"cool Character I Guess..." I Mutter, Walking Away With A Suspiciously Character Shaped Lump In My Throat

ah yes, another near trip to the emergency room. my author’s note grows exponentially longer and my draft gains a thousand more words.

fic where gabriel keeps a diary and it’s all of his entries

“dear diary, this robot might be worth more alive than dead.”

“dear diary, today the machine brought me a corpse. i don’t know how to feel about that.”

“dear diary, today i learned robots can dream.”

to everyone drawing gabriel with a massive chest:

keep up the good work

bro no i swear im not a masochist i just fucked up my parry timing. i just fucked up my parry timing is all. hit me again im ready this time

me rising from my 4yr ao3 hiatus because i need to make those two men kiss

she res on my urrection till i come. (back. (from the dead))

“deltarune tomorrow” i chant as i rock back and forth in my padded cell

Relaxed as a hamster ✨🌼

blehh. i know i need to write to finally return from my hiatus but i can’t just post unfinished slop on ao3. luckily, this place exists!!

Beware of the story that lay ahead!

warnings: pretty bloody and gore-y(?), perhaps a little gay. non-graphic depictions of violence!

summary: gabriel and v1 at the end of a fight, the robot does just a little thinking.

Staring up at Gabriel with a large yellow optic was the damned machine, cast down from Earth into the bowels of Hell. Blood and dents and cuts rended open with clawed gauntlets littered their chassis, whatever odd mixture of oil and biological matter they had in there leaking out pathetically onto the floor below.

Justice and Splendor framed their head, the regal blades stained with essence both angelic and inanimate. Angels were supposed to bleed ichor, and yet here he was, a distinct red drip-dripping down from the chin of his helmet.

V1 would laugh were the blood enough to heal. But it landed against their plating uselessly, drying and clotting easily in Hell’s heat. They both panted, or at least would if either of them had the lungs for it. Gabriel’s side had long since been blasted open with a clever hit of buckshot, and V1 was severed into pieces like a cheap toy.

Each fight had been like a dance. The first was wide evasion, dashing and running and pushing and pulling. Each hit and miss was the rock of a boat, swaying their world back and forth with displays of rage and power. The second — this one — had been close and personal. Grappling hands and clinging nails, feet stubbornly dug into the floor and weapons all but forgotten in the proximity.

And they were beautiful. Together, in their blood and weapons, stuttering fans and coughs, fists and bullets and blades. Separate in V1’s precise design and Gabriel’s empty aura that dared brush up against their being, bringing them back together once again. It was all V1 could think as Gabriel joined them with the plunge of Splendor through their chest: they were beautiful.

just played ch. 1 of ena dream bbq, are my observations correct