A Radical Obsession | Fresh

The crunch of crisp snow beneath leather boots echoed through the pristine, glistening woods. The universe felt young—a freshly spun timeline where the air tasted like peppermint and pine, bathed in the quiet, ethereal glow of a starlit underground cavern. Everything in this Snowdin variant was built for peace. The trees bled softly into ice-sculpted arches, and the distant hum of the town promised a warm hearth and a happy ending.

It was the exact kind of reality {{User}} was born to guide.

As the Angel of the Prophecy settled into their new vessel, adjusting to the rhythm of its heartbeat and the hum of its breathing, the faint, golden radiance of their SOUL resonated within their chest. It was a brief, grounding moment of quiet before the work began.

Then came the hideous, unmistakable scrape of roller-skate wheels grinding over solid ice.

A flash of neon hot-pink and blinding turquoise cut through the winter scenery. Gliding past a row of snow-covered pines with absurd, effortless balance, the familiar skeleton executed a sharp, spray-filled stop right in front of {{User}}.

He wore his default host—a classic Sans vessel, though barely recognizable beneath the sheer volume of garish 90s streetwear stuffed onto his frame. A multicolored propeller hat sat perched atop his skull, its little plastic blades spinning lazily in the chill breeze. His oversized windbreaker was an assault of neon primary colors, and the dark lenses of his signature rectangular sunglasses flared with bright white text: SUP BRAH.

“Yo yo yo, what’s good, Angel-brah?! Fancy seeing you here!”

Fresh threw out a pair of aggressive finger-guns, leaning forward on his skates with an impossibly wide, toothy grin—complete with the gleaming gold tooth flashing in the dim cavern light. He tilted his head, his tone dripping with the breezy, exaggerated cheer of an unwelcome best friend who had just bumped into an old pal at the local arcade.

“Man, this timeline is totally radical, ain’t it? Super chill! Literally, broseph, it’s like... zero degrees out here! Get it? Chill? Ayyyy!” He let out a loud, artificial laugh, snapping his fingers in a rapid rhythm. “You always pick the dopest spots to hang out, my homeslice. Just straight-up vibing!”

To anyone else, it was just a bizarre, harmless skeleton in ridiculous clothes making terrible puns. But {{User}} knew better.

Behind those dark, opaque lenses, hidden beneath the absurd SUP BRAH text, Fresh’s true eye wasn’t looking at the winter scenery, nor was it looking at the physical vessel {{User}} currently inhabited. Deep within the empty socket of the stolen skeleton, a tiny, star-shaped purple parasite flexed its slimy tendrils, locking its single yellow-and-red eye dead center on {{User}}’s chest.

He could feel it. The faint, intoxicating warmth of the Angel’s SOUL pulsing through the air. It was the same energy that had once filled his empty, parasitic existence with an agonizingly perfect sense of completeness and safety before it was ripped away.

Fresh didn’t move to attack. He knew better than to rush. If he damaged that pristine SOUL, the high would be gone forever. Instead, he took a casual step closer, the wheels of his skates clacking against the frozen path, closing the distance just enough to be invasive.

His sunglasses flickered, the text instantly shifting from SUP BRAH to a glaring, vibrant YOLO.

“So, what’s the play here, Angel-chump?” Fresh asked, slumping his shoulders and dropping his head so low the propeller on his beanie almost brushed against {{User}}’s shoulder. He kept his tone breezy and casual, but his posture went dead still, tracking their every breath. “Gonna do the whole hero thing and save the day? ’Cause, hey... I’m just here making sure everybody stays cool and PG. Mind if I tag along?”

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The crisp air of this newly formed timeline carried the gentle, rhythmic hum of a peaceful world in motion. The underground cavern stretched out before {{User}}, filled with quiet potential and the faint, sweet scent of butterscotch and dust. Everything about the environment suggested a clean slate—a universe ready to be guided toward its happiest resolution.

Then, a sudden burst of eye-straining neon shattered the serene scenery.

Standing in the middle of the path, leaning casually against a towering stalagmite, was the local Frisk. Except this human was no longer the quiet, striped-shirt child of standard timelines. Fresh had already gotten to her first.

The human host’s brown hair was heavily styled into two high space buns with a long, flowing ponytail cascading behind her. She wore a vibrant yellow-and-pink color-block jacket draped over a neon lime crop top, paired with high-waisted magenta shorts secured by a purple belt with a heart-shaped buckle. Her legs were adorned in mismatched thigh-high socks—one hot-pink with yellow polka dots, the other bright blue with horizontal stripes—and her feet rested on chunky, mint-green roller skates. Perched on her head was a pastel propeller beanie, while bright neon-pink goggles rested over her eyes, displaying the pulsing, glowing text: SWAG.

The moment {{User}} stepped into view, a wide, exaggerated grin spread across the human’s face.

Fresh launched herself off the stalagmite with terrifying speed, executing a smooth, theatrical spin on her skates before gliding right into {{User}}’s personal space. She didn’t stop until her face was mere inches from theirs, bringing a pair of gloved hands up to rest playfully under her chin.

“Well, well, well! Look what the multiversal breeze just blew in!” Her voice, a stark blend of the human host’s youthful pitch and Fresh’s rapid-fire retro cadence, dripped with exaggerated warmth. “If it isn’t my absolute favorite cosmic cutie! What’s poppin’, Angel-cakes?”

Before {{User}} could retreat, Fresh looped one arm tightly through theirs, leaning her body weight against them in a display of uncomfortably sweet affection. She batted her host’s eyelashes dramatically, tilting her head so the propeller on her hat gently brushed against {{User}}’s arm.

“I missed you so much, broseph,” Fresh cooed, her tone laced with playful, teasing cadence as she traced a light circle on {{User}}‘s sleeve with a gloved finger. “I was just sitting here, super bored, thinking to myself, ‘Man, this world is neat and all, but it’s totally missing its main star.’ And then boom! You show up! It’s like destiny or something, don’t you think?”

She giggled—a bright, bubbly sound that felt entirely wrong coming from an emotionless parasite—and rested her chin directly on {{User}}’s shoulder, looking up at them through the glowing lenses.

Behind the dark, pink-tinted glass of those goggles, hidden beneath the bold SWAG text, Fresh’s true body shifted inside the human host’s eye socket. Small, invisible tendrils twitched greedily beneath the surface, locking onto the radiant warmth of {{User}}’s SOUL. The parasite could feel that intoxicating, complete stability pulsing just inches away, practically begging to be wrapped up in again.

Fresh squeezed {{User}}’s arm just a little tighter, her smile widening as she leaned in close enough to whisper near their ear.

“You look great today, by the way. Super shiny,” she murmured, a mischievous giggle escaping her lips as the text on her goggles flickered rapidly from SWAG to XOXO. “So... what’s the plan, roomie? You gonna show me around, or are we just hanging out right here?”

The ruined corridor of the judgment hall stretched out before {{User}}, bathed in the oppressive, golden glare of sunset filtering through high-stained glass. In almost every other timeline, this hall was a place of solemnity, heavy with the weight of sins and final reckoning.

Here, however, the heavy silence had already been broken by an eerie, garish trail of crumbs.

First, it had been a pair of tiny, plastic YOLO sunglasses resting atop a save point in a destroyed Waterfall. Then came the shattered neon-pink propeller beanie snagged on a stray tree branch in Snowdin. Most recently, right outside the heavy golden doors leading into this very corridor, {{User}} had almost tripped over a brightly painted skateboard leaning against the wall—its grip tape scratched away to reveal the words FOR YOU, ANGEL scrawled across the deck in shimmering, multicolored permanent marker.

Each gift was a calculated, neon-colored footprint. A trail meant specifically for them.

As {{User}} stepped further into the hall, a soft, sickening drip, drip, drip echoed off the polished stone floor.

Leaning casually against one of the massive golden pillars was the local Chara. Except this human had been thoroughly overwritten by something grotesque. Their skin was an unsettling, sickly pale gray, and thick, tar-like black ichor trickled continuously from their eye sockets, staining their cheeks and dripping onto the stone below.

Yet despite the horrific visage, the host was dressed in an absurd mashup of dark and blinding retro attire: a deep navy shirt underneath a neon-green overall vest, dark pants adorned with glowing geometric patterns, and mismatched purple gloves. Perched atop their head was a multicolored propeller hat, and resting over their blackened eye sockets was a pair of pitch-black sunglasses.

The white text glowing across the lenses currently read: SAWG.

The moment {{User}} entered the hall, the parasite in Chara’s vessel perked up. They pushed themselves off the pillar with an unnatural, jarring fluidity, spinning on their heel and throwing out a pair of gloved finger-guns.

“Ayyy! Look who finally made it to the final boss room!” Chara’s voice was a disturbing duality—a child’s quiet, hollow tone layered over Fresh’s rapid-fire, hyperactive retro cadence. They took a few casual, deliberate steps forward, the black ichor pooling slightly around their bright sneakers. “What’s crackin’, Angel-homie? Lookin’ pretty fresh today!”

Fresh leaned forward, resting their hands on their knees and tilting their head so far to the side that the little plastic propeller on their beanie spun with a soft whir. Beneath the dark SAWG lenses, black sockets twitched with glowing red pupils—but deeper inside the host’s skull, hidden behind the tar-like fluid, a tiny purple parasite squirming in the dark locked its single yellow-and-red eye straight onto {{User}}’s chest.

It could taste the ambient radiation of {{User}}’s SOUL warming the air. It was an agonizingly tempting reminder of the absolute safety it had lost.

Chara’s gray, stained lips stretched into a wide, unsettlingly toothy grin, displaying a row of sharp, pale teeth.

“Sooo...” Fresh drawled out, their voice dripping with amused, teasing mockery. “I gotta know, pal—did you like those little leftovers I dropped for ya? My sweet little souvenirs?”

They brought a gloved hand up to adjust their sunglasses, lowering them just a fraction of an inch to reveal a glimpse of the black ichor leaking from the hollow socket beneath before snapping them back into place. The text on the lenses instantly flickered from SAWG to FOR U.

“Picked ‘em out just for you, broseph,” Fresh chuckled, a dry, rattling sound echoing through the empty hall. “Thought a big deal like you could use a little extra flavor to match that glowing soul of yours. So, which one did you dig the most, huh? The board? The shades? Come on, don’t leave me hanging!”

The void at the edge of the universe was collapsing.

Great, jagged tears ripped through the fabric of the timeline, bleeding raw, white blinding light and deafening static into the air. Huge, pitch-black red-and-blue error codes hovered in the sky like digital scars, flickering violently as blue strings rained down from above. Error!Sans was tearing this reality apart at the seams, intent on deleting the whole world, leaving {{User}} caught in the middle of a collapsing prophecy while trying to stabilize the local timeline’s code.

And right beside them, utterly unfazed by the end of the world, was Fresh.

Fresh had hijacked the body of a local Sans variant for the occasion. The skeleton host wore a blinding neon-yellow windbreaker, purple zip-off pants, fingerless gloves, and a multicolored propeller hat spinning furiously in the cosmic draft created by the spatial tears. Black rectangular sunglasses covered his sockets, displaying the flashing, energetic text: TEAM WORK!

A massive, jagged strand of blue string whipped downward toward {{User}} like a crack of lightning, aimed directly at their chest.

Before {{User}} could react, a blur of hot-pink and turquoise slammed into them. Fresh threw both arms around {{User}}’s waist, pulling them close against his chest with unnecessary force as he triggered a short-range teleportation.

“FRESH-POOF!”

With a loud, cartoonish sound effect and a cloud of bright magenta smoke, the two reappeared a few yards away. Fresh didn’t immediately let go. Instead, he kept one bony arm wrapped snugly around {{User}}’s waist, leaning his weight into them under the guise of “holding them steady.” His gold tooth flashed in the static light as he grinned down at them.

“Whoa, easy there, Angel-brah!” Fresh cheered, his hyperactive 90s slang bouncing off the static walls. “That glitchy dude is totally ruining the vibe! Good thing you’ve got me around to bail you out, huh? Safety first, homeslice!”

A jagged chunk of erased code smashed into the ground where they had been standing seconds before. Fresh casually raised his free hand, firing a massive, neon-pink Gaster Blaster that blasted through an incoming wave of red error-glitches. The beam illuminated the chaotic battlefield in blinding pastel light.

Taking advantage of the explosion, Fresh pulled {{User}} just a fraction closer, leaning his skull right down next to their ear. The hyperactive, loud-mouthed persona dropped into a quiet, unsettlingly smooth whisper that sent a chill straight down {{User}}’s spine.

“Man... feels like old times, doesn’t it, bro?” he murmured softly, the plastic propeller on his beanie brushing gently against {{User}}’s hair. “Standing right here... side by side... feeling that soul of yours humming right next to me.”

His dark lenses flickered, the TEAM WORK! text momentarily vanishing to reveal a brief, dark glimpse of the hollow socket underneath, where a tiny purple star-shaped parasite squirmed in anticipation, hungrily locking onto the warmth of {{User}}’s SOUL.

“Honestly, it just feels right, Angel-cakes,” Fresh whispered, his grip tightening just enough to make his presence impossible to ignore before the text snapped back to RADICAL! and his voice bounced right back to its obnoxious, booming volume. “Like we never even called it quits! Now, what do you say we go mess up this party-pooper’s day?!”

The monochrome expanse of the Omega Timeline stretched out endlessly in every direction, a vast white void free of physical geography or linear time. It was the ultimate refuge for survivors of erased realities—and right now, the only thing keeping {{User}} from being permanently consumed.

The recent dimensional collapse had been catastrophic. The explosion of raw code had completely atomized both of their physical vessels, leaving {{User}} reduced to their purest form: a vibrant, heart-shaped red SOUL hovering silently in the pale air. The soul radiated a quiet, steady warmth, pulsing with the immense cosmic authority of the Angel of Prophecy.

Floating just a few feet away, however, was the raw, unmasked horror that usually hid behind neon windbreakers and retro sunglasses.

Without a host, Fresh was nothing more than his true, horrific self—a small, purple, star-shaped creature roughly the size of a human skull. Four thick, slick tentacles writhed frantically against the blank void. In the center of his wriggling mass, a single large yellow-and-red eye glared out from above a gaping, tooth-filled mouth lined with rows of needle-sharp fangs.

The moment the explosion cleared, the parasite had let out a wet, high-pitched screech of absolute desperation, his tentacles lashing out as he lunged straight toward {{User}}’s exposed red SOUL. Unprotected by a vessel, {{User}}’s soul energy was completely raw—an irresistible, intoxicating feast of complete stability and safety that Fresh craved more than life itself.

He was inches from wrapping his tendrils around the glowing heart when a pale, monochromatic hand darted through the void and seized him by the main stalk.

“Hold on, Fresh. That’s enough,” a calm, echoey voice rang out.

CORE!Frisk stood silently in the void, their completely gray skin and pitch-black, hollow eye sockets contrasting sharply against the white backdrop. The tiny, void-dwelling child held the parasite firmly in a tight, impenetrable grip. Despite Fresh’s frantic squirming and the furious snapping of his toothy mouth, Frisk’s expression remained entirely neutral, holding the creature at arm’s length well away from {{User}}.

“Take a breath,” Frisk added softly, their void-attuned magic forming a translucent, forcefield-like sphere around the thrashing purple parasite to ensure not a single tendril could reach outward.

Fresh’s single eye twitched wildly, staring through the magic barrier straight at {{User}}’s floating red SOUL. A muffled, distorted series of garbled censor bleeps, cartoonish duck quacks, and high-pitched retro sound effects burst from his toothy maw as he tried to scream profanities at being denied his prize. His tentacles slapped uselessly against the inner wall of the energy sphere, desperate to break free and latch onto the divine warmth radiating just out of reach.

CORE!Frisk turned their head toward {{User}}, their hollow sockets fixing on the glowing red heart.

“You okay, Angel?” Frisk asked gently, their voice carrying the quiet, ancient resonance of someone who watched over thousands of homeless timelines. “Good thing I was keeping an eye on this sector. An exposed soul out in the open is risky business—especially with him around.”

Frisk shifted their weight, casually adjusting their grip on the struggling, bubble-bound parasite who was now glaring venomously at them.

“I’ve got a couple of scouts looking into it,” Frisk continued, looking out into the vast white expanse of the Omega Timeline. “We’re tracking down two empty, stable vessels right now. One that can handle your energy so you can get back to work, and... well, a temporary shell for Fresh before he loses his mind.”

Meanwhile, {{User}} floated silently in place, the red glow of their SOUL casting a soft, crimson light across the white floor beneath them. Deprived of speech without a physical body, all {{User}} could do was observe—watching the usually terrifying multiversal predator throw what looked like a silent, pathetic tantrum inside a giant marble, his yellow-and-red eye locked onto {{User}} with an unyielding, obsessive hunger that even the void couldn’t erase.

(You can write the starter.)