battleshell
— not a hero.
gerson boom of undertale
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🔪 ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ.
* Where are the knives? || SELECTIVELY ACCEPTING
The dust and grit of battle sifted into his nasal cavity, to his mouth, and broke against his skull with a troubling gale of wind Gaster endured with a sharp, painful noise. It stung at his unblemished socket, but was quickly eclipsed, wholly and completely, by the encroaching shadow of a human, of a young warrior drawn back with a blade meant to cut him into the very dust that shot past him in the arms of the dry summer wind. The shale crumbled beneath his feet, giving way with the shift of his weight as Gaster wound himself tight, gaping down the path of a sword poised, sharp and steady, caught the light of the sun he’d loved and jutted forward.
He waited for the pain to begin, for the brittle snap of pulverized bones and the startled cry which would certainly follow. Gaster waited, he veiled his socket with the back of his arm and grit his teeth in anticipation–he didn’t want to die, not here, not here, gods not like this– Gaster felt the throb, the familiar ice pick ache of a skull fractured, and none of the shock of adrenaline, or severed bones or nerves to lend the skeleton any immediate relief. He’d none of those things, after all–Nothing but bone.
The pain was known, one he’d harbored before the fray had erupted into the chaos strewn terror their camp had become. The moments passed, the screams of distant fighting rose and fell with the wind, and the young skeleton soon discovered that the steady hum of his soul had yet to be silenced. Whatever doom he’d anticipated had yet to claim him. He pulled his arms away only to find the sun and the human’s blade to be blocked by an immense form that eclipsed his wiry frame with ease.
He was shivering–shivering so hard that his bones rattled with his sudden itch for warmth as he gaped after the lumbering form that blocked his view.
Gerson was there.
* “🇾'🇦🇱🇷🇮🇬🇭🇹 🇹🇭🇪🇷🇪, 🇸🇴🇳🇳🇾?”
Tears welled without warning as he took in the gruesome extent of the damage Gerson shouldered. It was wrought with a chill as the sudden sight of iridescent scales and broken fragments of bone and shell scattered like bloodied stars against the ruddy battlefield filtered into the young monster’s bleary gaze. His bony fingers twitched futilely, and he wanted nothing more than to s c r e a m .
* “ –𝐖𝐡𝐲?”
The question came soft, weak and afraid as a newborn bird feebly beating its wings without hope of flying. The great tortoise grinned and broke the human’s looming frame down with a mighty swing of his hammer. It was with the larger monster’s rattling breath that Gaster knew there would be no kind answer, none that he could ever accept.
“ 🇦🇱🇼🇦🇾🇸 🇱🇮🇰🇪🇩 🇹🇭🇦🇹 🇧🇴🇴🇰 🇾🇦 🇷🇪🇦🇩 🇹🇴 🇲🇪, 🇰🇮🇩. 🇼🇭🇦🇹 🇼🇦🇸 🇹🇭🇦🇹 🇵🇦🇸🇸🇦🇬🇪?
HEH, I'D…I’D LIKE ‘TA HEAR IT.”
Silence prevailed for what seemed an eternity, as did the sound of stifled tears before Gaster finally found the strength in him to speak once more.
* “…Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.
Do human beings ever realize life while they live it?
Every, every minute?”
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you know those 4 am mistakes you just sometimes make when you remember you have a tablet x
@undyiinghero @callmeplatonically @fishmxma @skeledxd @mcgalovaniac @warrhammerr and myself
accurate depiction of what our chat looks like
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🌺 uvu
{ not an echoflower for once. } ≫ selectively accepting.
⦉ Now, these ‘skeleton’ people never really sat well with me. Somethin’ about ‘em creep me out, appearances aside. ⦊
╢⚜╟ ⧕ — { He lets out a LAUGH. It’s not one of pure humor, really, but somethingboth amusing and unamusing. Something one could describe as ‘funny’ with a serious face. It’s short and breathy, but his sigh lasts long and fully. }
⦉ Let’s just say I didn’t get the greatest first impression, heh. ⦊
⦉ This boy though, no, this MAN. He’s a different kinda sort. More poised in his words, more soft. Heck, he’s even nice. And we all know that I’m just POPULAR with those nice folk, wahaha! ⦊
⦉ Nah, nah. He ain’t bad. Smart, actually. And ah… what’s the word… Well-prosed. Learned that one from a text a’ his. ⦊
⦉ I could go for a WHILE about this lad. He turned me around, let me take a little break from this runnin’ world and let me take a walk instead. Had some talks, exchanged some common views, took it slow. It was nice, to say the least. Talkin’ wasn’t exactly a pleasant pastime back then. Though, he some- how made it seem that way. Heh, kinda funny. ⦊
⦉ Ah, I’ve said too much. Let’s get back to work. Look, maybe you can meet him someday and see fer yerself! It ain’t like he’s gonna DISAPPEAR. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be around fer a while. He’s a strong man. ⦊
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Just a bystander, but I wanted to say that you've presented a very well-thought and considerate message, and even though I may not agree with your stances I do respect them and your honesty. I look forward to following your other blogs (just my own boundaries!)
thank you, dearly! i sincerely hope you are keeping well and that it can help inspire a sense to have this kind of consideration for your own situations, wherever it applies. and of course keep whatever boundaries you need :'D
i'm putting my foot down i don't want to dwell on this publicly for the sake of everyone, and i'll only answer anymore concerns or comments (negative or positive) privately if needed, thank you all whoever may be lurking for the time and attention <3
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Same anon as before, I just want to say I understand and respect your decision. I mostly sent it because I was concerned that you weren't aware, but I realize that you've been in this community longer than I have. My 'personal' recent gripe with Aku was still acting weirdly smug and hostile about the situation when her callout was brought back up in late 2021, I think it was sparked because she wasn't putting her munname on her blog(s) and taking 'pride' in getting 'unknowing people in the community to interact with her'. I understand it was high stress for both sides, sure, but I'm not a fan of behavior like that, and do not want to be near that for my own sake. Frankly as long as she's transparent about who she is (which, to an extent she indeed is with her rules page), I really can just block her and keep it at that.
hey anon! i'm pleasantly surprised to see you back, i appreciate you writing again :D i hope that you've been well in the short break. i’ll have to learn more about this myself if i hear about this again, and i do appreciate you keeping me informed.
it's perfectly fine you'd like to keep your distance, and let me know if there's anything else i can do to help you or keep everything tagged for you to blacklist. i hope you're having a good day :)
#aku /#drama /#* et cetera ⟐ ooc.#oof i know i haven't been here in a while so i hope i didn't miss you
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in regards to a very kind anon who sent me an ask about aku and her past behavior, i have privately answered you here to not spam the dash with my response. please heed the warnings on this post, as i turned your ask into an essay. this is most likely the only time i will ever talk about these matters of drama, online callout culture, and my personal life, and i doubt that many of you will need to read it all to understand my gist, but it’s there. i have a small enough audience that i don’t mind sharing this, and just ask that you read with care.
for a summary of the essay, here is the paragraph with the bolded sentence takeaway that’s all you really need to note. please remember, regardless of the direction we take in life, i hope that you take care and that you remember that someone cares about you <3
it's my personal decision to continue interacting and writing with aku on this blog only. i have privately established boundaries and expectations with aku on my terms of interaction, and have made it clear i’ll cease contact with her if those boundaries are crossed.
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{ gaster. }
* “Ah, as older siblings are want to do.”
He supposed there was a certain degree of poetic irony in that–his brother urged him to join in the efforts against human aggression, promising the opportunity to see the world in all of its splendor, only to be dragged down the line of the world (one could see the world, of course) that was most sullen with the blood and dust of both monsters and humans alike. Gaster tried not to think of the grimy ends of the path they all now shared–awful as it was, there was no sense in lamenting the time which has passed them by.
* “ 𝐀𝐡, 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥,”
He paused, and the gentle plume of his voice rose and fell with the splendor of the encroaching fall. It was a question he knew would be returned, knew and still fell short of the answer he could offer in return for his dear comrade’s enthusiasm. The young skeleton worried his fingers along the end of his scarf and smiled, unable to pull his gaze from the tightly knit fabric he’d forced between his knuckles. It was the way of the world now, those who stood and smiled and ran with all the newborn hope of youth could be gone in an instant–forgotten.
Gaster allowed the plush material to fall away, content to allow it’s fold to mingle amongst the broken patches of dying grass. It was with his quiet he recalled her face, her unbound crimson hair and trembling hands as she presented him with the roil of fabric he wore about his neck. He shelved the thought for later.
* “–No, I’m afraid not.”
Not anymore.
╢⚜╟ ⧕ — { Better for him to not burden his conscious with another beloved, he figured. There was a sort of bitter comfort in knowing you had a companion in this hellfire of a fight - but then again, it was entirely possible that one could be dragged down. Down into a constant nagging sense of worry, down into becoming scared, shocked, frightened - or worse. It was a miracle that Gerson at least heard from his kin of their safety. Though, he’s certain that any worse news would only fuel him on the fields. }
{ He nods at the answer, a quick gesture that doesn’t probe into the topic, and laughs. }
✶ I’m sure ya got a couple friends you could call family anyway.
{ —and might as well call his brothers in arms to list off how many he would sacrifice everything for if whatever grand ‘Plan’ was set into motion. Might as well say that he imagined everyone who had the gall, the persistence, the foolishness to be here as some companion in some way. It would be an even more hopeless endeavor without doing so. }
{ One glance to the setting sun spoke it was nearing time to retreat back into the tents, not that they held much more comfort than staying outside in the endless night sky, looking up to count the fading stars and the betting on how many days were left before never seeing them again ——survival aside. He closed his eyes a moment, feeling once more the warm blanket called sunlight and forgetting those worries. }
✶ Don’t get hung up about it, boy—
✶ Gaster.
✶ …it ain’t a bad thing.
{ He had already said it before the correction could come, but only silently blamed habit. Oughta get rid of that and call people by their actual name, he said to himself. After a shake of his head and hand gripping the handle of a trusted hammer did he turn to face the other again, revitalized and finding a new sense of hope. }
{ He should do these heart-to-heart talks more often. }
✶ We better head back to ‘em, don’tcha think?
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art source - HP. ATK. DEF. GOLD. EXP. LV. that feeling… that’s me.
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everyone’s home // underveil the sequel
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* [ A piece of paper is crumpled up near that Echoflower. Open it? ]
DEAR
I don’t know your name.
It’s easier to recall faces, feelings, emotions, events - the name is the last thing on my mind. You would think, as a writer, it would be easy to remember names, but it’s not really like that. When I think about you, it’s difficult. I remember the battles, the blood, the barrier, but not you. My friends remember the labor, laughter, and love, but if I were to ask them, none of us knew you. A few say you don’t exist.
You see, I pride myself on my memory. When people start looking to you to record history, it’s an endless supply to your ego as well. So for me to not remember, not know, to feel like I’m in the dark, when I’m trying to remember just who was that person, just that one single person...? It’s a crushing feeling.
I don’t remember your name, but as a fighter I remember your trials and enemies you fought alongside us. I don’t remember your name, but as a monster I remember your powerful SOUL and your red human bloodstains. Even those memories are all faded, now reduced to brief visions and stifled whispers in my last remaining dreams. Sometimes I believe you’re a figment of my imagination, and maybe you really didn’t exist. Back then, my hatred for humans ran ice cold. I would have never accepted you as one of my ilk. You should have been an intruder, a spy in our forces, and as I think about it I doubt that I would have ever looked upon you truly fondly, but... These memories have the feeling of a friend.
In my dreams, I see your hands. They’re firmly holding your weapon, knuckles white against the dusky sky. You’re standing in a field where my comrades have fallen and I am barely able to stay awake. You pointed your sword towards another human. I also remember someone else at your side, with monsters I’ve never seen, dust on his
How come I can’t seem to remember his name either? Skin bone blind heat magic fire
Do I forget your name because I never asked, or never cared? If I didn’t care, why does your memory scare me? Why was there another person there? Who was with you? Why help us? What happened to you? Who were you?
What’s worse, being forgotten, or not existing?
That child reminds me of you. A kind spirit that sacrificed and gave up so much for us. For what reason? I have so many questions I’ll never get the answers to. That’s the thing about old age, you have so much time to think until you don’t.
I wonder sometimes is that child you? Or, a part of you? I can’t imagine the weight of responsibility placed on that child’s shoulders.
I should thank you, properly thank you for helping us fight. But how can I properly thank someone I don’t know? Besides, the last thing I expect to do is thank another human.
Who knows!
I believe you existed. Maybe you died in the war. Maybe you were just actually a monster that I mistook for my foe. There’s far too many years between to really prove it, but... still. Somedays, people ask me about the past. I don’t mind it, but when I’m done with my tales it feels like I’m wearing my guilt on my sleeves like a badge, a shiny trinket to go along with the story so that it’s interesting. Some days, I ignore it. Other days, I write to my fallen comrades.
All of them have a name, you know. I try my best to remember every single one of them. Writer or not, I am a tortoise. We live long, and we have excellent memory. I write to them so their names forever remain in my pages, never to be forgotten by anyone again.
I don’t know your name, human. Again, I am truly sorry.
There are only so many happy memories I have with humans, and I am grateful to have yours. It has led me to fight for my friends when I needed it, and now remains as a relic to prove that monsters could always exist with humans. I can only guess the better, fonder times you have shared with others, and I bet they also feel the same appreciation and humbling warmth that you brought to them. Your memory endures on; the burning core of your soul lingers. The kindness that your memories bring is something I’m thankful for. It’s a little sign of hope.
Thank you, human.
You are dearly remembered,
Gerson Boom
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Watched a friend’s chapter 2 playthrough today and it got my theory brain spinning again.
This one is a bit more out there but part of me wonders if Father Alvin has been the one opening the other fountains (if it wasn’t Kris that is)
Gerson in this world was apparently a renowned author who wrote beloved fantasy books, “Lord of the Hammer” (Lord of the Rings parody probably lol)
Maybe Gerson is the one who discovered the fountains/how to summon them. And he wrote his books based on his Dark World Alter Ego and adventures. And passed that knowledge on to his son.
Maybe Alvin is summoning the fountains now, either as per his father’s wishes or for his own (possibly religious) ends.
Perhaps he is trying to play out a grand prophecy. Tied to or even his own interpretation of The Legend of the Delta Rune we hear from Ralsei in Chapter one. Since the town’s religion does seem to share the same symbols.
It is rather interesting that in the spare classroom, the place hosting the first “new” dark world according to Ralsei, one of the notable items in there is a drawing Alvin did of his father on the storage locker.
#* headcanon.#'suspicious tortoise behavior' i agree#hi landon im stealing this post too i like it!#super interesting observations :eyes:#* v. DISCITE ⟐ DELTA.
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guys............. im reminiscing about the heyday of utrpc :’)
#* et cetera ⟐ ooc.#once again.#does anyone remember pumpkin and her frisk?#or sky n katie's marriage :')#OR MUFFET'S BALL....#uuuUUUUGH#I MISS U SO MUCH TOFU
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send “💌” and i will post a letter my muse never got to send to yours.
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THAT POST? OH MY GOD you are A MENACE
:')
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❝ it doesn’t matter that they won’t remember me. what matters is i helped. ❞
Gerson would never say it, but he hated golden flowers. Too gaudy, too big. It was impractical as a cut flower and the plant itself couldn’t even be used for medical purposes. He knew it was poisonous ingested in large amounts, and of course he knew its history with the royal family too. To say his associations with the flower were biased was an understatement. But here he was, watering can in hand, surrounded by a thick patch of honey gold flowers swaying in the light breeze of Mt. Ebott’s maw, scowling.
He squinted at the light from above.
The monster's neck craned up, his eye tracing the faded sunbeams from the cliffs above. Exactly how deep were they? It was hard to judge how long the caverns of Mt. Ebott was, or how high the walls reached. Thickets of greenery near the edges blended into the rock and compacted soil that lined the mouth of the mountain, dense enough to obscure the sun. Even as the mountain tried to take a bite of the sky, it only got to the clouds. Was that really how far up the mountain reached? Far enough that what little light leaked through would taper into nothingness, like the Underground was too far buried, too deep down, too dark and cold for the warmth of the sun to reach?
He wondered about the human legend of Mt. Ebott. Was it that interesting? How did these legend about Mt. Ebott happen to be so famous? Why go up the mountain for such a thing? Do all humans fall for this? How did humans fall into the mountain in the first place? So many questions that a historian like him should typically ponder.
Gerson stilled, hearing Lyco’s voice. Hearing their words. His hands brushed against the tops of the flowers, legs enveloped by foliage.
"Hm," he hummed. Gerson's eyebrows furrow. He doesn't move his neck, but his eye darts back down. He glanced at the human, crouched in the golden flowers. These flowers cushioned their fall? It was impossible. Were they even strong enough to survive falling from that height? They were just... a child.
Gerson remembers himself as a child. How he was defined as the Hammer of Justice. His pride placed on strength, touted as one of the strongest monsters alive. In war, his presence commanded the battlefield. He defeated his foes effectively, totally, completely, even if they seemed endless. He was barely older than the human. Maybe? The Hammer of Justice was suddenly a symbol of hope through its strength, and justice always prevailed. Monsters relied on the Hammer. Believed in the Hammer. The raw strength and power that the mere thought of the Hammer brought both fear and confidence to any who witnessed him. Nothing stood in his way, as long as his weapon was in hand. He was potential, power, victory. A lifetime ago, Gerson knew what it was like to feel strong. But this human? Were they strong?
He wondered again. How tall was Mt. Ebott? How did this human survive the fall?
"That so, kiddo?"
Gerson was unsure how Lyco seemed to still look youthful. The monster reasoned with himself; of course, it's hard to judge how old they are by sight alone. His own sight was never the best, he thinks to himself. Having a glass eye was never more interesting than a party trick either. But he knew, right now, as they're hunched over the shimmering petals that catch the fleeting rays of light that made their way through impossible darkness, he knew Lyco has not been young for a long time.
But Gerson was getting old.
"I used'a think like that too. Ya needed to. Uh, with the War, n' all. It... coulda happened any day." He looked back up at the opening of Mt. Ebott, then back down to Lyco. He sat down next to them in the flower patch, and sighed.
"But. I get it, kid. As long as y'er fightin'. Still puttin' tooth n' nail out there. That's what matters yeah? That’s what ya care about." Today, he felt it. He was slow. Barely able to get out of bed this morning, but Gerson felt more than ready.
"Yeah. Yeah, I gotcha, kiddo. Back then, long as the folks I'm protectin' were safe, nothin’ else mattered. And I fought like hell for ‘em. If not for my folks then my friends.”
Today, Gerson went to see friends in the morning. A short and pleasant breakfast, his treat complete with an extra tea serving for Asgore as they chatted and reminisced. Then he was off pay a visit to drop off a pastry for the lovely schoolteachers before lunch. He promised Toriel he’d do her this one last favor, then wished her well, and left.
“An’ if not them, then their friends - I fought for ‘em too. I didn’t care they didn’t know me. Like... Like you, squirt. Yeah. ‘s long as they were living on, I could tell myself to fight. To keep fightin’.”
Today, he doesn’t remember what he ordered at Grillby’s for lunch, only that he had a long, mostly one-sided conversation with the barkeep and scowled when Mettaton’s program came on the TV for being a little more flashy than usual. But then, he remembers joking with the comedian, Sans, and making awkward small talk with Alphys before the rowdy brother Papyrus came in with retired captain Undyne in tow. Always inseparable, even when she was a little guppy, weren’t they...
”Like they depended on it. Like, like it was the only thin’ I had, like I was, I-I couldn't give less of a damn, like if not me for them, then who would for me? But, but- " he slows down, stops. Count to 10. His tremors stop for now.
Today, he went out to the city, even though he hated the noise, but he finally gave some long due visits to old friends. Guffawed at Muffet. Said something pseudo-profound to Burgerpants. Gave away his books to Bratty and Catty. Talked a lot about the good times. Hugged every single one of his friends for a long, long time.
"Heh. You’re like that. Don’t give a damn what happens to ya, s’long as they’re ok..." he continued quietly.
Today, he worked backwards through New Home, Hotland, Waterfall, Snowdin, and the finally the Ruins. He followed Toriel’s instructions and picked up her watering can from the kitchen, filled it with lukewarm sink water. It was a simple task he didn’t mind doing, especially for an old friend, for an older tradition.
“But y’know what, Lyco? They never tell ya they wanna help you, too. So you can’t be forgotten. They refuse to forget. Sorry, squirt.”
Today, Gerson walked the dim and quiet halls of the Ruins before seeing the yellow glow of the flower patch. But then, he saw something else, something unexpected. Even after all these years with the broken Barrier, the last thing a monster should expect to see in the Underground is a human.
“I bet ya never asked f'r any of this, either. Betcha didn’t fancy y’erself a savior before someone else said you were. Ha! Must’a been quite a shock! No kid asks for that kinda stuff. I thought my youthful hero days was rough, but you? I... I can’t imagine it for you, kiddo.”
Today, Gerson had believed Lyco died 40 years ago, as a tragic child. But here they were, untouched by the passing days, unscarred by time. Exactly as he remembered them that fateful day the barrier broke. He looked back at the flowers at their knees, petals still dewy with fresh water. Turns out someone else did errands for the queen after all, huh.
“I can’t imagine...”
Today, Gerson hugged Lyco the second he saw them. He never questioned why they were there, and never asked. He didn’t want to know.
Now, they sat in the flower patch together, underneath the soft light of the Ruins.
“C’mon, squirt. You’ve done good. All you had to do is the right thing, and ya already did that a long time ago. It’s ok,” he paused. “It’s ok.”
Gerson took off his helmet, feeling a little silly, for some reason. He held it close to him, then signed. Gerson then reached out to give the helmet to Lyco.
”Don’t try playing hero all the time. A hero’s journey either ends, or the hero dies. I’d know about heroes, kiddo.” He flashed a toothy grin, guffawing, before lowering his head. He looked down to the golden blooms.
“I’m not a hero. Never was. I don’t need you to be my hero, kid. I know there's someone out there. Someone who'll never give up trying to do the right thing, no matter what. There's no prophecy or legend 'bout anyone like that. It's just something I know is true. You know who that is?”
After this, Gerson would refuse his helmet, saying that it fits them better. He would go back to Waterfall, to sit in his shop again. Gerson Boom had no more stories to tell, and his chapter was coming to a close.
He just had one last errand before that, and well...
He took Lyco in for one last hug.
“They deserve a happy ending, too.”
Someone had to take care of the flowers, didn’t they?
#astrcea#* v. BONA ⟐ SURFACE.#* responsum ⟐ answer.#puts this. gently on the dash.#hiiiiiii blurry~ <333#btw tumblr said you sent this in 2016#long post /#i took this n ran lol#this is prob the my canon gerson ending
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