Undyne and a group six year olds dawning matching basketball jerseys huddle up.
Undyne: This Fluffy Kittens won’t know what hit ‘em when they face the Ragin’ Dinos.
Kid: we’ll show them!
*undyne breaks a wolfish smile*
Undyne: that’s right! Now, ARE YOU READY!!?
Team: couch, yes, couch!
Undyne: I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!??
Team: COUCH, YES, COUCH!
Everyone in the gym turns to the maddenly loud group of screaming six year olds. They’d seen the training these kids went through. They knew this isn’t a team to be triffled with.
Undyne: WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO!!??
Team: Shoot!
Undyne: AND WHEN ARE WE GONNA DO IT?
Team: NOW!
Undyne: MOVE OUT!
The team break into positions on the court and benches. Undyne stands proudly as her army proceeds to tear up the serene gym with their blood-thirty battle cries and calls for revenge when they get fouled.
Imagine you’re a witch. What kind of witch would you be?
Samantha Stevens/Bewitched-esque. With mad witch skills, but passing as human. Twitch your nose to travel in time and space, again to clean the house and make a dinner for hubby’s boss. Again to change clothes...
I took some buzzfed quiz and got:
Air Witch
You are imaginative and witty. Your magic is beautiful and you're always stronger when you feel free.
“Nonononono, I swear that I care Packy. I really do. Just let me help you.”
Patrick stomps harder on the linoleum flooring of the boutique. “No. You. Don’t! You’re just saying that because you have to! You feel responsible for me. You don’t ACTUALLY care!”
“Packy, you know that ain’t true.”
Patrick wipes away the tears, “do I?”
The whole boutique shop begins to shake. Andre can barely dodge the freed ceiling tiles as they fall. Windows shatter like popping popcorn. Everything seems to shift into vertigo, sending Andre sprawling to the floor.
“Packy! PACKY! PLEASE!”
But Patricks eyes have already turned a stark off white color. Their skin has long since grown pale and starts the process of turning into sand.
Andre scrambles over to Patrick’s position, but only gets half way before doublung over from nausea. Andre can only watch in disbelief as Patrick’s body falls apart like a Jenga tower. The sand whips itself into a full on sandstorm, quickly consuming Patrick’s side of the small boutique and moving onto Andre’s position.
Andre can only watch in horror and shock.
(Is it all my fault?)
When the sandstorm finally hit, Andre couldn’t tell whether it was the sand or the overwhelming sense of shame that was filling their vision with tears. They’d tried so damn hard to help Packy.
(Why do things have to be like this? Why can’t I have another chance?!!)
“PACKY! PLEASE—“
Andre only manages to choke out a few words before the sand makes it near impossible to breath, much less speak.. They can’t stay here any longer. Andre need to open up a portal NOW. When the magic finally came to Andre, the storm is all too eager to join them.
In the void between worlds, people’s true feelings shine like stars in contrast to the great beyond. At the best of times, it can be therapeutic to be falling through the void with a friend. This wasn’t one of those times, especially within a chaotic sandstorm.
Whatever Packy had been is long gone and whatever consumes the whole void in Packy’s place is pure unadulterated rage. Falling through the void wasn’t just terrifying for falling’s sake, now it felt like falling through every one of Andre’s anxiety’s all at once.
Everything that ever was and every was Packy swirls around Andre and whistling in their ears. There was no mistaking it. Their heart pounds way too fast. Everything is blurry.
(Bad.
Bad.
Everything is bad.
They’re gonna die here.
WE’RE gonna die here!
What am I supposed to do now?!!!)
Andre wracks their brain for answers as they think back to Packy.
(Stars Dammit!)
The two of them were so close to escaping that bastard. There is no way Andre is gonna let all their efforts go to waste. Andre and Packy fought too hard to get to this point and for Andre to not put their own feelings on the lime. Packy has to know they ACTUALLY feel.
Andre focuses their magic into the conduit. If it wasn’t such a desperate situation, Andre would be laughing— a skateboard? They don’t even know how.. doesn’t matter. They lets all of their feelings flow out to Packy with the streak of magic in toe. Surely some of it would reach them.
There had to be something of Packy still left in there.
Andre hasn’t not have express how much they cared for Patrick while they were alive but they’d rather be damned to leave this mortal coil without telling Packy at least half of how they ACTUALLY felt.
(No more lies.
No more half-truths.
No more covering their ass.
Everything is out in the open.)
A new shriek of anxiety fills Andre’s chest cavity like an overflowing wine glass. It howls in their ears and sends tremors through their whole body.
(So much mother fucking doubt. I DON’T CARE! I’m telling Packy and if they reject it— so what?!!. I’m sorry, Old friend. I should’ve told you a whole lot sooner.)
Andre squeezes their eyes shut and prepares to to fire all their magic through the skateboard. This would leave them utterly drained and left open for a psychic attack but fuck that. If Packy has even a chance of hearing them, then it would all be worth it.
The blast went off.
For a moment, everything turns into painful reds and pinks as Andre attempted to shield their eyes. The whistling and howling of the storm stops. They’re definitely not falling.
Everything seems alright, that’s until they recognize a presence from within the void which they least expect. Something else is there and , waiting just for this moment.
(Shit! Shit! Shit!)
The psychic attack hit Andre while they are still lying on the ground. The pain blooms through Andre’s mind like nothing they’ve experienced before. It’s tinnitus on steroids, the ringing hit them with an all encompassing screeching. It’s indescribable the sheer pain and paralyzing terrir that wracks their whole trembling body. However, the best illustration of this is that Andre’s back violently arches on impact. It takes all of Andre’s focus to keep a present mind to survive..Ten seconds, ten seconds.Would this ever end?!!, thirty seconds—
— and it suddenly stops.
Andre blinks their eyes open to find a familiar blue sky above them. “Huh,” Andre smile:, “what do ya know? I’m back in this sorry excuse for a town.”
That’s when Andre finally noticed how they got back, in Packy’s arms. It took all of Andre’s stretch to straighten their neck enough to look at the red faced Packy. The leftover tears streaks from earlier still scaring Packy’s otherwise sweet face.
“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.” Packy blubbers. “I—I— I just couldn’t take it anymore. I—iI felt like such a b-b-burden to you and—and—“
Andre cradles Packy’s face before they can go any further. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve told you sooner. I.. I was trying to cover my own ass. I thought if I pretended that you didn’t matter to me and actually died, that it would be easier. I— I didn’t want to hurt you. I was selfish. An asshole. I just wanted to keep you safe from those bastards and I’m just fucking like them.”
“Andre..” The tears start to swell in Packy’s eyes again as they lean into Andre’s hand. The warm tears start to roll down Andre’s hand as Packy holds Andre closer to their chest. “C-c-can you s-s-stay awhile?” Packy barely manages to say.
Andre only barely to nod as their own collection of tears start to roll down their cheeks. It’s not as if they are in any condition to move. Their body feels like a ton of bricks but they couldn’t contemplate what being alone may mean. What if it happened to Packy again. They knew it was unlikely to happen twice but —but— they manage to hush their thoughts as they settled in Packy’s arms. They could rest for awhile.
Packy finds a suitable park bench for them.
They spend the afternoon together crying and lying together as the sun sets on the world. A warm and comforting blanket of night descends on the little town, making it all the more cozy in the evening twilight.
Soda laughs on the couch dramatically sighing and shifting. Pop looks over from his phone in the kitchen. It’s several agonizing minutes of rolling about before Soda finally speaks.
Soda: I need to do something.
Pop: you’re resting, that’s something.
Soda: but I haven’t done anything ALL day. I feel so lazy. I need to accomplish something.
Pop: vet’s something.
Soda: i guess.
Pop: cat won’t be in pain anymore
Soda: urgh! You don’t get it.
*soda throws a pillow over their face and screams into it*
*pop walks over and leans over the back of the couch*
Pop: what’s there not to get? You had a productive day.
Soda: but I wanna post something…
Pop: I thought ya said you only write for yourself.
*soda peaks from behind the pillow*
Soda: I might’ve. I just wanna share it. I’ve waited two whole months.
Pop: what about those chapters you posted?
Soda: those don’t count. They were one shots.
Pop:
Soda:
Pop:
Soda:
Pop:
Soda: alright! Alright! What? What do you want me to say? That I’m being a hard ass? Alright, I said it. Now fuck off.
Pop:
Soda: what now?
Pop: good writing takes time.
Soda: several thousand AO3 stories say otherwise.
Pop: did you ask said authors how long they worked on those before posting them?
Soda: that’s beside the point.
Pop: is it?
Soda: stop being a smart ass.
Pop: *sighs* I’m just lookin’ out for ya, bud. This is like.. what? An everyday thing.
Soda:
Pop: you’re kinda writing takes extra time. Why not it kick back a little and get lost in your head? Fuck posting. The story is for yours to enjoy. Everyone else plays second fiddle.
*soda nods*
Soda: yeah, yeah, I know. Write for yourself, blablabla, happiness whatever. I’m just tired of keeping it to myself, ya know?
