#you can decline if ya like i don't mind heh

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.171 Happy birthday to ya

When it got closer to party time, Sophia and I moved the couch to the backyard for more seating options. Our parties always end up fragmented with some sims eating in the house and others on the patio. My goal is to keep everyone together, so hopefully this will help. We also moved the picnic blanket and put the portable crib outside to accommodate the little ones. Because we're friendly again, I invited Yasmine and her girls, but she declined. She doesn't know the other guests and didn't want anyone asking questions about Stacey. I completely understood but feel bad for her. This spellcaster business has really trapped her and the girls in their home.

Apart from my baby aging up, I'm most excited about having Dub and his family in our home for the first time. Between the deaths and parenthood, it's been super hard for us to connect lately. I guess I was naïve enough to believe it would be easier being in the same city, but life keeps proving it doesn't matter where we are. Life is going to life, and that's that. I suppose I'll have to be more intentional about hanging with him too.

"You got it smelling good out here, bro," a voice says from behind me.

That Henford accent is unmistakable, and I was so glad to hear it. I turned around and embraced him.

"Wassup, man! Did you find us okay? Welcome! Finally!"

"Right? Took you long enough!"

"Don't even play, man. You know how life is sometimes."

"Sure do. This house is nice! And the view!"

"Thanks. If you're able to stick around later, I'll give you the tour. Hey, where's Maia? Is she coming?"

"Yeah, she's running a little late. She's just finishing up a project for a client."

"Ahhh. See? San Sequoia has been good to you already. I'm glad her business is picking up."

There's no way Dub showed up alone, so I looked around for Tambara, knowing she couldn't be too far behind. I spotted her toddling across the yard, trying her best to catch up with her daddy.

"She's getting to be extremely independent these days," Dub said when he realized I was watching her. "She won't even let us pick her up anymore. I don't mind that so much, but waiting for her really slows me down."

"She'll get faster," I said, thinking about Desiree's determination. "Just give her time."

Tami and Desi look nothing alike, but I see glimpses of the immediate future in her proud face and wobbly gait. I want Desi to grow up and change the world, but I can't part with my little girl. At the same time, I'm anxious to see her continue to grow. I love watching her smash these milestones like the boss baby she is. Ugh. Fatherhood is just a melting pot of contradictions. How can I be happy and sad, proud and scared at the same time?

Tami finally made her way over to us, so I waved.

"Hey there! Do you remember me? I'm Luca. That's a pretty dress."

Her face lit up, and I knew it didn't matter if she remembered me or not. I was currently her new bestie. Flattery works at all ages, hee hee.

"What do you say when someone gives you a compliment?" Dub asked.

"I know," she shouted.

Me and Dub had a good laugh. She's so precocious, and I love it. Kids really do say the darndest things, and I can't wait to hear what Desi will have to say. Hopefully that's not a be careful what you wish for situation, heh.

"That's right, Tam," I said. "You better know it."

"How are you holding up?" Dub asked, wiping the smile off my face.

"I'm good. As good as I can be, rather. It gets a little better every day."

"I'm glad to hear it. I can't even think about what that's going to be like."

"It might sound morbid, but you should start thinking about it, man. It's the shock that's hard to get over."

"You play dollies with me," Tambara shouts.

That was probably supposed to be a question, but she's too excited about her new, big friend and it's too cute.

"Oh, no," Dub says to me. "You start that and she'll never let you go."

She's adorable, looking just like both of them. I hope she and Desi will like each other. It'll be a shame to have them fighting or snubbing each other when we hang out.

"You can play with Desiree later, okay?" he says.

"Speaking of... We should probably get this show on the road soon. Let me finish these ribs."

(makeovers and family photos below!)

Dub and fam by @mysimsloveaffair

[rggcharacterarchive]

Majima Everywhere Pole Dancing/Asia Encounter (link to screenshot version)

[Outside Asia]

SOLICITOR: Oh, sir. I've heard a lot about you from the Majima Family.

[KIRYU enters Asia, then one of its showrooms.]

KIRYU, looking very displeased: ......

[MAJIMA is onstage, performing a simple sensual poledancing routine. The room's light is hot pink, and a disco ball sends little scales of blue-purple light spinning around the room. MAJIMA is wearing his usual snakeskin and leather getup, and he giggles and says things to KIRYU that aren't translated officially (T/N: I believe it's something like "So, Kiryu-chan...?" or "What do you think, Kiryu-chan?", but I'm not sure.) Pink, cartoony hearts emanate from him. As the routine ends, the screen fades to black, then returns on MAJIMA, standing offstage and speaking to KIRYU.]

MAJIMA: Welcome, Kiryu-chan! So, did I get ya pumped up!?

KIRYU: Yeah right. If I'd known you were just going to fool around like you always do, I wouldn't have come.

MAJIMA: Oh? So ya thought you'd get to see some hot ladies? Oh Kiryu-chan, is that really what's on your mind?

KIRYU: Th-That's not it. But can you honestly call a dance like that appropriate for someone's welcome back party?

MAJIMA: What? Are ya dissatisfied with the entertainment? I tell ya what. Tonight, you can touch the dancers all ya want!

KIRYU: I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole! I'm outta here.

MAJIMA: Wait. Are ya sayin'... Ya can't accept my welcome back party and the entertainment I've provided?

KIRYU: Yeah, that's what I'm saying.

MAJIMA: Even if it means I'll lose face over it?

KIRYU: Don't be ridiculous. I never should have had a welcome back party in the first place. I decline the sentiment, with all due respect.

MAJIMA: Heh, then you're prepared to face the consequences? So be it! I'll make sure ya pay me back ten fold for all the expense I've gone to for ya!

MAJIMA, assuming his breaker style stance: Let's do this! It's showtime!

[In-game fight occurs. If you win, the following exchange occurs:]

MAJIMA: So, how was it? Super steamy, right?

KIRYU: Yeah. That was the kind of dance I'd never get to enjoy while I was behind bars.

MAJIMA: Heh, glad to hear it. Dancers need an audience to really get 'em goin', or there's just nothin' spicy about it.

KIRYU: Majima-san.

MAJIMA: Eh?

KIRYU: I know this is a little late, but I'm grateful that you thought to welcome me back. ...Despite your methods.

MAJIMA: Screw that. I didn't wait for ya to get out or pull off a stunt like this for your damn gratitude. I just wanted a serious fight. Besides, ten years on a murder charge ain't shit. It's a walk in the park. Especially compared to him.

KIRYU: Who?

MAJIMA: Forget it. Show's over anyway. See ya 'round, Kiryu-chan!

[MAJIMA exits.]

KIRYU, internal monologue: (As usual, he shows you a glimpse of someone serious and then goes right back to his usual self.)

[After this, text appears saying "Learned Essence of Mad Dog: Whirl." In the Abilities menu, within the Dragon style category, is further information about the move; it is only available during Dragon style and Climax Heat Mode. Description reads: "Launch a bombastic flying kick to deliver additional punishment to an enemy you've bounced off the ground." Move instructions read "[finishing blow] while bounced enemy is in the air", and the illustration shows Kiryu mid-backflip, arms outstretched, one leg raised. He's preparing to slam it into an enemy, who has bounced off of the ground.]

[End transcription.]

T/N: I played this on Legend difficulty, which does not let you continue if you lose a fight. Due to this, I don't know if the dialogue is any different if you lose, though in this case I don't believe it is.

[twothpaste]

fick chunk about fuel's not-so-secret project at the new pork ruins, which somehow doubles as a whole-ass character study. (featuring bronson, nana, claus, lucas, and abelle my oc abelle.)

Speakin' of daylight: the noontime shine renders fire far less fearsome.

It flickers from the wick of a tiny index finger. Scarlet diamonds, scarcely greater than a candle's glimmer. How it kisses the ocean. That white-blue horizon line. There's a quaint horror, at the heart of the matter. Knowing even embers like these would - given the chance - reduce houses to ashes. And a quainter comfort, still. Knowing she'd never dare let 'em.

If you ask him 'bout phobias, Fuel ain't got none. Try talkin' to him 'bout "Pee-Tee-Ess-Dee," and he'll kindly decline, arms crossed. "Nah. Nope. N' hell naw, while I'm at it. But thank ya very much, Lucas." That kinda talk's for the twins. N' their forefathers. N' former Pigmasks, maybe some of 'em. His matchstick jitters're just a reflex. His muscles pulled stiff, at the scent of somethin' burning - well, that's 'cause it's a heck of a stinkin' smell. When he wakes up coughing, choking, on smoke that ain't there, it's that sleep apnea shit he's got. Nana diagnosed it. Y'can call her a madwoman, n' he does too, when he's joshin' around. But don't get it backwards. She knows what she's talkin' about.

Likewise, Abelle doesn't mention what's irking her. That she'd definitely be able to muster more than a goshdarn candle. Maybe an antique gas stove. Or a fireplace lighter. If only she'd gotten more than three hours of sleep. It casts a vague orange, ruffling up against the work station's tarped shade. Miscellaneous metal parts reflect only the teeniest glimmers. A wrench here. A dubious hunk of titanium there.

"So. Y'light it with yer mind? Just like that, huh…?" Even after all this time, truth be told, Fuel can still scarcely wrap his head around it.

"Sure do!" Abelle chimes. Before dousing her pride, so as not to be impolite. As the flame wavers, her brow furrows. "It doesn't exactly come natural, though. Gotta focus real hard on it. Helps to think of somethin' warm. I'm thinkin' of s'mores, right now."

"S'mores, huh? Makes sense, I guess. Y'ain't scared of it, or nothin'?"

"Me? Hehe! Naw, I'm never scared!"

"Well, shit! Beg yer pardon!" Fuel leans back, hands raised, donning an amused grin. Has a bite of his peanut butter sandwich, while he's at it. N' mutters the rest with a fist coverin' his mouthful. "I'm only askin' 'cause, ah.. Lucas used to say this psychic stuff was an awful sorta scary. Back when he first started doin' it, I mean."

"Oh, he's told me so, too. It's kinda funny, ain't it? Everyone always says he used to be so skittish. I can't hardly picture it." Abelle's got strawberry jam on hers. N' banana slices, too. She snuffs out the flare, just long enough for a meager nibble.

"Heh. That's fair. Sometimes I can't, neither." Beyond the makeshift awning, out there in the blue, silhouettes mill about the boats. Settin' up chemical filtering equipment, they'd said? Somethin' or other. If he squints, Fuel reckons he can make out Lucas' red-n'-yella plaid. Leading the pack, no doubt. "What if it goes outta control? If the fire gets bigger than y'bargained for, or whatever? That, uh… That ever happen?"

"Mm-mm," Abelle answers. Shakin' her head. "Not really. Not with PK Fire. Sometimes my Shields're too big, if y'can believe it. N' sometimes I start hearin' what other folks're thinkin', n' it's like..? Like I can't turn it off. But, if I'm bein' honest…" Her gaze dips downward, back into the shadows. Scrutinizes the pitiful candle wick, held low in her lap. "M'no good at Psycho-Kinesis. Offensive PSI, Kumatora calls it. The stuff y'can fight with."

"That ain't so bad, is it? Not much to fight about, these days."

"That's what Kumatora n' Lucas're always sayin'. But gosh, have ya seen them spar? They're incredible! N' Claus, too! PK Love, n' Ground, n' Starstorm… It's amazin'. The stuff they can do."

The way the kid's eyes brim with starshine, Fuel can totally imagine her watchin' the Cerulean Beach lightshow. Cheerin' from the sidelines, as Claus and Kumatora hurl fireballs at each other. Makin' the whole goddamn planet Earth shake, like it ain't done since armageddon. Or when Lucas' gaze takes on that otherworldly glow N' shit starts floatin' all around him. Like the very laws of nature were made to be broken, far as he's concerned. Somethin' so gentle n' mild - transfigured into somethin' downright cataclysmic.

Yeah, Fuel's seen 'em spar, alright. It scares the piss outta him.

"But me? I've got none o' that. Too weak for it, I guess." Abelle pinches her fingers together, quashing the flame like a bug. Takes a deep breath. Exhales it all, in one quick burst. "Shoot. Sorry. Didn't mean to go off on a tirade. I prob'ly sound real ungrateful. N' envious, besides."

"Naw, I, ah… I reckon I get where yer comin' from." Fuel shifts his weight, atop the supply crate he's sittin' on. Nurses a half-flat can of Sierra Mist. To clear his throat of that smoggy, cloggy sensation. "Y'just wanna be capable. Protect the folks y'care about. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Be a part of somethin' bigger."

"Yeah…"

"Nothin' wrong with wantin' that." Aluminum crinkles, frail, in his sturdy grasp. "Nothin' wrong at all."

His sandwich disappears down his gullet, during the brief quiet that ensues. Hers remains a work-in-progress. Restless, at seventeen and three months, even lunch breaks are a kind of labor. She shuffles her boots over strewn wires.

"Thank ya, Fuel," Abelle tells him. N' he perks up, and shrugs. Like he's surprised to hear it.

"Me? Naw, thank you. 'Preciate ya showin' me Pee-Kay Fire, at least. Made me feel a little braver. Fer what it's worth."

"Hehe. Aw, jeez. You're welcome, then."

It ain't pyrophobia. She'll take his word for it. But even little miss sunshine can tell there's somethin' he's tryin' to overcome. No matter how quickly he changes lanes.

"Say, y'don't got Thunder? By any chance?"

"Nope. Only Fire. Why?"

"Aw, no reason. Jus' curious."

"Well. I've got a curious question, too, if y'don't mind it. What's all this you're workin' on, in here?"

"Mm?" Fuel's gaze jolts to meet hers, if only for a split second. Dirty fingernails sift along the crate's lid. One foot kicks a heavy-duty screwdriver away, into the lamp-cast shadows. His teeth form a simper. "'Fraid that's a bit of a secret, lil' miss."

The kid's tired eyes turn suddenly sharp. Glancin' past him, at a dimly-lit swath of buttons and dials. Then directly at him. Snagged in a potent stare. Fuel hesitates before speakin' up. Still wearing that dumb grin on his face.

"Wait. Hah. Y'ain't tryin' to read my mind, are ya?"

Abelle stares harder. Takes a deep breath, leaning ever so slightly towards him. Then closes her eyes. As if embroiled in a deep, scrying focus. A chuckle cracks its way through Fuel's constitution. He shakes his head. Clambers to his feet.

"Okay, alright. I'll show ya. But, ah…" One index finger rises, as he drops to a near-whisper. "You'll keep it on the down-low, won'tcha?"

Abelle peeks one eye open. And smiles like a Keebler elf.

"Cross my heart, hope to die!"

-

Yellow paint peels to reveal steel plating. Which, in turn, gives way to scarlet rust. Layin' there in a dilapidated heap, rot notwithstanding, the central console alone prob'ly weighs as much as Abelle herself. Its glass cranium's a lost cause. Shattered n' displaced ages ago. Stiff rods stickin' out the circular chasm up top. Fuel managed to scavenge one lower left limb, mostly intact, from its would-be resting place. The others are a work-in-progress. They litter the workshop, alongside other unfinished Frankensteins. Pull on a pair of inch-thick gloves. A heavy helmet, with a darkened slit for a view. Smothered an apron, like a weighted blanket. She'd tell him he looks silly, if she didn't know better. Absolute spaceman.

He can't tame a bonfire. He can tame a welder. Got a safety checklist in his head. A spark-proof suit of armor. And a forge built of impenetrable battlements.

When Porky took Fuel, he had him puttin' in child labor hours at the goddamn bakery. Workin' dough for desperate dough. Burnin' bread like nobody's business. Absolute wonder he didn't get f-f-f-fired! As merciful a manager as Sweet Caroline was, the role suited her like a square peg to a round hole. N' Fuel, likewise, was a sorry excuse for a baker. Kneading putty, coughin' up flour and oven smog, apron tied too twisty-tight 'round his tree-trunk waist. Like his father before him, the young craftsman's calloused hands have always preferred sturdier fare. If y'ask Fuel, the hop-skip-n'-a-jump from lumber to iron ain't so much of a leap, after all.

Mecha Lions n' Boa Transistors are his bread n' butter out here. Should a stray Rhinocerocket come barrelling through the walkway, on account of a busted fin, Fuel's your guy. He'll whip up a replacement in no time flat. N' never mind the occasional dent that may mar his best bud's steely shins. Chimera repairs're a noble duty, far as he's concerned. One he's proud to uphold.

Robots, though? Most folks hardly consider 'em casualties. If they consider 'em at all.

An uncommon sight - most have long since ceased functioning. Uttered their last garbled beeps, and melded into the wreckage upon which they stand. A slim handful were reprogrammed n' repurposed, back during the first salvage missions. The rest were left to their tombs. Haunted the Harbor for about a decade, crawlin' around the place in various states of zombified dysfunction. You can picture a teenaged Fuel's cringing horror, as a shambling Octobot claimed his leg in a tendril's grasp. Yanked him straight down with a vengeance nastier than any sinkhole. Claus came to his rescue, this time. Made quick work of it. Crowbar's clash. Psionic flash. An ugly scowl marks the spot in his memory.

Y'can picture, too, how that same teenaged Fuel looked down upon the un-creature. One half titanium, one half bronze, sundered roughly down the middle. Circuit-tronics n' whatsits, blasted every which way. Not-brains spilling from its not-head. Its veneer, crisply obliterated, looked not unlike a welding mask. Come to think of it.

Each had a directive, once upon a time. Monitor the perimeter. Exterminate intruders. Serve King Burgers. Whatever. None have the chops for any task, anymore. Too feeble, ineffectual, expendable. Too little, too late. Wrong place n' time. To say robots "want" for anything would be a stretch. But the premise of "purpose" gets Fuel a wee bit misty-eyed.

Sure, it's a silly sentiment. He knows it. "Laugh it up, if ya like," he says. Becomes apparent to Abelle, real quick, that it ain't an illicit sorta secret, but a self-conscious one. Some folks have a righteous penchant for amends. He's got a feckless tendency toward unsung causes.

"Naw, I think it's mighty kind of ya," she replies. Naturally. Abelle's the girl who calls old cars "she," n' pats her PC's tower when it ain't loadin', n' prescribes human feelings to vintage stereos. That said, she'd be lyin' if she claimed her intrigue isn't primarily techno-historical. Eyein' the robot with an eagerness to match his mercy. "What about the wiring? N' the hardware repairs? I know just a lil' bit, myself. Might could help ya fix the processin' unit, if it's still got one."

"That so, Barbie? I'll take ya up on it, if y'mean it. Got Sheep helpin' me with some o' the electronics. Was thinkin' of askin' Claus, but they.. ah…"

They were there, last week, when Fuel pried the leg from the bog. Their spine's no good for heaving, these days. Helped him pull it loose, nevertheless. A mere index finger beckoned a telekinetic tug. N' they'd been all laughs, n' Lifeup, n' pats on the back, after Kerosene was sent tumblin' backwards. The foundry's mechanical menagerie had them whistlin' a different tune, though. Quiet steps, Lucas-esque. Deer in a taxidermy shop. Low glower, set upon Fuel's Lego brick pity projects.

"I don't see what's gotcha so touchy, all of a sudden. Ain't that different from Mecha Lions n' Boa Transistors, is it?"

Claus didn't answer him with the same old scowl. Not quite. Fury is a mask they outgrew ages ago.

Nana told him not to sweat it, over dinner. "Environment's got a profound effect on an animal's nerves. His words, not mine. He won't say so, but I think the Harbor has him a bit on edge. I wouldn't take it personally, if I were you."

"Me? Take shit personally? Hahah. I would never! Jeez, Nana, it's like ya don't even know me."

Fuel's the only one who can get her to roll her eyes with a smile. He loves it when she does that.

… Anyways.

He tells Abelle she ought not mention it to Claus. No sooner than she nods her noggin, Bronson barges in. Here to check up on his apprentice's handiwork, apparently. A wayward elbow knocks that can of Sierra Mist from its cabinet-top perch. "Oh, shoot. I didn't…" The master smith gawks down at his blunder. Only to find the can halfway crushed. And thankfully empty. Not a drop of spillage. He hunches over - pop in his knees - and picks it up. There's a remarkable grace to his hammy fingers. And a klutziness to his cough. ".. Ehm. Sorry." Fuel chuckles. No harm, no foul.

"Gosh, how many folks're in on this, anyways?" Abelle inquires. "Doesn't seem like much of a secret to me."

"The hell do ya mean? It's jus' Bronson, n' Sheep, n' Claus," muffles Fuel, through his helmet. "N' Nana, o' course. N' you. Now. I guess. So, uh. Practically nobody."

The robot's shiny new right leg is immaculate, by the way. Accordin' to Bronson's utmost scrutiny. A nigh mirror image of its leftward double. "I'm tellin' ya, Barlmoro, you've got this down to a science! Dunno what the heck y'need me for, anymore. I'll give ya a hand with the installation, though. Only since ya asked real nice."

"Why thank ya, boss," says Fuel. Who didn't ask at all.

But disaster strikes the master, when he hunkers on down. A sharp pain in his lumbar is swift to knock him right outta commission. Abelle ends up nursin' his woes with Lifeup, while Bronson nurses a root beer. She lends Fuel her lackluster telekinesis, in his stead. An invisible force - only a little shaky - helps him attach both legs, safe and secure, to the central console.

"… This look even to you, boss?" Fuel tosses back. Like a consolation.

Bronson holds up a measuring level, from his seat on the sidelines. Closes one eye. Squints. N' forces a wincing grin.

"Right on, kid."

Couple mornings later, Lucas swings by, in that awfully quiet way he's wont to. Nearly spooks Fuel right outta his skin, when he gets a knock on the wooden entryway frame. He tosses a frantic tarp over the automaton's arms. Raises his soda can, to meet Lucas' coffee jar.

"Ain'tcha doin' chimera transit today? Whatcha need little ol' me for?"

"We're gettin' started now. Thought I'd drop by, while uh. While most folks're preoccupied."

Lucas can't read minds. Besides Claus', at least. Kumatora's, maybe a little. But no one else. He's assured Fuel of it, 'bout ten or eleven times. Still, he finds his stomach sinkin' a little. The way his childhood pal looks right through him.

"Claus mentioned y'were repairin' robots. Told me not to tell anybody. Then, ah… Then Abelle said so, too. Ain't sure if it's still s'posed to be a secret or not."

Right. Of course.

"Heh, well, shit! Y'got me! I know, I know, y'don't gotta tell me, it's real stupid. They ain't livin' things. Don't even got feelin's, n' here I am feelin' sorry for 'em. We oughtta be usin' their parts for scrap, n' chimera repairs, n.. n' if ya need me to, Lucas, I'll stop n' do that instead, honest to god. Didn't mean to be all sketchy about it, I jus'..? Mm?"

Ain't like Lucas to interrupt. He raises his hand, instead. With a real pitiful blast of his overcast sky eyes.

"Err. Sorry. Go ahead," says Fuel.

"Don't worry 'bout it. S'alright. I just wanted to offer, um.. I mean. I can't work metal, or electronics, or do none o' that programmin' stuff. But. If y'ever need a jolt? Y'know, like, to jump-start somethin'?"

Lucas flashes him a thumbs-up. A teeny spark of PK Thunder dances from his fingertip.

"Lemme know. Anytime."

He watches, over a meek sip of coffee. While Fuel's pensive panic melts away like marshmallow goop.

"Ha.. haha! Phew, fuck, man! Thank ya, Lucas!! I mean it. Thank ya...!"

[jetmultiverse]

Classic Timelines

Hay there, so ya, I got bored and wrote the prolog to a fanfic that's been circling around in my head. Don't have access to any actual fanfic sites so Ima put it here. So enjoy;

Classic Timelines: Prolog

"HAY LAZY-BONES!"

"W-wait! Sans it's just me! It's just me!"

"H-huh?" Sans wakes up to a terrified Undyne standing next to the living room couch, surrounded by sharp bones ready to shoot into her at any moment. Sans desummons them. Ever sense that one timeline who knows how long ago he's been more jumpy around her.

"Sorry Undyne, nightmare, wait, why are you here?"

"The picnic, duh, Paps told me to wake you so we can get going. Would've woken you earlier but Papyrus said to let you sleep." Undyne explains. "Heh, ya, that's probably a good idea, anywho, we should get going, don't want to leave Paps feeling, BONEly" *bedum-crash*

Undyne rolls her eyes "Come on bone-head" she then picks him up and the two meet up with Papyrus and are soon in Waterfall with Alphys and the human.

Everything was going well, finally, a peaceful timeline after oh so many genocides. But of course it wouldn't last. The kid had that same look in their eyes that they always did. They were planning something, it was just a matter of time until they played it out.

"O̷r̸,̶ ̴w̵e̵ ̵c̴o̵u̶l̸d̴ ̷j̸u̶s̴t̵ ̷s̴t̴o̴p̷ ̴w̵h̵a̸t̵e̵v̷e̵r̵ ̴t̶h̶e̶y̴ ̵a̴r̷e̶ ̵p̷l̵a̸n̴n̶i̷n̸g̸ ̵b̸e̷f̶o̶r̶e̵ ̴i̵t̸ ̸e̸v̷e̸n̵ ̷h̴a̸p̷p̸e̴n̵s̵" Sans' eyelights go dark, "I̷t̷ ̷w̸o̶u̵l̵d̴ ̸b̷e̷ ̶o̴h̶ ̶s̵o̶ ̶e̷a̴s̵y̷ ̶t̸o̴ ̴j̷u̴s̷t̶,̶ ̴g̷e̵t̷ ̸r̵i̴d̵ ̴o̴f̶ ̴e̶v��e̶r̵y̸o̸n̵e̵,̵ ̴g̷e̵t̷ ̵r̸i̵d̷ ̷o̷f̵ ̴t̶h̸a̶t̷ ̴p̸e̵s̷k̵y̴ ̵c̵h̴i̶l̶d̵,̴ ̶t̵h̴e̸n̷ ̵w̶e̵ ̷c̶o̶u̶l̸d̴ ̵u̴s̸e̷ ̴t̴h̷e̶i̷r̴ ̴s̶o̴u̵l̴ ̶a̶n̴d̸ ̶r̵e̶s̴e̵t̴,̵ ̷j̸u̸s̶t̵ ̸l̶i̵k̷e̵ ̴n̸o̶t̴h̷i̴n̷g̶ ̴h̵a̵d̷ ̸e̷v̶e̴r̴ ̵h̶a̴p̴p̵e̵n̷e̵d̵"

'No. No I won't, not this time.'

"Sans, are you alright?" Papyrus asks, "What? Oh, y-ya, I'm fine. Ima just go for a quick walk, my skull is starting to hurt again."

"If you say so, be careful brother, your health has seemed to have been on a decline as of late"

Sans just nods and wanders off, soon sitting under rock formation to calm himself down. Everything had been so good, the kid hadn't done any genocides, the only neutrals had been on accident, and the phantoms had stayed quite. But of course is head had to go and start hurting again. "*sigh* I just can't catch a break can I?"

"I̵͉̊͘'̶̨̘̏͆m̷̦̀ ̷͖͆ā̸̖̭́f̴͕͚͂r̸̮͒͝a̶͖̒͘i̷̯̽̚ḋ̸͇̓ ̴̫̈͊t̴͚͐̀h̵̲̪̅͗a̶̟̖̅t̷̛̟͝ ̷̣̬͂t̴̜̄ě̸͍͍n̷͙͜͝d̶̟͋̑s̶̺͝ ̶͎͔͌t̶̩̩̋ő̴̧ ̴̺̈́̏c̸̺̒̏o̸͔͌ḿ̷̻ė̷̡ ̴͚̽̾ẇ̶̤̙i̷̎͜ṭ̵̊̈h̸̞̥͋̃ ̷̙͠ͅb̷̯̑e̶̦͎̿͋i̶̠͝n̶͈͕̓ģ̷̗͠ ̷̙͎͊͊ṱ̵̗̀͘h̵̦̅̂ë̶̻́̈́ ̵̧̳̑o̸͇̰͛̌r̵̞̉i̴͔̇͂g̵̨̊i̷̥̓͑n̸̪͐a̴̩̫̐l̸̼͑"

"Oh, it's just you, are you sure there aren't any ways to get me out of this?"

"Ǐ̸̝́'̷͚͇͊̇m̴̢͂ ̸̬̲͐a̸̤͗f̸̢̮̐̏r̵̟̄a̷͚̥͊̽i̸͓̮͗̈d̶̺͌ ̸̙̑̉ṅ̸̲̰ơ̷͎̠͂t̵̳̘̿,̷̗̊͂ͅ ̷͇̂͛a̵̰̪̿̃t̶͇̻̃͘ ̶̥̎̈́͜ḻ̵͔͆̋ȇ̴̹̻̔á̵͚̈́ś̶̼̖̕t̸͎͓̉̚ ̴̗͚̓n̸͎͔̏õ̶͖n̶̤̉̌e̸̡̜͗̓ ̷̼̓̿ț̵̢̔h̴̹͗a̶̢̔͂t̷̰̮̿ ̸̥̚Ï̵̹͍̐ ̴̝̉c̴̡̬̊̔o̴̧͑̃n̸͖̐s̷̥͌ĭ̸̮ͅd̸̹̜̓e̸͖͗̚r̸͇̅̋ ̷̺͑̉a̶̼̫̔ ̸̹̤͊ḟ̸͖̓ä̵̭̜͐t̵̫̀ė̴͇̣ ̷̧̘̓͠w̷̙̭̿ơ̵̺̅r̴̮͌̉s̷̡͖͛̅e̸̜͒͘ ̷̩̂t̶̬͐h̵͕̼̾̉ä̸͉͂n̶̘̏͐͜ ̷͉̀d̴̹̋̈́ȩ̷̠̔̈́a̵͚̚͝ẗ̸̟́̀h̸̘͌"

"Heh, fair, say, mind getting me out of here for a bit? The ol' hole scar is starting to hurt again and if I don't calm down I'll start leaking hate like it's oil."

"F̶̤̾͂o̸̪̹͛r̴̭͆ ̶̹̦͑a̶̠͔͂ ̸̻̇͒l̸͚͆̂i̵̡͕̇t̶̙̓t̷̯͠ͅl̷̛̟̚é̸̢̢ ̵̩̮͐̎b̶̖͚̚ì̸̤t̵̤̮̔,̶̩̼̈́̐ ̴̜̆͛y̴̠̾e̶̖͙͑s̷̰̊̆,̸̡̙͒ ̸͓̕b̷͇̒̉u̷͙̟̇̂t̸̰̄̎ ̵̖̲̄w̵̞͂͘ê̶͜ ̴̙͓̓̇c̵̩̰̊a̷̬̜̿n̷͍̤͠'̶̪̋̀t̸̫̼̿ ̷̞͛h̷̟̱̑a̶̹̐̀v̸̨̧̀ḙ̸̔͛ ̸̹̪̿ẙ̵̨͍ǒ̵͕̉ú̷̥̙͆ ̶̦̈ͅo̵̳̰̎ù̵̖ț̴̹́̒ ̷͓́̃f̸̢̭̊ǫ̵͆̀ŕ̴̹͑ ̸̱̓l̸̜̪̋o̵̙͖͆ǹ̶̫͐g̷͔̼̅.̷̖̤͋ ̸̺̫̊"̷̥̍̇H̷̬̅̂ͅë̴̜͆͜"̵̣͗ ̷̠͑w̵̰̼̎͠i̸͕̇͒l̵̳͘l̸͔̪̊͝ ̸͍̗̋k̵͎̘̎̔n̸͎̘̆o̴̡̜͝w̴̲̉͗,̵͍͕̎ ̸͈̻̀a̷̹̪͐n̶̳̄d̶̖̒̉ ̶̧̄́"̷̹̾H̶̛̫̮̎e̵͖̾"̷̙͗̾ ̶̝͊͘a̸̙͘͠ļ̴̥̈r̶̢̠̾̇e̸͎͒à̵͔̒d̸̨̞̆y̷̨͔̒̾ ̷̥̀̈́d̵̨̈͋î̷̤s̶͉̈l̵͇͆͆i̵͉̟͋̽k̷͈̀è̶͎̺̈́s̶̞̙͆ ̸͔̯̐̀m̶̀ͅe̴̱͉͠ ̵̮̦͋̾e̷̯͂́ǹ̴͎̩͑o̶̯͉̓u̵̲̜͑g̷̔ͅh̴̫͌͝.̶̛̭̕ ̵̮̰̈́S̴̛̱̝͌ẗ̵̠̤́̈́a̵̐͜ͅr̶̭̳̅s̷̩͑͠ ̷͈̥̂k̵͜͝n̸͍̕ó̶̝̭͛w̶̗̃̈́ ̵̪̓ẃ̶̧h̴̝̍͠a̶̦͠t̷̝̼̔ ̵͚̀͑h̸̡̺̀̃e̵͈̹̾'̴̧͐̎d̶͔̻̏ ̷͖̄ͅḓ̵͑̂ͅo̸̙̅ ̴̯͋i̶̗̘̾f̸̛̫ ̵̢̳͝h̶̰͋̚ḛ̷̺̓ ̷̄͂͜t̶̤̥̋̅ḫ̶͈̈͌ö̶̟u̴̠͈̚g̴͚̓̾h̵̜̻͋t̴̥̾ ̷̙̈͑I̷̫̐͌ ̸͉́̎h̶̽̋͜a̴̹͔͂d̵̳̯͆ ̴͙͛̆ķ̸̛̥í̴̮͊ḏ̸̄n̸̪͑a̶̗͗̒p̶̢̩̓̊p̸̢͗͝ę̶̛̮̓ď̴̫̲͠ ̶̙̌t̷̗̐h̷̳̅̊ȅ̶̫ ̶̯͍̃o̵̻̗̎ǧ̶̪.̴̩̆"

"Thanks Error"

And with that they slip out and into Outertale, one of the few AUs who don't report Error or Classic entering it. The timelines are stacking up, more are escaping into the multiverse, and there is only so long Classic can hide all this from his friends.

[creepymonster]

// Lol I want to make a family tree with my friends, I just really think it would be cool! So I'm going to put down my friends and they'll tell me who they want to be in the family tree! Like for example if they want to be my dad my mom my sister my brother and so on. //

Tagging: @kingpizzachan @lolipopbrindibou @tekilus1 @dorky--artist @the-quiet-kid-dark @starry-p @k-9ozi-9 @moth-draws @nalasnowpaws @kingofk1nk

// My friends can add there friends to the family tree if they want, you guys just really mean a lot to me and I thought by making a family tree for us would make it special. So uh yeah. 🥺👉👈 //