#undertale the angel

[the-river-person]

End of Days

It was growing colder. Snowdin was unlivable now, the weather was no longer a snowstorm, but simply frozen and dark. There were parts of Waterfall that still had water, but it was all still, the falls no longer cascaded from above, having dried up or frozen solid in ice. Closer the chill crept. It had long since taken Home and New Home, Waterfall and the Depths below the Lower City on the Cliffs, and the Snowdin Caverns had been the very first place to fall. Hotland alone was still warm. But the magma had cooled and solidified on the surface of their burning lakes, leaving only what lay deep beneath. It was there the Monsters huddled. The Fire-Monsters at their center, those most susceptible to the cold. The darkness was oppressive, and only the light of these monsters, and their tiny heat, was keeping everything at bay. Keeping the darkness from falling. They’d searched for Sans and for Gaster, but there was no sign of them, they were gone. They searched every journal and book and file they could find in hopes of finding anything that could call the Ship back or open another Rift to the Void, but they found nothing that would help them. A day went by, exactly as it always had. And then another. And another after that. But the days were numbered. Three weeks before a Reset. And the first had been nearly over. Sixteen days. Sixteen days was all they had left. Fifteen days. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Asgore spoke to the crowd outside the castle in New Home, telling them of the strange pall of darkness that always fell if they waited too long after the three weeks to Reset. No stars, no water, not even the garbage that fell endlessly from the falls, piling up into the Dump. It all just... stopped. And from what he could tell, the outside was cold. If one stood near the barrier, just as the time limit ran out on Tripplenight, when everyone was celebrating and holding feasts and parties, one could see glittering frost coating the rock outside, lit only by the barrier’s light. Eleven days. Toriel suggested a night to spend reading and playing and telling jokes. Everyone came. But they couldn’t bring themselves to tell any jokes, or read anything, or play. The Queen tried to read some old Monster Tales to them, but she could hardly get through the story where the Destined Heroes of Light fall into a Kingdom of Darkness and meet a lonely Prince of the Dark. And when she reached the part where the Hero tore out his very soul in despair and rage, she broke off, unable to continue. Ten Days. Nine days. Eight Days. The Core was unfixable. Alphys had everything she could ask for, the willing help of any Monster she could possibly turn to. But the explosion that resulted from its meltdown had been so hot that it melted much of the machinery and blasted other sections to fragments of metal. She was unable even to figure out why it had reacted so violently in the first place. It had been maintained until the last moment, when the engineers had headed out to evacuate. It should have been fine. What did it matter? Should have been, would have been, could have been. They couldn’t fix it, so how it got destroyed didn’t matter. Seven Days. Six Days. Five Days. Tempers running high, Undyne destroyed her own house, leaving it flaming and stuck with spears. She said she couldn’t stand being alone there. She and Alphys have taken to wandering Waterfall, speaking in low tones and sharing kisses in the soft blue light of the waters and echo flowers. Four Days. Snowdrake, Lesser Dog, and Heats Flamesman had a breakdown. Asgore found them at the Barrier in New Home, beating on the magical wall with their firsts, bodies, wings, and claws. They screamed and screamed, calling out for someone to hear them. For someone to come. They didn’t want to go with Asgore, didn’t want to go. They wanted to someone to come. Anyone. Just let them out. But nobody came. Three days. Gerson had woken a little during the evacuations, sensing that something had changed. In the terror of the moment he’d woken all the way. Now he was sinking back into despair, becoming harder and harder to speak to, to wake, to communicate with at all. Two days. Monsters want to know what will happen to them. Want to know if help is coming. If someone is coming. If they can call someone to come save them. The ship, Sans, Gaster, anyone. No one can answer their questions. Asgore and Toriel look grim, and Alphys is pale. Never had any seen Undyne cry, tears running silently down her face, her expression never wavering, her stoic stance as strong as ever. Only Gerson could really remember the last time he’d seen tears from her, and that had been when she was very small. One day. Dread. The waiting is the worst thing. Knowing you cannot prevent what is coming, and you are afraid. Mettaton had tried desperately to bring some last bit of laughter to them, but the robotic body is running out of power, and without being able to charge, since the Core was the source of the Underground’s power, they had to shut down to preserve power. Only the sad ghost was left behind, and it seemed that all the others had gone, managing to get aboard the ship. The stars are gone. The light is gone. The warmth is gone. And only the darkness remains. The darkness and the cold. Still they pushed on, refusing to give in so easily, though many were close to Falling Down. Water was stored from the river until it froze over, there was no sign of the River Person or their ferry, the Monster must have escaped into the Ship on time, though nobody could recall having seen them waiting in line, or ever having left their ferry for that matter. Days went by, at least they were almost certain it was days and not weeks or hours. The only change was that the darkness got deeper and deeper, and the cold grew and spread. When Waterfall froze over completely the light from the Echo Flowers faded, their last whispers nearly one with the silence, unheard by any living being. “But nobody came.” ... ... ... It was the End. They could hardly keep the Fire-Monsters alive, burning themselves as they pressed closer and closer together around them, staying warm and keeping in the warmth as much as they could. Any food they had left had run out, monster food, human food, it was all gone. Even the water in their storage containers was in danger of freezing over. The Underground was silent. Waiting. “It was...” said Asgore, hesitating, his voice quiet and his expression unbearably sad. “It was so nice knowing all of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from this fate. I failed.” Toriel embraced him, and the sight stirred what little of the light and love that was still in the hearts of the Monsters who watched them. “No! No! You have not failed!” they cried. “You did everything you could. You did more than we could have ever asked!” Mettaton turned his body back on, to use the remaining few hours of power as best he could, rushing to and fro, finding wood from houses and fences that could be burned. Seeking out forgotten bits of food that could be shared. Each moment was borrowed, but it was another moment. Crystal, Snowdrake’s mother, was snuggled up to her husband. Toriel had asked if she was alright, but the kindly monster had said that her Snowy had made it aboard just in time, pulled up by Papyrus himself in the last few moments. As long as he was safe and away from here, then she could be happy even in the face of death. As the last of their lights flickered out, leaving only the fire-monsters to light the caverns, Crystal turned to the monster she’d lived in the same town as for years and years. “Grillby,” she called out. He looked at her, waiting. The bar owner had never been much for speaking. “Do you remember when we were in year seven of secondary school? When old Maggie insisted that everyone in her classroom had to try out for Choir in order to get a grade?” Grillby nodded, looking slightly annoyed by the memory. Old Maggie hadn’t been the best at teaching, and while everyone had cared for her, they were all very relieved when she had finally retired. “I remember you didn’t want to, because you didn’t want to sing. But she made you and you got upon on the stage and looked so frightened. Nobody had ever even heard you talk before, so we didn’t know if you could sing or not. But when you did...” she paused, a light smile on her face as she remembered. “You sang like the Angel themselves. Couldn’t you sing like that again for us now? As a favor to an old friend?” A smile flickered upon Grillby’s face, hidden deep among the flames, and he nodded indulgently. Silence fell over the monsters as he stood tall and prepared himself. Only a very few had ever heard him speak at all, and when he did it was brief and to the point. What could his voice be like? The first words startled them. In a voice that rose in volume and soared through the dark empty caverns like a light he sang the first words of a familiar song. “Ebbot’s Angel hear our prayer. Are you out there somewhere? Often we have called your name, but then nobody came.” The song itself was a grim one, with all the sorrow of those first years of being trapped Underground woven into the lyrics and tune. But it was a song that everyone knew. From youngest to oldest, each Monster learned it while they were still small. Taught by parents, friends, siblings. It was a song of games played in the snow and on sidewalks, it was a song whistled by old Gerson whenever he was doing spring cleaning in his shop, it was the song Undyne had first learned to play on the piano, it was the song of the music box for the Waterfall puzzle she’d made and left near the old memorial statue, it was the song with a million covers on the Undernet by a thousand aspiring musicians who started out with a song they were most comfortable singing, it was a song that Asgore had hummed while gardening, and Toriel had sung wordlessly while baking. One by one they joined him in singing, each voice adding something indefinable yet vital to their choir. Those Monsters who could not speak simply hummed the tune, and those who could not even do that made noises in accompaniment to the tune as best they could. It was called “The Angel’s Prayer” by many, or “His Theme” by those who remember it being played by a little Music Box at the baby Prince’s first introduction to the Kingdom. He’d been upset to be at the center of so much attention and had even cried before the Captain of the Guard, old Gerson himself, had presented him with a tiny music box he’d made that played the tune. Asriel had been enchanted; cooing and gurgling happy at the music as he tried to reach for the box. But the song’s true name was written down in the oldest books, on nearly faded music sheets, and in the Histories of the Underground. It had been named “Memory”. “On the slopes we fought our war; lost all we’d known before. Humans, Monsters; who to blame? The end is all the same.” A light blossomed in the distance, over the massive stalagmites that made the border between Hotland and Waterfall. A blue light, very faint, but undeniably there. Echo Flowers. The Echo Flowers were singing with them, echoing their song so that it reverberated off the walls of the cavern and back to them again and again. “Long ago we walked with you, ‘Neath stars of many hues. You promised us you would return, and for that day we yearn.” And softly another melody was weaving its way into their song, even as Grillby sang out high, another voice was singing along with him, wordless, and a different song, but it harmonized so easily that they almost didn’t notice its presence at all. When she recognized it for what it was, Toriel stopped singing, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. She knew this tune as well. In fact, she had written it. Years and years ago for her children. For Asriel of course, but also for Chara. “Once Upon a Time”, that was its name, because she had written it as a lullaby to use after telling them a bedtime story. But where was a it coming from? She looked around, trying to see its source in the darkness. “Soon the darkness will draw near, and all light disappear. Is that when you’ll come once more? Just like you did before?” They all stopped singing as another light appeared from the shadows, and though they stopped short, the song continued without them. With their own voices the Echo Flowers continued on, repeating endlessly the grim words with a hopeful melody. And the light before them was from a Door. It stood alone in the dark, tethered to nothing at all. On either side rose stone pillars, and above the door mantel was carved the Deltarune. It looked very much like the doors found the palaces of New Home and Home. Very old gateways and posterns meant for special people to pass through, such as the Royal Family or any humans who fell down from above. Yet unlike the purplish stone of Home or the pale white marble of New Home, this was dark and nearly black. How they could see it at all was a mystery, yet it seemed to give off a strange light. And as the Echo Flowers reached the last verse, the Deltarune above the door began to glow. The song Toriel had heard, it was coming from there, from beyond the door. And everything in her longed to go and see what lay there, on the other side. To see who was waiting for her. Perhaps Frisk, or maybe even Chara. And she could wait for the others too, and for Asriel. Oh, he liked to be called Realis now, didn’t he? A soft sigh seemed to come from the door as it creaked slightly open, a fine white mist piling up from behind it until it spilled over into a drifting wave towards them. Like a breath of fresh air. That’s what it felt like. Sunshine warming you after you’ve been inside all day long, and the splash of streams and song of birds. Perhaps its too late for it here, but somehow, somewhere, it is a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming. The perfect weather for a game of catch. ... ... There is a prophecy. The Angel... The One Who Has Seen The Surface... They will return. And the underground will go empty. Only a pale white Void is left behind, like a page in a book that has not yet been written in, or a blank canvas that has not yet been touched with paint, and that too will fade to nothingness. Emptiness remains, no one is left here, except... “YIP!!!” A little white dog barks excitedly. It has several possessions it has considered bringing with it. A sock it liberated recently from its longtime home of the floor, several bone based special attacks that were absolutely delicious, a brick-like cell phone that it used to make wonderful music sometimes, a real live actual bomb, and a salad. But it left its bag at home when the world ended and now it has no choice but to go on without it. Oh well. It barks at the door, which opens slightly, and then rushes through. With a sharp click the door closes. And there is nothing more.

[beebeerawr]

Characters with many arms give me life

I express myself through memes and WILL be abusing this format (i will try to find other formats to use tho)

Lotta insect characters which makes sense. Kinda funny bc i wanna love bugs but they freak me out.

[lunathrix]

Chara as the angel, because I think they're neat

[zu-is-here]

2020 ✧ 2023

[magpiefrankie]

Chara deserves to cry, they did their best. They are an inherently flawed person and that's why I love them so much.

This is a re-draw, original drawing under the cut.

[keksalot404]

No pain, No gain. And there’s a LOT of pain.

[appeypie]

appearing from the heavens like manna, slaking the audience's hunger for gorgeous robots... OOH!!! THATS METTATON!!!!

[aranchovy]

A couple of very fun commissions i got to do lately. I don't usually share them but these just deserved it!

[the-river-person]

❄︎☟︎☜︎ ☼︎✋︎✞︎☜︎☼︎ 👌︎☜︎✡︎⚐︎☠︎👎︎

████████ thoughts twisted and turned in strange ways. He wasn’t, then he was, then he was ‘almost but not quite’.  The darkness, no... it was not darkness at all. The Not-darkness pressed in on him, in him. Come with me, it seemed to say. Or maybe it was Come with us. It was hard to tell if was one voice or many, especially since he couldn’t hear any voice at all, or anything else. Interesting, very interesting, he thought, trying to pull himself back. Back to the person he was, to the █████████ , the ███████ . That is who he was, the ....something. He’d had a name, and for a while it had been loved and revered. But what was it? You don’t have a name, assured the not-voices softly in his mind. You don’t exist, just like we don’t exist. There is nothing of interest, there is nothing at all. Just nothing, forever. Come with us....Come come come... No!  ██████ thought. I am someone! I’m a █████████! I’m a  ███████! ███ ██ █████! ███ █ ██████! I’m... I’m... his thoughts faltered, swirling sluggishly in confusion. Nothing nothing nothing, the not-voice insisted, covering his attempts to protest with its endless whispering. It might be right, he reflected. What if I am nothing? And never was anything. And it was just a dream. Best forgotten. Yes, said the not-voices, just a dream. Forget about it, let it slip away. Come with us. Come and join us. Be nothing with us...

Absolutely not! He thought, filling suddenly with immense satisfaction. The things that weren’t quite voices but were definitely there somehow recoiled from his mind. You messed up, he told them shortly, thinking the words at them. A dream is something, even if its an abstract something. And so are you. I am going to study you and learn every secret you have to hide, learn everything of your existence, for you do exist, and so do I. I dream, therefore I exist. I am GASTER! Nothing, the not-voices didn’t answer him, but they were still there, he could feel their presence at the edge of his mind. They didn’t like what he’d said but didn’t know how to respond. Could he speak aloud? Could sound even travel here? Of course, that was only assuming here was even a place. Did his body exist in a physical realm at all? He tried to speak. Nothing. Fine. But if his dreams existed, then there had to be a dreamer. And a dreamer has a body. A body can... move. His skeletal hands twitched. He couldn’t see them, because he couldn’t see anything at all. But he could feel them. Maybe he could sign in Wingdings, the font he’d been named after. Usually he only used the text version when writing his personal journal entries so no one else could read them, but he’d learned a sign language variant that used the hands to speak. He tried the signs. 👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎ [Dark] 👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎☜︎☼︎ [DARKER] ✡︎☜︎❄︎ 👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎☜︎☼︎ [YET DARKER] Excellent. Of course, he still could see nothing. But if he had hands, he likely had eyes as well. Eyes were necessary. Eyes were important. He blinked, and he could see. Not that there was much to see, just darkness all around. But not the nothing he’d seen before. What was this shadow? ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎☠︎☜︎💧︎💧︎ 😐︎☜︎☜︎🏱︎💧︎ ☝︎☼︎⚐︎🕈︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ [THE DARKNESS KEEPS GROWING] ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎☟︎✌︎👎︎⚐︎🕈︎💧︎ 👍︎🕆︎❄︎❄︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 👎︎☜︎☜︎🏱︎☜︎☼︎ [THE SHADOWS CUTTING DEEPER] He could see his hands now, and the rest of his body came into view. Complex sentences were possible with the signs. But they weren’t as eloquent as the variant he wrote in the journals. Were more scientific phrases possible? 🏱︎☟︎⚐︎❄︎⚐︎☠︎ ☼︎☜︎✌︎👎︎✋︎☠︎☝︎💧︎ ☠︎☜︎☝︎✌︎❄︎✋︎✞︎☜︎ [PHOTON READINGS NEGATIVE] ❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎ ☠︎☜︎✠︎❄︎ ☜︎✠︎🏱︎☜︎☼︎✋︎💣︎☜︎☠︎❄︎ [THIS NEXT EXPERIMENT] 💧︎☜︎☜︎💣︎💧︎ [SEEMS] ✞︎☜︎☼︎✡︎ [VERY] ✞︎☜︎☼︎✡︎ [VERY] ✋︎☠︎❄︎☜︎☼︎☜︎💧︎❄︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ [INTERESTING] Perfect. With these tools of communication, crude though they might be, he would be able to maintain his existence even here in this Void. This... Nothing. He could study, he could work, he could... find a way out. Possibly. At the very least he could attempt to understand this situation, and whatever the not-voices were. 📬︎📬︎📬︎ [...] Without thinking he turned to ask the question of those next to him, feeling for a moment as if he were back in his labs and surrounded by other scientists and assistants. 🕈︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ 👎︎⚐︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ ❄︎🕈︎⚐︎ ❄︎☟︎✋︎☠︎😐︎ [WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK] Then all at once, he was, and there were two others. He only registered their presence when he asked them his question. A ferryboat, no. Not just any ferryboat. It was the River Person’s Ferry. The River Person was there as well, draped in a hood and cloak that draped his features in impenetrable shadow, obscuring them from eve the most discerning eye. And sitting in the boat with him was... Sans! The moment the boat reached him and Gaster stepped onboard his thoughts swirled back into focus, and he found that once more he was thinking in a straightforward manner. “Thank you,” he said to the River Person. Oh, he could speak again. Excellent. “How did you find us? In fact, how are you here at all? In just a boat?“ Slowly the River Person turned to look at him. “I am the River Person. My ferry follows the rivers, even if you cannot see them. Even in the Void, where Nothing persists, there are rivers to follow. I will ferry you to a safe place, a world, universe, dimension where you can recover and decide what to do. Gaster glanced at Sans, who seemed dazed and wasn’t about to speak any time soon. On the skeleton’s bones he could see the silvery crystals growing at a much increased paced due to exposure to the void. They would soon grow up onto his skull by the look of things. “Hmmm, what of the others? Was the ship able to return for them?” The River Person shook their head. “No. It was thrown into the Void unprepared. Who knows where it will surface? I could not find it, though I searched.” “Can we go back for them?” Both the River Person and Gaster jumped slightly, it seemed that Sans had found his voice after all. “No,” responded the River Person. Sans bristled and even Gaster opened his mouth to argue that perhaps they were being a bit hasty and they could at least consider the idea of going back. But the River Person wasn’t finished speaking. “There is nothing left. That Universe is gone. The stars, the planets, the black holes. Everything. Including the little Underground. Your friends, I’m afraid, are gone too. The Angel came for them.“ Angel? Gaster blinked, trying to work out what they meant. Was that a euphemism for death? Like the prophecy? Apparently Sans was thinking along the same lines because his question echoed Gaster’s thoughts. “Does that mean they’re all dead? Did someone kill them? Or did they just die without power or food?” But the River Person was shaking their head again. “I told you. The Angel came for them. To take them away. Where? I do not know. Are they dead? Perhaps, though the Angel might have considered that mercy under those circumstances. I cannot be sure. All I know is that I warned you the Angel was coming, and you did not listen. And then the Angel came.” They didn’t ask any more questions, Sans looking distraught and on the verge of a breakdown, and Gaster wrestling with the idea that an actual Angel existed somehow. And on the River Person took them in the boat, drifting lazily through shadows, to some unknown destination. It seemed that they, like the river, could not return to their source. Where then did their destination lie? Perhaps, thought Gaster as he gazed out into empty shadows, the Angel will be kind enough to guide our way. The End

(there will be an epilogue coming)

[d3ad-ratz]

So similar its concerning

Been meaning to draw this cuz ive realized how similar the two look.

Especially since a bud of mine once suggested naming bubbles Angel. You know who you are.

But yeah this is just a goofy lil idea i had :]]]

[zancorvid]

Undertale/Deltarune Gathering @ Anime Los Angeles 2023 (Sun 1/8)

[the-meme-monarch]

not that papyrus Can't be the roaring knight and if he does turn out to be I'm Happy For Him and I'll eat my hat live on twitch but. idk. something abt how the other ut characters have been relegated to the sidelines makes it seem like. he shouldn't be that important like that? fully aware this makes me sound like a hypocrite w my knight chara theory but. idk i need to put together a comprehensive post on that one

[magpiefrankie]

More sketchy undertale stuff my friends because I have Thoughts™️ but no motivation!!!

anyway always found it weird that that line had no sprite, but the narrators asterisk until like 2016 and I heard people talk about the narrachara "theory" (quote marks because face it. Is it even a theory anymore).

ever since then I just. Hrrrnghghg

[keksalot404]

Behave your Souls!

Guardian Angel AU? In 2023? It’s a post-birthday miracle.

[grumpyghostdoodles]

[*You pick up Frisk's scapbook. Two newspaper clippings fall from it.]

[*It looks like they cut out two photos from when they went to a Mettaton Event...The first one is slightly yellowed and crumpled, oviously taken from when they were all kids.]

[*The second one is pristine. Maybe from a couple of months ago? The newspaper text on the back isnt from the MTT event, so you cant really tell]

[*You put the clippings safely back inside the scrapbook]

I just really wanted to draw them in adorable matching outfits. And yes, the second ones are from Bratz Passion 4 Fashion, im never letting go of my obsesion with Bratz

[zarla-s]

Wondering what it all means.