voice but he does. He tilts his head; a line of light falls over the skull mask. His eyes are illuminated beneath it, they carry nothing but distaste for you.

He's never liked you. You were fine with that, but this is just too far. Where was Simon anyway!? If Tommy was home then he should be as well, maybe even his mother if anything at all.

Like a saving grace, an angel sent from the heavens, you hear his uncertain voice call out shakily.

"Tommy what are you doing, give that to me."

Simon pulls you even closer to his form, your legs shift from how you're sitting halfway into his lap. He had practically forced you this close when you started to complain about the cold. Not that you minded the proximity itself.

"Are you sure we can't just lock a room, so he won't disturb us?" You nuzzle closer into his side. A big breath exits your lungs, it rises upwards like a little cloud. His arm pulls your jacket closer around, his hand settling on your waist to give you a little squeeze.

"We're fine here," he mumbles into your hair "got you all to myself."

"I know," you say exasperated "it's just why would he do that...it's not...its..."

You don't know how to formulate your words right. It's hard to explain exactly what you saw from your perspective on the floor. A terrifying display you never want to see on Tommy's innocent face again. That look was reserved for his father, not that you were any happier seeing it on him either.

"He's been acting up...mood swings and all that" Simon sighs and shakes his head. "He's done it to me too a few times when mom and dad are fighting...I... don’t understand it. Even when dad brought that snake in, he was all giddy...I don't think he really understands," Simon confesses.

"Wait, what snake?!" you manage to pull yourself away from his arms. You stay close in his hold to keep sharing body heat, but you raise yourself on your knees so you're looking down at his face. "Your dad brought a snake into your home, to you, and he just laughed?" you sounded pissed off, and rightfully so you were. He'd never told you this before now.

"Yeah, were years ago now but..." he raises a hand, his thumb brushing over to dull marks above his lips "it bit me."

Your eyebrows furrow and you have to hold yourself back from not yelling out in frustration. You bite down on your own lip hard, and reach a hand up to gently run your fingers over the two scars in the form of dots. He closes his eyes as he feels your skin on his, let's out a shuddering breath. He always gets like this now at your touch, he always seems so affected, always positively.

In the beginning you thought it was just hormones, puberty for him now that you're both well into your teenage years. A round of "Boys will be boys," as your mother would keep saying whenever you told her how you saw the boys at school pick on the girls in the most horrendous ways.

Simon's a boy but you've never seen him be that cruel. And then you started to think it might just be you he's like this with, that to anyone else, any other girl or boy that gets close never gets to see him have this kind of reaction.

He opens his eyes and your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound. It makes you snort, giggling into your hand as you listen to his rumble of a chuckle. His arms snake around your waist, bring you in closer, pressing your bodies up against each other as much as can be.

He looks up at you like you're the only person in the world.

Like you're everything to him, as if you were to go his world would collapse around him. And you know it's true because you feel the same way. If he were to ever leave, you wouldn't know how to function, you wouldn't have an escape from the abuse, a person to keep you afloat when you're drowning.

You lean down a little to place a soft peck just above his lips, on the dotted scars.

You're not sure what true love is, but if you'll ever have a chance at it, it has to be this. There can be no other explanation for that glint in his eye reserved only for you.

He looks at you with pure love.

Soap looks at you expectantly. The dull sounds of the mess hall fill your ears again, you didn't even realize you zoned out. You only pray it wasn't for an unusually long time.

"We knew each other way back, before he joined the military I think." You try your best to play it off as not a big deal. As if you hadn't been in deep with him once upon an easier time. You doubted Simon would want to bring more attention to it than necessary when it came to his teammates.

"Before? Woah, can finally say ah know someone who knew the legendary ghost before he became ghost." He sounds pleased with himself. You don't understand the difference.

Like speaking of the devil himself, the tall dark figure with a mask you wanted to rip off him, emerged into the hall. It didn't turn many heads, but the way you whipped your head dramatically brought Soap's attention to him as well.

"Well...speak of the devil..." he mumbled. You could hear the smile on his lips without looking.

It's a bit late to come in for lunch, but when you think about it you didn't see him go eat with the others, while you were actively avoiding them. He would always retreat into his own room or office, like you would do.

Both you and Soap watches as he goes up to select what his lunch will be. Occasionally you glance towards Soap, observing his interest in Simon, you try to gouge at their relationship. They'd likely be good friends, having a soldier camaraderie for years now. It made you wonder if Soap would now qualify as one to know more about the boy you used to be so close with, than you do yourself.

You look back to Simon, trying to get a proper glimpse of his mask again. You have to bite back an annoyed groan when they flood your vision again.

The shadows encompass his mask all around. They block out the once dirty white with a coal black. It moves around like a mass, obscuring his face, his head taking on spiky ends, then blocky, then smooth. It makes him look like the creatures in the mirrors, the only thing left being the uncanny clear view of his eyes.

They're so visible to you that they freak you out more than the moving shadows, looking straight out of an uncomfortable picture you'd find on the internet. When he finally picks up his food and turns to your direction, your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound.

Soap looks at you concerned, but you wave him off quickly taking a big gulp of your water.

You look back to see exactly what you thought it was. You'd recognize that look on him anywhere from just his eyes. People say eyes are the windows to someone's soul, you don't know if you believe it for everyone else or even yourself, your eyes look so dull in the mirror, but for Simon it's the truest statement you've heard.

Despite the time apart, that look is burned into your retinas. It's been an image you clung to over the years, you last remnant of him, something to remind you of what you once had.

And he's looking towards you, like he used to do.

He's looking towards you with an expression you haven't seen in person in years.

He's looking towards you with a look of love you'd never think you'd see on his face again.

He's looking towards you with such devotion that someone like you doesn't deserve from someone like him.

You realize it too late. You glance away from Simon and look to the man sitting in front of you

He looks at you with pure love.

He's not looking at you.

Are you seriously jealous over a man you haven't seen in years?

You know it's pathetic. You know it's nonsensical. You know you shouldn't.

Yet you pace back and forth in your room, the shadows louder than they've ever been in months. They corner you in on every side, lunge out at you when you get too close to the walls. Their thousand little voices overlap in a chorus of insults.

Vile, pathetic, weak, useless, killer.

Your hands raise up to cover your ears but it does nothing to dampen the intensity. Your clothes feel too tight on your body, the air too humid, a certain place in the room burning hot with agony and shame. The little space under your bed. The bag with the letters that once brought you comfort.

They burn hot even from a distance. A rush of hot and cold going through your bloodstream. Ice beneath your skin one moment and boiling blood the next.

Did he ever even look at you like that? Wasn't it different back then? He had the dumb puppy love for you none of that was real.

"Shut up," your voices breaks in your throat and comes out a meek whisper.

Just take a look at those pathetic letters.

"No..."

Each one of them so much later than the next. Spaced out perfectly to leave you in the dark, first a week then two then a month then two months then...

"Shut it!" you shout out with the animalistic ferocity you've been taught. The shadows retract slightly, giving you more room to breathe. Normally you try to ignore the voices that go through your head, you've found answering them only encourage their absurd bait. They could taunt you all they wanted. Voices instilled by vile men in your life, repeated over and over and over and over and over.

Until they manifested themselves within your skull and refused to leave.

In a way you know the things you are seeing aren't real, but it feels so solid. All of it just your fragmented mind trying to make sense of what you were forced to see. None of it could be real.

Sometimes you think that you could actually reach out and touch them, but anytime you've tried they just retract further away from you. You've always hated how it swims in your vision, distracts you from what's actually important.

You look towards the bed, under it, the bag, the letters that almost flood out of it from where you've thrown it. They call to you, scream at you so silently. Your legs are sluggish like walking through water as they carry you there. Your fingers touching what feels like knives as you pull out the nearest letter.

The little piece of paper he left on your bed before he left for the military.

You read quietly, the whisper barely even audible on your lips.

To my love, my dear little spider

I'm sorry that I have to go. Don't fall apart without me, okay?

See you soon, your Simon

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami

[sisterprocrastinator]

MASTERLIST v2.0

Here is the up to date list of my work, including links to the stories on my AO3 page

All of my works are 18+ and most contain NSFW themes.

There is probably something for everyone here - epic sagas, small multi chapter fics, oneshots, ghouls, demons, witches, angels, Papas, smut, fluff, intricate world building, smut, heartbreak, tragedy, soul bonding, angst, smut...

You get the idea.

I've tried to put my own spin on the lore of the Ghost universe by mixing the ghouls and the Papas with my own original characters, and stitching it all together to create a huge multiverse.

Essence of Quinn is my main WIP right now. 535k words, 230+ chapters; the glue that binds all my worlds together (it's also the most commented on fic under the Ghost Sweden Band tag and the second longest Ghost band fic on AO3).

Masterlist below:

ESSENCE OF QUINN

537k words (ongoing)

MxM, FxM

OC ghoul x OC ghoul

Secondo, original ghoul characters and actual ghoul characters

A child of Fate, a slave to destiny.

Quinn is a quintessence ghoul with a tragic and traumatic past who is cursed with visions. He's summoned to Earth to work with the Clergy. Epicness and spice ensues.

NAMELESS GHOUL

132k words (complete with occasional updates)

FxM

OC ghoul x Sunshine

Papa IV, Secondo, current ghouls

A ghoul is summoned illegally and enslaved by a rogue sect of the Clergy.

BLACKENED FEATHERS

92k words (complete)

FxM

Omega x OFC

Terzo, Alpha and the rest of the papas and ghouls along with some originals.

Heaven and Hell collide, but who will come out on top?

BURNING FOR YOU

15k words (ongoing)

FxM

Alpha ghoul x OC ghoulette

Papa IV, Terzo, Secondo and all of the ghouls and original character ghouls.

Fire ghoul Alpha has got impulse control and anger issues. He finds himself falling for an off limits water ghoulette with scary guard dog bodyguards. Biker ghoul fun and smut ensues.

UNHOLY COMMUNION

20k words (complete)

FxM, FxMxM, FxMulti

OC fire ghoul x OC Sister of Sin

Evil Secondo AU, dark smut

Secondo and his ghouls pay a visit to a small rural abbey to perform mass. A Sister gets up close and very personal with his mysterious fire ghoul.

MUSHY MAY 2024

5.6k words (ongoing)

MxM, various

Secondo, Phantom ghoul, Aether ghoul, Dewdrop ghoul, Alpha ghoul, Omega ghoul, various originals

Ficlets using Forlorn-Crows' Mushy May challenge prompts

THE GLOVES STAY ON

2k words (ongoing)

FxMxM

Terzo x Omega x Sister of Sin

A Sister Of Sin is left hanging and at the mercy of Terzo and his ghoul.

Alternative title: Fucked by Terzomega.

KINKTOBER 2023

17k words (complete)

FxM, MxM, Multi

Various characters

A collection of short fics based on Kinktober 2023 prompts.

QUAIR ONESHOTS

5k words (ongoing)

MxM

Original ghoul Quinn x Original ghoul Air

Sometimes I get smut ideas that will have no context for the main story of Essence of Quinn, so I will put them here when the mood takes me.

The first one is a bonus Quair chapter from my Kinktober 2023, but more original stuff will be added soon.

SECOND CHANCES

2k words (ongoing)

FxM

Secondo x OFC

Secondo has been alone for many years since tragic events took the love of his life from him. He's spent a big chunk of that time living up to the playboy image that others have, but behind the persona he feels so, so lonely.

When one of his ghouls is badly injured, Secondo must work closely with the Abbey's head physician, Astrid, to try and save him. He enjoys the challenges set by her fierce intellect and finds himself reluctantly falling for her charms.

Can the old playboy find it in himself to give love a second chance? The only thing standing in his way is himself.

GO WITH THE FLOW

5.6k words, ongoing

FxM

OC earth ghoul x OFC

Secondo's earth ghoul has never been interested in humans before. He's the biggest ghoul at the Abbey and he steers clear of them because he's always been told how fragile they are.

Everything changes though when he meets Zoe, a human who supplies the Clergy with their ritual ingredients and supplies. His seer packmate lets slip that Zoe might just be his mate and it all goes downhill from there.

SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES

1.5k words, ongoing

Special ghoul x Mist ghoulette

Terzo's ghoulette Mist lost her potential mate Special thirteen years ago under tragic circumstances. Just lately though, she's convinced herself that she's seen him around the Abbey.

With the help of her packmate and good friend Alpha she tries to piece together what's going on.

It's All Hallows Eve and the veil between worlds is thin. Will Mist finally get to say goodbye to her lost love? Or will her heart get broken all over again? Anything can happen on Halloween 👻

Anyway, check out my page and see if anything catches your eye. As always, be mindful of the AO3 tags. Thanks for reading 🖤

[lost-in-derry]

Communion

This is my belated Christmas present to @seth-silver-ink! A fic based off their sentient bo-rifle post. It’s also the first complete chapter of a fic I’ve ever written! Stay tune for part two.

********************** **********************

Kallus regained consciousness feeling completely fine, which was the first clue that something was wrong. Even on his best days some part of his body ached. Usually the leg he’d broken on Bahryn that had never healed quite right, his head from staring at his data pad until he passed out, or on very special mornings, both.

The second clue, upon opening his eyes, was that he appeared to be in an infinite void. Better than being strapped into an Imperial interrogation chair, but still concerning. Kallus sat up slowly to get a better sense of his surroundings. The ground beneath him was smooth and reflective. It rippled when he pressed his hand to it, but found himself completely dry as he stood up. The sky, if one could call it that, was a misty color. Squinting his eyes and staring hard, Kallus thought he could almost see stars. Everything around him was touched with the warm gentle colors of a sunrise.

With little else to do Kallus started walking. The ground rippled softly beneath him with each step and he tried to recall how he’d gotten here. Events wove themselves together slowly. There was a mission. An unusual mission. Zeb had come to him early in the morning and said the Ghost Crew had found something- no, someone. Many someone’s, and they were very important. Lasat. Prisoners in a labor-camp.

Kallus had helped the Spectres free Lasat before, but always from a distance. He would sneak into security rooms, open doors, take out guards, guide the others through escape routes, all the while taking care that he wasn’t seen. Afterwards he’d find his way back to the Glimmer and distract any TIE fighters while the Ghost snuck away with the prisoners. It’s not like he was allowed to know where they were going anyway. But this time had been different. There was a blockade around the planet the Lasat were being held on that only the Ghost could get through. The labor camp was the largest they’d ever attempted to breach. Security was much tighter and the control room was nearly impossible to get to. There’d be no time for him to get there before the rest of the crew was spotted. Kallus had to memorize the camp layout and guide everyone through in person.

It would be the first time he’d come face to face with a Lasat other than Zeb since Lasan and he was… scared. The whole flight through hyperspace Kallus could feel the icy grip of his sins crawling down his spine. He sat in the galley, staring at the camp blueprints and trying not to vomit. By the time the Ghost made it through the blockade and landed on the planet he’d managed to convince himself that none of the Lasat would recognize him. So long as he kept his head down and focused on getting everyone into the camp and back out safely, everything would be fine.

The moment he’d entered the prison Kallus felt strange. He heard something. A whisper, a buzzing in the back of his mind. Something was wrong but he didn’t know what. The further into the compound they got the louder the sound became. It almost sounded like a voice.

Chopper had just opened the main gate so the prisoners could make the last sprint across the landing pad towards Hera and the Ghost while Kallus and the rest of the crew kept the guards busy.

“Hey, traitor!”

Kallus whipped around, the voice he heard with his ears nearly drowned out by the one calling out in his head. In front of him was an imperial officer he vaguely recognized from his time on Thrawn’s ship. They hadn’t interacted much but the man had always seemed to dislike Kallus beyond the usual animosity between ISB agents and the rest of the Empire. The officer wasn’t important. What was important was that he had a bo-rifle in his hands. Kallus’ bo-rifle. And he heard it scream as the man clumsily ignited it.

Kallus’ body moved on its own. He closed the distance between him and the officer in one blink. His opponent raised the bo-rifle to block an incoming attack, but Kallus wasn’t aiming for him. The only thought in his mind was getting the weapon out of his hands. He wrenched the staff out of one hand, reached out and snapped the wrist of the other. The officer cried out in pain and kicked himself backwards, releasing the staff. Kallus felt it hum in his hands. He swung the bo-rifle, aiming for the officer’s neck with the bayonet blade attached to the side. He felt it connect at the same moment he heard the blaster he hadn’t noticed the officer pull out firing into his chest.

Kallus halted. Everything after that was black and he’d woken up here. It occurred to him for the first time that he might be dead.

“Not quite, but you’re close.”

Kallus’ eyes jerked up and standing in front of him was a Lasat. He recognized his face from one of the many that haunted his dreams. This was the Honor Guard he’d won the bo-rifle from.

Kallus opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing to get words out.

“It’s you.”

The Guard flicked his ears in amusement. “It’s me.”

Zeb had told him once that it was customary for a follower of Boosahn Keeraw to bow to whoever had given them their weapon. Kallus put a fist in his other hand in front of him and lowered his head. The Guard inclined his head in response. Kallus frowned in confusion.

“Are you a ghost? How are you here if I’m not dead as well?” He didn’t even know where ‘here’ was.

The Guard sat down and gestured for Kallus to do the same.

“I’m not a ghost. I’m not really even the Lasat you fought. I’m more… the bo-rifle’s memory of him.”

He gave Kallus a moment to process what he’d just heard before continuing.

“Right now you’re communing with the bo-rifle. It can’t speak, so it uses the forms of its past wielders to communicate with its current one.”

Kallus raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I can’t be the current wielder.”

“Why not? You defeated me in single combat. You claimed the bo-rifle through Boosahn Keeraw.”

Kallus dropped his gaze to the ground. His reflection stared back from beneath him.

“There was no honor in invading your home.”

“True.” He flinched at the Guards bluntness.

“But the bo-rifle sensed the potential in you to become something better than you were. The Empire could not snuff out the light in you completely.” The Guard smiled slightly, like he knew something Kallus didn’t. “And you had a purpose yet to serve, Warrior.”

Kallus’ face pinched in confusion. Before he could ask what that meant the Guard made a dismissive gesture.

“An explanation for another time, perhaps. The bo-rifle called to you for a reason, aside from freeing it.”

All levity dropped from the Guard’s face.

“You have a choice to make.”

Kallus sat up straight and listened with bated breath.

“I said earlier you were close to death. You stand on the precipice between your world and the next. You are connected to the bo-rifle enough for it to tip the scales one way or the other. It can send you back or let you go.”

The Guards eyes softened.

“It has seen your life. It knows the pain you’ve endured. You’ve done enough good now to earn the peace death would bring you.”

“…And if I go back?”

The Guard was silent for a moment.

“You will face your sins. You will hurt and bleed again. You will meet your nightmares. You will stare the darkness of the abyss in the eye once more and I cannot promise you will survive.”

Kallus closed his eyes. He remembered watching his mother slowly die of a disease they couldn’t afford medicine for. He remembered starving in the Lower Levels of Coruscant. He remembered the Academy, how everyone looked at him like he was garbage that had crawled up from the sewer. He remembered Weiss and the ISB program and how they’d turned him into a monster his mother wouldn’t recognize. He remembered Onderon and how helpless he’d been. He remembered Lasan, standing in the ashes of the atrocity he’d been too blind to see he was helping commit. He remembered Lothal. Meeting a band of rebels. Chasing them through the stars. He remembered Bahryn and Zeb and a conversation that had changed everything. A spark igniting within him that had set flame to a rebel’s heart that had been growing for years under the surface. He remembered dragging himself out an escape pod. He remembered being shown kindness and compassion and forgiveness he didn’t deserve by people who would become the first family he’d have since he was nine years old. He remembered how he’d do anything to protect them and their dream.

The Guards green eyes stared back at him, waiting.

“It’s a hard choice.”

Kallus smiled.

“No. It isn’t.”

The Guard smiled back.

“Alexsandr Kallus, do you swear to use this bo-rifle with honor, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and bring light to a dark galaxy?”

“I swear.”

They both stood. “Then it’s time for you to go.”

The world around them grew brighter and started to disappear.

“Wait!” Kallus cried as he felt himself start to slip away. “What’s your name?”

The Guard let out a gentle laugh.

“My name was Romai.”

[vgfm]

Deltarune Theory: Reappraising Father Alvin

An Omnibus Analysis of the Angel’s Servant, Gerson’s Successor, and the Roaring Knight

HEY EVERY     !  This has been a long time coming, but it’s time to take a look at one of Deltarune’s most overlooked characters: Father Alvin. This series newcomer has flown under the fanbase’s radar for years, but I’m here to tell you why he’s become my top suspect as the true identity of the Roaring Knight.

But that’s not all, I’ll also be delving into the nature of dark fountains, secrets that Gerson may have discovered before his demise, insights into a higher power offered by 1997’s #1-Rated Salesman, and even the origins of our favorite fluffy boy Ralsei. How can all this tie together? Read on and find out!

As a disclaimer, nothing I say should be taken as gospel—I tend to play fast and loose with my theory writing so as to weigh the various possibilities rather than settling on one objective answer. My goal isn’t to make readers agree with every point I make, but to inspire further thought and discussion on topics even if you disagree with my conclusions.

Note that this is the longest theory I’ve ever written, so I’ll break down the contents below in case you want to Ctrl + F to wherever you last left off:

Alvin as the Knight

The Initial Appraisal

Alvin’s Importance

Exhibit A: Alvin’s Drawing

King’s Connections

Fountains Bubbling from the Depths

Holy Fountains

The Knight’s Hand

The Knight’s Blade

Scoping Out the School

The Librarby

“A Large Person Could Easily Fit Inside”

Speaking of Communion

Ralsei’s Origins

An Alternative Perspective

Ralsei’s Connection to the Knight

Alvin’s Motives

The Knight’s Trials and Errors

Gerson and the Dark Fountains

Let’s Talk About Gerson

Gerson’s Grand Fountain

The Will of the Fountains

Dark Fountain Rulebook – Abridged Edition

Blessed with Talent

Lord of the Hammer

Counter-Arguments

The Elephant in the Room…

The Laws of Portraits

Exceptions to the Rule

Portraits and Typers

Spamton and Jevil

Bringing it Back to Alvin

Conclusion

The Final Tally

Closing Thoughts

Special Thanks

Alvin as the Knight

The Initial Appraisal

Father Alvin is the son of Gerson Boom, the old Waterfall shopkeeper in Undertale. He’s the local priest of Hometown and a devout worshipper of “the Angel.” Alvin’s first name is an anagram of “Anvil,” corresponding to his father’s association with hammers and former occupation as a smith. Alvin’s old drawing of Gerson can be found in the unused classroom at the end of Chapter 1, implying he was once a student at Kris’ school.

[Image transcript: Narration stating “It’s a yellowed, poorly-drawn picture of a green turtle. It’s signed ‘Alvin’. End image transcript]

Alvin typically speaks in a polite and reverent tone. He encourages Kris to express themself and become a more active member of the community.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Kris… What a pleasant surprise to see you here. And on a school day. I understand. I hope in time you may find the words you seek.” End image transcript]

Even when Alvin criticizes someone or makes light of their faults, he tends to phrase things in a roundabout, backhanded way.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Ah, Kris. Your brother. He is a very kind young man. Perhaps even a little… overzealous, in his younger days.” End image transcript]

This is in sharp contrast to his father, who was very curt and irreverent with this words.

[Image transcript: Gerson saying “What’s that? You want me to repeat myself? Heck no! Your eyes still work… Go read a book or something! Wahaha!” End image transcript]

It’s implied that Alvin may have had a complicated relationship with his father. Gerson is known for his best-selling “Lord of the Hammer” book series, which derived from a story he told to his children. Despite Alvin singing praises for Gerson and his work, his final graveyard dialogue indicates that he’s unsure if his father would be proud of him.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “… were you proud of me, father…?” End image transcript]

Alvin’s dialogue implies that, like many townsfolk, he was once close with Asriel, who sang in the church choir.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Our choir sounds a bit thinner since your brother went away.” End image transcript]

It’s also implied that Kris, Asriel, Dess, and Noelle were part of the church’s youth group.

[Image transcript: Rudy saying “That angel? Noelle n’ Dess made it in youth group. Oh, right, you and Azzy tried to make one too...” End image transcript]

Both the Dreemurr and Holiday families are portrayed as religious and regularly attending Alvin’s services.

[Image transcript: QC saying “I remember, back on Sundays, after service… You and your family would come in and order the special.” End image transcript]

Gerson once taught at the same school as Toriel and she owns a signed copy of one of his history books, implying that the Dreemurr and Boom families may have been close.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “And a signed copy of The History of Humans and Monsters, by Gerson Boom.” End image transcript]

Speaking of family, Alvin and Berdly have dialogue which points toward other members of the Boom family—an unseen “Ms. Boom” that Berdly works for and one or more unnamed siblings of Alvin (which may include Ms. Boom).

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Originally a smith by trade, he began writing history… And made a turn into telling stories, As a means to entertain his children.” Berdly saying “Ahh, I’m going to be late for my shift with Ms. Boom!!” End image transcript]

It’s currently unknown if Alvin had a counterpart that existed in Undertale’s world. Gerson is still alive during that game’s events, where we learn that, like in Deltarune, he’s a historian who knew the Dreemurr family. Gerson is also one of the few characters in Undertale to mention the angel of prophecy and the only one at all to mention the deltarune itself.

[Image transcript: Gerson saying “That’s the Delta Rune, the emblem of our kingdom. The Kingdom… Legend has it, an ‘angel’ who has seen the surface will descend from above and bring us freedom.” End image transcript]

Like many Hometown characters who did not first appear in Undertale, Alvin lacks a dialogue portrait or unique dialogue typer sound. His name also does not prompt any special response during the vessel creation sequence at the beginning of Chapter 1, unlike Gerson’s name.

[Image transcript: The Vessel creator saying “’Gerson.’ How interesting.” End image transcript]

Alvin has yet to be directly mentioned by any of the other townsfolk, so it’s unclear how Hometown’s other residents view him outside of their regard for his father and willingness to attend his church services.

On paper Alvin seems like a minor character in the grand scheme of Deltarune’s narrative and so far, as presented, he is. So why am I writing a theory post about him? I have two major reasons. The first is simply that I’m a Gerson fan and Alvin is the strongest link to Gerson that’s present in Deltarune. The second reason is that, despite appearances to the contrary, I do think that Alvin will be important.

Alvin’s Importance

One of the first things you’ll notice about Alvin is that he has one of the strongest connections to “the Angel,” a cryptic being represented as the central figure of the Deltarune symbol.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Let the Angel’s power light your way.” End image transcript]

Additionally, Alvin is one of the few Hometown residents with in-depth dialogue choices who is not a classmate of Kris or a returning character from Undertale. In other words, Toby designed Alvin with a specific role in mind for this game instead of including him as a form of Undertale fanservice or making him a one-off joke npc like the milk cat in Sans’ store.

[Image transcript: Milk Cat saying “Yea I’m tha sicko that looks at all the milks to find the best expiration date.” End image transcript]

To cut to the chase, I believe that Father Alvin is the most likely suspect to be the Roaring Knight. This is not an unheard-of theory nowadays, but this is something I’ve suspected as far back as Chapter 1 (albeit with a lot less certainty back then).  

In the past I’ve written at length about Alvin’s possible connections to the Knight and the Everyman entity from Undertale’s True Lab. Those posts are not required reading for this theory, mainly because much of their arguments were esoteric or became outdated with the release of Chapter 2. Instead I’m here to build a clear case from the ground-up for Alvin’s Knighthood.

Exhibit A: Alvin’s Drawing

[Image transcript: Narration saying “It’s a yellowed, poorly-drawn picture of a green turtle. It’s signed ‘Alvin.’” End image transcript]

The first major piece of evidence for Alvin being the Knight is his drawing that is found in the unused classroom at the end of Chapter 1. Toby Fox confirmed during his Chapter 1 playthrough stream that this is a drawing of Gerson made by Alvin. The drawing is referred to as yellowed and poorly drawn, implying that Alvin drew it as a child. At first this drawing seems innocuous, but its presence here is odd for a number of reasons.

Notably, we never see a darkworld manifestation of this drawing. Almost everything else in the unused classroom is represented somewhere in the Card Kingdom but there is no Gerson drawing to be found. When we look at the placement of the room’s objects, they’re roughly arranged from left to right in the order that we encounter them in the dark world, with the cabinet representing Card Castle on the far right. Alvin’s drawing is even further to the right, past the open door of the cabinet.

This implies that whatever manifested from this drawing would have been present at Card Castle but past the point where Kris and Susie ventured. Before Chapter 2 I had simply assumed that the construct created from this drawing had either fled out of reach or was lying in wait past the fountain. Chapter 2, however, gives us another solution: Alvin’s drawing is the Shadow Mantle.

In Chapter 2, Seam mentions the Shadow Mantle as a tool that will be needed to defeat the next Shadow Crystal holder. Unfortunately, Seam can’t seem to find the Mantle in Castle Town.

[Image transcript: Seam saying “In reality, it may be impossible to win. …Unless you use the power of the Shadow Mantle. Here, it may look like an old scrap of cloth, but… I can’t find it. Did someone… take it…?” End image transcript]

If Seam had this Mantle in the unused classroom then it seems strange that it would go missing, unless if it were left behind. Notably, Alvin’s drawing is one of the only objects in the unused classroom that Kris does not bring into the storage closet.

But what if that’s just a coincidence? Well, I can get more specific: I think that the Shadow Mantle was not only in the unused classroom but that it was also the King’s cloak.

[Image transcript: King in shadow saying “To my people, I am a hero...” End image transcript]

For one thing, it’s a dark cloak that casts him in shadow and the King loses it shortly after he mentions the Knight at the end of his boss fight.

More importantly, Toby refers to the cloak as a “cool mantle, bro” during his Chapter 1 livestream, but most importantly of all: the Mantle flies away from the battle and heads towards the right and (presumably) goes past the fountain.

In other words, the King’s cloak would have ended up in just the spot where Alvin’s drawing was, and the fact that Alvin’s drawing was not taken to Castle Town would account for the Shadow Mantle’s absence in Chapter 2.

The only potential flaw with this theory is that Seam’s dialogue implies that they were expecting to find the Mantle in their shop (or Seap) rather than in the King’s custody. However, this could have two explanations: First is that Seam was once the court magician and likely lived in Card Castle, which would give King ample opportunity to take the Mantle for himself before Seam left.

Second is that the Knight or any other lightner who entered the unused classroom may have moved the mantle in the light world without Seam’s knowledge. If Alvin were the Knight then it’d be unsurprising if he singled out his drawing from the classroom and hung it up in a place of prominence before opening the fountain.

Additionally, Chapter 2’s files have unused data for a “sky mantle” item that resists holy damage.

[Image transcript: unused text saying “SkyMantle – A cape that shimmers fluorescently. Protects against Elec and Holy attacks.” End image transcript]

Alongside it is data for a “pure crystal,” which is described as “the shadow purified by the cat.”

[Image transcript: unused text saying “PureCrystal – The shadow purified by the cat.” End image transcript]

The latter is implied to be a purified shadow crystal, which could serve as a parallel to the Sky Mantle—namely that it may end up being a “purified” Shadow Mantle.

If Alvin’s drawing is the shadow mantle then it would make sense why the sky mantle would resist holy attacks—because the drawing would have sentimental value for Alvin and he wouldn’t attack as strongly if someone wielded it. This is not unlike how the Mannequin item that resembles Spamton grants damage resistance towards Spamton Neo’s attacks.

[Image transcript: A yellow Addison selling a Spamton-like mannequin saying “We’re selling this for 75% off! Only 300 Dark Dollars!” End image transcript]

Speaking of Spamton Neo, he’s proof that cherished drawings can hold a lot of power in the dark world. The Neo body was created in an art program by a certain lightner with the help of Swatch and was seen by darkners as an artifact of great power, even before Spamton got his hands on it.

[Image transcript: Swatch saying “That robot was the embodiment of a Lightner’s dream. A dream I helped create… once. Splashing color from the motion of their hand. The Lightner filled it with their own hope, giving it an incredible power.” End image transcript]

Given Alvin’s sentiments towards his father, it’s very likely that his drawing would also be a powerful item. We do see King’s mantle fly away on its own accord, almost as if it had a life of its own—in that respect it has one clear advantage over the Neo body, which couldn’t move by itself. Speaking of the Neo body, one often-overlooked fact is that the Neo body contained Chapter 2’s shadow crystal, not Spamton himself:

[Image transcript: Seam saying “Oh, is that so? That salesman had found the crystal in the old machine…? I wonder… if perhaps, long ago, that old machine was very important to someone. A certain Lightner, perhaps… or maybe it’s just a hunch. Haha! At any rate, it’s truly unfortunate a Darkner decided to steal that power...” End image transcript]

This means that powerful artistic artifacts that embody a lightner’s hopes and dreams might somehow be tied to shadow crystals. Seam has already said that the Shadow Mantle will be connected to the next Shadow Crystal holder somehow, and given that Seam may end up purifying one or more shadow crystals to make the purified crystal, this is further evidence that the Shadow Mantle may end up purified into the Sky Mantle.

Overall, not only is it extremely likely that Alvin’s drawing is the Shadow Mantle and King’s cloak, but the fact that it ends up in King’s hands reveals even more evidence of Alvin being the Knight.

King’s Connections

King is the first true ally of the Knight that we meet. He was installed as the ruler of Card Castle after the Knight appeared and the other three kings were locked up.

[Image transcript: The three Card Kings saying “Once, all four of us ruled together, but when the Knight arrived, everything changed...” End image transcript]

The game never explicitly states whether King was merely inspired by the Knight and took over single-handedly or if the Knight aided him directly in this task. The other kings saying the Knight “arrived” does suggest a direct presence, as opposed to merely saying the Knight “appeared.”

Chapter 2 shows that lightners can create dark worlds without ever setting foot in them.

Queen also describes her world’s creation as the Knight manifesting as a giant apparition in the sky, implying that the Knight was outside of the Cyber darkworld for most if not all of its creation.

[Image transcript: Queen saying “The Roaring Knight... Today, It Deigned To Create This World. Reaching Its Long Hand To The Sky. It Coursed Its Will Into Its Blade.” End image transcript]

However, Chapter 1 implies that the Knight might have taken a more hands-on approach with Card Castle. One piece of evidence is the state of King’s throne room: the banners on the wall have been cut to pieces and the spade throne has a massive gash carved into it.

[Image transcript: King’s sliced up throne room. Narration saying “Wall banners. They seem to have been through some kind of struggle...” End image transcript]

One might assume King did this when he overthrew the other kings and a struggle ensued. However, we never see King’s attacks produce a slicing effect like this. Most of King’s attacks are regular spade bullets like Lancer’s and his chain attack is primarily presented as being able to latch onto and pull objects rather than slice them.

Moreover, we can see that the throne room is already adorned with spade-focused imagery, implying this was set up after King’s reign. It also wouldn’t make much sense for King to thrash his own chair. However, we do know that the Knight uses a bladed weapon. There isn’t a clear reason why the Knight would carve up the throne room, but given how power-hungry the King is it’s possible that a demonstration of power from the Knight was needed in order to establish the pecking order. This would explain why the Knight seems to be the only being that the King respects or demonstrates any lasting loyalty to.

[Image transcript: King saying “My Knight… I shall not fail you...” End image transcript]

Speaking of King’s attacks, one of his attacks is named the Chain of Justice.

[Image transcript: King saying “Fall before the chain of justice!” End image transcript]

The fact that it’s called a “chain” corroborates my point that King’s weapon is intended primarily for grappling and tethering rather than slicing. More importantly, this attack follows the same naming convention of Gerson’s title in Undertale as the Hammer of Justice, which inspired Undyne’s title of the Spear of Justice.

[Image transcript: Undyne saying “That’s the store of Gerson, the Hammer of Justice!” End image transcript]

Given Alvin’s reverence for his father’s legacy and the precedent that’s been set for Gerson inspiring others, it’s not hard to imagine that he might wield a “Blade of Justice,” which in turn inspired King.

Lastly, King refers to the Knight’s dark fountains as “holy” fountains and the theme that plays when Kris encounters them is called “the Holy.”

[Image transcript: King saying “The Knight that pulls the Fountains from the Earth. Holy Fountains, whose shadows are creating a new world...” End image transcript]

Ralsei refers to sealing these fountains as a necessary step for banishing the Angel’s Heaven.

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “Only they can seal the fountains and banish the Angel’s Heaven.” End image transcript]

Alvin is a devout servant of the Angel, so these aspects of the Dark Fountains all point in his direction.

Fountains Bubbling from the Depths

Let’s focus on Dark Fountains for a second. All too often we take the name for granted, but why are they called fountains, exactly? The fountain in Castle Town is referred to as a geyser—once at the initial save point and again during Ralsei’s telling of the legend.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “In front of you, a castle looms beneath the empty town. A black geyser emerges from it, piercing endlessly into the sky.” Ralsei says “Today, the Fountain of Darkness—The geyser that gives this land form-“ End image transcript]

Jevil alludes to “Hell’s roar bubbles from the depths” after mentioning the Knight, which likely refers to the roaring, but he curiously compares this to the ocean’s depths.

[Image transcript: Jevil saying “Soon, the ‘Queen’ returns, and Hell’s Roar bubbles from the Depths...” End image transcript]

To top it off, the sound that plays when Kris first wakes up in a dark world is called ocean.ogg. To put it simply, dark fountains are associated with water.

[Image transcript: a list of Deltarune audio files that includes “ocean.ogg.” End image transcript]

This is a strange comparison at first glance because the fountains aren’t simply spewing out darkness as if it were water—we can see from the fountain Kris creates and Queen’s footage of her fountain that the fountains emit darkness as if it were smoke or a column of energy.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “It’s a video of someone creating a strange pillar of smoke. There’s so much smoke, it’s hard to tell who it is.” End image transcript]

This leads me to think that the connection between dark fountains and water is more than simply a visual descriptor. What this exact connection will be remains to be seen, but it does make me question what else in Deltarune or Undertale is connected to water.

Waterfall would be the obvious answer, albeit a broad one. There we find Gerson, Goner Kid, Clam Girl, the Mysteryman event (believed to be Gaster), and the River person.

[Image transcript: River Person saying “Tra la la. Beware of the man who speaks in hands.” Goner Kid saying “Please forget about me.” Clamgirl saying “Her name is ‘Suzy.’ I feel like you two should be friends.” Ending with Mysteryman in an empty grey room. End image transcript]

All of these things bear some connection to Deltarune. Gerson mentions the angel and deltarune symbol, Goner Kid is likely connected to Gaster, mysteryman is self-explanatory, and Clam Girl is linked to “Suzy” and the “don’t forget” drawing in Sans’ workshop.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “It’s a poorly drawn picture of three smiling people. Written on it… ‘don’t forget.’” End image transcript]

The River Person alludes to the Angel and (what is likely) Gaster and Sans. On top of that, however, the River Person also mentions “the old song coming from the sea.”

[Image transcript: River Person saying “Tra la la. Did you ever hear the old song coming from the sea?” End image transcript]

We see this thread picked up on in Onionsan’s subplot in Deltarune, where they hint at a song coming from the sea as well.

[Image transcript: Onionsan saying “…I’ve heard that song before… coming from the sea. It’s not a ‘new’ song.” End image transcript]

“Sea” is an interesting choice of word, since “sea” refers to oceanic water. Until now I had assumed that Hometown’s shore lead to a small body of freshwater.

We do know that Gerson is connected to the sea—he lives in Waterfall, sells sea tea, and is likely a sea turtle himself. If the latter is true then this would also be the case for Alvin; funnily enough, a sea turtle conjures the image of both water and natural armor. If Alvin has been the one creating dark fountains then it would make sense why they’ve been associated with the sea.

Something that could make or break this idea is Kris’ fountain in chapter 3—if it shares this water theming or is noticeably distinct from the two previous fountains then that could tell us something about the true nature of dark fountains, since dark worlds are said to reflect the will of their fountains.

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “You see, each Dark Fountain creates a different ‘world.’ A ‘world’ whose Darkners reflect the will of its fountain.” End image transcript]

For the time being, the fountain/sea connection is something to keep an eye on. It does serve as a slight nod in Alvin’s direction over other Knight suspects, many of whom have little to no connection to the sea. If I had to place a bet, I’d wager that Gerson and Alvin likely wield water magic in the dark world, which would be a fitting contrast to the Dreemurrs’ fire magic—there’s no evidence for this currently, I just think it’d be a neat idea. Besides, I’m sure Toby wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to make a pun on “holy water.”

Holy Fountains

This is a brief topic to cover and a bit of an obvious one, but it’s worth expounding that Ralsei refers to banishing “the Angel’s Heaven” as the ultimate goal of the Delta warriors. It’s not explicitly stated whether the Angel’s Heaven and the Roaring are the exact same thing but it’s a safe assumption, given that both are described as end-of-the-world events that occur when light and dark are out of balance.

Another somewhat obvious fact is that Alvin is strongly connected to the angel. In fact, he mentions it more than any other character aside from maybe Spamton. This led some fans to speculate Alvin had some significance even as far back as Chapter 1. There’s not a whole lot else to add here, other than just pointing out that Alvin would be one of the strongest proponents of an “Angel’s Heaven” out of Hometown’s residents.

If Alvin knew that Angel’s Heaven and the Roaring were the same then I could see him proudly taking on the title of the Roaring Knight while keeping the true nature of the Roaring to himself, perhaps preferring the gentler title of “Angel’s Heaven”. It would be in-character, given his tendency to bury the lede.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Kris, if you want some of our ‘sick’ Fruit Juice, you should come to our service. Kris, it would be wonderful if you would sing with us. Or even participated to any extent. Instead of just trying to drink the Fruit Juice.” End image transcript]

This would explain why King believes that opening more fountains will allow Darkners to rule the world, when in fact the Roaring will doom darkners as well as lightners.

[Image transcript: King saying “Soon, this world shall be blanketed in darkness… And Darkners shall rule it!” End image transcript]

This could also address the seeming plothole that Queen knows the title “Roaring Knight” but has never heard of the Roaring itself.

[Image transcript: Queen saying “The Roaring Knight… What Is That.” Ralsei says “Um… the Roaring.” Queen says “Yeah That What Is That.” End image transcript]

The Knight’s Hand

While the Knight has now been associated with the Roaring in Chapter 2, the Knight has also been associated with the image of a hand ever since Chapter 1.

[Image transcript: Jevil saying “The hand of the Knight is drifting forward.” End image transcript]

Hand imagery is something that’s obviously associated with Gaster due to his use of wingdings font and River Person’s ominous warning of “the man who speaks in hands.” I think it’s likely that Gaster has some sort of connection to the Knight, but the old doctor also has his “hands” in a lot of a lot of pies so that’s maybe not quite as telling as one would assume.

Something that’s often overlooked is that Queen provides us with a representation of the Knight’s hand at the end of Chapter 2.

[Image transcript: Queen looking at a green projection of a hand saying “Reaching Its Long Hand To The Sky.” End image transcript]

One thing I’ve seldom seen pointed out is that this hand lacks Gaster’s signature hole/circle in its palm. Since Queen’s depiction is likely abstract/simplified to some degree, this is by no means a silver-bullet argument against Gaster being the Knight, but it is something to bear in mind.

Getting back to Alvin, I think this depiction of the Knight’s hand is yet another nudge in Alvin’s direction. First, the hand is depicted as green. This is a minor point, since some of Queen’s other displays have used green lights and it’s not the exact same shade of green as Alvin.

[Image transcript: Queen with green displays saying “No I Am: A Computer (Smart).” End image transcript]

Still, it is curious that this is yet another small detail that aligns with Alvin over other Knight suspects (almost none of whom have green skin).

One thing I should note is that the slight difference in color from the Knight’s hand and Alvin’s skin could be accounted for by the dark world itself. Noelle, Berdly, and Susie all have brighter-colored skin in the dark world than they do in the lightworld. And wouldn’t you know it? The Knight’s hand is also a (slightly) brighter shade of green than Alvin, which would line up with this trend of using a different shade of the same basic color.

Granted, the shift in color palettes for lightners in the dark world is not 100% consistent. For example, Berdly’s beak doesn’t change brightness and instead just becomes more saturated with color. Kris also changes into a completely different color rather than a different shade of the same color. Though, so far Kris has been the exception and such a radical color shift might be exclusive to humans for all we know.  The general trend is that monsters’ dark world forms will be a brighter and more vibrant shade than their light world forms, and that trend very well could mean that Alvin’s dark world form will match the color of Queen’s depiction.

Something that’s far more interesting about the Knight’s hand is that it has the proportions of a human arm. Now, ordinarily this is what you’d expect: we’re led to believe that Kris is the Knight and they’re human, and on top of that a lot of Hometown’s residents have human-looking hands. This does rule out characters like Monster Kid or Jockington, who lack hands entirely, but on its own it doesn’t say much. Or does it?

Now, Alvin does appear to have human-looking arms. This alone does not improve his chances of being the Knight since, like I said, so many other characters fit this criteria. But what makes things interesting is when we look at Gerson’s arms: they’re absolutely massive.

[Image transcript: Gerson saying “Woah there! I’ve got some neat junk for sale.” End image transcript]

His arm is almost as big in diameter as his head thanks to his huge Popeye-styled forearms. Note that Alvin lacks this feature entirely, which makes some amount of sense since Gerson was a former smith and (in another world) a former soldier.

Toby mentions in the Undertale artbook that he designed Gerson’s face and Temmie “drew the rest.”

[Image transcript: Toby saying “I drew Gerson’s face then Temmie drew over the rest.” End image transcript]

It could be that Toby didn’t originally plan to give Gerson massive arms or he didn’t have a preference either way. But what we do know is that Alvin was intentionally designed not to share this trait. This is in contrast to other new characters who are relatives of Undertale characters. Specifically, Catty’s family is made up of monsters who all share a nearly-identical body type to her own.

If Toby planned all along for Alvin to be the Knight and for Kris to be a red herring, then showing the Knight’s hand to us would almost necessitate giving the actual Knight human-like hands. If Alvin and the Knight’s hand both looked like Gerson’s hand then that would’ve been a huge giveaway that the Knight isn’t Kris. Given that Gerson’s design provided a potential template for Alvin like how Catty’s design did for her family, it says something that Toby went out of his way to defy that template. And the end result is that Alvin once again just happens to check the boxes that would be needed in order to be the Knight.

The Knight’s Blade

There’s one last feature of interest in the Queen’s depiction of the Knight’s hand: the blade that it wields.

[Image transcript: Queen looking at a green projection of a hand and blade saying “It Coursed Its Will Into Its Blade.” End image transcript]

The game files refer to this as a “laser_knife.” The hand is referred to as a “laser_hand,” so the laser part is no doubt referring to the Queen’s method of depicting it rather than any trait of the blade itself. While the filename makes it safe to assume that this blade is a knife, that could just be its light world form. We technically haven’t seen the darkworld manifestation of Kris’ knife, and given that Kris’ pencil can become a sword it’s not unreasonable to consider that a knife could transform in the dark world as well.

Nonetheless, it’s safe to assume that the Knight owns a knife in the light world. When we look closely we can see that the knife has a crossguard on it. This means that this isn’t a simple kitchen knife or pocket knife, but rather what is likely a dagger or some other weapon. Guarded knives are a specialty item, meaning most regular people would have no reason to own one. Kris is an obvious example of a knife owner, since we see them brandish a guarded knife at the end of Chapter 1 and we know that they are a knife enthusiast.

[Image transcript: Kris brandishing a knife, following by narration saying “From search query: sharpest kitchen knife jello.” End image transcript]

Alvin, however, could be a knife owner as well. I mainly say this due to the fact that Gerson was a former smith, which Alvin himself points out.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Originally a smith by trade, he began writing history...” End image transcript]

This is a somewhat odd detail to draw attention to, considering that Gerson is already known for his other careers as a writer and teacher in Deltarune’s world. It could be that the smith line exists merely to explain why Gerson is still affiliated with a hammer, though his “Lord of the Hammer” series would be sufficient to explain that.

Smiths in real life don’t exclusively make weapons or armor, but given Gerson’s enthusiasm for fantasy writing it’s very likely that he has made a blade or two in his time. We also know that Alvin grew up with Gerson’s stories and expresses a fondness for them, so it’s not unreasonable to think that Gerson may have bequeathed a few weapons he fashioned to his children. We even have evidence that Gerson created armor during his time.

[Image transcript: RG01 saying “Nothing like admiring the great paint job, me and my bro did on our church.” End image transcript]

In Hometown we see the two royal guards from Undertale. Curiously they’re both still wearing armored helmets like they were in Undertale. While this may simply be an artistic decision to make it easier for players to recognize them, it does raise the question of where this armor came from. While there isn’t a direct link between the guards and Gerson that we know of, they do mention that they recently completed work on “our church.” Note that they don’t say “the church,” but “our church.”

Given that Alvin likely owns the church, he almost certainly has done business with these two men before, and the “our church” line implies they regularly attend his services. If Alvin owned some of Gerson’s old wares then I could see him giving them to friends and family, especially if they were sought after as props related to Gerson’s novels.

So although it takes a few steps to get from “the royal guards have helmets” to “Alvin has a knife,” Gerson making weapons and armor is a tidy explanation to connect those dots and it fits with everything we know so far about Gerson, Alvin, and the two guards. It’s possible that the guards’ helmets may never be explained and are just a joke, but this is another curious case of little details falling into place in such a way that hints towards Alvin.

Scoping Out the School

Let’s take a minute to look at the “crime scene” for Chapter 1’s fountain. The Knight would’ve needed to have access to the School in order to create a dark fountain there. It’s unclear whether Ralsei’s Castle Town fountain was created around the same time as Card Castle or whether the two fountains were even made by the same person. I have my own thoughts on that, but we’ll table that topic for later.

It’s harder to draw conclusions from Chapter 2’s dark fountain because it was created in a building that anyone in town would have had access to. We can infer some things from the exact location within the Librarby and the potential timeframe of that fountain’s creation, but the school fountains tell us a lot more.

Putting the Knight’s first fountain in the school makes a lot of potential suspects far less likely to be the Knight. This is because a school would typically be shut to the general public during daytime hours and locked up at night. In truth, I think the only person who could’ve made the Card Castle fountain would have to be someone who’s a student, a staff member, or someone closely connected to one of the former.

The only current students we know of are Kris and their classmates. A former student is perhaps possible, though it’s not exactly normal for schools to let graduates waltz in unannounced. Toriel and Alphys are the only known members of the current faculty, with Gerson a noted teacher when he was alive. There is a line from Sans about him being “the janitor,” which could tie into the school’s supply closet, but it’s still speculative whether there’s any connection there.

[Image transcript: Sans saying “me? I’m just the janitor.” End image transcript]

I feel that Susie, Noelle, and Berdly can be dismissed as suspects out of hand since we witness their first encounters with dark worlds. Kris is a thornier subject that I already wrote a whole post about, but let’s simplify and say that darkners (even savvy ones like Jevil and Spamton) don’t recognize them as the Knight.

[Image transcript: Spamton saying “Kris, did you know that the Knight...” End image transcript]

Snowy, Jockington, and Monster Kid lack arms, which Queen depicts the Knight as having. Temmie and Catti are technically possible and I don’t want to sell them short, but neither seem to have a clear motivation that we could draw on, nor do either of them seem driven enough to pull off the Knight’s handiwork. Catti’s after-school job may or may not give her an alibi as well.

[Image transcript: Catti saying “I’m working.” End image transcript]

Former students come with a big asterisk—the fact that they’re no longer students at the school means they lose the single biggest advantage that a student would have as a suspect: easy access to the school during the day. In order for a former student to be plausible, they’d have to have some kind of special skill or tool that would give them access to the school, or they’d have to know someone with access. This alone would shut out a number of (presumed) former students like Bratty, Catty, or Burgerpants, who have not been shown or implied to possess such means of access.

Lastly we have the three known faculty members: Alphys, Toriel, and Gerson. Alphys could have the means to open the fountains we’ve seen, though she hardly seems like the determined type or the sort of person who’d be respected by King. Toriel could command such respect, but the Knight’s actions are seemingly out of character for her. Additionally, Toriel is seen still at the school at the beginning of Chapter 2 and may not have been available to open the Librarby fountain. That just leaves Gerson.

Now, obviously Gerson is dead. That’s pretty much the strongest alibi there is. But as discussed with King’s “chain of justice,” there is reason to suspect the fountains in the school are somehow connected to Gerson. The fact that one exists in an unused classroom that King claims was “abandoned” by lightners would line up with Alvin’s statement that his father died years ago. And it goes without saying that Alvin’s drawing of Gerson is an even more obvious connection that implies Gerson used that room.

So how can any of that give Alvin an opportunity to open the school fountain? Well, for one thing we can infer he’s a former student due to his drawing. At minimum that would help him know the layout of the school and basic information regarding the building’s schedule and access points. On top of that he’s related to a former teacher, meaning he likely had more knowledge of the school than a typical former student, assuming he ever came to visit his father or was privy to any insider information. He’s aware of the fact that Alphys was his father’s replacement at the school and that Kris never had Gerson as a teacher, so he seems to be keeping tabs on things even after his father’s departure.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Kris, it is a shame you were not able to have him as a teacher. And difficult for Ms. Alphys, as his replacement.” End image transcript]

Alvin being related to Gerson could also give him an excuse to come visit the school and be let in by faculty even after Gerson’s passing. He could simply use the excuse that he’s stopping by to visit his father’s old friends or collecting some of his father’s old things, which we know there’s at least one of still in the school (i.e., the drawing). However, such an excuse is likely not even necessary.

As a teacher, Gerson likely had his own set of keys to get in and out of his classroom and likely the school itself. We know that Gerson was a smith, which could cover locksmithing and the ability to make duplicates of his keys. In the modern era locksmiths are far more common than classic weapon and armor smiths, but Gerson’s variety of talents wouldn’t rule out multiple types of smithing. But the idea of Alvin still having Gerson’s keys is pure speculation, right?  Actually, it isn’t.

In Chapter 1, Kris and Susie enter the school supply closet and the door shuts behind them.

[Image transcript: Susie saying “Hey, this isn’t funny! Let us out!” End image transcript]

In the moment it’s easy to assume that this is some supernatural event similar to the darkness spreading out of the closet door or the floor in the closet falling away. However, Susie reacts to the door shutting as if she knows there’s a person on the other side, and at the end of the chapter we see that the outside of the supply closet is locked just like the door down the hall.

[Image transcript: Narration for two doors in the school, both saying “The door is locked.” End image transcript]

Note that the flavor text doesn’t say “the door is mysteriously held shut,” but simply “it’s locked.” In other words, someone must have locked this door, which would require a set of keys. Only a staff member would have a set of keys—Alphys and Toriel were busy teaching their classes, which leaves Gerson’s keys as the only known set that weren’t accounted for in that moment.

Out of all the residents of Hometown, Alvin arguably has the most plausible opportunity to be within the school hallway during the moment when Kris and Susie are locked in the supply closet. All the other students and faculty are in their classrooms, the school is (presumably) closed to outsiders, and several other townspeople are seen outside the school when Kris and Toriel arrive.

Alvin, however, is not seen during Toriel’s drive, meaning his location at that time is conveniently unaccounted for.

The Librarby

The next day, the Knight opened up a dark fountain in the computer lab of the public Librarby. As mentioned before, virtually everyone in town has easy access to the Librarby, so it’s more difficult to deduce the Knight’s identity based solely on this location. However, there are a couple of things that connect this location to Alvin.

First up is Berdly’s mention of a “Ms. Boom” at the end of Chapter 2. Alvin mentions that Gerson told stories to his children (plural), implying that this Ms. Boom could be Alvin’s sister, or possibly some other relation. While it isn’t explicitly stated, this would imply that Ms. Boom works at the Librarby since we know that Berdly is a volunteer Librarby assistant and he mentions being late for his “shift” with Ms. Boom.

[Image transcript: Berdly saying “However, Kris. I am a benevolent volunteer assistant. Ahh, I’m going to be late for my shift with Ms. Boom!!” End image transcript]

If Ms. Boom works at the Librarby (or perhaps even owns it), then that would connect the location to the Boom family and give Alvin an easy method of visiting the building or reserving it whenever he likes.

[Image transcript: Susie saying “Hey, Kris, where the hell is everybody?” End image transcript]

Susie does mention how the Librarby seems empty when she and Kris first show up—perhaps Alvin pulled some strings to get the building to himself until a certain volunteer assistant let himself in?

Another thing that connects the building to Alvin’s family is the presence of Gerson’s book series, Lord of the Hammer.

[Image transcript: narration saying “Lord of the Hammer. First in the award-winning fiction series by lauded historian Gerson Boom.” End image transcript]

It’s not surprising that these books would be in a Library, but it could also explain why Alvin would choose this location in particular or take any sort of interest in it. To anyone else a Library is just a Library and a school is just a school, but to Alvin specifically these locations are far more personal in light of his loss. Alvin even talks extensively about his father’s work during Chapter 2, despite not bringing it up at all in Chapter 1—maybe the topic was on his mind for a reason?

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Fans of his famous book series, Lord of the Hammer… That such a story, created for such a simple purpose. Could blossom into such a large, wonderful, world-changing thing… That is the majesty of words, Kris.” End image transcript]

One thing that doesn’t add up at first is why the fountain was ultimately created in the computer lab. Alvin doesn’t seem like a tech-savvy person, to put it lightly.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Nearly omitting the fact that he had done so in a ‘videos game.’” End image transcript]

You’d think it would make more sense for him to open the fountain in the main area of the Librarby where his father’s books are. My personal theory is that the computer lab was not the Knight’s first choice and there are some hints that point towards this.

First off is the fact that Queen seems far less connected to the Knight than King was. While not explicitly stated, the implication is that the Knight may have entered Card Castle and interacted with its denizens directly but interacted rather sparingly with the Cyber World. Queen mentions that the Knight has taken its leave, and given the limited timeframe when this fountain could have been created (in light of Noelle and Berdly’s presence), it’s likely that Cyber World may have been a rush job that the Knight was quick to leave behind. And given King’s attitude towards being “left behind,” I think it’s less likely that this was the case with Card Castle.

[Image transcript: King saying “How dare you come here, Lightners…? You, that left us in the shadows, stripped of meaning...” End image transcript]

The way I see events playing out is that Alvin may have reserved the Librarby to himself thanks to Ms. Boom. Unexpectedly, Berdly and Noelle showed up due to Berdly having his own key. Alvin backed up into the computer lab to avoid being seen and then was driven further back into the equipment closet once Noelle and Berdly came inside. As luck would have it, Noelle and Berdly fell asleep (as evidenced by Noelle claiming this is what happened, Berdly previously putting Kris to sleep, and Berdly setting an alarm beforehand).

[Image transcript: Noelle saying “I fell asleep in the Librarby, and…” Rudy says “I knew that birdbrain’d put you to sleep! Haha!” Noelle says “… he fell asleep, too.” Rudy says “Wow, he even put himself to sleep? Ha!” End image transcript]

[Image transcript: Berdly saying “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” The narration says “Listening to this, your eyes began to close automatically…” Berdly says “H… Huh?? My… my alarm??” Noelle says “Oh no, how is it that late already!?” End image transcript]

Alvin then cracked the closet door open, created a fountain that spilled out into the lab, then he ran out of the Librarby.

“A Large Person Could Easily Fit Inside”

One of the lynchpin clues of the Knight’s identity is the equipment closet in the computer lab.

[Image transcript: narration saying “The closet is spacious and full of old electronics. A large person could easily fit inside.” End image transcript]

The narration mentions that “a large person could easily fit inside.” As I’ve noted in my other theory posts, this is a very suspicious observation to make. The fact that the door to the closet is left ajar when the fountain is sealed indicates that the fountain’s darkness either seeped into the closet or, more likely, seeped out from it.

Why else would the narration draw attention to not just anyone fitting inside that closet, but a large person? As I’ve stated elsewhere, Berdly is among the smaller characters in Hometown. Kris, our point of reference character, is even smaller. Alvin, conversely, is on the larger end in terms of his sprite’s dimensions, and he’s easily larger than any of Kris’ party members.

While writing this post I tallied up the height and width of each of Hometown’s residents in order to argue in favor of Alvin’s “largeness,” but in the process I discovered something far more shocking: Alvin’s sprite is the exact same size as the equipment closet door. And I mean exact. Down to the pixel.

Admittedly the width has some wiggle room due to the open door overlapping the opening, but if we measure the opening based on where the top of the door ends (and how a door like this would open in real life) then it is 25 pixels wide and 47 pixels tall—Alvin’s exact size (and the only lightner in the game with those specific dimensions).

This makes my job easier since I no longer have to argue for Alvin’s “largeness” because by definition he is the largest character who can “easily” fit inside the closet (i.e., without having to duck or turn sideways). While the size matchup isn’t quite a silver bullet on its own, I do think it would be very in-character for Toby to make a doorway like this the exact same size as the Knight, given his usual attention to detail.

Speaking of Communion

Chapter 2 has one last major clue to the Knight’s identity, courtesy of our good friend Spamton. A lot of fans are already aware of this one and it’s what sparked many to consider Alvin as a potential suspect in the first place. When given the chance to talk to Spamton at his shop, he has this to say:

“I USED TO BE NOTHING BUT THE E_MAIL GUY, NOW I’M THE [[It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns!]] GUY! [[Amazed at thi5 amazing transformation? You too can]] HAVE A {{Communion]] WITH [[Unintelligible Laughter]].”

When you ask him about the Knight, he continues this train of thought by saying:

“SPEAKING OF [[Communion]], KRIS, DID YOU KNOW THAT THE KNIGHT… No, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to – TOO MANY EXCESS VACATION DAYS?? TAKE A GOD DAMN VACATION STRAIGHT TO HELL.”

Generally, Spamton’s dialogue can be hard to parse and you get the sense that he’s self-censoring (or being censored by someone else) whenever his manner of speaking changes abruptly. Even so, I find his use of the word “Communion” very interesting here. In the first usage of the term, he seems to be referring to his own encounter with whoever called him on the phone, likening this encounter to Communion.

In the real world, communion refers to the Christian rite of receiving “the Lord’s Supper” of bread and wine in church. Many interpretations of this rite involve a divine presence being imbued in the communion bread and wine, with some interpretations arguing further that the bread and wine are literally transformed into the living flesh and blood of Christ. Alternatively, communion can also mean a general association or friendship.

Now, the first definition could easily point in Alvin’s direction. The religious connection is obvious, and Alvin mentions that his church does offer “sick fruit juice,” likely referring to communion wine (or actual juice, which is a common substitute).

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Kris, if you want some of our ‘sick’ Fruit Juice, you should come to our service.” End image transcript]

Toby has also shown concept art of Susie serving herself some sort of red liquid, which could be the same fruit juice.

Additional concept art of Noelle sitting in a “polite” manner in an unknown location, possibly next to her mother (assuming the face is being censored by the Noelle sprite) would imply that we’ll be seeing the inside of Alvin’s church in the coming chapters, given Rudy’s remarks about his family going to church the day after Chapter 2.

[Image transcript: Rudy saying “Might even be able to go to church tomorrow.” End image transcript]

The idea of non-living bread and wine being turned into flesh and blood is not unlike inanimate objects being turned into darkners through the use of “holy” fountains. In light of this interpretation, Spamton could’ve easily been about to say “SPEAKING OF [[Communion]], KRIS, DID YOU KNOW THAT THE KNIGHT IS A PRIEST?”

The second definition of communion, as association or friendship, could potentially apply to Alvin as well. Spamton first mentions communion in regards to his own transformation, which is likely referring to when he received the mysterious phone call that kickstarted his career. Given Spamton’s recurring theme of being someone else’s puppet, it’s possible that this “communion” event may be more akin to a possession, especially since Spamton frequently compares his own situation to Kris’ situation with the soul.

[Image transcript: Spamton saying “If you’ve lost control of your life. That’s a real bigshot move kid!!! You’re like me… I won’t have to be just a puppet any more!!!! It seems after all I couldn’t be anything more than a simple puppet.” End image transcript]

We know that Alvin serves a higher being in the form of the Angel. He refers to the Angel’s power “lighting your way” and the Angel watching over others.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Let the Angel’s power light your way. Good day, Kris. May the Angel watch over you...” End image transcript]

This is not unlike the soul’s role in guiding Kris, which Spamton likens to his own situation. Spamton’s line about the Knight could be a double-entendre meant to imply that not only is the Knight a religious figure but similarly a puppet to a higher power.

Now some might argue that since communion is written in brackets in Spamton’s dialogue it must be disregarded as a literal term. While I’d agree that it probably wasn’t intended solely as a literal meaning, many fans forget that Spamton’s bracketed text can sometimes be literal and straightforward. For example, he refers to Queen’s Mansion, the keygen, and the act of buying it all in bracketed text despite using the literal terms for them. He even uses brackets or no brackets interchangeably for both “buy” and “keygen”.

[Image transcript: Spamton saying “As a [Commemorative Ring] I will let you by [KeyGen] from me at [the low low price of]. [Buy] the keygen from me, unlock the basement, and get that EmptyDisk!!!” End image transcript]

Even many of his more off-the-wall bracketed text has some context clues that imbues it with meaning.

Moreover, Spamton uses religious terminology many times during Chapter 2, arguably more often than even Alvin does, so I don’t think the implied religious connotations of “communion” are a coincidence. Religious theming is very much a recurring part of Spamton’s repertoire.

[Image transcript: Spamton saying “Are you watching, heaven!? It’s time for Spamton’s comeback special!” Narration says “Spamton begs to the audience, Spamton prays to the audience.” A Swatchling says “Spamton? This used to be his room… Eventually, he just spent all his time in the basement… praying.” End image transcript]

Spamton is also one of a few characters shown to pray in dark worlds, with the others being Noelle and Ralsei.

The latter two utilize Heal Prayer, which is described as a heavenly light.

[Image transcript: menu text saying “Heavenly light restores a little HP to one party member. Depends on Magic.” End image transcript]

Noelle’s prayer isn’t too surprising, given that her family regularly attends church, she’s made her own angel doll, and is likely connected to the angel herself. Ralsei… well, he’s a whole other can of worms, but since I’m going for broke here we might as well talk about him. Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are.

Ralsei’s Origins

An Alternative Perspective

I honestly don’t know where to start with Ralsei—it feels like everyone has a Ralsei theory and no one can really agree what his “deal” is. I’ve tried to remain agnostic on the subject since I’m sure there’s something up with him that we won’t find out until later. But in the process of researching this Alvin theory I’ve found a troubling number of connections between Alvin and Ralsei. I say “troubling” because up until now I’ve been fairly confident that Ralsei is not “playing both sides” of the fountain conflict, nor that he’s secretly working for the Knight. However, I’m beginning to question things.

To cut to the chase, I’ve always been hesitant towards the idea that Ralsei is literally Asriel, and even the thought of Ralsei being Kris’ recreation of or idealized version of Asriel never sat right with me, especially after Chapter 2. Kris’ interactions with Ralsei don’t add up with this interpretation, in light of the Ralsei tea healing Kris for far less than the Susie tea.

[Image transcript: Kris heals 120 HP from Susie tea. Susie says “Stop looking at me!” Ralsei says “They seem into it” Kris heals 70 HP from Noelle tea. Susie says “…do they like it?” Ralsei says “They’re drinking it…” Kris heals 60 HP from Ralsei tea. Susie says “No reaction?” Ralsei says “I’m happy!” End image transcript]

Kris also seems to react more earnestly to the idea of taking Susie to the festival than taking Ralsei (or Noelle).

[Image transcript: Kris chooses Ralsei. Susie says “What!? Why are you saying it so confused?” Kris chooses Susie. Susie says “H… huh?” End image transcript]

Kris just seems more inclined towards Susie, and even some of their interactions with Noelle feel more earnest than many of their interactions with Ralsei (not to mention Noelle tea heals Kris more than Ralsei tea).

[Image transcript: Noelle saying “Har har, very funny! …gosh, do you need a dog treat or something?” Kris chooses “Nooooo.” Noelle says “Gosh, stop howling, I get it!” End image transcript]

You’d think someone who misses their brother as much as Kris does would embrace a suspiciously “similar” substitute, or conversely be horrified at encountering an uncanny doppelganger (especially for fringe theories which posit that Asriel is dead and Ralsei is him revived as a darkner). Instead Kris seems ambivalent towards Ralsei—they don’t dislike him, but he’s just a friend who isn’t quite “best” friend material.

This is one reason why I’ve always doubted the idea that Kris created Ralsei or that Ralsei represents Kris’ idealized conception of Asriel. Moreover, there are some key differences between Ralsei and Asriel. For one thing, Ralsei is implied to be much smaller, given that Asriel used to be able to carry Kris to school.

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “Uh… um… it’s ok, Kris… err… I’m short, too....” Toriel says “Your brother cannot carry you to school any more, you know.” End image transcript]

Second, we know that Asriel was obsessed with video games, whereas Ralsei doesn’t express any direct interest in playing Queen’s punchout machine and implores Kris to play the game instead. He also takes Kris’ words at face value when they say that gaming is their life in (presumably) a dry, sardonic fashion. Even if Kris says “gaming is not my life,” Ralsei will nudge them toward playing anyway. I get the feeling that if Asriel were there he wouldn’t pass up a gaming opportunity, especially if his own sibling was offering up their spot.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “There’s also a game console. It has one normal controller, and one knock-off one.” Toriel says “Remember that video-game you and Asriel used to play?” Narration says “On the computer’s desktop is a folder called “Epic games Stuff!!!! It’s a picture of your brother and you playing video games.” End image transcript]

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “Kris, I bet you’re very good at games, aren’t you?” Kris says “Gaming is my life.” Ralsei says “W-wow, Kris! Your passion is amazing!!” Susie says “…That was the most monotone response I’ve heard in my life?” Ralsei says “Do your best, Kris! I’ll be cheering you with magic pom-poms!” End image transcript]

[Image transcript: Kris saying “Gaming is not my life.” Queen says “If you aren’t enthusiastic I won’t want to enslave you.” Ralsei says “We don’t want that…” Queen says “Think ahead you will after I enslave you.” Ralsei says “Do your best, Kris! I’ll be cheering you with magic pom-poms!” End image transcript]

Finally, Asriel is implied to have had an active dating life with the ladies of Hometown, whereas Ralsei has no game.

[Image transcript: Catty saying “Oh my god, Asriel! Like, what a cutie pie! Do you remember when me and him went to the dance?” Bratty says “Remember that time I played truth or dare with Azzy? I, like, made him give me his first kiss…” End image transcript]

[Image transcript: Narration saying “You ordered Susie to flirt with the enemy!” Susie says “Hell nah. Let’s see Ralsei do it.” Ralsei says “I suppose if it can’t be helped…! Your hair is like a waterfall of…” End image transcript]

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “… wait, um, do you have hair, or…” Narration says “Head Hathy felt awkward and left…” Ralsei says “Oh, oh dear! Wait!!” Susie says “Not so easy, huh!?” End image transcript]

So Ralsei hardly seems to represent Kris’ idealized version of Asriel, but maybe he’s meant to be someone else’s ideal version of Asriel? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Alvin may have had a hand in creating Ralsei.

Ralsei’s Connection to the Knight

I know, I know, “Alvin made Ralsei” sounds like a madlibs theory, but hear me out. For starters, let’s look at how Alvin views Asriel: a very kind young man who is, if anything, overzealous in his kindness.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Ah Kris. Your Brother. He is a very kind young man. Perhaps even a little… overzealous, in his younger days.” Ralsei says “Kris, if it’s for friendship… Well then, we’ll gladly help. What shall we do?” End image transcript]

We know from Alvin that Asriel once sang in the church choir, and in Chapter 1 we see Ralsei sing to put Susie and the Ponmen to sleep.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Our choir sounds a bit thinner since your brother went away.” Narration says “Ralsei sang a soft and entrancing lullaby!” End image transcript]

Alvin expresses unfamiliarity with the concept of video games, which lines up with Ralsei’s seeming lack of Asriel’s gaming obsession. Both of Alvin and Ralsei know what games are, but don’t express interest in playing themselves.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Nearly omitting the fact that he had done so in a ‘videos game.’” Ralsei says “Kris, I bet you’re very good at games, aren’t you?” End image transcript]

Finally, Alvin refers to instances where Asriel would show up to confess various sins to him.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “He would visit me often to confess… to various, ‘sins.’ I would always ‘forgive’ him and send him home.” End image transcript]

And, in an uncommon piece of battle dialogue we can see Ralsei “repent” when he clicks on Poppup’s ads.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “Ralsei accidentally clicked on an ad for ‘lightners 4 darkners in ur area’ and was mortified. He deleted the browser shortcut on the desktop entirely… but immediately felt guilty because he thought he had ‘deleted the entire internet.’” Ralsei says “I… I didn’t mean to do it… I… I’m sorry!!! I repent!!!” End image transcript]

We also hear Spamton recite a similar line of dialogue begging for forgiveness when he discusses the Knight.

[Image transcript: Spamton saying “No, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to--” End image transcript]

This line uses proper capitalization and no brackets, not unlike when Spamton quotes the “can anybody hear me?” line.

[Image transcript: Spamton saying “… can anyone hear me? Help...” End image transcript]

This implies he’s quoting something that someone else said, and his line is very similar to Ralsei’s, sharing the “I didn’t mean to—“ refrain, which makes me think both are channeling a young Asriel. The “repent” dialogue is especially telling because Alvin clarifies that his religion has no concept of sin or confession.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “He would visit me often to confess… to various, ‘sins.’ Despite the absence of sin, or confession, in our religion.” End image transcript]

In other words, this isn’t standard practice for the town’s religion and it’s an experience that only Alvin and Asriel would be familiar with (and possibly Spamton, owing to his “forbidden knowledge” vibe). And, again, Spamton says this line when he’s talking about the Knight specifically. While I’m sure someone could try to use this fact to bolster an “Asriel is the Knight” theory, I think this points more towards Alvin because it’s implied that this confessional activity is something that Asriel grew out of—something that he might not even think much of nowadays but something that Alvin clearly reminisces about.

Given Alvin’s loss of his father and Asriel’s absence, it’s not too much of a stretch to imagine that he, like Kris, has (to a lesser extent) felt a bit lonelier since Asriel went away. If Dess was part of Alvin’s youth group and if she’s missing then that’s two pupils of Alvin’s that are no longer in his life.

We know from Ralsei that darkners reflect the will of their fountains. Given how few character could even know about the concept of confessing sins, I’m forced to conclude that Alvin’s conception of Asriel must have shaped Ralsei’s personality in some way.

I say I’m “forced” to conclude that because, despite my tendency to stress Alvin’s importance, I did not walk into this post from the outset intending to prove that Alvin created Ralsei. It’s certainly not a hill I want to die on, and I can understand anyone who was with me up until now seeing this as a hard sell.

Still, Ralsei being connected to the Knight could fill in a couple of small plotholes. First would be the fact that Lancer and other Card Castle residents know about Ralsei’s legend in Chapter 1.

[Image transcript: Lancer saying “You know. Teardrop-headed kid. From the legend?” Seam says “Ha ha ha… So you are the ‘heroes’ who are going to seal our Fountain?” End image transcript]

There’s no reason why this should be the case since Ralsei (to our knowledge) hasn’t even met individuals like Seam, who alludes to the legend when the option “we’re legendary” is selected. But if Ralsei and the Knight both know the legend then it makes sense the Knight would warn the King’s subjects about it.

[Image transcript: King saying “Their only goal is to destroy our glorious Fountain.” End image transcript]

This would also address the final battle in Chapter 2 where Queen knows about the Roaring Knight but doesn’t know what the Roaring itself is. This implies the Knight knows about the Roaring and introduced itself as the Roaring Knight, but essentially lied by omission as to the Roaring’s nature. If Ralsei and the Knight share some kind of connection then this could also explain how Ralsei is able to “feel” a dark presence from Castle Town when the Librarby fountain is opened.

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “I felt a dark presence and hurried over!” End image transcript]

Like I said earlier, I’m not fond of the idea that Ralsei is secretly working for the Knight and I don’t think this theory automatically entails that. Creation does not necessarily mean loyalty. It’s possible Alvin and Ralsei may not even be fully aware of each other, or at least not actively keeping tabs on one another. How could that be? Well, I think it’s worth asking what Alvin’s intentions are—not just for Ralsei, but for the fountains he’s creating.

Alvin’s Motives

The Knight’s motives seem downright inscrutable, and the same goes for many would-be Knight candidates. When fans try to theorize about the Knight’s motives it usually boils down to either “something something escapism” or “life sucks, time to end the world.” These are certainly potential motives that the Knight could end up having, but they feel a bit too broad and impersonal. One advantage that Alvin has over most Knight suspects is that he has several potential motives that are hinted at in-game and largely unique to him.

The one most people have picked up on is the Roaring’s connection to the Angel’s Heaven. Given that Alvin serves the Angel, this is a bit of a no-brainer. We don’t know exactly what the Angel’s Heaven is, or rather what Alvin thinks it will accomplish (if it’s actually just the Roaring), but I think this is almost certainly one of his key motivations. However, I don’t think it’s the only one.

One lesser-discussed possibility could be that Alvin is trying to lure Noelle into dark worlds in order to help unlock her angelic powers. If you’re wondering what “angelic” powers I’m referring to, this is hinted at throughout chapter 2:

[Image transcript: Noelle saying “I’d grow big angel wings, and fly as far as I can, gazing back at it all...” A pink Addison says “C’mon, angel! You can’t get stronger without good equipment!” Spamton says “Angel, Angel.” End image transcript]

I suggest that Alvin could be luring Noelle because in Chapter 1 Noelle almost goes into the storage closet with Susie before Alphys sends Kris instead, and the two of them are then locked in the closet (presumably) by the Knight.

[Image transcript: Noelle saying “Hey, there might be a box in the supply closet… Miss Alphys, why don’t Susie and I...” End image transcript]

Later in Chapter 2 we see the Knight trapping Berdly and Noelle in a dark world.

Now, I think this motive is worth considering but also isn’t the most likely. For one thing, Alvin never mentions Noelle in his dialogue and it’s unclear if he’s even aware of her possible angelic connections. While Noelle does go to his church and it’s implied her youth group was tied to it as well, she doesn’t seem to be held in the same regard by Alvin as Asriel is, based on what little we know. A bigger issue is that this motive would require Alvin knowing in advance where Noelle is (likely) to be, which is a bit of a stretch.

What I think is the most probable motive for Alvin is a desire to revive his father through the use of dark fountains. Several fans have speculated this and there’s plenty of evidence to back it up. The most obvious is Alvin’s dialogue in the graveyard where he mentions his father’s hammer.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “As per the ritual, a hammer is buried in the earth here. To symbolize his existence.” Narration says “You heard Alvin mumbling to himself as you walked away.” Alvin says “And… is it right for this hammer to…” End image transcript]

If monster burial rites are anything like Undertale’s then we know what happens when a dust-covered object is introduced to determination (or in this case, a life-giving fountain opened with determination).

[Image transcript: Flavor text saying “When monsters get old and kick the bucket, they turn into dust. At funerals, we take that dust and spread it on that person’s favorite thing.” Monsters say “Wounded, Asriel stumbled home. He entered the castle and collapsed. His dust spread across the garden…” Alphys’ lab entries say “In the center of his garden, there’s something special. The first golden flower, that grew before all the others. What happens when something without a soul gains the will to live?” End image transcript]

However, one thing to consider is that this resurrection-by-hammer (most likely) hasn’t happened yet. There’s no sign of Gerson’s hammer being dug up from his grave and Alvin’s final lines in Chapter 2 imply he’s still mulling over the idea. I’ve seen some suggest Alvin can’t be the Knight because he’d be using Gerson’s hammer instead of a blade, but I think he’s still working his way up to that. This is where Ralsei comes in, because I think that Ralsei and the previous dark fountains have been experiments conducted by Alvin in an attempt to bring Gerson back.

The Knight’s Trials and Errors

Perhaps the only thing harder to figure out than the Knight’s motives is trying to piece together how the Knight’s actions so far have tied into that motive. One day the Knight opens a fountain and seemingly intervenes in the affairs of its rulers, then the next day the Knight is suddenly in a hurry to leave a brand new fountain. And here I am throwing Ralsei’s creation into the mix, which should only complicate things further.

Well, here’s how I see it: we know from the Spamton Neo fight that drawings and representations of real or conceptual figures can be imbued with great power by lightners and brought to life. The implication is that this might somehow be distinct from an object that’s mass-produced or not made by a specific lightner’s hand for a specific purpose. In other words, sentimental value or a strong creative intent might make a darkner or dark world object more powerful than it otherwise would be.

Given that Ralsei closely resembles Asriel and looks far more like a lightner than any other darkner does, I think it’s not unreasonable to posit that Ralsei may have been made from a drawing or some other representation of Asriel. We already know that a Ralsei drawing is present in the game files as a page in Ralsei’s unused manual and it also appears inside of the official (hat) Ralsei plush.

[Image transcript: A drawing of Ralsei saying “Thank you! I’m looking forward to meeting you!” End image transcript]

This would not only explain why Ralsei looks so much like a boss monster but it would also explain Ralsei’s own identity issues and why he’d ponder what being “Ralsei-like” even is.

[Image transcript: Kris saying “It’s nice that Ralsei is Ralsei.” Ralsei says “No one’s… no one’s ever said that to me before… I mean, e-everything’s a first for me, but… I just wonder what… being ‘Ralsei-like’ even is…?” End image transcript]

I could easily see him worrying about this if on some level he knew he was created from a representation of someone else, or if he was viewed as a “failure” for not representing that person more closely.

On a somewhat-related note, both Alvin and Asriel share the distinction of having “poorly drawn” images in Deltarune. This description is also used for the “don’t forget” drawing in Sans’ secret room. The latter drawing only appears when Clamgirl tells you about Suzy, which ties the drawing to Deltarune:

[Image transcript: Narration saying “It’s a yellowed, poorly-drawn picture of a green turtle. It’s a poorly-drawn design for a game… It’s a poorly drawn picture of three smiling people. Written on it… ‘don’t forget.’” End image transcript]

I’m not quite sure what the full implication of this is—perhaps Alvin or the Deltarune version of Asriel was the one who made the “don’t forget” drawing? Maybe it’s just a coincidence? Who can say.

Now, I know the popular theory is that Ralsei was made from Kris’ headband, and I’m not dismissing that idea out of hand.

[Image transcript: Toriel saying “Remember when you were little... You asked when your horns were going to grow in? So we bought that headband with the little red horns on it. Oh, you wore it for months! Whatever happened to it?” End image transcript]

An object like that could have a lot of sentimental value stored in it, and if Kris harbored some desire to be more like Asriel then it’s possible some of that “intent” may have been imbued in the object, which mingled with Alvin’s own intent for it (assuming he got ahold of it somehow). Even so, I lean more towards the drawing interpretation just because it feels like the more straightforward way to explain why Ralsei’s appearance is so specific and anthropomorphized (as opposed to him just being a talking headband).

Getting back to Alvin, I think if he created Ralsei then his intention was to see how closely he could recreate a real-life person. Naturally, he based Ralsei on his own narrow perspective of Asriel as the overzealous do-gooder from his pre-college days. It’s unclear whether Alvin saw the experiment as a success or not, but I think it’s likely that he parted ways with Ralsei—either out of disappointment or out of a desire to move on to his real project: reviving his father. I think it’s quite likely that Alvin and Ralsei never meaningfully interacted, or at least never conspired together like some “Ralsei will betray you!” theory would have you believe.

Next up, Alvin created the Card Castle Fountain. This makes sense as a next step since it’s right next to the supply closet, it’s likely a place that was significant to his father, and Alvin’s drawing of Gerson would prove the perfect test subject. However, I think this experiment was unsuccessful. If Alvin’s drawing was the Shadow Mantle then it’s clear he did not succeed in recreating Gerson. This is likely owed to the “poorly-drawn” nature of the picture. Instead, I think the Shadow Mantle ended up like the “Neo” robot body—a powerful artifact that isn’t fully sentient (as far as we know). As a token of goodwill (and insurance policy against the heroes of legend), Alvin left the Shadow Mantle in King’s care.

Finally we end up with Cyber World. Like I explained earlier, I think this fountain’s creation was a botch job from the start. Whatever Alvin might’ve had planned, I think he threw that plan out the window as soon as Berdly and Noelle showed up. Instead, he settled for opening a fountain to cover his escape and bring the Angel’s Heaven one step closer. This would also explain why he (likely) didn’t linger in this fountain—it held no special value to him.

Afterwards, Alvin may have checked in on the Unused Classroom, where he’d only find the Card Castle fountain sealed and its darkners missing. This would explain why Alvin seems much more morose and unsure of himself at the end of Chapter 2.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “It’s been a few years since my father passed on...” End image transcript]

At this point he’s no closer to seeing his father again, his fountains have been sealed, the darkners he entrusted have vanished, and his past efforts have all ended in failure. This could easily provide the catalyst for him to consider digging up his father’s grave—it’s not like anything else was working up to this point.

I think it’s safe to say that Gerson is the common thread that connects Alvin’s actions as the Knight. On top of that there’s evidence to suggest that Gerson may have had knowledge of dark worlds, which likely sent Alvin down this path to begin with. Gerson could almost get his own theory post, but since I’m swinging for the fences…

Gerson and the Dark Fountains

Let’s Talk About Gerson

[Image transcript: Gerson saying “Really? YOU wanna chat?” End image transcript]

To start with, can I just say that Gerson is a massively underrated character? In Undertale he’s one of the only living survivors of the human-monster war and he offers some of the most crucial lore tidbits in the whole game. Without him we wouldn’t know anything about boss monsters or the Deltarune symbol. Undyne refers to him as “the toughest monster that ever lived,” which is high praise coming from the “undying” head of the royal guard who regularly trained with Asgore.

[Image transcript: Undyne saying “That’s the store of Gerson, the Hammer of Justice! The toughest monster that ever lived…! He fought in the war between humans and monsters… And he survived! He’s a real hero!” End image transcript]

To top things off, Gerson is implied to have some degree of “forbidden” meta knowledge. He’s seemingly aware of the fact that you cannot fight him inside of a shop menu and even acknowledges that this is special knowledge that he’s exploiting for his own survival.

[Image transcript: Gerson saying “I’ve lived too long to be afraid of something like you. Try it, kiddo! … I know you can’t here. Wah ha… Knowledge like that is the only reason I’ve survived so long.” End image transcript]

Let’s see: implied meta knowledge, implied hidden strength, and a cavalier sense of humor even in the face of oblivion—it’s like Gerson was the Underground’s Sans before Sans was.

Getting back to Deltarune, the fountain locations from chapters 1 and 2 can all be tied to Gerson in some way. Gerson was a teacher at the school, where the Castle Town and Card Castle fountains were located. There’s also the possibility that the unused classroom was once Gerson’s. Then we have Gerson’s books in the Librarby, where a Ms. Boom is implied to work.

That much is an easy assertion to make, but let’s unpack this a little more. Are there any telltale signs within the dark worlds that indicate some sort of connection to Gerson or the Boom family? I did mention King’s usage of the “chain of justice,” which is likely an homage to Gerson. There is the occasional Deltarune symbol, which would be more of a link to Alvin, though surprisingly this symbol doesn’t appear as often in dark worlds as you might think. We do see it a couple of times in the Card Kingdom and it appears a few more times in Castle Town, but is otherwise rather scarce.

However, there is one telltale sign of Gerson in the dark worlds that I’ve seen no one bring up. I think the reason for this is that it’s a sign that’s so obvious and so broad that it almost blends into the background: the “swords and sorcery” fantasy aesthetic. Think about it: why do Kris and Susie gain medieval weaponry when they enter dark worlds? Why are there magic spells? Why do these elements persist even in a technology-themed dark world?

[Image transcript: Menu text saying “Brave Ax: A glossy ax from a block warrior. Suitable for heroes. Spookysword: A black-and-orange sword with a bat hilt. Heal Prayer: Heavenly light restores a little HP to one party member. Depends on Magic. MechaSaber: Press hilt to extend.” End image transcript]

Keep in mind that, unlike Undertale, there’s no in-universe explanation for why monsters or anyone else would gravitate towards these trappings. Undertale’s monsters were, to some degree, still stuck in their old ways of doing things from the war with humans. Deltarune’s world, however, is unabashedly modern. There’s a mayor instead of a king, there’s police instead of a royal guard, and it’s implied magic does not exist in the light world.

[Image transcript: Politics Bear saying “This town doesn’t have a mayor. The mayor’s charisma is about zero. No, it’s negative.” Undyne says “Nothing beats food home-cooked with fire magic.” Noelle says “I wish I knew healing magic in real life.” End image transcript]

Most players just take it for a given that an RPG is going to have a fantasy theming to it, but it’s by no means compulsory. Furthermore, it feels right up Toby’s alley for him to undermine our own assumptions about genre conventions by luring us into a false sense of security.

If you haven’t guessed what I’m getting at, I believe that Gerson’s Lord of the Hammer book series has had some sort of influence on the fountains we’ve seen so far.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “It’s the Lord of the Hammer series.” Susie says “Hahaha, Kris, you READ that nerdy stuff? Heh! Giant swords, hammers, bloody battles… uh, so if there’s any cool parts, you’d tell me, right?” End image transcript]

Perhaps the series is on Alvin’s mind whenever he creates a fountain, thus making it part of that fountain’s “will.” Maybe Alvin even brings a copy of one of Gerson’s books with him, either as a good luck charm or to add a special “flavor” to his fountains. Or, what if this dynamic goes both ways?

Maybe Gerson’s writing not only has an influence on dark worlds but was also inspired by them? In Undertale, Gerson mentions how it’s easy for him to study history when he’s lived through so much of it.

[Image transcript: Gerson saying “Studying history sure is easy when you’ve lived through so much of it yourself! Wa ha ha!” End image transcript]

In Deltarune Gerson was also a historian before making a sudden pivot to writing fiction, but what if he’s once again merely describing “history” that he’s lived through?

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “Originally a smith by trade, he began writing history... And made a turn into telling stories.” End image transcript]

Admittedly, establishing a direct connection between Gerson’s work and dark worlds is somewhat tenuous, but there are breadcrumbs here and there. For one thing, Gerson cites dreams as a major inspiration for his work.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “Gerson Boom Memorial Bench.” A quote from Gerson says “Throughout my career, some of my best ideas came from dreams. Take a rest here. If anyone asks—you’re writing!” Narration says “Gerson: Renowned historian, author, and teacher.” End image transcript]

Dark worlds and their constructs are compared to dreams numerous times in Chapter 1 and especially Chapter 2.

[Image transcript: Susie saying “Uhhh… you’re, uh… just having a dream!” Swatch says “A dream I helped create… once.” Narration says “It feels incredibly soft. Like sleeping on a dream…” Queen says “Into a darker, darker dream.” End image transcript]

You even have the option to skip right to each chapter’s dark world by going to sleep.

[Image transcript: Kris in the light world choosing “Sleep.” Narration says “For some reason, you decided to go back to sleep… But, when you opened your eyes…” Kris appears in the dark world. End image transcript]

We also know that Toby was inspired to create Deltarune based on a literal fever dream.

[Image transcript: An interviewer saying “How long has the idea for Deltarune been kicking around in your head?” Toby says “In 2011, when I was away at school, I got very sick. Iended up having a terrible fever and couldn’t get any medicine for it, and while I was sleeping I had a vivid dream about the ending to a game. Since then… I felt like I had to make the game with that ending. I attempted to make that game in 2012 using character designs by an artist I really like called Kanotynes. However, I stopped making ti even before I made a single room of the game. That game… I ended up repurposing a few of the songs from it for Undertale. For example, ‘Heartache’ was originally called ‘Joker Battle’ and ‘Bonetrousle’ was originally the main battle theme. Then I decided around when I did the Kickstarter to Undertale (2013) that if I ever completed Undertale, my next game would be a mix of Undertale and that concept.” End image transcript]

Alvin also describes his father’s work as blossoming into a “large, wonderful, world-changing thing”. While this would be a fitting description of a popular book series, it would also be a fitting description of a dark fountain—they can be said to “blossom” into something large since dark worlds are bigger on the inside than the outside, and they certainly change the world. One of the darkners in Castle Town even refers to the town as “a dream that grows with love and care.”

[Image transcript: A Rudinn saying “Things have changed again here in GersonTown! This is a dream that grows with love and care. Don’t be afraid to dream!” End image transcript]

Lastly, tying Gerson to the dark worlds would go a long way to explaining one of the major unanswered questions in Deltarune: where did the Grand Fountain come from?

Gerson’s Grand Fountain

In the past I’ve alluded to the idea that Castle Town and its “grand” fountain were not created the same way as the other dark fountains, likely through different means and/or by a different person. It’s explained in Chapter 2 that Ralsei’s fountain is one of pure darkness, which allows any darkner to live there without turning to stone. It could also be the case that Ralsei is immune to turning to stone because he originated in the grand fountain.

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “Castle Town’s Grand Fountain is made of pure darkness. As long as it stays flowing, any Darkner can live there.” End image transcript]

Unless if there’s some hidden drawback we’re unaware of, it seems like the grand fountain is outright superior to other dark fountains, at least when it comes to living conditions for darkners. Chapter 1 implies that the grand fountain is the oldest dark fountain, given that the Card Kingdom fountain is referred to as appearing “recently.”

[Image transcript: Ralsei saying “Today, the Fountain of Darkness—the geyser that gives this land form—Stands tall at the center of the kingdom. But recently, another fountain has appeared on the horizon…” End image transcript]

If the first three fountains were all made by the same person then it raises the question of why their first fountain was so much more powerful and “pure” than the ones that followed. If anything you’d think the Knight would be getting better at making fountains with each new attempt.

I’m inclined to believe that Gerson created the Grand fountain, or at least had a hand in it. Besides being a more refined fountain, we can also see the afore-mentioned fantasy theming most prevalently in this fountain, which features an inn, weapons shop, and item shop—traditional staples of fantasy RPGs.

The music and presentation of the legend, while debatably non-diegetic, does evoke a fantasy theme the most strongly. Moreover, in the darkened supply closet we do see old papers on the floor—we know Gerson was a writer, so these would be expected in such a setting.

[Image transcript: Susie saying “There’s nothing in here but old papers.” End image transcript]

The abandoned buildings also look somewhat flat—perhaps they’re paper-based constructs?

The Will of the Fountains

The grand fountain’s seeming ability to make Ralsei persist across all fountains makes me wonder if darkners and dark world constructs are, for lack of a better term, “programmed” when they’re brought to life for the first time. In other words, Ralsei retains the grand fountain’s immunity to petrification even when he’s not in the grand fountain because he was made there. Conversely, Lancer retains his vulnerability to petrification when he’s in any fountain aside from Castle Town or his own because he was not first “programmed” in a grand fountain like Ralsei was.

This could explain why items and equipment maintain their original shape even when they’re brought to other fountains—Kris continues to wear medieval armor in Cyber world despite the clashing themes. Berdly, on the other hand, had his gear first “programmed” in Cyber world, which is why he’s outfitted with a scouter and more sci-fi-looking apparel.  

[Image transcript: Narration saying “Berdly crushes his Smart Scouter out of frustration.” End image transcript]

Since items from Card Castle can be brought to Cyber World with no issue, it can be presumed that petrification is something that only affects darkners rather than non-sentient dark world constructs. Whatever fountain a darkner or construct originates in seems to determine that dark world entity’s appearance and “compatibility settings” for all future fountains.

Why do I bring this up? Mainly to reconcile a potential snarl in my theory—namely, the idea that Gerson made Castle Town but Alvin (may have) created Ralsei. The two ideas seem to contradict each other, given that I’m arguing Ralsei was created in Castle Town but that Alvin did not create Castle Town. However, I think what matters here is what fountain a darkner is first placed into (and by who) when they’re brought to life, not whether they’re brought to life by the same person who originally made the fountain.

For instance, we know that Susie’s clothing and gear was not created by anyone who created a fountain—the fountain(s) were made first and then Susie brought her own starting gear into them. At that point her gear was “programmed” to take on its current appearance, which is arguably a mix of fantasy aesthetic and (to a lesser degree) her own tastes, and this appearance has persisted across fountains ever since.

Likewise, Gerson may have created Castle Town but Alvin may have been the one to create Ralsei by being the one to first bring his source object into Castle Town. If this object was a drawing of Asriel created by Alvin then, like the Neo robot body, it would have been imbued with its creator’s own creativity and dreams, allowing Alvin’s own intentions to shape the creation. Note that the Neo body was almost certainly not made by the same person who created Cyber world, and yet it maintains much of its original intent (assuming Mettaton was drawing his ideal body) while still fitting into Cyber World’s theme. Likewise, Asriel’s likeness shines through for Ralsei but he also has some of the flavoring of Castle Town’s fantasy theme sprinkled on top.

Alternatively, I could also argue that Gerson may have had a similar conception of Asriel that Alvin did, especially if Alvin shared any of his stories with his father, which could have resulted in Gerson and Alvin’s mutual view of Asriel shaping the creation of Ralsei. It might also be possible that Gerson was a teacher of Asriel’s—we know that Gerson never taught Kris, but Asriel is clearly older than Kris so it’s likely Gerson may have had him as a student. Or it could even be argued that Gerson and Alvin made Castle Town together, if it’s even possible to create a fountain collaboratively.

Dark Fountain Rulebook – Abridged Edition

Admittedly the “rules” of dark worlds are still vague in some areas and may never be fully explained in the story, but to summarize this is how I think darkners and constructs are made:

When a dark fountain is created, every object in the immediate surrounding forms a dark world that reflects the fountain’s will (aka, the maker’s will). All darkners and constructs present at the time of creation are “programmed” to take a certain appearance that will persist across other dark worlds. Darkners created in impure fountains will not “belong” in other impure fountains and will eventually turn to stone.

Objects that are hand-made by a lightner and/or that have a lot of sentimental value will retain some of that lightner’s original intent and power, even when brought into someone else’s dark world. If the object is artistic in nature and is given a specific appearance/likeness then it will largely retain that likeness in the dark world.

Ordinary objects that don’t fit the above description can be brought into an existing dark world by any lightner. If these objects were not previously “programmed” in a dark world then they will take on whatever “theme” reflects the fountain’s will. It’s possible that the lightner carrying the object may have some minor influence on the object’s final appearance in the dark world (i.e., Susie and Berdly’s clothes), but they will still match the fountain’s will.

To make this even simpler, the will of the fountain’s creator usually decides what an object will look like in the dark world, but a determined lightner with a strong desire for a specific object can potentially override the fountain’s will in varying degrees if the item has not already been “programmed.”

While I think this framework mostly makes sense, it doesn’t account for everything—namely the implied histories of King, Queen, and other darkners who seemingly existed before Card Castle’s fountain was created. Sweet Cap’n Cakes even talk about what Queen was like before the dark fountain showed up, which seems like a contradiction in terms.

[Image transcript: Sweet saying “Queen wasn’t always so… harsh.” Cap’n says “No, she WAS! She just got worse somehow!” Sweet says “It wasn’t ‘til that Dark Fountain showed up.” Cap’n says “That she started going into overdrive.” End image transcript]

Admittedly, I have no answer for this, but then again I haven’t seen many compelling explanations in the fanbase either. It could be that darkners are simply aware of their experiences as inanimate objects and process those memories as if they were sentient at the time.

The only alternative explanation I see is that some darkners would have had to have existed previously either in Castle Town (despite most darkners’ unfamiliarity with Castle Town in Ch 2) or in some other fountain(s) that existed prior to the start of the game. And the latter option only invites further questions as to who made and (presumably) sealed those fountains, which is beyond speculative and far outside the scope of this already massive theory. Speaking of which, let’s get back to Gerson so that we can (hopefully) get back to Alvin.

Blessed with Talent

Sorry for that big tangent, but it was important to lay out the differences between Gerson’s fountain and Alvin’s fountains for two main reasons: The first was to clear up the issues involved in Ralsei’s creation, which is one reason why I was initially reluctant to believe that Alvin created him. The second reason is to illustrate what could be another aspect of Alvin’s motivation: feelings of inferiority towards his father.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “… were you proud of me, father… ?” End image transcript]

Admittedly this interpretation doesn’t have a ton of evidence yet but it seems like a direction that the story could go in in order to give nuance to Alvin’s motivations beyond a generic love for Gerson. We do see Alvin question whether his father was proud of him—note that he says “were you proud of me,” not “are you proud of me,” implying that he isn’t referring to his recent deeds but rather referring to whether Gerson was proud of him while he was alive.

[Image transcript: Alvin saying “My father was blessed to have such a talent for writing.” End image transcript]

Alvin also goes on about his father’s talents and remarks “my father was blessed to have such a talent for writing.” Note that Alvin doesn’t chalk this up to his father’s hard work, but almost views Gerson’s writing ability as something that fell into his lap—as if to say his father didn’t earn it or that Alvin rues the fact that he wasn’t similarly blessed.

The difference between Gerson’s fountain and Alvin’s fountains could reflect this feeling of inferiority—Gerson’s fountain is pure while Alvin’s explicitly are not. If we assume that Alvin created Ralsei then the order of Alvin’s dark world “experiments” paints a picture where he sees less and less success the further he strays from his father’s work. First he makes a petrification-immune darkner replica of Asriel in his father’s fountain, then he makes an impure fountain next-door to his father’s fountain, and then he completely botches a new fountain down the street at the Librarby. And to top it all off, Alvin’s fountains have been sealed while Gerson’s is still standing.

This idea of inheriting a legacy and failing to live up to it could be meta commentary on Toby’s own fears about creating Deltarune after the runaway success of Undertale. Or perhaps it’s a broader commentary on his own games’ place in the pantheon of RPG and indie greats that inspired them. Dark Worlds can certainly be analogous to creating fictional worlds that others can immerse themselves in and interact with. However, there is a different real-life creator that Gerson might parallel more closely, especially when taking each of their sons into account.

Lord of the Hammer

Deltarune establishes Gerson as a famous fantasy author who gained notoriety for his series “Lord of the Hammer.” The name is an obvious nod to the Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien and both works are implied to share a similar tone and subject matter, but the parallels between these two run a bit deeper. Tolkien was a former soldier and, in Undertale at least, so was Gerson. Both of them became writers and teachers with an initial focus on more academic subject matter—history for Gerson and translation/linguistics for Tolkien (with some focus on historical works like Beowulf). Both of them created their initial fantasy works as bedtime stories for their children. Both became highly successful based on their fantasy work but retired from the life of celebrity in favor of simpler pursuits.

JRR Tolkien named his youngest son Christopher Tolkien as his literary executor in his will—a position that Christopher used to publish many of his father’s unfinished works posthumously. Some might remember Christopher Tolkien as an outspoken critic of the various film adaptations of his father’s work and once threatening legal action against New Line Cinema.

I can’t say what kind of person Christopher Tolkien was, but based on what I know of his view of the films and based on the many posthumous works of his father that he helped publish (which I’ve read), I would offer my own opinion that Christopher was very protective of his father’s work and viewed it as sacrosanct. Even if the work in question was an earlier draft of an unfinished tale that was literally scribbled on top of an erased previous draft in an old notebook, the younger Tolkien likely viewed that as a work of infinitely greater value than any academy-award-winning film adaptation that lacked his father’s direct involvement.

I’m not saying that Christopher was right or wrong to feel this way, but his stance seems pretty clear to a mere outsider like me. Where this could invite parallels to Alvin Boom is the idea of him trying to pick up where his father left off, in some cases possibly even working with his father’s previous fountain and personal artifacts. This could be a meta commentary on fan works or literary “expanded universes” that operate on the principle of “continuity is law” while being afraid to try anything new. Alvin may have the knowledge and tools of his father, but perhaps what’s lacking is the unique creative drive—the soul, if you will.

If Alvin created Ralsei then even he is merely a recreation of something that came before. And that would make Alvin’s fountains pale imitations of his father’s work. If my theory is correct then Alvin’s work up until now has merely been chasing his father’s success. Bringing things full circle, I could see this idea tying back into Toby’s own view of his series and the works resulting from it.

I can’t say exactly how Toby regards his own fanbase in any appreciable detail, but given Undertale’s runaway success I would be surprised if Deltarune doesn’t contain at least some kind of thematic commentary on Toby’s experiences. As many fans know, Toby had the idea for Deltarune before he even finished Undertale, but I don’t think that rules out likelihood of Toby’s later experiences influencing his work—if he has room for modern memes in his writing then he has room for modern themes as well.

Toby has outright said that Deltarune Chapter 1 was meant to trick players into thinking they were playing a direct follow-up to Undertale, and since then he’s remarked that he’s glad Deltarune is being appreciated for its own merits rather than in relation to Undertale.

[Image transcript: Toby saying “My head is spinning seeing the massive response to Chapter 2. Thank you so much for playing, everyone. It was a really silly chapter, and the next one is going to be super silly too! I feel happy because it seems like people are finally seeing ‘Deltarune’ as something with its own identity and characters, rather than only thinking about it in relation to ‘Undertale.’” End image transcript]

Despite Toby’s own history with collaborative and fan projects, I think at the end of the day he values a work that can stand on its own two legs, even if it has more than its share of influences that it wears on its sleeve. Perhaps this is what he’s driving at with Deltarune’s potential themes of dark worlds as works of fiction—it’s ok to be inspired by someone else, but trying to directly recapture their work without reinvention produces diminishing returns.

Counter-Arguments

The Elephant in the Room…

In an ideal world this is where I’d be wrapping up my theory—I’ve stated the main idea, examined the in-game evidence for it, and even explored the potential character motivation and thematic meanings behind the theory. However, there is one major topic that I have failed to address—one that I’m sure many reading this post have been thinking or saying aloud to themselves this whole time: “but Alvin doesn’t have a dialogue portrait.”

To restate the obvious, Alvin does not have a dialogue portrait. His dialogue does not have a unique typer sound. His name does not prompt any special response during the Vessel creation sequence, unlike his father’s. These are all true statements. I’d be lying if I said that these facts haven’t given me pause before. Heck, in my first major Deltarune theory post I passed over Alvin as the most likely candidate to be the Knight for this exact reason. However, time and the release of Chapter 2 have made me rethink this position.

Before I begin addressing this topic, I fully acknowledge that Alvin’s lack of a portrait is a legitimate counter-argument to his supposed importance in the future narrative. And although I have several counter-arguments of my own, I understand that these will not convince every possible detractor. However, I will say that even if all of my following arguments fail to persuade then I feel it’s worth also acknowledging that seemingly the most prevalent argument against Alvin’s importance is one that sidesteps the game’s narrative entirely.

To me a dialogue portrait mainly falls into the category of game design and UI, so it says a lot to me that the biggest argument against Alvin is one that doesn’t directly engage with the narrative or its evidence at all. That in and of itself doesn’t disprove the portrait argument, but it feels both funny and slightly frustrating that so much focus has been placed on this aspect, sometimes to the exclusion of all else. I’ve seen competing theories that refuse to even entertain the possibility that Alvin could be important in any way solely on the basis of his lacking a portrait.

I’ve even seen more than one prominent Knight theory where the proposed Knight is literally a brand new character created out of thin air who’s attached to Alvin in some way (either as an old friend, relative, or creation of). Effectively, these theories are willing to file the serial numbers off of the evidence that’s in favor of Alvin’s knighthood by passing it onto a literal fan character just to avoid Alvin’s portrait issue. Whatever your view is on the importance of dialogue portraits, I hope you can at least agree that going to these lengths on account of Alvin lacking a portrait is a bit silly. Harmless, but silly.

The Laws of Portraits

To get everyone on the same page, these are some of the commonly-accepted “rules” regarding dialogue portraits, based on in-game trends and discussions I’ve seen within the fanbase:

Characters who have dialogue portraits are more likely to be important to the narrative than characters who do not have them.

Characters who had dialogue portraits in Undertale will continue to have dialogue portraits in Deltarune.

Characters from Undertale who did not have portraits will continue not having them in Deltarune.

At least some characters who were shopkeepers in Undertale now have dialogue portraits in Deltarune.

Lightners have black-and-white dialogue portraits and darkners have colored dialogue portraits.

Now, one thing you might have noticed is that there’s no universally-held definition for what constitutes an “important” character. Out of all the rules on this list I’d argue the first is the most vaguely-defined, and yet some variation of it is almost always cited when arguing why Alvin’s lack of a portrait disqualifies him from story relevance.

What exactly makes a character “important”? Is it the amount of screentime? That can be hard to gauge in a game where battles and dialogue go at the player’s chosen pace. Is it making recurring appearances? Well, Napstablook, Monster Kid, and Mettaton’s box form made recurring appearances in Undertale but lacked dialogue portraits.

Is it expressiveness? You could argue that base Mettaton and (maybe) Blooky lacked expressiveness to a degree, but that’s a much harder case to make for Monster Kid.

Is a portrait determined by a character’s total amount of dialogue? In Undertale there were nine characters with dialogue portraits: Flowey, Toriel, Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton EX, Asgore, and Asriel. According to this tally, the top nine characters are the ones with portraits… almost.

As mentioned, regular Mettaton does not have a portrait but his EX form does in the true pacifist ending.

Notably, Napstablook and Monster Kid have more dialogue than Mettaton EX, and even if we combined Mettaton’s totals it still results in a case where Asgore is barely above Monster Kid. You can argue this is some sort of cutoff point, but it does seem a bit arbitrary, given that Blooky and Kid make more total appearances than Asgore. If it wasn’t for the true pacifist finale dialogue in New Home then Napstablook and Monster Kid would likely have significantly more dialogue than Asgore as well.

Now one can easily say that Asgore is the king of monsters and the would-be final boss of the game, so of course he should have a portrait. No arguments here, though one could argue that Chara is just as important, despite their similarly limited screentime, and yet they lack a portrait.

And yet Asriel, a character with a similarly-late debut, gets a unique dialogue portrait.

One could argue that Chara’s situation is special, either due to being a human or due to the state they’re in during the game’s events, but that’s my point—there seem to be exceptions to these “rules” and the exceptions have only increased in number in Deltarune.

Exceptions to the Rule

So I pointed out that Mettaton initially lacks a portrait but later gains one in his EX form. This is a case of a character without a portrait gaining one and it isn’t the only example. Undyne lacks a portrait during her initial speaking appearance and so does Sans.

One could argue that this is done for dramatic effect and, in Undyne’s case, because her face wasn’t visible. However, I’m not even sure how to explain this next example:

Papyrus’ face is clearly in view here and he’s even striking up a pose full of his usual bravado, yet he still lacks a portrait. Granted, his face is in shadow for a good chunk of this scene, but I’m honestly not even sure what to make of this.

Nonetheless, contextual drama and face-concealing headwear are fair enough explanations for characters gaining or losing portraits in Undertale, but in Deltarune we see a clear-cut example of a character without a portrait gaining a portrait for no story-related reason whatsoever: Clover.

Clover is an interesting case because not only does she gain dialogue portraits between Chapters 1 and 2 for no narrative reason but I have not seen one person try to argue that Clover is suddenly important now because she has portraits. Clover was a one-off miniboss in Chapter 1 who only appears in Chapter 2 for minor dialogue and an optional re-fight in the Dojo—she can be skipped entirely in Chapter 2 and likely is skipped by most players.

While it’s likely that Clover may have gained portraits to make it easier to tell her three heads apart in dialogue, note that the Steam release of Chapter 1 was not patched to include these new Chapter 2 portraits. I would argue that such a change would be feasible, given other modifications made to Chapter 1 during Chapter 2’s release such as the doors of the computer lab being updated and Jevil’s shadow crystal being added.

Noelle received updated portraits in Chapter 2 that were ported back to the Steam release of Chapter 1, suggesting that portraits can be subject to change from chapter to chapter and even changed retroactively, including whether or not a character even has a portrait to begin with.

Additionally, in Chapter 2 we see another “three for one” portrait in the form of Sweet Cap’n Cakes.

Like Clover, their portraits were likely added to make it easier to differentiate between each character’s speech. This could be yet another example of portraits not being mutually exclusive to “importance,” since the Sweet Cap’n Cakes trio seldom appear outside Cyber Field and aren’t story-relevant until the final team-up with Cyber World’s other darkners. The trio is by no means unimportant, but the fact that their shop in Castle Town is essentially an optional recruit milestone makes it seem unlikely that they’ll have further story relevance beyond potentially inventing something or joining another recruit team-up sequence later on.

[Image transcript: Cap’n saying “Yo, chief. If you recruit enough fans for us, We might be able to make our music shop again...” End image transcript]

Sweet Cap’n Cakes’ portraits illustrate another rule exception: their portraits are black-and-white despite the fact that they’re darkners. Now while I do agree with the consensus that darkners generally have colored portraits (which is one reason why I don’t think Ralsei is a lightner), SCC nonetheless present an exception to this rule. Even though their portraits are smaller than the standard size, Toby could’ve easily given them monochrome colors like Kris and Susie’s battle icons if these portrait “rules” were as important to him as many claim they are.

Speaking of colors, one minor point is that Toby once tried another method of differentiating dialogue when more than one character is speaking: Catty and Bratty.

Technically this isn’t directly related to portraits but it does show that Toby has attempted multiple solutions to overlapping dialogue before eventually settling on 3-for-1 portraits. Notably Catty and Bratty lost this pink/purple text gimmick completely in Deltarune, showing that some characters’ text quirks aren’t set in stone and may only exist to serve a functional purpose.

Another important observation with 3-for-1 portraits is that it means Clover and SCC now have portraits… while Spamton does not.

Now I don’t care what kind of pretzel you try to twist yourself into, there’s no way to argue that Spamton is not an important character. He’s a shopkeeper with multiple boss fights and is the main Chapter 2 boss for the weird route, to say nothing of his thematic ties to Kris and his treasure trove of cryptic lore. All of that’s on top of his explosive popularity after Chapter 2’s release (which, to be fair, Toby didn’t fully account for). And to boot he has not one but two unique dialogue typer sounds, which is a whole other can of worms. But, this theory post is already one big collection of opened worm cans, so let’s talk typer sounds.

Portraits and Typers

If anything I’d argue that typer sounds are even more inconsistent than dialogue portraits. Deltarune has multiple examples of characters who have one but lack the other. Contrast this with Undertale, where Mettaton was the only outlier until his EX form. In Deltarune we have Catti, Catty, Bratty, Jockington, Burgerpants, Clover, Sweet, Cap’n, Cake, and Rouxls Kaard, who all have portraits but no unique typer sounds. Conversely, we have Jevil and Spamton who have unique typer sounds but no portraits.

To start with the “no typer” gang, one could argue in the case of Catty, Bratty, and Burgerpants that this is consistent with Undertale—in that game these three characters were shopkeepers with the default typer sound who could never be talked to outside of their shops. Between both games, Spamton is the only shopkeeper to use a unique typer sound, so one could argue that the three Undertale shopkeepers already had their typer value established before Deltarune.

One could also argue that Clover and Sweet Cap’n Cakes lacking a typer makes sense because their portraits are meant to serve a functional purpose rather than indicate their importance. What’s harder to argue is Catti and Jockington. Their case is especially tricky because many in the fanbase have argued that these two will become future party members—an assertion I don’t necessarily disagree with, but it does raise the question of why both of them use the generic typer sound.

In Catti’s case you could try to argue that because she’s related to Catty, who has the default typer sound, then that means she’s somehow “inherited” this sound as well. Note that this same argument could be used to justify Alvin’s lack of a unique typer due to his relation to Gerson (who lacked one), but I find this whole line of reasoning specious.

This would be a strange precedent, given that no other characters who are related “inherit” typer sounds when they’re unique, plus we know that Mettaton and Napstablook are cousins and that didn’t stop one of them from getting a unique typer and the other one from using the generic typer, though this could be chalked up to Mettaton’s robot body since Mettaton seems to lack a unique typer in Deltarune. I guess characters can lose unique typers in certain circumstances?

Jockington’s an even stranger case because not only does he lack a unique typer but he only has a single dialogue portrait in Chapter 1 or 2. Moreover, the game’s files include multiple duplicated entries that point to this same portrait and there’s a joke in Chapter 1 about him duplicating a picture several times.

[Image transcript: Jockington saying “I’ve already, copied a bunch of pictures.” Narration says “It’s the same picture of a soccer ball 73 times.” Jockington says “You could say I’m having a Ball! Hah haha!” In-game files show 9 duplicated entries for Jockington’s dialogue portrait in Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. End image transcript]

While Jockington certainly could be a future party member or important character by some other means, there’s also a non-zero chance that Toby gave him a portrait solely as a joke, given that he duplicated Jockington’s portraits in the files in both Chapters.

Lastly we’re left with Rouxls Kaard, who’s the most interesting case of all. Like the others mentioned above, he has a portrait but no unique typer. However, Chapter 2 does contain scrapped audio files for a unique Rouxls typer sound, which can be restored via hacking. Note that these sound files are exclusive to Chapter 2 and are not found in Chapter 1’s files. This implies that Toby was experimenting with giving Rouxls a unique typer starting with Chapter 2 but decided against it. Theoretically this means that a character without a unique typer could gain a unique typer sound in a future chapter.

Spamton and Jevil

Spamton and Jevil present the inverse issue with the above characters—these two have unique typer sounds, but no dialogue portraits. As mentioned, Mettaton had these same attributes up until the True Pacifist ending in Undertale. When I noticed this quirk for Jevil in Chapter 1 I thought little of it—I figured that Jevil wasn’t important enough for a portrait but perhaps his typer sound was a way to give him more presence when he’s introduced behind bars or to tie into the fact that he speaks during his fight. I was willing to leave well-enough alone until Spamton came along.

In terms of portrait and typer “rules,” Spamton makes absolutely no sense. As I’ve said before, he’s clearly an important character and he’s highly expressive, meaning that he bypasses the Mettaton argument.

Spamton’s also a shopkeeper and to top it all off he has two unique typer sounds, but still no portrait. If I wanted to be lazy I could just say “Spamton didn’t get a portrait, so who says Alvin needs one?” and leave it at that but I feel like there’s something deeper at work here.

Why does Spamton lack a portrait? If anything this bugs me more than Alvin lacking a portrait because Spamton’s importance is already self-evident at this point, whereas Alvin’s importance is still theoretical. We can already rule out the “expressiveness” argument for Spamton, who doesn’t seem to be wearing any sort of face-obscuring headwear either. There doesn’t seem to be any story-related reason to deprive Spamton of a portrait, or is there?

Spamton never makes any direct reference to losing his face, nor would it be easy to interpret such a meaning from his various cryptic statements (that I’m aware of). However, throughout Deltarune we see multiple references to the idea of losing one’s face.

[Image transcript: Susie saying “Kris… How do you feel… about losing your face? Don’t worry, we won’t let your face get roboticized!” Narration says “It’s an angel doll. Its lack of facial features is unsettling.” End image transcript]

The Vessel has no face, Susie asks Kris whether they want to lose their face, Queen threatens to roboticize Noelle’s face, and the Holidays’ angel doll is notably unsettling for its lack of a face.

We see Queen’s method of “roboticizing” faces come to fruition in the form of the Werewrites and later Berdly. Queen’s control wires cover the victim’s face, and in Berdly’s case he does not speak with a dialogue portrait until after his wire is removed.

[Image transcript: Narration saying “Werewire – Controlled by the Queen’s wire, it’s sleepwalking through a nightmare!” Queen says “My control plugs are now suitable for teenagers.” Berdly says “You… won’t… control… me… Kris. Susie. I can’t do much with a fried wing…” End image transcript]

There’s also placeholder text in the game files that pertains tearing off a “mask beneath your face.” The Xbox One version of Undertale (which was made during Chapter 2’s development) went so far as to add a special controller disconnect message in True Lab that references no face being connected.

[Image transcript: Unused text saying “You’ve come again to this wonderful place. Now tear off the mask beneath your face!” Narration says “No controller connected: No head is connected. No body is connected. No arms are connected. No legs are connected. No skin is connected. No ears are connected. No face is connected.” End image transcript]

Now at first this seems like a broad running theme until you notice that most of the Deltarune instances of face removal/replacement tie into either Kris or Noelle. Noelle is implied to possibly be the Angel from Deltarune’s prophecy, which Kris is also connected to. Spamton uses the phrase “Angel, Angel” when approached by Kris and Noelle in the weird route, which could be simple repetition or it could be Spamton addressing both Kris and Noelle as angels. The latter interpretation is a bit of a stretch, but we can at least say Kris is part of the prophecy and losing their face could be a metaphor for loss of identity and/or control by a higher power.

So how does this tie into Spamton and/or Alvin? Well, Spamton was similarly a puppet for a higher power, implied to be the same “strange someone” who corrupted Jevil. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that neither Spamton nor Jevil have portraits in spite of their unique typer sounds—I think whatever happened to them caused them to symbolically lose their autonomy/identities/faces, which is represented by their lack of portraits. We also see that whoever hijacked the Undertale Twitter account had a blacked-out user icon and name, implying a similar loss or redaction of identity.

Given the high likelihood that the Twitter hijacker and the corrupter of Spamton and Jevil could be Gaster, loss of face/identity could be seen as a sign of Gaster’s meddling or just a general symptom of characters who mingle with higher powers. I mean, technically so far Kris hasn’t shown a dialogue portrait either—we don’t even hear their own dialogue outside of maybe their dialogue choices, and we know for a fact that they’ve had part of their autonomy and identity subsumed by a higher being of sorts.

Bringing it Back to Alvin

Wow, that was my biggest tangent yet! So what does all this portrait and typer talk mean for Alvin? Well, I hope I’ve demonstrated a few things:

The rules for dialogue portraits and typers are not 100% consistent

It is possible for characters to gain a portrait or have theirs updated from chapter to chapter (as seen with Clover and Noelle)

It’s theoretically possible for a character to gain a typer sound between chapters (as seen with Rouxls Kaard)

There could be a narrative or thematic reason for why otherwise important characters lack portraits

I see three pathways going forward for Alvin if he is indeed an important character:

Alvin will gain a portrait and/or typer sound in a future chapter with no narrative explanation

Alvin will gain a portrait and/or typer sound for a story-related reason

Alvin will continue to not have a portrait and/or typer but there will be a narrative or thematic reason for it

I feel like I’ve demonstrated the first option is possible—not necessarily likely, but it has happened before. Toby’s reasoning for such an approach would be simple: Toby knows that his fanbase loves to datamine and second-guess every detail of his games, so if the Knight’s identity is meant to be a mystery then he’d probably (rightly) assume that many fans would guess that a new lightner with a portrait is important, since the only others who fit that description are Kris’ classmates and Rudy.

The second option may seem unlikely as well but I have theorized a way this could work. For starters, we never see Alvin open his eyes. We don’t know if this is just a quirk of his spritework or if his eyes are literally closed. The latter possibility can’t be entirely ruled out, since this series has at least some precedent for making a big deal out of characters opening their eyes for the first time on-screen.

It’s also possible that Alvin may be vision-impaired and require glasses. This would fit with the sign in the early dark world that says “only eyes blinded by darkness can see the way.”

[Image transcript: Narration saying “In this land, only eyes blinded by darkness can see the way...” End image transcript]

We do see Ralsei lose his dialogue portrait when he takes off his hat in Chapter 1 and when he covers his face after Susie takes his glasses in Chapter 2.

While it’s a stretch, it might be possible that a character could forego a portrait while their eyes are closed, impaired, or otherwise obscured. Granted, we do see examples of dialogue portraits that seemingly have closed eyes so this is far from a bulletproof argument, but the above Ralsei scenes give me a little pause at least.

One thing I can say is that Deltarune Chapter 1 had a running motif of main characters having their eyes obscured only to be revealed later, and while this didn’t prevent them from having portraits (except maybe Kris), it does seem to be an intentional aesthetic choice.

Given the allusions to dark worlds as dreams and the possible thematic reasons for Spamton and Jevil losing their portraits, perhaps being steeped in dark worlds is like sleepwalking through life and losing your face/portrait completely is the next step of that process. We do see this idea represented in the Werewires and Berdly when they’re controlled by Queen.

One other x-factor to bring up with Alvin is the fact that he spends all of Chapter 2 with his back turned to the player. This may seem minor, but there is precedence in this series for characters not using their portraits while their back is turned, especially during emotional/dramatic moments, as was the case for Alvin in the graveyard.

[Image transcript: Asgore saying “I have almost finished watering these flowers.” Noelle says “… I wish Dess could see this.” End image transcript]

This isn’t universally true of all back-facing characters, of course, but it’s certainly not uncommon. While this doesn’t address Alvin’s lack of a portrait in Chapter 1, it would be a fitting enough excuse for his lack of a portrait in Chapter 2. If Alvin is intended to gain a portrait in a future chapter then this would be the perfect excuse for Toby to put it off until Chapter 3 or later.

But how would the game even address Alvin suddenly gaining a portrait? Well, I see two possibilities: In the first scenario, we would be inside Hometown’s church and Alvin would be poised to deliver a sermon. Before he begins, he clears his throat and dons a pair of reading glasses that let us see his eyes—at this point he would transition from no portrait to having a portrait as soon as he starts reading.

This is the more subtle of the two approaches, but if such a sermon scene were meant to serve as Alvin’s “proper” character introduction then it could follow the mold of character intros like Sans, Undyne’s, Asgore’s, or King’s where their portraits aren’t visible until well into the scene (or in Undyne’s case, after multiple encounters).

The other possibility would be that Alvin only gains a portrait once he’s in the dark world, showing how fully immersed he is in that reality. Perhaps this is when we’d see him open his eyes as well, tying into the afore-mentioned eyes blinded by darkness.

The final path is Alvin foregoing a portrait for thematic reasons. I touched upon this with Spamton and Jevil, but Alvin would similarly be deprived of a portrait due to his service to a higher entity that controls him. Now, one issue with this approach would be the question of why I’d carve out this special exception for Alvin when there are plenty of other characters without portraits—who’s to say their lack of portraits can’t be given a similar “thematic” excuse? What, is Milk Cat suddenly “important” now?

Well, Alvin’s ace in the hole here is once again his connection to the Angel—a being specifically associated with a lack of facial features. Moreover, the other characters most strongly associated with the angel (Noelle and Kris) are also the characters most strongly tied to this idea of losing your face. Even Spamton is heavily tied to the idea of Heaven and, thus, the angel. If any other character could claim this special Angel exception, it would be Alvin.

We might even see the beginnings of this angel-induced portrait loss for Noelle in the weird route, where she foregoes a portrait during several key moments:

[Image transcript: Noelle saying “It doesn’t matter if the battles are blurring together, There was so much snow, I couldn’t see anything… Keep it together, Noelle...” Susie says “So, uh, the hell were you two doing?” End image transcript]

Notably, Noelle doesn’t gain her portrait back in the ending hospital hallway scene for the weird route until after Susie butts in. Perhaps this snapped Noelle out of whatever “tranced” state of mind she was in at the time?

Now, the main weakness of my portrait argument here is the question of typer sounds. Jevil and Spamton still have unique typer sounds and Alvin does not. Even when Noelle loses her portrait in the weird route she still keeps her typer sound. I don’t have a firm counter-argument for this beyond reiterating that, if anything, typer sounds have proven even more inconsistent than dialogue portraits and I’d argue that giving Alvin a unique typer sound but no portrait would have been an even bigger giveaway to his importance, given how rare that combination is (and its current association with shadow crystal holders).

I admit that my argument that Toby removed Alvin’s portrait and typer from the start to avoid making him “too obvious” is a bit conspiratorial. Ironically, many of the fans who dismiss Alvin for his lack of portrait largely make my argument for me—many of these same people have turned a blind eye to Alvin but are 100% convinced that Catti and Jockington will not only be important due to their dialogue portraits but that they’ll also be full party members. Again, I’m not saying this won’t happen, but the most common evidence I’ve seen brought up in their cases is their portraits. If Toby even had an inkling that his fanbase would think this way, and he’s generally good at anticipating his fanbase’s assumptions, then it’s at least possible that he’d try to get out in front of that.

Giving Alvin no portrait or typer, at least for the first two chapters, is the perfect camouflage for a meta-savvy fanbase. It also has the advantage of allowing Toby to still give us interactions with Alvin and for clues to his greater role to be sprinkled into the narrative without arousing too much suspicion. Personally, I find this approach preferable to the idea of keeping Alvin (with portraits) unseen for the entirety of the first two chapters to avoid tipping us off, which would only make a future reveal feel like it lacked any buildup.

We do know that Toby is playing a lot of things close to the chest in Deltarune: Papyrus, Mettaton, Mayor Holiday, and Dess to name a few. But the Knight’s identity comes off as a mystery that should be solvable—not necessarily with what we know now, but something that would necessitate at least some clues being given to us early. And the fact remains that “unseen” characters like Papyrus or Dess wouldn’t be the best candidates for this approach since we know very little concrete information about them yet.

I think the “unseen” characters are meant to serve as unanswered questions in their own right rather than being solutions to the mystery of the Knight. We’re meant to ask where these unseen characters are or what they’re like, not pondering what secret alter ego they have. Kris’ actions at the end of Chapter 2 feel like a red herring, which implies that Toby is intentionally building up the Knight as a mystery he knows we’ll investigate and thus he’s feeding us false leads. Details like Alvin’s drawing or the equipment closet narration would be pointless inclusions if they didn’t mean something—they clearly aren’t jokes and their proximity to fountains is a major red flag. Toby even went out of his way to point out Alvin’s drawing during the Chapter 1 stream.

Two final counter-arguments that I wanted to address are the fact that Alvin’s interactions are optional and the fact that Alvin’s name doesn’t generate a response during the Vessel creation sequence. Unlike Alvin’s lack of a portrait, I never saw either of these two facts as a major obstacle to Alvin being the Knight. The first point is simple enough: Rudy is optional, Asgore is optional, Sans is optional, Undyne is optional—is it safe to say that none of these characters will be important to the plot? Especially with the police on their way at the end of Chapter 2?

As for the Vessel creation names, the roster seems a bit haphazard to me. We get QC but no Temmie, despite the latter being both a shopkeeper and classmate with implied importance to the egg sidequest. Conversely, we get no darkner names and no mention of Dess or the Mayor—while the latter would be a spoiler, Dess is mentioned in Chapter 1 and will likely play some role in the future. Near as I can guess, the vessel name selection is weighted towards Undertale characters and Kris’ classmates, with Rudy being the outlier.

Gerson’s inclusion among the Vessel names is both interesting and odd, given that he’s dead. While a resurrection is possible, such a thing would almost require Alvin being the Knight or at least having dark world knowledge, so Gerson’s name is a bit of a litmus test—if vessel names are those of important Deltarune characters then Gerson’s impending “importance” would necessitate Alvin’s importance, or at least grant Alvin some importance by association. If the names are somewhat arbitrary or not reflective of all important lightners then Alvin’s absence isn’t that big a deal.

Conclusion

The Final Tally

This has been a long journey, so I think a recap is in order. If it’s not obvious by now, I think Alvin is the Roaring Knight. If Kris ends up being a red herring (which I’ve devoted an entire separate theory post to) then I think Alvin is easily the candidate with the most evidence in his favor. Even when taking Kris into account I’d argue this is still the case. Let’s compare what we know about the Knight with Father Alvin:

The Knight:

Has been to the unused classroom

Has some means and opportunity to access the school

May have locked the door to the supply closet in Chapter 1

Creates dark worlds with varying degrees of fantasy influence

Their Dark fountains are associated with water and oceans/seas

Their Dark fountains are also referred to as “holy” fountains

Created a fountain next door to Castle town, which is distinct from the Knight’s other work and may or may not be the Knight’s creation

Gained the loyalty of King

Used a crossguarded blade to open Cyber World

Had access to the Librarby at a time when few people were inside

Likely hid in the Librarby’s equipment closet, where “a large person could easily fit inside”

Is somehow associated with “Communion” by Spamton

Is depicted by Queen as a green human-looking arm

Is set to bring about the Roaring and Angel’s Heaven

Alvin:

Has a drawing in the unused classroom

Is related to a former teacher and his location is unaccounted for at the start of Chapter 1

May own a set of his father’s keys, which would be the only set of faculty keys that weren’t accounted for at the start of Chapter 1

His father was a fantasy author who shared his stories with his children

Is a partially-aquatic species and his father was associated with water and the sea

Is the most outwardly devout and religious character in the game

His father was inspired by dreams that grow, which Castle Town is directly compared to by its inhabitants. His father had access to the supply closet over a long period and Alvin has potential connections to Castle Town’s only native darkner. Gerson had the opportunity and possibly the knowledge to create Castle Town, inspiring Alvin’s future fountains and explaining why they’re distinct.

King named one of his attacks after a term used by Alvin’s father. The King’s mantle may be the shadow mantle, which seemingly ends up in the same location as Alvin’s drawing

Alvin’s father was a smith, and the helmets of RG01 and RG02 (and their connection to the church) imply that some of Gerson’s wares are owned and circulated by Alvin

One of Alvin’s relatives is implied to work at the Librarby, which he may have exploited to keep others out

The opening for the equipment closet is the exact same size as Alvin’s sprite, making him by definition the largest person who can “easily” fit inside

Alvin is a priest and his church gives “sick fruit juice,” implied to be communion wine (or a substitute)

Alvin is green and has human-looking hands in spite of his father’s design

Alvin is the most devout follower of the Angel in the light world

Closing Thoughts

When all is said and done, could I be wrong about all this? Absolutely. While I’m more confident in the chances of Alvin’s Knighthood than I was during Chapter 1, I could never be 100% confident in a theory like this until the game itself confirms it.  So why would I write for so long about a theory that I don’t have absolute confidence in? Well, I still think it’s very likely to be true, but beyond that I wanted to shed light on ideas that aren’t discussed very often in the fanbase—not just Alvin being the Knight, but alternative origins for Ralsei besides the popular headband theory.

All too often it seems like the mysteries of this series are blindly attributed to Gaster or a handful of other widely-accepted answers, even when the game hasn’t settled the matter yet. In this case, however, I think that Alvin is legitimately a more compelling and likely answer to the Knight mystery than most other suspects. As I’ve alluded to earlier, many other popular Knight suspects either lack a specific motivation, a means of accessing the school, or have not even appeared in the narrative at all yet.

I think my rambling about dialogue portraits can also be attributed to my efforts to untangle commonly-held assumptions within the fanbase. The portrait “rules” I mentioned are not unlike the Smash Brothers fanbase’s tendency towards inventing “fan rules” for what characters can make it into each game, and more often than not such rules are eventually proven wrong. Unless Toby or another creator explicitly lays out their intentions, it’s best to never make assumptions or “rules” about what said creators can and can’t do with their own work, especially someone as subversive as Toby.

So even if my theory is ultimately wrong and nothing comes of Alvin as a character, I don’t feel that writing this post was time wasted—if nothing else it would be an interesting concept for an AU, plus it shows a scenario where a UTDR narrative doesn’t focus solely on the most widely-known characters. Even if you walk away from this post not agreeing with my conclusions, I hope you’ve at least considered alternative ideas or perhaps even found ways to strengthen your own theories with the information I’ve presented. With that, I’ve finally run out of things to talk about, so:

Good day. May the Angel watch over you…

Special Thanks

Afewbitsandpieces for their Undertale and Deltarune text projects, which were massive time savers.

Uselessundertalefacts for their data on Undertale characters with the most dialogue

Spriter’s Resource for their Deltarune sprites (even if several of them are improperly sized)

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @rewritetheending @panbuckley @prince-buck-diaz @wikiangela @king-buckley @wildlife4life @thewolvesof1998 @devirnis @housewifebuck @folk-fae @oliverstaark

Thank you beloveds! 💖

Nearly have the ending of first son au done, and the first chapter will be going up on Friday! Yayyyyy! So ready to have this out. Interact with this post if you wanna be tagged and enjoy the beginnings of some smut

Buck lets his lips spread in a slow smile that is cloyingly sweet and wickedly curved, filling its shape with the melted sugar sizzling in his veins. He brings two fingers up to Eddie’s chin, shivering a little at the sparking rasp of stubble over the sensitive pads, and pushes, forcing Eddie’s head to the side so he can lean in a lick a long stripe up Eddie’s neck, collecting that droplet of sweat before it can fall into the collar of his shirt.

It’s salty and kind of sharp, not exactly a good taste, but Buck relishes it all the same. Some inner part of Eddie, base and innate and wholly him, leaking out his body due to the heat and rough movements he made while fixing the sink, now sitting on Buck’s tongue and soaking into the flesh of his cheeks.

Strangely, it gives him the same feeling that eating Eddie’s come does–thrilling heat and heady pleasure and dizzying rush.

This is Buck’s communion, a sacrament he will partake in every day, because each day with Eddie is a holy day.

What could be more sacred than taking pieces of his beloved into himself? What could be more worshipful than tasting the pure essence of his lover and letting it drown his senses? What better praise could he offer than imbuing his being with everything Eddie until he is more Eddie than himself?

Buck flicks the tip of his tongue over the path he just traced, eager to catch anything he might have missed, and suckles at the spot behind Eddie’s ear that always makes him go limp.

The breath in Eddie’s chest audibly hitches, sounding like it has turned into crackling flame and is spiraling out through his body, so hot and heavy it could never hope to make it up to Eddie’s throat and out of his mouth.

Eddie is pure liquid gold poured over the couch, glittering melted metal in Buck’s arms, warm and loose and gushing with precious beauty, every bit of him lax as Buck continues to suck at that one spot, hiding a piece of himself in that dark corner, pressing the shape of his mouth there so that it can remain there long after he is gone, carried around by Eddie because that’s who his mouth belongs to anyway.

Tagging: @spaceprincessem @elvensorceress @hippolotamus @shortsighted-owl @anxieteandbiscuits @try-set-me-on-fire @paranoidbean @transboybuckley @transbuck @monsterrae1 @buddierights @honestlydarkprincess @heartshapedvows @butchdiaz @bucks118 @shitouttabuck @lover-of-mine @cowboydiazes @cowboy-buck @rogerzsteven @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @fiona-fififi @diazblunt and anyone else who wants to share!

[venjamyra]

Hello Everyone! I'm excited to share the series of ficlets I wrote for @tristampparty! Click on the link below or the banner to find it on AO3. Each day I'll post a chapter following that day's prompt.

The Fates Tied Us Together

Category: Gen

Rating: Teen

Summary:

A series of ficlets for Tristamp Party: A one-year anniversary event for Trigun Stampede. (Check out the Tristamp Party's Tumblr and Twitter) These are all character studies exploring moments that we didn't get to see, either between scenes or before the events of the show.

Relationships: Millions Knives & Vash the Stampede (Trigun), Roberto & Vash the Stampede (Trigun), Roberto & Meryl Stryfe, dadberto fr, Legato Bluesummers & Millions Knives, Livio the Double Fang & Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Millions Knives & Rem Saverem & Vash the Stampede, Brad & Luida (Trigun), Millions Knives & Plants (Trigun) Additional Tags: TristampParty, Ficlet Collection, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, now time for the content warnings, Canon-Typical Violence, Original Character Death(s), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Threats of Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Involuntary Food Restriction, Discussion of Death, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, dont worry most of these its only a very minor warning or theres no warning at all

Below the cut are a couple of really short teasers for the fics!

Episode 4/Nicholas D. Wolfwood

"After the lesson, he was allowed to eat. The first meal of every day was Communion. They were given a fist-sized chunk of moldy bread and a drink that Wolfwood realized as he grew older was certainly not wine."

Episode 8/Rem Saverem

"Like Leda surely did, she feared for her Gemini, her little gifts from the stars. But there would be no invasion of Athens. Their sister would not be coming back."

Episode 11/Plants

"Pale blue eyes blinked open in the harsh white light around him. Chanting surrounded him, a kind of round humming like the clacking of stones. His sisters gathered around him, a white void surrounded by unfurled plants. “Nai. Nai!” They keep calling, quietly but urgently. Their soft petals brushed against his body; he could feel them through his skin-tight suit."

Episode 12/Eriks

"She cranked a lever on the phonograph and lowered the needle onto a slightly heat-warped record. It skipped and buzzed over the old-fashioned orchestral music. He closed his eyes and rocked in the chair. "I’m glad you’re having a good day, Eriks. I hope you are, too.""