Chapter Text
Just before Sans could absolutely decimate Dream, a loud scream stopped them all in their tracks.
"WAIT!" the voice of Gumball Watterson yelled, across the beach.
"My friend!" Dream cheered, glad to have been saved by the young man he consumed alcohol with and probably tried to blackmail, which is a very normal thing to do.
Gumball Watterson rushed to the scene.
"heya," greeted Sans Undertale.
"Before you do anything, you need to know this!" Gumball walked right over to Sans and whispered so many slurs into his ear... but only ones he can reclaim.
"Are you LGBT, Sans?" asked the voice of an unknown god, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Sans looked up to the heavens and nodded.
"ehhh... kinda," he replied. "i mean... grillby is kinda hot, hehe."
Sans answered his cell phone, grinning as normal when Papyrus (who had been watching the baby monitor he attached to Sans) screeched at him:
"HE'S NOT HOT, SANS! HE REGULARLY COMPLAINS TO US ABOUT HOW COLD HE IS IN SNOWDIN!!"
"I'm kinda LGBT," said Dream.
"Nobody cares," said everyone.
"NOBODY CARES," said Papyrus, louder than everyone else.
"If you whisper the incantation Gumball gave you... you will be able to defeat the Green One," the unknown god advised Sans.
Gumball pulled a face.
"Who the fuck even are you?" he asked.
"How about we explore that later..." said the unknown god, dismissively.
Then, she turned to George, who had been watching the scene unfold with his camera and overexaggerated facial expressions.
He'd managed to stay serious for a whopping five minutes. His best and most final record.
The unknown god threw a cube at him. This isn't a reference to any game, especially not a gacha RPG made in China.
Dream, who heard the god's advice and seen her epic cube throwing powers, scrambled backwards in the sand.
The Burger King lettuce box on his ass (wow, what a throwback) made it hard for him to make much distance.
"Dream!" shouted Groerge, reeling from the attack. "Help, she cubed me!"
Sans Undertale advanced upon them both, lowering his head and whispering the ancient slur incantation under his skeletal not-breath.
The gaster blaster charged up, imbued with the energy of the enchanted incantation.
George was aghast.
He screeched, the goddess' magic activating with one cold look from her.
In an instant, he was transformed.
George was a Ghast.
"NOW!" screamed Gumball, before Ghast!George could use his ghastly attack.
Sans did the cool arm wave thing he does, then the gaster blaster blasted the parasocial pairing away.
They were reduced to atoms.
The evil had been defeated.
* * *
Vriska Homestuck felt a sharp pang in her chest.
"Oh, god," she winced, breathing heavily. "What the heck?"
Karl tilted his head.
"What is wro-" his eyes bugged out, upon him not automatically quoting his masterpiece (the Communist Manifesto). "I... I can talk normally again?"
Indeed, the curse had been lifted.
"Good for you," Vriska groaned, still in pain.
Karl looked worried: "do you need a medic, blue-haired one?"
Vriska shook her head. She knew what dying felt like.
This wasn't dying.
It was arguably worse.
An abyssal void was in the very depths of her soul. Everything she needed had been ripped so violently from her psyche that she worried she may never recover from such an incident.
Vriska had faced many challenges and tragedies in her very long life, but this? This was worse than all of those.
Yes, even the very sad ones, whatever those are.
"This sandwich... is awful," she wheezed, spitting out the offending tuna sandwich. "You didn't even include Mayo."
The imposter, Manatreed, tried to defend his sandwich making skills.
"I thought it'd make you feel better about your boyfriend, Dream, and his inevitable death..."
Vriska raised her hand, then rolled her trusty dice: a natural 20.
"Jail," she simply said, and away he went.
Sapnap was worried he was next, watching cautiously as Vriska walked to the kitchen and rinsed her mouth out under the faucet.
"Bleh," she concluded.
Sapnap frowned.
"We need to save Dream," he said, earnestly.
"Ehhh..." Vriska and Karl both shrugged.
"He represents the American Dream," added Karl, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "In that he is a Nightmare."
Sapnap blinked.
"But... he's our friend," he defended, weakly.
"I've always wanted to have a dead husband," smiled Vriska, cheerfully. "It'll impress the ladies!"
"Girlpower," nodded Karl, approvingly.
"Karl... why are you totally fine with this!?" Sapnap shook the other man by the shoulders. "Our friend could be dead! That imposter guy said GEORGE is the one who's trying to kill him, too!"
"Ah, speaking of imposters..." Karl sighed. "I am sorry to do this to you, young man... but I am not your friend, Karl Jacobs."
Sapnap shook his head.
"No, no... you're Karl Jacobs! Your name's Karl!"
"Karl Jacobs has been dead for 3 slutty, slutty years, Sapnap..." Karl Marx said sadly. "I was convinced to take his place after the ice fishing factory incident..."
Vriska tilted her head.
"He didn't know that?" she snorted. "Everyone knows about the ice fishing factory incident of 2020."
"Karl would have said this is just like Kingdom Hearts..." Sapnap teared up. "Who told you to do this, Karl Marx?"
Karl Marx grimaced.
"Your friend, George," he said, darkly. "After raising me from the dead and binding me to his soul... he was the reason why I could only quote my manifesto, too."
"I always thought you were just really into communism memes..." Sapnap wiped his tears.
Vriska raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, ignoring how Sapnap can't tell who his friends are... if your curse has been lifted, Karl, then doesn't that mean...?"
Karl nodded, smiling like an old wise man because he was one.
"Yes... George must have been slain," he said. "And, thus, all his dark magic has been undone... including..." he sighed.
"Including him raising you from the dead."
"Indeed, madame," Karl said. "I am but lingering energy, now, soon to return to the earth as all living things shall..."
Vriska felt a pang of sadness.
In the short time she had known Karl, he seemed pretty based.
"A pity, really... I would have liked to turn the world on its head.
"I was bound to his every command," said Karl. "The only command of his that I was even remotely pleased to follow... was making both of your acquaintance."
And with his poignant words, Karl Marx dissipated into the breeze from the open kitchen window, into red smoke for college kids to inhale (according to Prager U).
Sapnap held a defeated expression.
"You should go," he said, to Vriska. "Just... go back to wherever you came from."
Vriska nodded. It was a good suggestion.
"Don't forget to do the dishes," she suggested back, and Sapnap nodded.
She left the hype house, instinctively following a familiar energy.
* * *
"Sans," she said, with an annoyed look.
She had arrived at the scene, only to find Tommy Innit turning the dusty remains of DNF into a sandcastle. Or a dustcastle.
Technoblade was standing behind him, criticizing his tower defences like a good older brother would.
Wilbumn was giving a soliloquy about how he wished he could be turned into Minecraft, the unknown god was floating and looked almost impressed... but then she smashed him with a cube and he turned into dust.
"I like shells more," she said.
Philza politely asked the Unknown God for some extra sand, citing that he married her friend from college, The Grim Reaper.
(Now, give me kudos.)
"hey," replied Sans.
"I told you to not gaster blast without me," Vriska crossed her arms.
"sorry, had to," Sans gave a shrug. "it was a slur attack, too."
"A SLUR ATTACK?!" gasped Vriska, outraged. "WITHOUT ME?!"
"there'll be other times," Sans patted her arm, reassuringly. "you headin' back to our musical prison or not?"
Vriska let out an annoyed sigh. She did not want to be songstuck with a fucking skeleton.
But, like Karl, she had been cursed.
"Give me until tomorrow," she bargained.
"yeah, sure," nodded Sans. "you can stay here as long as possible, you know," he pointed out.
Vriska surveyed the characters before her:
Tommy was eating his own dustcastle, and had started screaming about having surgery on his balls to ward off TERFs (as he's an ally).
Techno was stepping back onto his yacht, snacking on a raw potato with an even rawer carrot lodged through it like a makeshift skewer.
Philza was gently rejecting the unknown god, who then scowled and disappeared in a shower of sus cubes.
"I'll take the eternal music prison over this," she commented, blankly.
"yeah, same," agreed Sans.
"I just need to rob Dream's house, then I'll come back," promised Vriska. "That was my original goal, when I first came here."
"was?" questioned Sans, grimacing. "so, uh, the plan changed?"
"I was going to make him my malewife," sighed Vriska. "But, honestly, I think I dodged a bullet, for once."
"You know who DIDN'T dodge a bullet? My BALLS," said Tommy Innit, and nobody else.
Several TERFs fainted.
The beach was painted in sunset colours, like the lesbian flag.
"Sans, I think I'm a lesbian," said Vriska, as they watched the sky bleed into the night. "Or... aromantic, or asexual, or something," she added.
Sans snored away, having gone to sleep the moment I updated this fic because another fucking Minecraft Youtuber turned out to be a wrongun.
"huh?" he stirred when Vriska gently popped his arm off and knocked it against his skull.
"I'm fruity," said Vriska.
"hey fruity, i'm sans," said Sans.
Vriska got up from the coconut tree they had been sitting on and kicked him.
The End