#also speaking of I accidentally follow accounts that say 18+ without fucking looking at their bio and only later do i have to learn
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I feel like its horrible that i havent clarified my age yet but im NOT an adult i turn 18 next year if u post graphic porn pls dont interact 😭 ive had non bot irl porn accounts follow me and its scary as hell I IMMEEEEDIATELY blocked them
#your honor Hes neurodivirgent and a minor#if ur not a creep pls dont unfollow me i beg😭#also speaking of I accidentally follow accounts that say 18+ without fucking looking at their bio and only later do i have to learn#the hard way.#BUT YEAH IM SORRY I HAVENT CLARIFIED EARLIER#not specifying age can lead to a lot of stuff i apologize#but still i hope this doesn’t make u guys see me different bc ive like#genuinely had people hate me after they knew my age#I actually didn’t specify it for privacy reasons but i figured its worse if i dont
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Worship me
Warnings: 18+, unedited, yandere au, idol yoongi, stalking, online harassment, mentions/fantasies of sex and masturbation, obsession
Note: I wrote most of this in an hour. No one speak to me, I am unheathily in love with this yoongi. Also, I didn’t have the brainpower to write a like actual story with scenes and stuff, so I’ll probably post the little blurbs and such to go with this.
Until recently, Yoongi never found himself absorbed in his social media. Other than his members, and close personal friends he didn’t find himself scrolling aimlessly or jumping to see anyone’s new posts. That was until he stumbled on your profile. He was bored one night, and couldn’t sleep as he tossed and turned in bed so he went scrolling through his feed to check out what the other members were up to. He huffed as he accidentally clicked on Jin’s likes rather than hearting them.
He would’ve click off right away like usual, but he stopped at the last second to see your profile nestled towards the top of the list. He tilted his head, why not check out some profiles? It would pass the time and hopefully bore his insomnia away. Maybe it would have worked if he hadn't spent well over an hour just looking at your posts, reading every caption; piecing together some kind of life story to go with your admittedly cute face. He closed Instagram and called it a night, thinking nothing more of you.
Too bad he woke up the next morning, sleep-deprived and cranky; only to open Instagram and scroll. Just for a few minutes to wake up, but eventually, he found himself typing in your username without much of a thought as to if you had posted- you had. He had to stop himself from liking it. What was he thinking? He could only imagine what would come from his official account liking some random girl's post just minutes after she posted it.
No more, he told himself, there was no need to go to your profile to kill boredom. He got ready for the day and headed to the studio to do something far more productive.
Productivity came hard though, as every day his desire to check your profile grew. He couldn’t help it, you were so cute and your posts were addicting- there wasn’t even much special about them, Yoongi told himself one evening, but still he looked. After a week of taking in every selfie and photo, reading your captions closely, and making his way through your older posts; he had completely sunken into the never-ending hole that was stalking your profile. He made note of everything you did, your likes, what you ate that day; it felt weird at first, but every day he found himself caring less and less. He was alone, doing it in his free time. You posted it all for people to see, so didn’t he have a right to look?
Every few minutes he checked for your updates, he hated not being able to follow you. Sometimes the temptation to do so struck him hard, but he held off. He wanted to comment, and tell you how beautiful you were. How much he loved your interests and humor, hated how you interacted with other men in your comments. He wanted to talk to you, this wasn’t fair. Didn’t he deserve to talk to you?
Yoongi was drinking more than usual, why? He couldn’t say. Maybe sipping on liquor and staring at you has become his new favorite pastime. He spent god knows how long locked in his studio doing it, his work neglected as he favored you. He’d get tipsy, get flirty and think about everything he’d say to you. He typed it out sometimes, teasing the idea of sending you a message.
He wanted to send them, so badly.
He’d get upset, start drinking more and then get sloppy with his messages. They turned from light and flirty to downright awful. Paragraphs filled with how much he wanted you, in every way he wanted you. How he thought about going to that cafe you were always at just to see you, how he wanted to give you everything, how he wanted to touch you; how he wanted to fuck you and never speak to you again, or how he wanted to be with you forever. Use you. Love you.
Sometimes he would get a little too worked up thinking about, staring at pictures as you went out in cute outfits with your friends. Tonight was starting to feel that way, he was leaning back at his desk, eating up your new post about going out to the bar with some old friends. You weren’t that dressed up, inches of your skin weren't on display. You looked how you usually did, but Yoongi found himself shifting in his seat uncomfortably as his cock twitched in his pants. He was growing warm, mouth a bit dry as he m ogled over your pictures. Never had he considered himself to be so needy like this, but he couldn’t help but to slip down his pants and tug at his cock. Just thinking about you did something to him, made him want to whine for you to touch him; be with him.
He stood, one hand keeping him propped up against his desk as his head lulled down, little grunts and half moans filling the dark studio. His eyes fluttered open, looking at the space of the empty desk beneath him. He could imagine you laying there under him. Thrown with care in a rush of passion, his hungry eyes traced your every curve. Sometimes his fantasies felt so real, in the daze of lust he’d reach for you under him only to be reminded that you weren’t there.
He’d wake up the next morning and feign guilt for even thinking to speak to anyone that way, but deep down he knew he had passed guilt a long time again. What he said was true, and he wanted you to know it. He never felt guilt for getting off to the thought of you though. You were always posting such cute photos, didn’t he deserve to do it?
Two months into his insistent stalking a new face started to appear in your posts. Though you always said he was a friend in your captions or comments, Yoongi felt an immense weight of jealousy on his shoulders every time. Sometimes he could barely look at your profile, you posted too much with that damn guy. It pissed him off, unreasonable anger boiling in his as he gripped his phone tighter and rolled his eyes. The way you let other men put their hands on you. His arm was thrown over your shoulder, smiling ear to ear, or how when he held your waist in one.
He’d get drunk and think about all the nasty things he’d call you, and all the horrible things he’d do to that guy if he ever saw him.
Call him insane, but he created a fake profile just days after so that his fantasies of talking to you could be true. Still, locked in his dark studio with desire squirming and eating at his insides, he went all in. He couldn’t calm himself down to play it cool- he was damn near begging you to stop posting that guy, to accept his affection and not his. He went on and on about you, how he had been watching your profile- how one day he saw you at your favorite cafe, that he waited for hours hoping you’d come.
You read it but didn’t reply.
Tonight he was fuming, and a bit tipsy as he looked at your new post. He wet his lips, eyes burning as he kept a hard stare on his screen. Whoever that guy you are with was, he looked pathetic. Yoongi could only sneer. If only you knew that he had messaged you, not some random faceless man, but Min Yoongi- the Min Yoongi. Far superior to any random man you would ever post in your feed.
Rather than continued to gravel at the will of your Instagram feed with fucked up fantasies of you, occasionally hoping to see you in public and just look at your beauty. He should be making you chase him. If only you knew, you’d be at his fucking feet in an instant. The image sent a thrill to his head. He didn’t care about keeping his ego in check anymore. He was Min Yoongi; a genius producer, a worldwide superstar. Other men could never compare, you should be at his feet begging for every part of him.
He deserved you, how dare you disrespect him? How dare you not reply to his messages, shouldn’t you be grateful? You post so much, didn’t you deserve this?
He dragged a hand through his hair, his mind clouded with lust as he stared at your story. You were laying in bed with your cat, smiling as it walked over your stomach, the camera panning up to your smile as you giggled. A harmless video was no longer harmless to him, everything set him off. Everything you did made him want you more. He couldn’t recall a time that he had yearned so hard for someone, but it felt so good. He lets out a light sigh, rubbing himself over his jeans as he thinks about how you’d look so much better laying in his bed, or over his desk, or anywhere as long as he was there.
Though, he didn’t whine for you or think about how much he wanted you with him; he thought about how he deserved your presence. You should be here letting him have you, he deserved it. He was Yoongi, you should be here all over him. His eyes passed over his liquor bottles sitting untouched, he had stopped having to get drunk to think about you this way weeks ago. He ignored what that said about him, or how it marked how he was changing every day; falling deeper into a worse person.
He didn’t care anymore, he was Yoongi. He could do what he wanted, he had every right to treat you like this in his head and through the messages you still ignored. He wondered for just a second what the others would think of him if they found out. One day Namjoon had almost seen the messages on his phone, and Yoongi almost challenged him to see them and say something. So confident in his obsessions he was.
He was Min Yoongi after all, he deserved to have you at his feet worshiping him.
#bts#bts x reader#bts imagine#yoongi x reader#yoongi imagine#min yoongi#min yoongi imagine#min yoongi x reader#suga x reader#suga imagine#bts suga#yandere suga#yandere min yoongi#yandere yoongi#yandere suga x reader#yandere min yoongi x reader
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Seriously, What the Fuck Did I Just Watch? - Emily in Paris, Episode 8 Recap
Poster from IMDB
I literally cannot believe everything that happens in this episode happens. I honestly may not be able to even write this blog; that's how insane it all was. The episode begins with Emily leaving her apartment at the same time that Gabriel and Camille are leaving theirs, but Emily hides to avoid running into them, meaning we don't get to start our drinking game just yet. Camille then texts her asking if they can meet for lunch and talk about "something important."
At breakfast with Mindy, Emily is sure Camille knows that she and Gabriel kissed (for the second time). Mindy gives Emily some pretty good advice, "just don't kiss Gabriel," but Emily insists that "it's not that easy." It literally is, though? Like, just don't put your lips on his? It's really not that hard? You see tons of other people every day, and you don't kiss any of them, right? Or is Emily just going around and kissing literally every person she sees? I highly doubt it. The conversation moves on to Mindy, who has friends from her old life in China visiting because one of them, Li, is getting married. Mindy is nervous about seeing them again because they don't know that she's a nanny now.
For lunch (did she go to work at all or just out to eat?), she meets Camille at a sushi restaurant, clearly following Mindy's advice to avoid anywhere with steak knives. It turns out that Camille doesn't know about her kiss(es) with Gabriel and just wants Savoir to represent her family's champagne company. Emily says she will pitch it to her coworkers, and Camille invites her to her family's chateau for the weekend to learn more about the company. Gabriel will not be coming because he has to work and is still upset with Camille for asking her mother for a loan to help him buy the restaurant.
When she finally does go to the office, her coworkers are not very interested in the champagne company since it's so small. They then begin to roast Emily about the love triangle she's in with Gabriel and Camille. Without Sylvie, Luc, and Julien, this show would be completely unwatchable.
In the morning, while loading her belongings into Camille's tiny car, Gabriel shows up, and it's revealed that he is coming because he got the weekend off work. Emily is less than happy since she is still trying to avoid him. In addition, due to their bags, the three of them all have to squeeze in the front row, making Emily sit on Gabriel's lap. As they're driving, Camille asks, "everyone okay?" in a weirdly suggestive manner, and I again have to wonder if there's going to be a threesome at some point. It almost feels inevitable. But then, Camille also says she wants to set Emily up with her brother, so who knows.
At the "chateau", Emily meets Camille's mother, Louise, who is extremely cold to her and speaks French despite being fluent in English, and Camille's father, Gerard, who is naked by the pool, his genitalia covered by a very well placed champagne bottle. Louise sends Gabriel to the market, and he tries to get Emily to join him on the bike ride. Emily says no, as a bike ride on the French countryside to a farmer's market is way too romantic to do with someone who you are trying to avoid kissing, and then Emily and Gabriel get into a fight on whether they can be friends, Gabriel saying it's no big deal and Emily insisting it's best if they keep their distance.
Emily decides to go on a tour of the winery instead, where she chugs champagne like it's a natty light and she's an 18-year-old named Brad pledging Kappa Sig. She hits it off with the hot tour guide and discovers that he is Camille's brother, Timothée. Every Timothée is hot; this is only the second I've ever seen, but my point still stands. I also must point out how much he looks like Gabriel. But they're from France, not Alabama, so I won't say what I am thinking.
Gabriel cooks dinner for the group, and I have to say that making your girlfriend's chef boyfriend cook you dinner, in your home, on his weekend off, is rude. Let the boy have one night where he's not working. Gerard makes a lot of uncomfortable comments about the taste of Gabriel's coq and eggplant, and Louise lectures Emily that women aren't supposed to touch the champagne bottle at the dinner table, and you shouldn't talk business there either. Then Camille's parents start telling Gabriel that he should accept the money they've offered him, and it gets even more awkward than when Gerard was implying he sucked off his daughter's boyfriend. Emily posts a photo of her and Camille to Instagram, and we learn that her account has grown to 21.7k followers, which is only a 1.6k increase in 3 episodes, so it seems her meteoric rise is beginning to fizzle out.
Mindy texts Emily that they look very "cozy" and then tells her to check out her friend's livestream because she's about to surprise the rest of the bachelorette party. We then cut to Mindy in a jazz club with her friends, who announce that they're there so she can sing again. They reveal that they know that she's a nanny and don't care; they just don't understand why she's given up on her dream of being a singer. They finally convince her to get on stage. She insists she can't and tries to give the microphone back to the MC, but when he tells her no, she starts belting immediately.
Emily watches through her phone, and when the livestream ends, she can hear through the wall that Camille and Louise are fighting in French over the loan to Gabriel. To get away from it, she goes outside to sit by the pool. Timothée comes out to join her with a bottle of champagne. They have a heart to heart, and Emily says she left the US because "there were no decisions left to make, not even wrong ones."
Just when I was thinking this show is actually pretty good, the craziest thing that's ever occurred in the history of television happened. Emily asks Timothée about the difference between a Champagne flute and a coupe glass, and he tells her the coupe was designed using the shape of Marie Antoinette's breasts. Emily then takes the coupe glass and puts it up to her own boob. Timothée, without moving any closer or saying even a single word, reaches out and grabs Emily's other boob. Emily then guides his second hand to her tit that originally had the glassware on it. Seriously. This happened:
There's then a jump cut to Emily and Timothée having sex, and Timothée is bad at it. I mean, rapid jackhammering and weirdly intense concentration bad. Emily actually tells him to stop and repeats his own advice about drinking champagne back to him, "slow down. You're supposed to savor it." I threw up a little in my mouth.
The next morning, Emily wakes up with a hickey and then joins Camille's family for breakfast. There is a new man there, and Camille introduces him as the brother she wanted Emily to meet. Confused, Emily asks about Timothée, and Camille says Timothée is her younger brother and is 17. Just then, Timothée joins them, kissing Emily and apologizing for her hickey before sitting down. Everyone at the table realizes what happened, and Gabriel has to get up and leave to keep from laughing. Emily repeatedly insists she "didn't know," but I'm not sure how well that would hold up in a court of law. (For those curious, as I was, France currently does not have an age of consent but has a bill waiting to be passed that would set it at 15.)
Louise asks Emily to speak privately in her office. Emily immediately begins to apologize profusely, thinking Louise is going to yell at her over the whole accidental-statutory-rape thing, but Louise says she "doesn't care about all that" and just asks if her son is a good lover. I think Emily's face says it all:
Emily lies to Louise and says Timothée was sweet and gentle. She then uses the opportunity of having Louise alone to finally talk business since Louise had been dodging her all weekend. Emily comes up with an idea to get rid of their excess inventory, based on an Instagram that Mindy posted of her friends spraying a bottle of champagne over themselves in a club. She pitches the idea of "a bottle to sip, a bottle to spray," and says their champagne could be "the official 'spray' of Paris." I have to say; this is actually genius. Maybe Emily isn't completely terrible at marketing after all? Louise is worried about the legacy of her family's company since it's a little tacky of a pitch, so Emily proposes they create a second label and name it after Louise's husband's nickname, "Champére". Louise agrees, and the episode ends with Gabriel, Camille, and Emily piling into Camille's car to head back to Paris and Gabriel mocking Emily for being a cougar.
#Emily in paris#eip#Emily in Paris season 1#Emily in Paris season 1 episode 8#Emily in Paris family affair#Lilly collins#Ashley park#philippine leroy-beaulieu#Lucas bravo#Camille razat#netflix#Netflix original#tv#tv review#tv recap#television#television review#television recap#Emily in Paris recap#Emily in Paris review#Emily in Paris netflix#Netflix Emily in paris#girls gone mild#girlsgonemild#girls gone mild blog
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Centuries-Five
Word Count: 2673
Pairing: None
Characters: Dean, Sam, Hezekiah (OG Character-I picture him like the dude who played Laurent in Twilight and New Moon), Reader, Rowena (Known in this chapter as ‘certain witch’), Michael (Mentioned), Maggie (Mentioned), HooDoo Zombies (not sure if that’s a thing but in this world it is), HooDoo Priestess (Mentioned)
About: Dean worries that he hasn’t heard from the Reader in a week. The Reader has stumbled upon a case that has a whole town trapped not knowing what day it is. The Reader breaks free and finds herself back in Texas and face to face with Hezekiah.
Disclaimer: Language and Angst
A/N: If you are on my tag list and wish to be moved off or to different tag list let me know.
A/N 2: Tag or share to all your favorite SPN Accounts
Forever Tag List: @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @magssteenkamp @elansaidaris @440mxs-wife @hobby27
Dean/Jensen Tag List: @akshi8278 @sandlee44 @squirrelnotsam
*18+ CONTENT. ANYONE YOUNGER THAN THAT WILL NEED TO MOVE ALONG. I DO NOT WANT TO RISK MY ACCOUNT BEING THANOSED.
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Centuries Master List HERE
Want to read some of my favorite fanfics click HERE
DEANS POV
"It's been a fucking week, man," I pace the kitchen holding the cup of coffee Sam gave to me. "I haven't heard from her since I called her that night." I set the cup down and rub my face.
That phone still plays in my mind. I get why YN left, I really do, but I had just gotten her back myself. I wanted more time with YN before she pulled something like this. I knew her would too. When I pleaded with YN to come back she told me she had to do this alone. She didn't want me near Michael at all. Hell, I didn't want him to come back but things kind of changed but I wanted to do this with you. Then YN said "What if I wanted Michael back because a part of me loved him? I don't want you near if that's the case. I'll call you when I can, Dean."
I hate that YN had some weird ass connection with the archangel that took his body for a joy ride. That used it to stab her. To hurt her. That used it to manipulate her to do his bidding. That used some dream to get into her pants. I shiver remembering when I found out that she and Michael had dream sex. Something that Cas told us that even though in a dream, it was real. That used it to get her killed. I just can't get on bored with YN being in love with him. I just didn't believe her and I knew she would say what ever she needed to keep me out of whatever it is she are doing.
"I'm sure she will call when she calls," Sams doesn't look up from his laptop. "Last I check her phones tracker was lost somewhere outside of New Orleans."
I look up from my coffee. "Why are you tracking her?" Then it hits me, Sam knows. YN told him she killed Maggie. "Dude, if you even think about going after her, I won't hesitate to kick your ass."
Sams looks up and I see the pain and anger in his eyes. I feel for my baby brother, I really do, but I can't let him go after YN. Sam doesn't know how freaked out she had been learning she did kill her best friend. Sam doesn't know how she hid from him in her room. "I'm not going to lie, Dean," Sam closes his laptop. "It crossed my mind a few times this last week but I just know I can't. For all we know Hezekiah, the angel that has her mind on lockdown, could have pulled the strings on this and manipulated her like Michael had."
"Then why are you tracking her still?" I ask firmly. "If you aren't planning on going after her."
Sam leans back and takes a deep breath. "I guess to make sure she's okay, since she hasn't called at all."
I sit back and let out he breath I held in. I know Sam is hurting. I've been in his place where the girl I love has died. Maybe we can find a way to bring Maggie back. I can call Rowena, but she always has some sort of condition. "You said she was somewhere outside of New Orelans?"
"Yep," Sam nods. "Then her tracker literally just fell off the face of the earth. I should also mention I did try to call her but her phone is also out of service when the account says it's still in service."
My heart just barely stops. I know she's in trouble. I get up and make my way to my room to pack. "We should go look for her," I yell towards Sam.
"I know, and she will kill you knowing you didn't listen to her," Sam yells back. It sounds like he's in his room as well packing. Even though YN killed Sam's potential love, he still cared for her. He is still looking on the bright side of all of this.
As I'm throwing things into a bag my phone rings. I look down to see an unknown number. Not many people have this number but it could be someone needing help. I reach down and something tells me that I need to answer this.
"Hello?" my voice is cautious.
"Dean?! Oh thank God!" YNs voice sounds freaked out and out of breath. "How long has it been?"
"Wait, what? Why?" I ask confused.
"I don't have time," she yelled into the phone. I stop what I'm doing and turn around to see Sam in the doorway. I mouth to him that its YN on the line. His face is covered in worry. "Tell me how long it's fucking been since we last talked!"
"A week," I'm suddenly aware of the pounding in the distance over the phone. "Is everything okay? Are you okay? Whats going on?"
I hear some shuffling and banging around. "I accidentally stumbled on a case that involves some dark and heavy hoodoo. What's been a week for you has been only a day for me. I tried to call but my phone wouldn't work. I couldn't even leave either. I killed the witch or hoodoo priestess or whatever the hell you want to call her but when I did, the town folk turned to zombies. Now I'm trapped in a room with the only working phone in town."
I zip up my bag and signal Sam that we were leaving. "Honey, where are you? Sam tracked your phones last ping outside of New Orleans. We are on our way. Just hang tight."
YN gives a small chuckle. "Of course, one of you tracked me. And yes, theres a small town outside of New Orleans but it's not on a map. But I got this Dean, you stay where you are. Theres a window I can jump out of and high tail it to my car. All the magical bearers are gone now that the hoodoo chick is dead."
The sound of banging and wood breaking kills the call. "YN?" I try to call the number back but it's dead. I look at Sam and he sees the fear written all over my face
"I'm assuming we're still going?"
"You bet your ass we are," I turn the key in the ignition and we are on the road in seconds.
DEANS POV OVER
The line is dead.
A few hoodoo zombies stumble into the room. I throw the phone aside and eye the window thats a few feet from me. This is going to hurt like hell, I think as I take a couple steps backward to get a good running start.
"This window better already have a weak spot," I mumble as I run towards it.
Taking a leap towards the window, I break through landing on a dirt and broken glass. A few shards of glass pierce my skin but I don't care. I get up and make a bee line for my car. Only to be stopped by a few hoodoo zombies. I then notice that the one trying to eat my face off has a familiar necklace on to the one of the hoodoo priestess. I yank it off and kick the thing off of me and break the crystal-glass thing to the ground. A faint glow comes from it and breaks into several tiny specks of light and going after the hoodoo zombies. Once the light touches them they all drop like flies.
"Huh," I then grab my side. I look down and see a shard of glass sticking out of my side. I know I shouldn't pull it out but I needed to. I limp over to my car and throw open the trunk where I know there is a first aid kit. I bite my lip and slowly pull out the glass. A small whimper escaping my lips.
I toss the glass to the ground and quickly cover up the already bleeding wound. I take my flannel and cut off a long piece and tightly tie it around myself. Maybe I can talk Hezekiah into healing it. I painfully get into my car and pull my phone out of the glove compartment. The battery is suddenly charged and there's service.
I dial up Deans number and press send.
"YN?!" Deans voice sounds so excited. "Oh thank God. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I get the car on the road and speed out of town. Not evening caring to look back. "I have a bumps and cuts. The Hoodoo zombies are all dead. Apparently there was a necklace that held some sort of light thing that killed them when I broke it. Similar to how I killed the hoodoo chick."
Dean sighs on the other end. "That's good. Sam and I can finally have a good night in."
"Dean," I know hes on the road. He can't hid that from me. "how far are you out of Lebanon?" Dean's silent. "Dean, don't forget I know you really well. Anyone in danger that you care about, you drop everything and race towards them."
"About an hour," Deans voice is firm and deep. "I just couldn't live with myself if I just sat back and let you die. Again."
I close my eyes. Maybe taking off was a bad idea. Maybe I should have done this with Dean. "Whatever happened in that field was not your fault. You had zero control over it. Michael hijacked your body."
I can picture Dean licking his lips and staring out the front of the impala. "Right, anyway, where are you headed?"
Right, of course he doesn't want to speak about it. According to Cas, it's too much for him. Michael is a sore spot for him. But what they all don't know, Michael is also a sore spot for me too. Despite everything I've done. The only reason I would want him back is to beat the living shit out of him.
I think back to the last words I said before this whole thing happened. I told him 'what if I wanted Michael back because a part of me loved him?' I shouldn't have said that. I even wonder why I even did say that. Yes I have or had some feelings towards the archangel. Hell, he was incredible at making love to me, almost as good as Dean. I push it aside.
"I have a feeling about Texas," I tell him. "I feel like I've driven this road before. Just keep an eye on me if you don't hear from me."
"Sounds perfect, we will make our way there then," Dean is quiet for a second. "YN, I love you. Whatever happens and whatever you find out once your memories are back, just know that. I will always be here for you. Hell, I will die for you if I have to."
I drive all night and end up in Corpus Christi early morning. I don't know why I am here, but I know I am in the right place. I send a quick text to Dean telling him where I ended up and to tell me to call me when he's at a motel. I stare at the beach in front of me and feel a pull on the mark on my side. Which reminds me that I never asked Cas to look deeper into that mark. Too late for that.
I get out and walk the beach. The pull on my mark is strong. I look up and down the beach and my eyes land on a light blue beach house. I've been there before. I walk back to my car and drive towards the blue beach house. It's not the same place I walked out of before I killed Maggie. Maybe we changed location. I don't know, But I will find out.
I get out of the car and pull out my gun. I make sure it's loaded, you know just in case I need to stun the angel. I slowly and cautiously walk up to the door. I go to knock but then I slowly put my hand on the door knob. I slowly open the door and slip inside. Dean would be pissed for doing this part alone but, I need to know if the dick face angel is in here.
The house is spotless. Almost like no one has lived in it for sometime. It's also quiet. I poke around rooms and find nothing. Then I come upon a locked room. I look around the small hallway for a key until something hit me. I sweep my hand over the top of the door frame and feel a small objet. I take it down and see that it's a small key like thing. I use it to unlock the door.
I see a room that looks like I could have slept here. The bed is all messed up. Theres clothes thrown all over the place. I guess I didn't care about what my room looked like then. I pick up the clothes and stash them all in the hamper near the closet. Something tells me that I needed to open the closet.
I am not prepared for what I see in there. There are papers taped and pinned to the walls. A list of things that make me tear up. Maggies name is on that list along with the words HAIR FROM DEAN. It's crossed out so I must have gotten it from him without him knowing. There are pages from a book about how to create a vessel without really having a body.
"What the hell did I get myself into?" I ask myself.
"I was wondering when you would come back," a voice startles me. I turn around and see a dark skinned man with dreads in the door way. "I see that wall has been activated too. So how did you find your way back if you're memory is gone."
I watch as he walked a few steps into the room. He spots the gun in my hand. "I'm assuming that you're Hezekiah," I say staying where I stood. "According to Cas, there are some holes and cracks in the wall. Could explain why I was able to find this place. He was also able to pull out one memory from me. Maggie."
"Ah, yes, the girl from Michael's world," Hezekiah smirked. "As I recall you didn't have much regret for it. You really really wanted to see Michael. Well," Hezekiahs smirk got bigger. "That's what I made you think when I brought back and refused to do what I needed." Hezekiah must have seen the look on my face. "Yep that's right, when I brought you back, with a little help from a certain witch, you flat out refused to help me get Michael back. Told me and I quote 'go die in a ditch you self righteous spineless dickless asshole.' So I toyed with your mind some and now we are closer than ever."
Fuck, I think. "So not only did you throw up a wall to cover your ass, which you did a piss poor job by the way, you messed with my mind to get you to bring back Michael. For what? Control? Power?"
"To rule Heaven, along side him," Hezekiah raises his voice. "Once he's back and finishes what he started, I can kill him and rule Heaven. With you by my side of course." He takes a few more steps towards me. What was it with angels want to rule heaven with me by their side.
"Okay, I'll continue to help, but first," I holster my gun. I know that if I don't go along with this I will die. I need to play along. "Give me my memories back."
Hezekiah looks me up and down trying to get a read on me. "You're still very hard to read." He closes the space between us. He smiles wickedly as he touches my forehead. Dean is going to be so fucking pissed.
#Centuries Story#SPN#spn fanfiction#spnfandom#spn final season#spnimagine#spn family#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural imagine#supernatural fic#supernatural family#fanfic#spnfanficfriday#dean winchester#dean winchester smut#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester angst#dean winchester x reader#dean angst#dean smut#dean fluff#sam and dean#Sam Winchester#dean x reader#Jensen Ackles#Jared Padalecki#Misha Collins#michael!dean#og character
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A Milkshake and Double Scoops | Steve Harrington
masterlist found here
pairing - Steve Harrington x insecure!chubby!reader
word count - 3,029
warnings - name calling and just like people being mean to reader
A/N - I swear I’m still super far up Marvel’s ass but right now I’m in a hella Steve Harrington phase so ya’ll will have to just deal | If those of you on the taglist don’t want to be tagged in Stranger Things stuff just let me know :) | I promise I’m seeing you’re requests. If I haven’t responded yet just know I’m thinking about them and working on them! Just don’t want to put anything out until I love them a lot and know you will too x
summary - You’ve been dealing with bullies your whole life, but that doesn’t mean their words and actions don’t still hurt. You’re determined to convince everyone -Steve Harrington included- that you’re strong enough to handle it on your own. The thing is, you don’t have to.
You hated Hawkins. You hated the small minds that came with the small town, and you longed to leave. You wanted to live in New York or Chicago or some other big town you had never been to before. Anywhere that would get you away from the same people who had been calling you names and picking on you since elementary school.
You had always been a bit bigger than your peers, never being able to share clothes with your friends because they were size sixes while you were size twelve on a good day. To make your life even harder, you lived with your mom who hardly made enough money to maintain a comfortable lifestyle for the both of you. You were always wearing outdated clothes that no longer fit her and often hung awkwardly on your body. It shouldn’t have mattered, but to a lot of the shallow kids of Hawkins, money was equated with worth.
You had always been unpopular. Still, you could pick out the exact moment in your life when the worst of the bullying began. You were in 3rd grade, and it was Halloween. All the kids were going to dress up at school. Your mom couldn’t afford to buy you a cool costume like the other kids, so she scrambled around the house to find something she could put together. She ended up finding a pair of pink sweatpants and a pink t-shirt and decided to create a pig costume. Between the nose she made by covering a bit of a toilet paper roll in pink fabric and the ears she made out of construction paper and an old headband, you loved it. Not yet exposed to the cruel world of the financial hierarchy, you thought you made a great pig. Your mom snapped as many pictures as she could on her Polaroid camera before sending you on the bus to school.
The moment the first wannabe-Jedi called you “Piggy,” the name stuck.
When you got home from school, your mom was horrified to find your headband snapped in two and your makeshift nose crumpled up at the bottom of your backpack. You cried, telling her how all the kids picked on you and tore your costume to shreds. Blind with fury, you found the Polaroids from that morning and ripped them all in two. It was the first time you realized that without a bigger number in your bank account and a smaller number on the scale, you were never going to be friends with anyone in town. It was also the first time you told your mom you hated her.
For a long time, you blamed her for everything. You blamed her for your round tummy, wide hips, and thick thighs, and you blamed her for your outdated clothes and lack of cool toys. It wasn’t until you were about ten that you actually started to understand your mom’s situation a little more. You accidentally walked in on her crying over a stack of bills too high for you to count. It was then that you realized life may’ve seemed hard for you, but it was nothing compared to the actual toll it was taking on your mom.
Now you were 18 and a bit less of a brat. You were really close to your mom and helped out around the house as much as you could. That included getting a horrible summer job at Scoops Ahoy, an ice cream place at the mall. It was horrible only because being at the mall meant seeing kids from school you desperately wanted to avoid.
This also meant seeing Steve Harrington. Everyday.
At first, it was miserable. You knew his reputation, and he hadn’t exactly been the nicest person in high school. No, he never joined in on the name calling or abuse, but he didn’t exactly speak up when his friends spewed their venom. Every kid who gets picked on would agree that the people who stand in silence are just as guilty as the bullies. So when you first got the job, you were hell bent on never saying a word to Steve.
It wasn’t just your curves and financial status you got from your mom. You also got her stubbornness.
It was clear to you from the very beginning that you didn’t know Steve at all.
You expected him to ignore you, but he was constantly trying to strike up conversation. No matter how many times you ignored his bait, he didn’t relent. It was admirable, yes, but you still weren’t going to cave.
But after only a few weeks, you lost all resolve. The first time Dustin came to visit him, Steve turned into an entirely different person. He was funny, energetic, thoughtful, and didn’t seem to care at all if anyone from school saw him acting so childish. It was this version of Steve that you liked the most, because it seemed to be his truest self. Who would’ve thought this 14-year-old would break the hard exterior of Hawkins’ biggest heartthrob?
“This must be (Y/N),” Dustin said, giving you a grin and leaning his elbow against the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Have you?” you said, raising an eyebrow and hoping to mask your blush with a confident smirk. Deep down though, you wondered if Dustin knew you better as Piggy than as (Y/N). The rest of the town certainly did.
“Oh yeah,” Dustin said. “Harrington talks about you all the time.” Dustin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “He’s a pretty great guy, yeah?”
“Is he?” you quipped back, shooting Steve a teasing look. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Dustin was quick then to talk Steve up, despite the older boy’s protests and cheeks flushed red from embarrassment. The way Dustin talked about him, he did seem pretty amazing.
From that day on, you could feel yourself falling for Steve. You never hung out outside of the Scoop, and you knew he only talked to you to be nice, but you couldn’t help it. You may’ve been stubborn, but you had a heart, and you were still a teenage girl.
About halfway through the summer, you were slotted to close the shop, which you hated doing with a burning passion. It took the most work, and you hated being in the mall alone. Scoops was the last shop on your floor to close.
Just as you went to close the gate to the shop so you could start cleaning up, three kids from your high school -Tommy, Nicole, and Carol- walked in. “I was just about to close,” you said, feeling your hands start to sweat anxiously at the mere presence of your peers.
“Well, the clock says you’re still open another three minutes,” Tommy said. “I think that’s enough time for a milkshake and a few double scoops.” You knew better than to protest, so you gave them all a short nod and headed back into the shop. It didn’t take long for you to prepare their desserts and ring them up, but it took them a bit longer to leave. They promptly plopped themselves at one of the booths and took their time eating. It didn’t even look like Tommy was going to drink his milkshake. You were aggravated.
Just as you decided you had had enough, the three of them walked up to you. You could see in their eyes that they were looking for trouble. “My ice cream was the wrong flavor,” Carol said. “I want a refund.”
“But you ate it all,” you said.
“Well I wasn’t going to let ice cream go to waste,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing.
“I can’t give you a refund on something you ate,” you said.
“Well, Piggy,” Tommy said, “maybe you should eat this.”
Before you could process his words, Tommy dumped his milkshake over your head. Nicole shoved her unfinished ice cream cone against the front of your uniform, smearing the chocolate all over the white fabric. Tears immediately came to your eyes as you watched the three of them laugh and run out of the shop. You followed them only to close the gate and make sure they didn’t come back. You could hear them oinking until they left the mall.
You retreated to the back of the restaurant, sobbing, and walked over to the sink to try and get the ice cream out of your hair and off your shirt. You quickly realized it was a lost cause and sunk to the dirty floor in a heap of tears. You pulled your knees up to your chest and let the tears turn into sobs.
The main reason you worked at Scoops was so that you could get away from people like Tommy, Carol, and Nicole. Not only would you probably never be able to afford to make it out of Hawkins, but you had to spend the entire summer (if not more) serving your bullies. Wasn’t life so cruel?
The back door to Scoops suddenly opened, and Steve’s voice rang out before you even saw him. “It’s just me (Y/N)!” he called, probably not wanting to scare you. “I just left my-“
Steve froze in his tracks when he saw you. You scrambled to get off the floor as if that was the main thing that left him speechless. “What happened?” he asked, taking a few steps over to you.
“It’s nothing,” you said, turning to the sink again to get the ice cream out of your hair. You couldn’t get your head under the faucet, and you knew you’d make a mess if you tried to spray it out.
“(Y/N)-“
“Please, Steve,” you choked out. “Please just leave me alone, okay?”
“Who did this to you?” he pressed, ignoring your protests. You didn’t say anything. “I’m not leaving until-“
“Jesus Christ, Harrington!” you cried, slamming your hands against the edge of the sink. “What do you want me to say? That Tommy, Carol, and Nicole came over just to fuck with me? That Tommy called me Piggy and dumped his milkshake on my head? It’s not exactly breaking news that everyone hates me, so I don’t understand why you’re suddenly itching to get to the bottom of this.” You paused and took a deep breath. “So just do me a favor and go home.” You hadn’t looked at Steve the whole time you were talking, but, had you done so, you would’ve seen his jaw clench, his hands ball into fists at his side, and his chest heave at the mention of people he once called his friends.
Steve glanced around the kitchen until his eyes fell on a barstool. He grabbed it, brought it over to the sink, and motioned for you to sit down. “Let me help you,” he said.
You weren’t sure why, but you did.
You sat down, and Steve helped you move the seat around so you could lean your head back against the edge of the sink somewhat comfortably. Steve turned the water on soothingly warm and started running the hose attachment through your hair. You closed your eyes and focused on steadying your breathing. Your heart was racing for a few reasons, one being that you were still holding in tears from the whole situation, and another being that you were melting under Steve’s gentle touch.
Steve took advantage of your closed eyes to study you. It wasn’t often that he saw your face so relaxed. Your brows were usually furrowed or your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You always seemed like you had something troubling on your mind. Now he saw first hand why that might be. He always knew you had been picked on. Hell, he had been hearing people call you names since middle school. He just had no idea the abuse wasn’t just verbal. He hated to see you in pain -emotional or physical. As he watched your eyes squeeze shut even tighter than they already were (presumably to hold back more tears), he would’ve done anything to take your pain away. He was also contemplating pounding Tommy’s face in.
“I’ll make sure you don’t close alone anymore,” Steve said, running his fingers from the top of your head to the ends of your hair. You couldn’t help but let out a content sigh, but quickly pressed your lips together and hoped he hadn’t heard. He had, and a soft smile was growing on his lips. He wondered what other pretty noises you made.
No one expected Steve to have a crush on you, least of all him. Everyone assumed Steve fell for the Nancy Wheeler type: pristine, put together, slim, kind, popular, and with two parents and a pretty house at the end of the street. The thing was, Steve didn’t really have a type. He liked who he liked, and after everything with Nancy, he was way more careful with who he gave his heart to. He found that by doing that, he was meeting a lot of great people. His favorite person being you.
He fell for you, hard. He wasn’t sure if it was your emotional strength, your stubbornness, your wit, or your soft skin stretching across your delicious curves that got him, but he was done for about twenty minutes after you started working at the Scoop. He couldn’t even count the number of times he imagined having your thick thighs wrapped around his head as he pleasured you to completion. He was dying to have you. He could see you opening up to him little by little, and the last thing he wanted was for you to still associate him with guys like Tommy as so many people did.
“I can take care of myself,” you said as Steve shut the water off. He grabbed a clean towel from one of the drawers and squeezed your hair dry. You sat up slowly, taking the towel from him and shaking it through your hair.
“I know that,” Steve said, running a damp hand through his own locks. “But I, I just, I-“
“You what, Steve?” you asked, cutting off his hopeless rambling. “You want to be my knight in shining armor? You want to use me as your charity case to prove to everyone they you’re not the same asshole you were in high school? Well newsflash, Harrington. I’m not playing your game, okay?”
Steve groaned and muttered a soft, “Fuck this,” before taking one large step towards you, grabbing your face in his hands, and pressing his lips to yours. He hesitated a moment, giving you a chance to pull away if you wanted to. Steve was a lot of things, but he would never be a guy who forced himself on a girl.
So when you slid your arms around his neck and locked your fingers in his hair, he took that as permission to nibble on your bottom lip (the bottom lip he had seen you sink your teeth into plenty of times before) and slip his tongue into your mouth. You tasted like mint, but not like toothpaste. He wondered if you had taken a spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream at some point during the day. He knew it was your favorite.
Your walls crumbled to the floor the minute Steve’s lips landed on yours. His hands moved from your cheeks to the back of your head, tangling themselves in your wet hair. You just wanted to be close to him. Seeing him in clothes that weren’t his sailor uniform made you want to see him out of clothes altogether. But with Steve taking his clothes off probably came you taking your clothes off, and there were a lot of parts of you you weren’t ready for anyone to see, especially not Steve Harrington.
One step at a time.
You jumped onto the counter and locked your legs around Steve’s hips, keeping his body close to you. He moved his lips from yours down to your pulse point. He sucked your skin, waiting for your blood vessels to break before he moved. He was dead set on leaving his mark on you. You whimpered and tossed your head back, exposing even more skin for him to kiss. And kiss it he did. You were starting to seriously wonder if you had enough make-up to cover all of his marks in the morning. You then wondered if you even wanted to. Let the world see them. Let Tommy and Carol and Nicole see them. Let everyone see that someone wanted to make you theirs, even if you were the only one who knew that “someone” was Steve Harrington.
When Steve finally pulled away from you to catch his breath, he hung his head and let out a breathy laugh. “I like that you can take care of yourself,” he said, looking up at you with soft eyes. “And I like that you don’t need me to be your knight in shining armor. I don’t want to be your knight in shining armor. And the only person who I want to see that I’m not still an asshole is you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me. Just you.” You brushed a bit of his hair away from his forehead, wanting to see all of his face and capture the complete sincerity in his features.
“I think you’re pretty awesome,” you whispered, tracing his jaw with your fingertips.
“Yeah?” Steve laughed. You giggled and nodded. “I’d like to take you out sometime.”
“Okay,” you said, nibbling on your bottom lip. Steve grinned and ran his thumb across it, prompting you to release it.
“How’s tomorrow around 10:00?” he offered. “We can get coffee at that place across from the arcade.”
“That’s my favorite coffee shop,” you said. Steve grinned and placed a soft kiss to your lips.
“I know.”
The image the kids at Hawkins High painted of Steve Harrington was not an accurate depiction of him at all. But, if you were the only person who got to know that, that was okay with you. And with Steve.
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TAGLIST
@bangtan-serendipity | @planetdemon | @the-singing-clown406 | @tomshufflepuff
#stranger things#stranger things imagine#steve harrington#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#plus size reader
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This was meant to be me venting, but accidentally became a history of my relationship with religion instead.
Alright. So.
Came here to talk about religion because I have no outlet. If you don't want to hear it, just block me. I'm not trying to convert anyone, I'm just explaining things to see if anyone has a feckin name for my damn belief system, because I really want to avoid accidentally starting a religion or something and pissing everyone off more.
People who got pissy last time got on my ass about how I probably wasn't even ethnically jewish, so here's the whole story.
I was raised by a mother who was raised by a non-practicing jewish mother, both of whom converted to christianity in the late nineties, shortly before I was born. They're ethnically jewish, or so I'm told.
Not super related, but, in case it comes up later, I was raised with the belief that my mother's family is a long line of very careful psychics, which roughly means "a lot of the family is sensitive to spirit shit but avoids it like the plague because it's scary."
I was raised by a father who is, as far as I know, not ethnically jewish. He's of mixed asian heritage, so i guess maybe, but I'm going to assume he's not. His parents, however, were both religiously Jewish; my grandmother was adopted and raised Jewish, and my grandfather converted sometime between meeting and marrying my grandmother. They are reform. My father wasn't the most religious guy in the world, but, if you asked, he'd probably either make a joke about ohio state football or say that he was jewish.
I was raised by my father and mother together until I was seven. We didn't always consistently go to church in early childhood, but my mother did take me to two or three for months or years at a time during the 2-5 period. We celebrated christmas and easter, and i had an illustrated children's bible that, if I remember right, was split into two parts: the first was marketed to christian and jewish kids, and the latter- new testament- to christian kids. Guessing the marketing from the publishing organizations. I think I had a few other religious books and videotapes directed towards kids, both jewish and christian. I specifically remember one that illustrated mana as vanilla wafers for some reason. At seven, my parents divorced, and I primarily lived with my dad.
My dad didn't take me anywhere on the regular, but when I visited his parents for the full weekend, they'd take me to the synagogue. This was every couple of weeks. We celebrated major jewish holidays, but smaller festivals only really got a mention. When I was ten, my dad and stepmother married. She wasn't really religious, but her parents were christian, so christmas was back on our roster then, too.
I started going to hebrew school in 6th grade, but I didn't actually have a bar mitzvah because I ended up getting kicked out at around the time I turned 13 due to a whole thing about me going trick or treating when I was "too old" or whatever, shitty parents, so I ended up having to go live with my mom after that.
At this point, my mom was studying to become a youth pastor, and enrolled me into a local christian school with about a hundred students. Unfortunately, this ended up being a weird fundamentalist cult with its own textbooks and teachings, including that bacteria was not real, AIDS was a summoned by The Gays™ to kill all the christians, evolution was a conspiracy meant to dissuade people from religion, et cetera. It was fucking bizarre, at one point they called several of us posessed for being autistic and otherwise neurodivergent, and they categorized us students into the groups wise, fools, simple, and scorners. (I was a fool, by the way.) It was really not ideal, and the weird punishments were pretty traumatic. There was some weird brainwashy type word repetition involved with lookatthepersonsayokayanddothetask over and over and over, and it sucked.
So, I was at that school for about 18 months before they kicked me out for refusing to stand on one foot for an extended period of time after tapping my foot in class which caused a student who disliked me to complain.
At the same time, my mother was working at a small church out of town that wasn't exactly a cult, but I think the pastor kind of wanted it to be? It was like he wanted the cult aesthetic™ and devoted followers and shit, but only had the skill to make a really sketchy and toxic small town church with a lot of people sitting on blankets on the floor instead. That church honestly wasn't a big part of my life the way the fucked cult was, I just sort of went most weeks. I went to a confirmation class there- I'm pretty sure it was a methodist church- and got confirmed into it shortly before my mother left because the administration was weird in like an asshole way, and that was the last I knew of it.
I was homeschooled for a while during the end of this period due to all of the school stuff. Religiously, by this point in my life, I'd developed some of my own beliefs. I believed in most of the new testament and most of the torah, but I didn't have much exposure to the talmud or much of a comprehensive education in any religion. I think I read a bible cover to cover at least once as a kid, including some shitty commentary (it was a preteen bible) that gave me some internalized homophobia issues for actual years. I was also super curious about the paranormal but terrified of possession- remember the cult?- and I was curious about the idea of some people being reincarnated if they were needed on earth again. Not sure where exactly that idea came from, but it was there. People told me from a lot of sides that those with the wrong religion would go to hell, and the cult tried to teach us all to convert people at any opportunity, but, after leaving, the whole situation just made me massively uncomfortable. I did continue to practice the jewish traditions I knew how to do on my own- like hannukah and a weird private sort of passover- and my mother would support this by getting me what I needed for it, even though she didn't participate and I didn't go to any place of worship during holidays.
After getting kicked out of school not that long after adjusting to not seeing my dad or siblings on his side, we moved. My dad lost custody at some point and we no longer had to live close, so we moved and tried to find a better school. It was a Catholic grade school this time, and I was there for about six months, if I had to guess. It was actually a pretty good school, but I had some issues at the time, so I didn't enjoy it much. I was scared of teachers and administration by then, and I had trouble going the entire school day without panicking or not being able to work. There was a period of a week or two in which I didn't speak at school at all. We ended up settling on half days, and, after that, I did well.
The religion class was awkward. The other kids seemed to know more than me even though I'd thought I had a good grasp on religion at that point, and the little information we shared I'd been taught from a very different perspective. Everyone was very nice to me, but I definitely stood out as the kid who wasn't catholic at that point.
Chapel was even weirder. We had to go every wednesday during school, and catholic churches had so many traditions I didn't know about, and the stuff I knew about from either my jewish grandparents or protestant churches had a different name for some reason.
I'm looking at you, sacraments.
Anyway.
I don't think I got much out of the chapel, but religion classes were kind of cool. I liked learning about stuff I hadn't heard before, and the things that were the same were a comfort.
Soon, though, I was graduating eighth grade. I ended up going to a catholic high school. I was still out of place, but I at least had a basic idea of what to do during the mass this school had monthly.
I liked the religion classes here more, how they were an open discussion of everyone's opinions and experiences, and I liked that both of the most recent schools I'd gone to had actual textbooks with facts and studies in them. There were more kids there who weren't catholic, and I felt more comfortable to actually explore religious topics with people. I had a better understanding of catholic beliefs, a decent idea of their traditions, and could recognize at least a few of their holidays I couldn't have before.
I spent my last year of high school at a public career center to start working towards a medical career.
Now, my current beliefs. If you don't want to read it, then just don't.
I haven't been to any place of worship since my school required it, but I do have strong beliefs. I believe in one God (which I generally write all the way out after a billion essays for religion class) who created everything and watches over humans, which he made in his image, etc etc etc. I believe the old stories from the tanakh/old testament/don't care what you call it and the new- yes, including the key messiah bit- though I do think it wasn't all translated perfectly and that it was written by humans who made mistakes and poor decisions sometimes in their writing. I believe people's salvation comes through their intention, not through a piece of knowledge or a creed or good deeds or a tradition, and I believe different people worshipping in different ways is how it should be, because different people NEED different styles of worship. I believe that if someone is genuinely mistaken and incorrect in who or what they believe in, it doesn't MATTER because it's the intention to strive to do good and not harm fellow people that counts. I'm a little guarded about sharing my own beliefs, hence why I made an anonymous tumblr account, but I'm generally very curious to hear about what other people believe. I find that, for me, celebrating Jewish holidays and traditions helps me get closer to God, and I'd like to find a place of worship one day, but churches fucking terrify me now. I worship best by sitting and discussing beliefs, but I have no place to do it now that I've graduated school. I also developed some of my less related beliefs now: I believe in a lot of old stories that have popped up around the world, like fairies of various places, different creatures and entities and things that have become the subject of curiosity or worship, spirits and things, etc. I think many of these creatures exist, just that they may be different from us in the nature of how they interact with the world and matter and that, and I don't think they're deities or anything. I believe in ghosts of humans in some cases, too, though I believe sometimes other things mimic them. I don't find the idea of God having someone reincarnated if he wants the same soul to play many parts in the world unlikely at all, though that's really just me speculating. I still believe in demons, and I still don't want anything to do with them.
A lot of my understanding of things comes from Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant teaching in a strange mishmosh of culture and religion.
I relate to a lot of things directed at Jewish people, and I understand what's directed at Catholic people. Things directed at Protestant people are both understood and, unfortunately, make me instinctively wary due to weird cult trauma (that in no way reflects on actual protestant people, i love you guys some people just suck and twist religion) so are hard to interact with.
In a lot of ways, I'd consider myself Jewish. Culturally, at least, if my religious beliefs aren't "validly jewish" or whatever.
I have literally zero actual connections to any Catholic church, but I almost feel like a weird half-catholic. That's not a thing, but it's how it feels. I believe a lot of it, and I'm interested in all of it, even if I have my disagreements, plus I understand the environments and culture of it, even if I'm a bit of an outsider.
A year- or maybe two years, idk- ago, I mentioned some upcoming holiday or smth in a post and tagged it messianic. That's the closest name I could find for my experience, but apparently some organizations who use the term suck or something. I ended up getting a bunch of asks calling me a predatory fake jew or a fundamentalist christian trying to appropriate judaism or other weird shit that I'm NOT DOING. Because of my experiences in the past, those comments still weigh so damn heavy on my that I broke my resolve and made this stupid account to complain about it.
I don't have a name for what I am. I don't know where to go to talk about my beliefs with people, or what environment I could find to actually practice whatever weird faith I've dreamt up with other people in a way that isn't just picking part of what I believe and leaving the rest to rot. I feel closer to God and more spiritually fulfilled practicing the festivals that call back to what the Jewish people of old went through, but I also believe in the messiah of the new testament, and I like to read the pope's opinion on things, even though I think no human is perfect or infallible. I want to talk about old writings with people and discuss what they mean, from my religion or others, and I don't want to give any of what's right for me spiritually up.
I don't know what this post is for.
Maybe I'm just venting, but I do want to know if this is a thing or if I'm the only one with this belief system. I'm sick of getting shit for the actions of people who I'm not affiliated with, so apparently calling myself messianic doesn't cut it. I can't call myself "spiritual but not religious" either, because I'm very religious, it's just very personal and not something I shove at people, and "christian" doesn't describe a solid half of what I believe. Off and on again I've considered converting to Catholicism, but I think that's kind of grasping at the closest thing that won't piss off tumblr anons as much. (And yeah, the larger Catholic church can suck, but I honestly think I'm gonna get that with any religion with a large following)
Rambling aside:
I want to find a short description that hits the major points of what I believe in order to help me find a place or group of worship that actually matches my spiritual needs without compromising the cultures that I grew up with and making me feel like shit.
(Also don't try to change my beliefs thanks)
I'll be tagging this with anything I've mentioned or vaguely heard of that might be related so relax ok
#dont get pissy with me ok#jewish#judaism#christian#christianity#catholic#catholiscism#wow that was hard to spell#messianic#messianic judaism#hebrew roots#i think thats what thats called?#makuya#???#half of these are off of wikipedia#religious#religious discussion#religious discourse#please respond someone im dying give me information#just dont be a dick
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Fever - part 3
As I promised here is third part of Fever. Part 1 Part 2
Paring: Alex x reader x Marco
Word account: 1700 (I got a little carried away)
Warnings:NSFW, oral(male and female receiving), fingering. This is definitely 18+ fic
Tags: @akamaiden,@heathen-whore,@missrobyn81,@starfox-92, @kikuthestrange,@cc8302,@cbouvier23,@kerouacsroad,@ivars-snowflake,@alicedopey,@mblaqgi, @steadypiepsychicflower, @kenzieam @gwilson937, @perfectus-in-morte, @imnotinsanehunny, @vikingsandetc,@opalscarab,@captstefanbrandt
Gif belongs to @bonniebirdsgifcentre
It's been 10 days since you, Marco and Alex spent the eventful afternoon together. Unfortunately they were both very busy, so you didn't have time to hang out again. You missed them both. Not because of the great sex. They were your friends, you missed talking to them and spending time together. So when your friend Ida called you and invited you to Vikings wrap up afterparty in one of the clubs in Dublin, you happily agreed to come.
You arrived around 8 PM after work. You searched the crowd and spotted Jordan and Ida and walked to them.
"Hey guys" you greeted them.
"Hi, Y/N, you look amazing" Jordan smiled friendly and motioned you to sit on the chair next to him.
"How are you, Y/N? Long time no see."
"I am fine. But work's keeping me busy," you smiled softly at him.
"And I thought that it's your boyfriend, who's keeping you busy" he winked.
"I don't have a boyfriend Jordan," you blushed.
"That's a pity Y/N. It seems like the Irish boys can't appreciate you. Their lost," he winked at you and you turned to face Ida.
"Where are Alex and Marco?" you asked as casually as you could muster.
"They should be here any minute" she assured you.
"Speaking of the devil" she smirked and looked at someone standing behind you. Before you had a chance to turn around, someone covered your eyes.
"Hello Alex" you said immediately. You would recognize his fingers anywhere. They made you feel so good couple days ago.
"Wow Y/N, lucky guess" Jordan chuckled.
"I don't think it was a guess, Jordan. She seemed pretty sure that it's Alex" Ida said suspiciously.
"How did you know it's him?" she asked and you gulped nervously.
"I don't know, I just had a feeling that it's Alex" you gave her a lame excuse and saw the smirk plastered on Alex's gorgeous face. He knew exactly, why you recognized his fingers.
"Where is Marco?" Jordan asked and you were happy that he changed the subject and you were also curious, why he didn't arrive with Alex. They usually went everywhere together.
"He's with Annie," Alex said and you felt sting a of jealousy.
"Annie from costume department?" Jordan smirked.
"That Annie who's got the biggest crush on Marco?" he added and smiled smugly.
"Yep. She's helping him with something" he explained and watched your reaction.
"I am sure, she is" Jordan laughed and you felt your blood boil. What is wrong with you? You have no right to be jealous. He isn't your boyfriend. But you couldn't help yourself. You were grumpy for the rest of the evening and tried to ignore Alex and his knowing smirk. You took a couple of tequila shots and then decided that you want to have fun.
"I want to go dancing. Anyone want to join me? Alex?" you looked into his eyes, begging him to go with you.
"Sure Y/N. Your wish is my command" he finished his whiskey and followed you on the dance floor. You dragged him into the darkest corner of the club, so your friends couldn't see you. It was so dark that you could barely see Alex's face. He put his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against his incredibly toned body.
"Do you know, that jealousy doesn't suit you?" he teased you.
"I'm not jealous" you protested.
"Sure" he scoffed.
"So you don't mind that Marco isn't here?"
"Nope".
"You are bad liar, Y/N. You are staring at the front door the whole evening. You want him to be here."
"No, I don't care what he's doing. He is a free man. And hey, when he's not here, you have me just for yourself, Alex" you purred in his ear, grinding your hips against his. You kept moving against him, leaning up and biting his jaw lightly, feeling him tighten his grip around your waist. You dragged your teeth down his neck and bit softly. Alex moved his hands up your sides, and nipped at your collar bone, causing you to moan softly. He bumped his nose against yours and tangled his fingers into your hair, tugging gently. He kissed you and you tighten your grip on him, kissing him back and rolling your body into his.
Alex's thick thigh nudged in between your legs, pushing your dress up a bit, and you’re sure he could feel how wet you are. You moaned into the kiss and bit his bottom lip instantly, in hopes of not drawing attention. You rocked desperately against him, pushing yourself against his thigh and you’re practically fucking on the dance floor. You rocked your clit against his denim-clad thigh. Alex controled the movement, pulling and pushing you against him so you can’t help but whimper with each pass of the damp denim against your core. You moaned his name loudly, your cries swallowed by the loud music. Suddenly you felt another pair of hands on your waist.
"Are you two having a fun without me, kitten?" Marco gripped your waist tightly, pressing his hard on against your ass.
"Yeah" you confirmed unable to say anything coherent.
"It seems to me, that you love Alex more than me, kitten" he pouted and pushed your hair aside, burying his face in the crook of your neck, peppering wet kisses and kitten bites onto your exposed skin. His grip on your waist tightened and he started grinding your hips harder down on Alex's thigh, helping you to ride it.
"He's taking care of me little bit better than you Marco" you moaned out and came all over Alex's jeans.
"Is that so, kitten?" Marco smirked and slipped his hand inside your soaking panties, making little circles around your clit with his eager fingers, not giving you a chance to recover from your high.
"I'm so sorry, I'm late. I wanted to be here sooner. I've been thinking about your tight little pussy since the last week, kitten. I can't wait to have you wrapped around my cock again. Please forgive me" he whispered in your ear, while his fingers played with your oversensitive clit.
"Can you forgive me, kitten?" he insisted and slipped two fingers into your dripping entrance.
"Please" he drawled, pushing his fingers deep inside you, his palm rubbing against your clit, hitting your G-spot with every thrust of his fingers.
"Yes, Marco, you are forgiven. Fuck" you moaned out. Alex watched you with predatory eyes, then crashed his lips on yours, swallowing your cries as you came all over Marco's skilled fingers. You were sandwiched between their hot bodies, they both rocking against you.
"Let's get out of here" Marco commanded and pushed you gently towards the exit.
"We can't just disapear" you tried to object.
"I'll send them a message, that you felt sick, so we are taking you home, don't worry Y/N" Alex said and pulled out his phone.
Marco sat behind the steering wheel and Alex pulled you to the backseat with him. Alex's hands were on you immediately, pulling you on his lap, your back against his chest. He hooked two fingers in your panties and ripped them off you.
"They were my favotire, Alex" you whined.
"I'll buy you as many panties as you wish, love" he pulled down his zipper and freed his rock hard cock. It sprang out, enormous and thick, ready for you. He positioned himself at your entrance, slowly easing you down. His size stretched you, filling you completely. He waited a moment to let you adjust to his size and then he started bucking up his hips in agonizingly slow pace.
"Fuck, Alex baby. Faster, please" you begged him and he obeyed you, moving his hands to grip your hips and started fucking you as hard and fast as he could manage.
"Alexxxx" you moaned his name loudly. He pulled down your dress, revealing your rounded breast to Marco, who was peeking at you through the rearview mirror.
"You like that, Marco?" Alex said roughly.
"You like seeing our little girl getting nailed?"
Marco didn't say anything and watched your tits bounce up and down so intently, that he accidentally hit something on the road.
"Eyes on the road, Marco" you teased him, earning a pissed of look from him.
"Fuck, Marco, you were right. She's so tight, so warm. She's taking my cock so great. Cum with me, love. Let it go" he commanded and bit your shoulder as he spilled his hot seed in you, making you cum for the third time this night.
"I hope you didn't ruin my car seat covers" Marco said grumpily.
You got off Alex's lap and crawled into the front seat. Marco's hand was inside his pants, stroking his cock, and he tried to ignore you.
"Come on, Marco, we were just teasing you, babe" you smiled at him innocently, and bit your lip, when you watched him stroking his length from tip to base.
"Let me help you" you reached down between his legs, afraid that he won't let you touch him, but he didn't protest, when you swatted his hand away and wrapped your hand around his shaft.
"Pull over before you kill us all", you told him and took him into your warm mouth. Marco stopped the car, he groaned and rubbed his fingers against the back of your head as he closed his eyes and lifted his chin toward the car ceiling. You flicked your tongue along the top and dragged it down along his shaft. You took deep breath, sucking him as far as you could, beggining to go up and down on him slowly.
Alex got bored on the back seat, so he reclined the front passenger seat and lay on it, his lips and tongue found your pussy, and he started eating you out while you were sucking Marco's dick. You moaned around him, when Alex sucked your clit harshly, shooting sensations through him.
"Damn it, Alex, whatever you did to her, do it again. It feels amazing" Marco begged his friend.
Alex smirked and sucked your clit again, and made you cum for the forth time. You moaned loudly around Marco and he spilled his load into your mouth. You swallowed and pulled away.
"Damn it, kitten. You will be the death of me.” Marco smiled at you, kissing you lovingly.
Part 4
MASTERLIST
#Marco Ilsø#marco ilsø x reader#Marco Ilsø fanfic#Alex Høgh Andersen#alex høgh andersen fanfic#alex høgh andersen x reader
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Mini analysis - A Long Way Down
Blurb: ‘Can I explain why I wanted to jump off the top of a tower block?’
For disgraced TV presenter Martin Sharp the answer’s pretty simple: he has, in his own words, ‘pissed his life away’. And on New Year’s Eve he’s going to end it all ... but not, as it happens, alone. Because first single-mum Maureen, then eighteen-year-old Jess and lastly American rock-god JJ turn up and crash martin’s private party. They’ve stolen his idea- but brought their own reasons.
Yet it’s hard to jump when you’ve got an audience queuing impatiently behind you. A few heated words and some slices of pizza later and these four strangers are suddenly allies. But is their unlikely friendship a good enough reason to carry on living?
‘Extremely funny ...and wise’ -Sunday Times
‘A page-turning plot and rich, funny characters with several big laughs on every page...Hornby’s best yet.” -Library Review
‘Hornby pins down the age in which we live with precision and comic brilliance’ -Guardian
‘Hugely enjoyable’ -Irish Times
‘Masterful ...some of the finest writing, and some of the most outstanding characters I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading’ -Johnny Depp
‘Impossible to put down... enthralling’ -Ruth Rendell, Guardian
‘Hilarious yet heartbreaking’ -In Style
‘Generous and wise. Right rom the opening pages, a smile played continually across my face’ -GQ
‘Darkly comic’ -San Francisco Chronicle
‘Brilliant, smart and funny... a cello suite about how to go on living. It’s hard to imagine a novel more darkly and sublimely devoted to life’ -Boston Globe
‘Hornby’s portrayal of four characters who accidentally meet on top of a tower block, all ready to jump to their death on New Year’s Eve, manages to be sensitive and emphatic, but damn funny as well. My new Hornby favourite’ -Adam Philips, Observer
I’ve always been suspicious of books that have more reviews than blurb printed on the cover, and this confirms all my darkest fears and theories.
Structure and Intention: There are no chapters, instead the book is divided into three parts of about equal length. These three parts are further divided into sections where each of the four characters narrates a part. These individual narrations are between a half and about five pages long, change frequently, and are indicated by the name of the character set over the text in all capitals. The events of the book roughly follow Aristotele’s model for the ideal drama:
(note: I wanted to link the source and the website this is from apparently doesn’t exist anymore, sorry) At the very beginning we’ve got our exposition - four characters who all want to commit suicide meet. We are informed about the place (Topper’s House, London), the time (around midnight), the characters (Maureen, Martin, Jess, JJ) and get first information about them (mostly their motivations for trying to throw themselves off a building). Then we’ve got our falling action - at the end of the first part, a pact is formed: The characters agree to meet again on Valentine’s Day, and not kill themselves until then. Then we’ve got our climax (the witnessed suicide on Valentine’s) at the very end of the second part, after quite a bit of rising action (the newspaper fiasco, the interview on Martin’s show, the vacation...). Then one could argue that Maureen and Jess’ visit to Martin’s ex-wife can be seen as an element of retardation. I personally don’t, because that whole thing can be seen as leading up to The Intervention, leading us directly to our conclusion (which is a happy one and thus, if this was a play, would make the book a comedy, which I find very fitting.) What’s interesting about the structure is also that part I and II both end with a turning point: In part I we’ve got the Valentine’s Day Pact delaying the suicide, in part II they witness a suicide and subsequently realize that they aren’t capable of killing themselves. The author’s intention becomes clear in the last part of the book: the characters all slowly get better. The last sentence sums this up perfectly: JJ says about the London Eye that “It didn’t look as though it was moving, but it must have been, I suppose”, which can also be applied to the characters dire situations throughout the whole book: It doesn’t look like it’s getting better, but it is.
Characters:
1) Martin (age: probably mid-forties)
Family situation: Was married to Cindy, with whom he has two daughters (Polly and Maise), currently together with Penny Chambers, his old co-host. Martin is a serial adulterer who’s marriage ended because he was caught having sex with a fifteen-year old girl who was under the influence of cocain. His type is described as blond, young, and big-breasted.
Character traits: Martin is educated and a member of the upper bourgeoise (rich enough to afford a BMW and a very nice flat in London, not rich enough to lose his job and still uphold his standard of living without any problems). He is pessimistic, but at the same time has a very media-friendly personality (egoistic, likes to be the center of positive attention, charismatic, vain, self-assured). Though he is very shallow and lazy, he has a strong sense of obligation.
Situation: Had sex with a fifteen-year-old and went to prison for an unspecified amount of time (my best guess is about two to three months - he’ s still recognized on the street, he mentions recent articles about himself, his girlfriend was still waiting for him when he got out, so it couldn’t have been that long). As a consequence to his...sexual escapades....he lost his job as a breakfast TV presenter (his show was called Rise and Shine With Penny and Martin). He also has an alcohol problem.
Secret wish: To not have to be held accountable for his wrongdoings
Seeks: Redemption
2) Maureen (age: 51)
Family situation: Is a single mom (her fiancé broke off the engagement before she even knew she was pregnant, and she never had or even wanted another romantic or sexual encounter). She is the sole caretaker of her son Matty (19), who is wheelchair-bound and so severely (mentally?) disabled that he cannot communicate with anyone and basically just...vegitates.
Character traits: Maureen is deeply religious, but often doubts the teachings of the catholic church. As a consequence of her faith she has a strong sense of guilt and duty, and sees her son as the punishment for all of her sins (but mainly for the premaritial sex). She is very timid and has low self-esteem and cries very easily. Some passages allude to her being diagnosed with depression.
Situation: Maureen has absolutely no friends and isolated from all aspects of social life (except for Sunday church) due to her family situation.
Secret wish: To be free from Matty.
Seeks: Human contact
3) Jess Crichton (age: 18)
Family situation: Is the daughter of the Junior Minister of Education; her older sister, Jennifer, disappeared shortly after obtaining her driver’s license and is presumed dead. The car she was driving was found at a popular suicide spot and her body was never found. Jess’ relationship with her parents is very tense, as she blames herself for Jen’s disappearance and, consequently, for her parents’ misery.
Character traits: Jess has a hard facade and often acts unpredictable or crazy. Underneath that facade she is a vulnerable and grieving young girl who feels deeply guilty because she is convinced she is the reason her sister left the family and clings to any and all human contact. She is deathly afraid of people leaving her. She is very insecure and often ‘reinvents’ herself in order to please those around her. Despite this she is not afraid to speak her mind, often in vulgar terms. She describes herself as ‘fucked up’ and self harms.
Situation: Jess is convinced her sister isn’t dead and is living a happy life somewhere without her. She is very detached from her parents, though she secretly longs for a happy family life. She is starved for affection and clings to it wherever she can find it, which leads to her stalking Chas, the boy who took her virginity. She in convinced that they had a deep and meaningful relationship that he destroyed, despite only ever going on two dates and Chas not even defining their relationship as boyfriend-girlfriend type.
Secret wish: For her parents to swoop in and magically fix everything that’s been going wrong since Jen disappeared.
Seeks: Reassurance
4) John Julius a.k.a. JJ (age: mid twenties to early thirties maybe? it’s pretty unclear)
Family situation: JJ’s family situation is unknown; the only meaningful relationships mentioned in his past are his ex girlfriend, Lizzie, for whom he immigrated to England from the US, and Ed, his former bandmate and childhood friend, who quit the band and is living in the US.
Character traits: JJ is an introspective, melancholic and philosophical artistic personality. He is very philosophical despite being a relatively uneducated high school dropout and enjoys intellectual stimulation, particularly in the form of books. He loves four things: music, books, his bandmates, and his ex, three of which have left him.
Situation: JJ is an illegal immigrant. His band broke up despite obvious success and his girlfriend, who was the reason he came to the UK in the first place, broke up with him.
Secret wish: To be famous with his band
Seeks: Self-expression
Language: All four characters use typical language in their monologues. Martin typically uses words from the fields MEDIA. LAW and PROFANITY and very long and elaborate adjectives and adverbs. He uses rather long sentences with multiple subclauses and often employs rhetorical questions. His educated, engaging and cynical tone stands in contrast to his frequent use of profanity. Overall Martin’s tone is rather sophisticated, sometimes lofty, but not implausible as spoken English. Maureen typically uses words from the fields RELIGION and OUTDATED SLANG. Striking is her complete lack of profanity. She uses rather simple syntax, lots of insertions, often ends her sentences with ‘isn’t it’ and there are often periods instead of question marks at the end of her questions. This leads to her seeming slow (as in slow-moving), old-fashioned, uptight and prudish. Overall her style is rather standard but seems stiff in comparison to the others. Jess typically uses words from the fields PROFANITY and SLANG. She uses lots of ellipses, rhetorical questions, and relatively short sentences. Her language sees fast-paced, intense, and often jumpy. Her style is somewhere between colloquial, which she is a bit too structured for, and standard, which she is a bit too jumpy for. JJ typically uses words from the fields LITERATURE, BAND/MUSIC, and PROFANITY. He uses very long sentences with elaborate subclauses which often feature rhetorical questions, and questions and literal speech or his thoughts as insertions. His language is philosophical, thoughtful and ‘deep’, the style is standard to colloquial.
Personal Opinion: It’s shit don’t read it.
Ok but in all honesty this book is shallow, doesn’t accurately portray depression or being suicidal, features a character whos only regret about sleeping with a minor who was unable to give consent due to being drugged out of her mind, and also, fifteen, (this is what they call rape fellas!) is that he didn’t get away with it (also this is never addressed? there is no outside perspective given on this? no one ever says anything about this in their parts, everyone seems ok with Martin being a convicted and guilty sex offender? what the f), and, in all honesty, the writing is...rather mediocre. Like, it isn’t bad per se, but in my opinion it’s on no way deserving the praise it gets.
Note: I...have so much more stuff I could say about this book. If you want a series of very detailed diagrams depicting character relationships or something like that, let me know because I’ve got it all.
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Not As Simple As A Happy Ending
Read on AO3 Here
Read the Other Chapters On Tumblr Here
It’s just a ribbon.
Just a plain red ribbon, absolutely nothing special about it.
At least, that’s what Sans tries to tell himself as Frisk stares up at him, their expectant look slowly morphing into confusion while he sits there frozen.
In which Frisk isn’t the first human Sans meets, nor the first he befriends, nor the first he kills.
And being Sans in general is complicated.
Fandom: Undertale
Characters: Sans, Papyrus, Alphys, Undyne, Frisk, Toriel, Asgore, W.D. Gaster, Grillby, Flowey, Chara, Blue Soul Human, Light Blue Soul Human, Yellow Soul Human, miscellaneous
Warnings: Canonical character death, non-graphic violence, bucketloads of angst (y’know the drill)
Other Things Worth Noting: Non-linear Narrative (though primarily set pre-canon), canon compliant, assumes post-pacifist run following an almost-genocide run for post-canon settings, Sans-centric with other characters being viewed through his eyes
Chapter 18: Conjecture
((Author’s Note:
Heyyyyy. Long time, no update!
(I'm back.)
Apologies for the interim between updates, it's been a weird few months for me, and I really needed a break from this fic to clear my head by working on other things and to deal with some personal issues. Given that, and the fact that this chapter (and the one following it) are possibly two of the most important chapters in Act 2, and I really wanted to do it right, finishing the update took a while.
Before we begin, some extra content and fanart to present!
First up on fanart: Adorable character cards Celestialfeathers surprised me with at Emerald City Comicon this year! You can check them out here!
Next, two gorgeous sketch sets of Wind, Rose, Sans, and Integrity by katthesmall, which you can see here and here!
We also have, by lieu of me googling Not As Simple on a dare, some pieces of fanart featuring Integrity I discovered by saphira123 (If the artist is reading this, I don't have accounts on any of your preferred media to thank you directly, but just know I found them and I love them!!). You can check out their gorgeous art of Integrity here, here, and here!!
In terms of bonus content for you guys, more exciting stuff!
First, to accompany the last chapter, Wind now has her own playlist here!
Second, and possibly most excitingly, Not As Simple now has its own song!! My little sister commissioned one of my favorite independent musicians for me as a Christmas present, so I am overjoyed to present to you guys Lost Time, the official song for Not As Simple, which you can find here!! (The musician in question is amazing and I would absolutely suggest checking out the rest of her stuff!)
That's it! Now, I'm happy to present to y'all chapter 18! ))
“I’m… pretty sure that’s wrong.”
Gaster frowns, turning and squinting at the whiteboard. “…No?”
“Nah, he’s right.” Wind says from the table next to Sans where she’s perched, legs crossed and thick book open in her lap. “Top row, G. You didn’t carry the four.”
Gaster hums, tilting his head and staring up at the section in question. “….Bollocks. You’re correct. I can’t believe I missed that.”
Wind snorts loudly, turning a page in her book, and Sans rolls his eyes, going back to entering the data on his notepad into the computer in front of him.
Sans is fifteen, and some days it feels like they’re no closer to breaking into the rules of the barrier than they were when he first came to the labs.
…Ok, no, that’s wrong. It’s not a case of what he feels, though that certainly plays an inevitable factor.
No, it’s more like they logistically, honestly have little more of an idea of what the fuck they’re looking at than they did three years ago. Never mind the fact Gaster had already been working on this puzzle for at least another two decades and then some before Sans was even a factor.
It’s exhausting, and frustrating, and Sans knew the mystery of the space-time bubble that is the Underground wouldn’t be solved in a day, but sometimes it feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind.
Then again, he notes idly, as his eyes flicker to the two other people in the room, it’s not like this was a job built for the sane and healthy. To learn the truth, to even get close to it, you had to be willing to become damaged goods— And that’s just what they are, him and Wind and Gaster, the byproducts of witnessing the unfathomable and walking out the other side.
Smugly, Wind points out another error in Gaster’s math, laughing loudly at his outraged spluttering, and Sans can’t help but stare quietly, drinking in the bright sound of Wind’s laughter, her rustling wings as her shoulders shake with mirth. Across from her Gaster is loudly animated, coat twirling as he turns and chucks a marker at her, shouting indignantly.
They are so alive. Sometimes Sans has trouble understanding how he got lucky enough to be graced with this.
Wind had become something of a staple in many of his and Gaster’s research sessions ever since their little heart-to-heart during the first annual inspection he was present for, slipping into the mix of languages Gaster meshes together on accident during his ramblings and partaking in the easy, insulting banter, with a grace that alludes to her experience with it. It speaks to just how long she’s been around Gaster, Sans thinks, and of how much time she’s had to learn his patterns. Perhaps it had always been like that, before Sans had arrived. He hates to think he accidentally made Wind feel she could no longer be Gaster’s first support, that whatever had come of sharing her memories led Wind to feel she had a permission, one that she never needed in the first place, to be around them, but at least… things are alright now.
Honestly, Sans had never realized the true depth of Wind’s intelligence until she had quietly intruded upon his and Gaster’s work sessions, offering corrections and assistance. She may not be a scientist, but there’s a clear kind of innate brilliance and quickness to Wind that makes sense for someone Gaster would take an interest in.
Regardless, her presence definitely helps, and there’s a kind of openness in what she’s seen, what she’s chosen to stand for, that makes it easy to share with Wind the research into the barrier, into human souls, that they cannot with the others. She has thrown her lot in with humanity as much as himself or Gaster, and there’s an innate kind of trust that comes with that.
The only research Gaster pointedly does away from all eyes but his own and Sans’s is of that into the timelines. Even Wind is kept well away from every piece of it, and while Sans was never shared Wind’s memories of her time with Gaster as his assistant, she does not, as far as he can tell, know of this one little secret. For all that she may know of the barrier, of the deaths of the humans and of the blind loyalty of the guard, this piece of the puzzle is one Gaster has kept hidden.
It’s protection, Sans thinks. There’s a kind of closeness between the two of them, one that makes sense with the knowledge Gaster has known Wind since she was a teenager, and for every moment Gaster seems parental-feeling towards Sans and Papyrus, there is something of a matching moment there for Wind too. Gaster may not ever admit to it, defensive bastard that he is, but it’s plenty obvious he desires to care for the people around him. And for Wind, who has already seen so much of this nightmare, this is the only shielding he can offer her.
Sans doesn’t know if it’s right, to keep the truth from Wind like that, or from any of them really, but he does understand it. He has done, and continues to do, the same for Papyrus, for Grillby. He cares about them too much to ever tell them, as hypocritical as that sounds.
No, the secret of the timelines was one Sans shared only with the human, and now, he supposes, with Gaster.
Sometimes it feels like a bit of a sick trade off— Sans lost a sister and gained… What? A parent? A father?
That word brings hesitation, whenever it crosses Sans’s mind, much like when Rose’s touches to his cheek feel too maternal. He’s… scared. To risk that label, with all the consequences and costs it could bring.
A guardian, then… A guardian in Gaster, and in Rose, in a way. Someone to trust, in Wind, people to call something like family, in Gamma and Ficus, and a friend, in Alphys.
He has all this, and it is invaluable, and yet what he wants most is something he cannot have back. How selfish.
Still, while he cannot change the past, at least so far as he knows, Sans is painfully aware of the variability of the future. If they want to protect the next human who will inevitably fall down here, they must beat the clock, and crack the barrier first. It’s the only option.
…If only it wasn’t so fucking complicated.
Alphys’s familiar stutter paired with an aggressively loud voice greet Sans when he enters the main lab, leaving Sans gritting his teeth against the assault on his hearing, only adding to the headache that’s already been lingering the last few hours from watching Gaster work through walls of data without any success. Sans is well aware not every day is going to produce some sort of breakthrough, even a minor one, and most days don’t, but today has been… particularly frustrating.
And now this of all things.
A startled squeak followed by a nervous-sounding “Sans!” alerts Sans to the fact that Alphys has noticed his arrival, and, reluctantly, Sans stops in his tracks, turning to face her and her guest.
“Oh, it’s you.” Says a second, rougher voice, its occupant hovering just behind Alphys, arms thrown over her shoulders.
Sans sighs. “Hello to you too, Undyne.”
She grins, sharp and wide. “Fuckface.”
“Fishbitch.”
“Please.” Alphys says despairingly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose in a sign of exasperation she no doubt picked up from Rose. Undyne whines in complaint, dropping her head against Alphys’s shoulder, causing Alphys to flush pink, and Sans shrugs lazily, earning himself a glare from Alphys.
“She started it.” Sans says easily, ignoring Undyne’s outraged squawk of protest. Alphys rolls her eyes, and he snorts. “I’m just getting something from Wind’s study, anyways. Just go back to… whatever you two were doing. Or… whatever you were doing that Undyne was creepily watching you do?”
Alphys twitches in annoyance, an embarrassed blush scrawling further up her cheeks, and Undyne pops her head back up to point angrily at him. “I’m not creepy!”
“Nah, just annoying.” He answers, walking past them and shutting the door to Wind’s office firmly behind him. Leaning against it, Sans lets out a small sigh of relief, dropping his head and staring at the floor without any real purpose or recognition. Running into Undyne is always a bit jarring, her presence loud and demanding no matter how somewhat used to it he may get. Which is exactly why Alphys is supposed to give him some kind of warning before bringing her over, Sans thinks with a kind of half-hearted annoyance.
Honestly, it’s amazing things between them have even progressed enough that Sans is able to tolerate Undyne’s presence, and Undyne the same for him, even if she still seems to take a kind of vicious pleasure in insulting him (Not that he, admittedly, doesn’t do the same). He blames Wind, really. After seeing her memories he couldn’t help but look at Undyne’s position through new eyes. He still isn’t really clear on the details, but Undyne does seem to spend basically every day hovering around Asgore, and while Sans is pretty sure she isn’t living with him like Wind had been (particularly given Alphys had off-handedly complained about Undyne’s group home once or twice), Asgore does seem to be all she has.
And… Sans can’t fault her for that. Not when he knows what it feels like to be alone and desperate for anyone to place your faith in, and not after Wind. Undyne isn’t to blame for what Asgore and their world taught her— Asgore makes victims, both intentional and unintentional, out of everyone he touches, that’s just the way it is. The Underground is poisoned with his hate, and as it stands, most monsters are just too blinded by faith or too stupid, whichever or both, Sans doesn’t know, to question what has been done.
To turn, monsterkind will have to see the truth, and that’s what Sans and Gaster and everyone else in the labs are here for, after all.
Besides, it also doesn’t hurt that Undyne has calmed down some over the last couple years. Not much, but she’s at least stopped trying to fight Sans at every given opportunity, has learned not to shit-talk humans in his presence. And in turn, Sans has learned to bite his tongue when she slips up and praises the Guard and the future death of humanity.
It’s all… a work in progress, at the end of the day. But they’ve reached this, at least. A place where they can easily insult each other and shove each other around cheerfully and, most importantly, stand in the same room without trying to kill each other.
It’s almost ironic really, Sans thinks. The two of them have achieved this kind of mutual truce, and yet they stand in such opposing positions. Undyne hadn’t joined the regular guard when she turned fifteen, or even when she turned sixteen or seventeen, like Sans had thought she would, instead she stayed at Asgore’s side, training directly under him. There were whispers around the castle, Alphys told him, that Asgore would step in and immediately promote her to Captain once the current head of the guard retired.
And then there was Sans. Sans, who trained under Wind and learned under Gaster, who had a soul that lived not just for the future of monsterkind but for humankind as well. He is the product of Asgore’s greatest mistakes, his greatest betrayals to people that once loved him, and he has every intention of being the thing that takes Asgore down, one day.
In essence, Sans is the epitome of everything Undyne is not, and yet, he thinks, they’re not completely different in their positions. They just placed their faith in different people.
…Of course, Sans likes to think his own choices in what company he keeps are markedly much improved over Undyne’s. She is just a pawn in Asgore’s Underground, and Sans… he is no one’s to use. Not even Gaster’s.
Sighing, Sans straightens up, getting off his resting place against the door and taking the few steps he needs to drop heavily into Wind’s desk chair, sparing a small grin when it spins a couple loops as his weight hits it. Never let it be said Wind didn’t make excellent interior design choices. Her swivel chair was one of the best things in the labs upwards of the ridiculous shit that could be found on Gaster’s floor.
Speaking of… bending down, he trails his finger-bones down the drawers on the left side of the desk, pulling open the third one. There was an old storage drive Wind had somewhere here with some old work she’d done on studying shield magic like her own and comparing it to the barrier that she thought might help. Spotting the item in question, Sans grins and grabs it, sitting up and allowing himself a victory spin on the chair. Glancing at the door, leading back to where the others wait for him, Sans takes a deep breath and stands up.
He cannot become bogged down in introspection and frustration. He needs to do this, there is no one else but himself and those waiting for him in front of Gaster’s whiteboard who can.
He must do this.
Sometimes, Sans can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
Admittedly, he’s always been a bit like that, and his time in the loops with the human had only made him more paranoid, fearing an enemy at every turn, but this is… different.
It feels more like an observer, than an impending threat, something unobtrusive and invisible, but undeniably there. It’s an odd sensation, to feel as if there are eyes on him but find nothing, and too often he chalks it up to his worries getting the better of him.
Occasionally, at night, he dreams of a presence, one that sits across from him in the hollows of his consciousness, hidden by shadow. It’s hard to put a name to it, really. It reminds him instinctively of the human, the same kind of curling, inexplicable power in its form. But… More than anything, when he reaches out and pokes at its consciousness intruding upon places it should not be able to, it feels most like himself— Not a perfect match, but close. Like looking in a distorted mirror. In a way, that makes sense. Sans, in his glitching, sparking magic, can jump through the spaces between reality without hesitation, and this… thing, in its own way, is doing something much similar.
It doesn’t belong to the physical Underground Sans lives in, and yet it walks in and out of it, hovering on the very edge anyways.
Its visits are infrequent, and sporadic. Sometimes, it feels as if something is following him for days on end, and on other occasions he’ll go months with only the barest flicker of its presence once or twice in that whole time for only seconds.
When it happens, he is reminded of the creature that once wandered into his nightmare, years ago, abolishing the shadow-form of his sister with ease, and of the ghost Wind had joked about after she’d shown him her memories.
Most of the time, Sans thinks he’s being obsessive over something that is not there, so set on finding another enemy he must keep his guard up around that he’s gone and invented one. Or… perhaps so desperate for another ally he’s done the same thing. It’s hard to tell which.
Occasionally, though, he feels as if there is another player in the chess game he and Gaster only fleetingly understand the rules to. Something else moving pieces as himself and the others hurriedly do their best to find a way to checkmate Asgore.
He… doesn’t know what to do with that potential concept, beyond hope that whatever it is, if it actually exists, is on their side.
God, he hopes it’s on their side.
Sans hits the ground with a yelp of pain, shoulder colliding painfully against the stone floor before he rolls over it and up, tensed in a crouch and magic crackling readily at his fingertips as he braces them on the ground and glares up. Across him, Wind straightens up, sighing and stretching an arm over her head languidly. “You’re way too slow. That wasn’t even a glancing blow, I hit you dead-on.”
Sans huffs, curling his spine up and resting his forearms on his thighs, still crouching. “If you just taught me shielding magic— “
“My shielding magic is a kind unique to my species, and one that takes years to master.” At Sans’s scowl, Wind’s expression softens. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, Sans. Your magic reserves are the kind most monsters couldn’t even dream of. I’m just saying it would likely be exceedingly difficult, not to mention strenuous as hell. Shielding takes up enormous energy, it’s not the kind of thing you do frequently in fights unless it’s your specialty or you have no other choice.” She tilts her head. “Look at it this way. Have you ever seen me maintain my shield between blows?” Sans reluctantly shakes his head, and Wind beams. “Right, because it’s the kind of thing I wouldn’t risk draining my energy unless I had no other choice to keep it sustained indefinitely. Shielding magic is incredibly useful, but it’s not reliable as your only form of defense. Hence...” Wind sweeps down, lowering herself until she’s crouching at Sans’s level, leaning forward with her wings spread out behind her for balance, a picture perfect form of a lithe, graceful soldier. “We learn to dodge. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sans grumbles, and Wind grins.
“Good. Now, again.”
Wind flies forward, leaping up and at him with purpose, and Sans barely has a second to dive sideways and roll out of the way before Wind’s foot slams into the spot where his head was moments ago. Jumping to his feet, Sans ducks under Wind’s arm as it makes an arc over his skull, and manages two steps to the left before a wing curves in from the right and hits him solidly in the chest, sending him flying through the air. Sans barely has a moment to brace for inevitable impact against the wall and send a quiet thought of apology to Papyrus for dying on him so soon, before a pair of wiry arms catch him and the buffet of wings catching on air fills the sound around him. Carefully raising his head and opening his eyes, Sans stares at Wind’s concerned expression as she gently lowers them both back to earth, setting Sans down slowly once her feet hit the ground.
“That’s six times I’ve gotten you today, Sans.” Wind says patiently, in an annoyingly forgiving way that makes Sans grit his teeth in frustration. “If I was a Royal Guard, that’s six times you’d have been dead.”
“I know, I know.” Sans mutters.
“Do you?” Wind crosses her arms, frowning down at him. “In a real fight, your opponent isn’t going to give you a chance to catch your breath, and you may not have anyone to watch your back for you.”
“I know!” He snaps. “It’s not like I’ve never fought for my life before or anything!”
Wind winces, and Sans sighs, ducking his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“No, you’re right.” Wind says. “I should be the one apologizing. I was… pushing you too hard. If you don’t want to do this I— “
“No!” He yelps, head snapping up to stare wide-eyed at Wind. “I need this. I need to be ready. Don’t start babying me because of one rough day. I asked for your help and I’m going to keep asking until I’ve learned everything I can.” Taking a deep breath, he takes a step back, assuming a defensive position. “Again.”
Wind hesitates, and then lunges forward. Sans ducks under her leg as she aims a flying kick at him, diving behind her and jumping up onto the wing that sweeps out at him, using it as a platform to propel himself up and over Wind’s head. He hits the ground rolling, jumping up and breaking into a sprint as Wind takes off after him. He’ll lead her around the room, he thinks, tire her out— Survival is the name of the game with this exercise, the idea being to evade Wind’s attacks for a full five minutes. He grins at the sounds of Wind behind him, confident for once that he’s got the upper hand, and then there’s the flapping of wings and a tall figure slams into the ground in front of him.
—Guards everywhere, cornering them in the tight caves of Waterfall’s hidden crevices. He dodges right to avoid a barrage of flying arrows, the human right behind him, hand in his, he searches the perimeter desperately, looking for a way out, frantically moving until— There! On the left, a gap between the soldiers stands out, leading to the entrance of another cavern. He dives forward, dragging the human behind him, sights set on the route of escape. They’re going to make it, they’re so close, and then a guard slams into view from seemingly out of nowhere, wielding their spear as they thrust it forward and straight into Sans’s soul, shattering his conscious instantly. He hears the human scream, but everything is going black, and he can’t move—
Sans comes back to himself stretched out on the floor of the training room, head pillowed in Wind’s lap and limbs spread out haphazardly. He flinches as cool fingers prod the edges of his skull clinically, checking for injuries, probably, and slowly Wind’s worried face swims into view above him.
“…Sans? You back with me, buddy?”
He winces, sitting up carefully, Wind’s hands going to his back to steady him. “Yeah, more or less.”
“Where did you go?” Wind asks, voice knowing and soft as she runs a gentle hand down his spine, patience and understanding in her whole being.
He shrugs helplessly. “Back.”
Wind purses her lips, choosing not to press him. “I think that’s enough for today.” Sans opens his mouth to protest, and she shakes her head. “You’ve been out of it all morning, and it’s never a good sign when you start having flashbacks. Trust me, I’d know.”
“I suppose not.” Sans mutters reluctantly, and Wind sighs.
“You’ve been running yourself ragged, kiddo. You’ll burn out if you press too hard. So you’re having a bad day, that’s fine. Take a break for once, yeah? Clear your head.”
Sans snorts. “I’ve tried, believe me, but I feel like every time I leave this room I’m staring at more dead-end equations.”
“Then get out of the labs for a bit.” At Sans’s incredulous look, Wind rolls her eyes. “I know you hate being in Asgore’s potential sights, but the Underground’s a lot bigger than his immediate reach. It’s not healthy to live your life down here fulltime. There’s reasons why Rose always bullies Gaster into doing sample collections for her outside the labs, a little change of scenery is good for him, and, for that matter, for you. Take the day off— Go visit Grillby in Snowdin, go to a market in the Capital, go… Fuck around Hotland, I don’t know! My point is, do something.” Wind pauses, sighing. “Sometimes the way to solve a problem is to come back to it with fresh eyes.”
“Yeah, alright, point taken.” Sans says, ducking his head. “I’ll— I’ll try.”
Somehow, Sans suspects when Wind advised him to take some time to himself, this isn’t what she meant.
Muttering under his breath, Sans curses as he trips over another outcropping of rock, stumbling none too gracefully over the thin stream running through the ground beneath his feet. It’s embarrassing really, just how clumsy he’s gotten. What he once navigated with deadly precision and artistry now leaves him falling over his own feet— This is the first time he’s set foot in the lower pools in… God, months.
He’s been neglecting it, and his place in it, this expanse of caverns that was once his home. Was once their home, his and Papyrus’s, his and the human’s.
It was only a few years ago, when he knew the watery songs of this place down to the marrow of his bones, and the core of his soul. Frequently now it feels like a lifetime ago, sometimes it feels like it all just happened.
Very occasionally, Sans still wakes up and expects to see a cavern ceiling and feel the weight of a hand on his sternum, to find the world has reset itself and turned back time once again.
…Honestly, Sans doesn’t know now whether he would be relieved or horrified if that happened. Maybe both.
He has not accepted her death; he will never accept her death, not for how it happened or what was done to her, and in turn to him. And yet, he doesn’t know if he could ever go back to that time. This is so much bigger than one life, one soul to save, now. He’s seen and learned so much.
This is not just about Sans himself or the human he came to call friend and sister. This is about all of them. Humans, monsters, the souls lost to Asgore and the people of the labs he now calls something like family and the fates of the next to fall. There are individuals to protect, those he loves and those he has not yet met but sworn to guard with his life when he does, and there are whole nations to save, that stand to fall if he doesn’t find a way to stop this war.
Patience, he reminds himself. The barrier wasn’t built in a day, and neither will it be destroyed as such. Nor, he thinks, is it as simple as pulling a switch and shutting off the power to whatever keeps them trapped here. Destroy the barrier without learning how to control it and they will only unleash Asgore’s war between humans and monsters that much sooner. They need that power to bend it to their will, to use the barrier as their bargaining chip against the crown. Right now the cards are stacked in Asgore’s favor, and they desperately need to produce an ace.
“Will you kill him?” Sans remembers overhearing Wind ask Gaster in a hushed discussion one night, when the overhead lights were dimmed and they believed he’d fallen asleep in the plushy chair in the corner with his book.
“Not unless I have to.” Gaster had said. “His words have considerable sway among the people, sway that can be played to our advantage if we can control his message to the public, and regardless I’d rather not stoop to his level.”
“What will you do, then?”
“Get him to step down from power, obviously.” Gaster snorted. “He’s too dangerous to try and control him while he holds power. You and I both know we could never successfully make a puppet king out of him. We’ll have to cut the strings or risk getting strangled in them.”
“…Then what?” Wind had offered eventually, her words quiet. “Who will replace him? Monsters have never had democracy, we have told our needs to the royal family and they provided. Our supposed good nature kept us in peace with one another. They will balk at such a human way of government, and in the wake of the destruction of the barrier it will not be the time to try it out. They will need a leader.”
“Yes. They will.” Gaster agreed.
“So I ask again. Who’s going to lead them, Gaster? You?”
“Me? God no. Never. Never me.”
Wind had frowned, crossing her arms. “That’s not an answer and you know it.”
Sans sighs, sticking his hands in his coat pockets and staring up at the cavern ceiling above him, contemplative. He’d couldn’t help but ask Gaster, after Wind had left and the other had come to pick him up and tuck him into his bed for the night.
“Who will lead?”
“…So you were awake.” Gaster had stilled, hesitating and then picking Sans up anyways. He’d squirmed halfheartedly, wanting to protest he was not a small child and yet enjoying the soothing contact too much to protest it.
“Who will lead?” He asked again, once he was settled in Gaster’s arms, his small stature even for most young monsters easily dwarfed by Gaster’s considerable height.
“…Wind will lead.” Gaster had said finally. “She is strong, and intelligent, and has the heart to hold a whole kingdom. Her status as the last of an elite military family, and of a revered species of monster, will give her the backing she needs to reasonably take control, so long as her old records disappear.”
Sans blinked, and as if sensing the unasked question, Gaster bowed his head slightly. “I will advise her, if I can, but my reputation as the nutcase who protected a human proceeds me. Wind’s hands are cleaner, less involved in this mess.” He sighed. “It is more than possible that Asgore will not relinquish his power easily, and if things go wrong someone must take the fall. I will go down as the one who destroyed Asgore’s throne if I must, and from the dust Wind will rise as their savior.” His gaze fell to Sans’s firm glare. “If that happens, Sans, you must let it. Do not go trying to save me from my own choices.”
“The entire Royal Guard and half of Asgore’s advisors know me as the kid who fought their troops for a human.” Sans said, tinges of something close to wry amusement crawling into his words. “My hands are no cleaner than yours. If you fall, I’ll damn well plan on falling with you.”
“Sans—“
“If you want to protect me then don’t let anything happen to you.” He returned firmly, cutting Gaster off. “Do not ask me to… Do not ask me leave my family again. I won’t. I can’t.”
“…I know.” Gaster said. “I know.”
Wind isn’t aware of Gaster’s potential plans for her, Sans knows, and it leaves him with an uncomfortable taste in his mouth at the thought. She would refuse if she knew, he’s sure, which is likely also exactly the reason Gaster never chose to tell her, and in knowing this much about Wind himself too, Gaster has also bought Sans’s silence, prudence winning over his desire for transparency.
Ironic really, given all the times Sans has pressed Gaster for honesty between them.
Sometimes, Sans looks back on the memories Wind had shown him, of her first meeting with Gaster, and wonders if the other had planned this from the beginning, the very moment he met Wind and saw what she was, what she offered.
It would not surprise him if that were the case, honestly. Gaster acts continuously in the best interests of the future, but that can drive him to be manipulative, to keep his cards close to his chest, even if largely unconsciously. After all, the initial agreement between them that brought Sans to the labs was more a business arrangement than anything else, a peace treaty between temporary allies. The later developed familial affection was an unexpected consequence, or bonus, depending on how one looked at it.
Regardless, those are both matters of the past, and of the long-awaited future. He cannot change Gaster’s actions in the past even if he sought to, which he doesn’t, really, and the potential scenarios where Wind might find herself granted Asgore’s royal power, chosen or not, look to be years away. It’s a non-issue for now, at least until they find a way to break the barrier.
…Which leads him to why Wind had booted him out here to get some metaphorical fresh air in the first place.
The utter frustration at their lack of progress, the frustrating itch in his soul telling him he is missing important clues, puzzle pieces he needs to find the answer.
The presence, Sans thinks, the one that haunts him like a half-imagined daydream, or perhaps a lingering nightmare, would know, does know.
He’s not even fully confident it actually…. well, exists beyond the scope of his paranoid delusions, but if it does, if it is real, then it holds the answers he seeks. He is inexplicably, completely certain of that.
It’s crashing into a sign that smacks him firmly in the face that pulls Sans from his musings.
“Ow, fuck.” He growls, tripping blindly away from the offending obstacle and rubbing at his sore skull. After a moment of cursing and waiting for the pain to dull down, he opens his eyes, spots the sign, and groans, slumping forward.
Of course... Of fucking course.
“Why.” He deadpans, staring at it.
It seems he really is just as consistent as Gaster in some behaviors.
And apparently, when he needs the hard answers, Sans’s subconscious only knows one place to get them.
The head Tem’s sharp-fanged smile borders on gloating when he comes to her, eyes trained on him and expecting, as if she knew he would come here.
…On second thought, he decides, scratch the ‘if’. She was the head Tem, she knew about everything that got within even a fifty-foot radius of her village the second it did so. She knew he was coming here before he himself even did.
“Ah, my favorite expendable life-form.” She drawls, voice sickly-sweet. “How lovely.”
“Save it.” He sighs, flopping down into the chair across from her and fighting off a shiver at the predatory curiosity in her gaze.
The Temmies, Sans has come to realize over the last couple years, seem to… like him— As much as Temmies can like something aside from themselves, at least. At best, he figures, he’s something between an amusing distraction to them and an obedient pet they’ve grown fond of. At worst, a toy they’ve decided is worth not breaking during their play.
Honestly, none of the above descriptions stick out to him as particular definitions of valuing a person’s life, but from what he had gathered from Gaster, the first time the latter came back from meeting with the head Tem to sort out Sans’s potential debts to them, the Temmies showed a certain lenient interest in preserving his continued existence they didn’t really hold for most monsters outside their own kind. It appears those years of work for them had paid off, in their own way.
Still, even knowing he holds something like their favor, that doesn’t stop Sans from being fucking terrified of them.
…And with good reason, he thinks, as he watches the disarmingly small form of the head Temmie as she sits across from him.
“What can I do for you?” She asks, tilting her head faux-innocently, and Sans snorts. As if the Temmies do anything without a cost.
“I need information.”
The grin on the Temmie’s face grows wider. “Information is expensive.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just…” He pauses. It’s useless to ask about the barrier, of course, that he knows. If it was as simple as bartering an answer out of the Temmies, then Gaster would have done it years ago. There’s some things even they don’t know, he supposes.
No, it is something else he seeks explanation on, and yet something just as elusive.
“…This is something I’m not sure even your Temmies will know anything on.” He says, choosing his words carefully, and winces when the head Temmie twitches slightly at his words, clearly less than flattered at his implication that her knowledge of the Underground is less than complete. “Not that your sources are… lacking. I’m just not sure any record of this thing even exists.”
The Temmie raises an eyebrow. “And?”
Sans groans. “Look. If you have something to offer, I’ll do the work for it, but if I tell you about this thing and you don’t have any information, can you take our longstanding… business relationship into consideration and just be honest with me before I go and do a job for you that’s not going to give me anything.”
The Temmie sniffs haughtily. “Tems do not lie, especially about information. That is not a part of our principles. In light of the benefits you have served to the Temmie agenda in the past, I will tell you if I can, in fact, offer you anything on the subject of information you seek.”
He sighs, slumping. “Thank you.”
“So,” She quirks an eyebrow, looking borderline intrigued by the concept of something so mysterious that Sans could think even eludes her, “What is it you seek that you find so confounding?”
“It’s…” Sans pauses, trying to think of a way to accurately describe the presence. “…A creature. I’m not sure if it’s monster or human in origin, or… something else. Hell, I’m not completely sure it’s real.” The Temmie’s eyes narrow, and he shrugs helplessly. “I’ve only met it once, it invaded a nightmare and intervened.”
“And you’re sure this wasn’t just your subconscious taking pity on you?”
He winces. He had considered that for a long time, but… “No. My nightmares… Don’t ever stop like that, and it’s only happened the once. It wasn’t me, it was an outside consciousness with autonomy over my dreams. Or, at least, it had that power in that moment.” The Tem nods, and hesitantly, he continues. “I don’t know what it looks like, it was like it was cast in shadow and its face was just…” Sans waves his hands around his own pointedly. “Not there? Distorted. It had a magic signature, though that was kind of static-like too, as if it wasn’t flowing properly— Powerful, I could tell that much, at least… similar to my own, maybe? I’m not completely sure, I’d never felt anything like it.”
“…And did this creature have a name?”
“It called itself… a remnant.”
The Tem frowns, brows furrowing, and Sans watches almost hopelessly as she looks down at her desk and taps it with an idle paw, considering his words. There’s frustration scrawled across her features, and that’s enough to basically give Sans his answer. Temmies as a rule are in the business of knowing everything, and the only thing that truly frustrates them even more than a situation out of their control is something in the Underground they know nothing about, a true wild card.
“No,” She says at length, “I can’t say I have heard of it.” She jumps off her desk, causing the two Temmies standing at the entryway corners of the room to straighten up almost imperceptibly, but she simply pushes open a crudely-painted bright orange and blue door set against the back wall amongst the rabble of overly-cheerfully colored things in the room, and disappears inside, voice slightly muffled as it rings out again. “You said it had a powerful magic signature?”
“Ah…” He shifts, glancing at one of the guarding Tems, who looks as confused as he does, from what little he can gain of their expression, at least. “Yeah.”
There’s a shuffle, and then the sound of something being pulled off a shelf and of pages being thumbed through. “You live in the castle laboratories, yes? You interact with incredibly strong monsters on the daily. Would you classify it as more or less powerful than the stronger signatures you’re familiar with?”
“I… More, maybe?” Sans frowns, and shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, not more, just… Different? Monsters’ signatures all hold some similarities, even slight ones, but this was completely its own equation.”
“Estimate, then. Just on your initial impressions of raw potential.”
He shudders, doing his best to recall the fading glimpses of the remnant’s magic that single time it had interfered in his mind. “At least around Asgore’s, boss monster capability levels of magic.”
“Hm…” The head Temmie hums, pushing back into the room with a large, well-worn book balanced on her head. “Interesting.” She jumps back into her seat with surprising grace, the book barely wobbling from its position before she lifts it off her head and sets it with a none-to-gentle thump on the desk, flipping through the pages with purpose. “Did it have a soul?”
“…What?”
She peers up at him, a distinct lack of amusement scrawled across her features. “I said: did it have a soul?”
“No, I heard what you said, I just…” He runs a hand nervously over the back of his skull, fingers catching on his jacket hood and drawing it over his head on instinct. “It must have, right? Nothing can survive without a soul.”
The Temmie blinks. “Do you remember the presence of a soul?”
“I—“ He slumps. “No, I don’t, but I wasn’t exactly looking for one, anyways.” He feels a shiver up his spine at the implications of his own words. “What are you getting at?”
With a slight frown, the Temmie looks back down at the book, finally landing on a page and smoothing it out before turning the book around to face Sans. “It is not an exaggeration to say my knowledge of this Underground and its inhabitants is likely second to none. If such a powerful creature were loose in these caverns, no matter how elusive it may be, I would have heard about it.”
“…Alright.”
The Tem sighs, nodding to the book, and Sans’s gaze falls to it, eyes widening at familiar handwriting. “There is a… theory, one that was originally developed as a matter of study on the surface before the war, about the nature between consciousness and soul, and whether they can be separated. “
Sans leans forward, grabbing the edges of the book and pulling it forward. “This is… Gaster’s handwriting.”
“But of course.” The Temmie nods towards the book. “The theory was all conjecture originally, but it became a matter of interest for the first Royal Scientist, whom your Gaster studied under. It was thought that if the theory could be put into action, it might offer a way to a means of escape from the Underground.”
“The lost soul effect…” He mutters, reading the words at the top of the page and peering over the book, taking in Gaster’s messy handwriting in the odd-shaped symbols of his native language. “You said it was about separating the consciousness and the soul?”
“Yes. It is generally assumed the consciousness resides in the soul, particularly in regards to Monsters, as our physical forms have no definable neural systems as humans do.” The Temmie pauses. “This research, however, postulated, among other things, that it might be possible to disconnect the consciousness from the soul, and to exist as a separate entity, so long as the soul remained intact.”
Sans furrows his brows, glancing up at her. “Is it?”
“Do you really think that, were it proven possible, we would not have capitalized on it?” The Temmie says pointedly, and Sans winces in answer. “The theory is absolutely impossible to prove correct within any reasonable bounds of experimentation— Monsters souls are the culminations of their beings, to attempt to separate a monster from their soul would result in an overwhelmingly likely chance of death, and, even back on the surface when human souls were accessible, the conjecture was still too risky to test on them. The only way to prove it true is if a naturally occurring case was found.”
“…And you think…?”
“What you described— A creature capable of thought but without a physical form, with a magic signature but no discernable presence of a soul tied to it, what does that sound like to you?”
“But…” He frowns, fingers running over the symbols at the bottom of the page. “It says here that magic is connected to the soul, not the consciousness, and that severing the two would cut off a monster’s access to magic. This thing definitely had magic.”
The Tem tilts her head in acquiescence. “Magic is channeled from the soul, but the assumption that separating consciousness and soul would separate consciousness and magic is conjecture. It is sound, logical conjecture, yes, but only conjecture. As is this.” She purses her lips, shaking her head. “I am not positive on what it is you believe yourself to have found, but if what you say is true, then whatever it is, it is outside our constraints of how monsters and humans work. It takes incredibly powerful magic to influence the psyche, and to interfere with your sleeping conscious this creature would have to share some bond with your own soul, or at the very least your magic signature.”
Sans’s eyes flicker back down to the page, darting over scattered symbols for soul, magic, mind, body. “…It knew my name. It knew me.”
When he looks to the Temmie, she only stares back impassively, and he sighs, idly flipping the page in the book, and scanning the contents, taking in a similar set of notes and charts. “…What’s this?”
The Temmie glances at the book, and blinks. “Ah. The even more outrageously speculative sister theory to the previous one we just discussed. It suggests potential ways to keep a monster’s consciousness alive during the loss of a soul.”
That catches Sans’s attention, and he skims the page, grimacing at the overly-complex diagram filled with a multitude of numbers and symbols revolving around a central circle with only the symbols for what roughly translated to will-to-live variable set inside it. “How would you give a monster a will to survive after they’re already dying?”
“Human souls survive after death, by the means of something within their own makeup.” The head Tem offers. “This was the idea that, if said something could be isolated, and given to a dying monster, it might revive them. Or, in its more wild concepts, that an object given that isolated human element that allows the soul to persist might allow the object to develop a consciousness.”
Sans shakes his head, sitting back. “That’s more fantasy than logic. Maybe, maybe, you could revive a dying monster, if there were some miracle drug sourced from human souls, but you can’t create a living being out of nothing, that’s just like… something out of one of Gaster’s bad animes. Hell, you could sprinkle monster dust over that item and you still wouldn’t get anywhere, not without a soul, or a residual magic signature at the very least.”
The Tem hums in agreement, and he groans, bringing his hands up to rub wearily at his eyes. “I can’t believe Gaster never told me about any of this, half of our fucking research revolves around the nature of souls.”
…Admittedly, that research was focused on the timeline properties of human souls, not on consciousness and soul, but… Well. It’s not like the Temmies needed to know that little tidbit of information.
“It is possible that he did not remember.” The head Tem says, leaning forward and shutting the book. “These were inane theories his predecessor studied for a short period of time then abandoned, nothing more. I doubt he even remembers trading a spare copy of the research notes in exchange for… a favor.”
Sans grunts in something like concession, not bothering to ask why the Temmies would want the notes to such a seemingly pointless bunch of theories. To them, such things didn’t have to be practical or applicable to be desirable. They coveted knowledge, in all its forms.
“Yeah, I suppose. Not exactly the type of thing someone would try out for a laugh, even him.” Sighing wearily, he pulls his hands away and cracks an eye open. “So, how much do I owe you for even showing me that?”
“Nothing, so long as you inform me of anything further you discover on the subject you came asking me on.”
He blinks, sitting up and staring openly at the Temmie. “Wait, really?”
She scowls. “Do not take this as some foolish form of kind-heartedness. I dislike not knowing about anything in this Underground, particularly things that may have more power than they seem. This creature you speak of… It has peaked my interest, to say the least.”
“…Huh.” Sans returns at length, mentally shrugging and deciding not to question the small mercies in life. The less time he has to waste doing odd jobs for the Tems, the better. “Alright, deal.” Almost idly, he stands, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well, I should get back, I was only supposed to be out for a quick walk.” The head Tem tilts her head, granting him permission to leave, and he turns, ignoring the ever-unsettling gazes of the guarding Temmies as he goes.
He makes it to two steps before the door when the Temmie’s voice calls out again. “Sans.” He startles slightly, because the Tems almost never use his name, and goddamn is that creepy to hear, and looks over his shoulder, meeting the glimmering stare of the head Tem.
“Your Gaster has never tried to give an inanimate item consciousness or tried to revive a dying monster, true, but that does not make him any less of a stubborn fool, or as forgetful as you or I might give him credit for.”
He swallows nervously. “…What do you mean?”
The Temmie grins, sharp and wide, and once again Sans is reminded of the cold, calculating being she really is. “The dog. Toby. It is not like the other dog monsters of the Underground, you know this— But that is because it is not a monster at all.” Her fangs glint. “It came here many, many years ago, with the human Gaster called his own, and the dogs of the surface, mere pets, do not have such long lifespans as their masters. That dog should, by all reason and logic, be dead, and yet it is not. Do you understand?”
It takes a moment, and then the bottom of Sans’s stomach plummets, a horrible, lurching feeling taking over as the implication of her words, of the words on that book still clutched between her paws, fall into place.
“…No idea what you’re talking about.” He forces out, turning and yanking the door open. “I… I have to go.”
He runs, seeking the quiet of Waterfall, away from this place of cursed ideas and suggestions and of obnoxious facades, away from theories on time-worn paper that bring fear and nervous realizations and paranoia crawling into his throat.
Above all, he pretends not to hear the laughter of the Tems as it chases his heels.
#hI THIS FIC ISN'T DEAD YET#Undertale#Undertale fanfiction#undertale fanfic#Sans#my writing#Not as Simple as a Happy Ending (Undertale)
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Gaming Table Build Guide
For the past year and a half, once a week I have a bunch of friends over to my house for a weekly game night where we all get together and play Dungeons and Dragons. Because we're fucking cool. Our group us fairly large, at least in terms of a typical number of players for a D&D campaign, with seven players and myself as the dungeon master (I know, I know, hes a dungeon master for a weekly D&D game? Tame the pitter-patter of your fluttering hearts and calm the rush of blood to your nethers, I'm taken). With such a large group, we need quite a bit of space, which for the past 18 months has meant my dining room table.
While everyone does fit around this table, it gets a little elbowy with all seven people with all of their books and notes and stuff taking up positions around the table. That's before you even account for me with all of my DM shit taking up a chunk of surface area. While that's mostly bearable, the main thing is that between my source books, miniatures, campaign binders, props (yes I have props, I run an immersive game, fuck you), and other assorted things; when the table is not being used for gaming I have to move approximately 180,000,000 lbs of shit out of there if I want to use the room for anything else.
I decided that it was for the best if I actually set up a space to be a designated game room. We've got a room downstairs in our house where we've been steadily moving all of our hand-me-down/thrift store furniture as we replace it with newer, less decrepit things to the point where it's become this weird hybrid room with a junky dining room set, a couch and chair from 1992 and a terrible rug. Also I accidentally painted it basketball orange so. . .
If we got rid of the garbage furniture, repainted the walls and furnished it with stuff that made some semblance of sense, we could have a really nice game room/place to entertain. The centerpiece and focal point of this room, would of course be the gaming table.
I had an idea what I wanted, which was a fairly simple table, preferably kind of rustic/taverny looking that had removable table top slats to reveal a gaming pit underneath so that the piece could do double duty as a normal table when not in use for D&D. With my general vision in mind I did some shopping around online, finding that unless I wanted to spend upwards of $1,000 dollars I was out of luck. On top of that, the options I found that were remotely reasonable in cost were not what I was looking for aesthetically speaking.
Now, I won't name any companies specifically, but I'll just say that if i'm going to get a gaming table that is to be considered in any way ultimate, it's sure as shit not going to be some Ikea looking piece of crap. If I'm going to have a shit gaming table, I'll spend 200 bucks and make it my goddamned self.
The following the process of building my custom gaming table, with notes and descriptions of what I did, in case anyone reading is interested in building one for themselves:
The first thing I did was search around on the internet for plans for a gaming table build. Like I said, I had a general idea that I needed a fairly large, rectangular table with a gaming pit set down into the surface and panels of some sort that could be put in and taken out to convert it to a regular table when not in use, no break down of my game setup required.
I found a set of plans that seemed fairly popular for people doing home builds of tables, which I will link to at the end so you can use that as an additional resource if you are trying to recreate this build. The only issues I had with the plans and walkthrough video that the original creator out together was that they were a little vague about certain details, missing measurements in some places and the table he was building was only 4X4, and had a monitor mounted in it. Needing a larger table and not really being a digital map/computer screen kind of DM, some modifications would need to be made, along with a fair bit of just fucking winging it. I never claimed to be a competent carpenter, I think it's important that you remember that.
I went through his plans, watched his walkthrough a couple of times while taking notes, and assembled my materials list based on what I thought I'd need to build his same style table at the dimensions I wanted. Here is what I came up with:
(2x) 1"x8"x8'*
(2x) 1"x6"x6'*
(4x) 1"x4"x6'*
(3x) 3/4"x3/4"x6' quarter round
(4x) 1"x4"x4'
(10x) 2"x4"x8'
(5x) 1"x8"x6*
4'x6'x3/4" plywood
*try to get the higher quality, smoother, straighter cuts of lumber for these items as they are the parts of the table that will be visible, and it's important that they not be warped. It will save you a lot of effort sanding and prepping as well if some of that is done for you.
My additional materials list included these items:
Wood glue (large)
Wood filler (stainable)
(8x) 2 1/2" lag bolts
1 5/8" screws
2 1/2" screws
finish nails
120 and 220 grit sandpaper
wood stain (color of choice)
wood pre-stain
Spar-Urethane (1g)
I got all my materials and set everything up in the garage. I had an old desk in there that I used to place the plywood on while building the table, but if you have a couple of sawhorses or some other flat surface to work on, whatever will do.
The first thing I needed to decide was exactly what size the table should be. Based on the size of the room I wanted to put it in, and the number of people I needed to comfortably sit around it, I settled on having the play area be 3'x6' with the total dimensions of the table being closer to 4'X7' with the added length and width of the area around the gaming pit that would have cup holders and dice trays set into it
I cut my plywood down to 3X5 with s circular saw. which is the size it is in the picture above.
The basic plan from this point was to build a framework on the underside to make sure the table was nice and sturdy, and then build up and out off the edges of the plywood on the top to create a raised frame around the center.
Next the framing/support for the bottom using 2x4's. In the original design, there was a cutout and mount for a monitor smack in the center of the plywood there, but I wasn't planning on doing that so I added a third support right in the middle to make sure it was nice and sturdy.
The two sides of this 'ladder' looking thing are the exact same length as the plywood, while the horizontal supports are 24 inches and spaced evenly, using the center one at the exact middle of the table as a reference.
WIth everything centered lengthwise and widthwise, I took a pencil and marked the outlines where the supports were and removed them.
I took my drill and pre-drilled holes where the supports would be attached to the plywood. I always try to pre-drill, as it reduces the risk of splitting the wood, or stripping a screw half way in. Especially since I was going to be using 2 1/2" screws for this part the last thing I wanted to do was spend twenty goddamn minutes unscrewing a stripped screw from the board with a pair of pliers.
2 1/2" screws securely drilled in from below, using my pre-drilled holes as a guide, I flipped the table over to get to work on the top portion.
The next step here would be to put on the first piece of framing, what would essentially create the border around the play area (plywood surface).
The original plans recommended a 2 1/2 inch lip above the play area so that there would be enough room to place a tabletop over it without having to remove miniatures and stuff, so I marked 2 1/2 inches on the 1X4's that are used for this part.
This took some figuring as it was poorly marked on the original plans I had, and the walkthrough video didn't cover it, but this framing is done by cutting the two pieces on the long sides of the table so they extend past the end of the table, while the pieces on the short sides sit inside.
You apply a bead of wood glue, line up your 2 1/2" mark with the top edge of the plywood, and secure it with finish nails to hold it in place. You then go back though with 1 5/8" screws and secure it firmly to the plywood.
It looks like this when it's done:
The thing that tripped me up was figuring out exactly how far out the two side pieces needed to stick. What I ended up doing was attaching the two short pieces to the plywood first, since I knew they were exactly the width of the plywood. I then set it on the ground and laid pieces out to mock everything up so I could measure. Essentially, what you are starting here is the framework that the top piece with the cupholders and stuff sits on, the short piece that was just secured being flush with the 1x6 that creates that top.
Long story short if you use the inside corner of the short 1x4 (corner of the plywood) as your starting point, the long board needs to stick out 5" off the end of the table, so that when another 1x4 is later attached flat with the protruding pieces it creates a frame that is 5 1/2 inches wide to fit flush with the 1x6 top piece. (Actual measurement for a 1x6 is really 5 1/2 inches wide, probably for some mathematical reason that makes sense, but I don't understand, so I'm just going with because wood is stupid)
If that was confusing, sorry. It confused the shit out of me while I was building the thing, and STILL confused the shit out of my trying to re-explain it after I've already done it. Hopefully the pictures going forward will help you understand how it all goes together.
The next thing to do is cut out all these little nubbin boys here. They are made by taking 2X4's, cutting them once to make 5' pieces, and then cutting those lengthwise to shave off about and inch.
These are going to be the braces that go all around the frame we have put up and become supports to make the outer area nice and strong, since that's where people will be leaning. I made 12 of them, and arranged them like this:
The long sides got four each, while the short sides got two. You can kind of see now how those long pieces create two additional supports on the corners. I probably messed this up a little bit with my placement on the long sides with these. I probably should have spaced them out more so that the corners had a support down right at the end just like the short sides do. It all went together fine and seems sturdy, so I guess it's not that big a deal.
To secure these, i put wood glue on the end, pressed it to the 1x4 with the bottoms of both pieces flush with one another then hammered a finish nail in from the inside of the frame to hold it in place and followed it up with a 1 5/8" screw.
This is where stuff started to get a little tricky for me in particular as I didn't have a nice table mounted miter saw for making 45 degree cuts. I was working pretty much exclusively freehand. My hand circular saw did angle to make a 45, but I pretty much had to rely on a steady hand to make it even.
In other words I was fucked at this point.
Using the long pieces of the interior part of the framework as a guide (the shorter edge of the angled cut lined up with the end of the other piece of wood) I made the two of those with the 1x4s and attached them so that I could set my shorter pieces on top and mark where to make my cuts.
I attached these at this point, but you SHOULD NOT. The next step I outline, should be done before you put these pieces in place. It will make your life much easier.
Here it is assembled. The angled pieces get slapped onto the outside of the framework we've created out of our long inner boards and 2x4 nubbies. Two finish nails go into the board at the site of each support with wood glue to seal it all. I also put two nails in each corner to help pull them more flush. Like I said I was freehanding that shit, so it didn't come out as perfect as I'd have liked.
Next I put in the quarter round pieces that will serve as a lip for the tabletop to rest on when covering the gaming area. Like I said, I should have done this before attaching the 1x4 to the outside of the frame because it was a nightmare to attach these. I couldn't get a hammer at a correct angle or with enough force to drive finish nails in, so I ended up having to pre-drill holes with my drill, and then hand screw in 1 5/8' screws doing my best not to punch out of the rounded side if I went to far.
The next step was to cut the 1x6's at 45 degree angles across the width to create the top of our outer border. Again, here a mounted miter saw with a swivel would have been nice, but I did it freehand by making a 45 degree angle line in pencil and following it as steadily as possible.
Here it is with three of the four places in place. You can finally tell what the finished thing is going to look like here. with the raised area for players to lean, write and place their drinks on, and the lower portion down below for miniatures and maps.
You can also see here I started tracing my cutouts for cupholders.
It was around this time that I changed my mind on putting dice trays in, as I felt they would take too much of the surface area away and leave players feeling a little cramped. With such a large interior play area it would be easy enough to roll in there.
I traced the rim of the cupholders so that I'd be able to cut out the hole with a jig saw slightly smaller. The hole didn't need to be particularly pretty, just wide enough that the cup holder could slip in there and rest on the lip.
The cupholders I got off Amazon, they are the same ones the guy used for his original design. A link to them is in the description of the youtube video I'll put at the end.
Here it is all assembled. I attached the tops of the arm rest portion by putting a bead of glue all the way around the 1x4 frame that I created and setting the piece down before securing it with finish nails. I went in after that with wood filler and patched over my nail holes as well as the seams at the corners where my aformentioned lack of proper tools and general shittiness at carpentry had left it looking slopy.
Next I made the legs.
These were pretty simple 2x4 legs. Each one is made by cutting lengths of 2x4s and screwing them together. One piece is longer, and gets cut to whatever the height you want your table to be is. I went a little higher than the original plans, but you could easily go higher still if you wanted a bartop height gaming table. Whatever you cut the longer piece at, you gut the other part of the leg 3 1/2 inches shorter so that it can slot right up against the ladder shaped frame that was done in the beginning.
Rinse and repeat until you've got four identical table legs, then pre-drill and secure the two halves of the legs to each other. I used three 2 1/2" screws for each leg.
I wouldn't recommend attaching the legs to the table yet, as it will be a lot easier to attach the bottom shelf to them after you make it and then put the thing together in it's final home at the very end.
Next I created the slats to sit inside the lip of the table and create a smooth surface for when it wasn't in use for gaming. I had originally intended to make them horizontal but a friend suggested they would look better as long vertical planks instead. Due to the fact that he was right and also doing long vertical planks meant less cutting I decided to go with that. Whoever said laziness and aesthetic appeal didn't go hand in hand?
To get the 1x8's to fit properly I did still have some cutting to do though, so first I cut them all down to 6ft so they would fit lengthwise. The math wizards in the group might be saying "Hey, isn't that opening 36 inches wide? 8inch planks aren't going to divide evenly into that amount of space".
The math wizards are correct. Five 8' planks, which we all know are really 7.5 inches across because wood is stupid, to fit into the 36inch opening I left four of them alone and cut the fifth piece down to six inches wide using a table saw and set this in as the middle piece.
It's hard to see here, but I cut a hole in the center of that thinner piece so that it could hooked with a finger and lifted out of the center when you were trying to take the cover off.
At this point I wanted a change of pace from measuring, cutting and building, so I decided to leave the bottom shelf for later, and go on to sand stain and finish the parts I had already built.
I used the 120 grit sandpaper to smooth down any rough patches and then switch to the 220 to give everything a once over to get it as smooth as possible, I have an orbital sander, but after doing all of the cutting freehand I had some stupid idea that Id forsake the power tool and sand it all by hand. I do not recommend this it was tiring and took forever.
I used a lighter colored stain, with just a hint of amber tint to it, because I was going for a rustic, well worn tavern table look to go with the D&D concept of the table. It took two coats of stain to get the color the way I liked it.
For the finish I used the Spar-urethane because I did some research, and short of actually building a framework around the table pieces and doing a resin pour, that was the best finish to give that thick glassy bartop look I wanted.
The urethane took three coats to get it nice and solid. I had some trouble with the slats after the urethane went down as the layer added just enough extra size and friction to make them not want to fit. I had to further shave down the center plank little by little until it fit in.
Once it was all dry I popped the cupholders in to see what the finished tabletop would look like. I opted not to secure the cupholders, as they fit in there fairly snugly, and I figured if anyone ever spilled or anything they'd be easier to clean if I could just take them out.
The bottom shelf was surprisingly easy to make. It's just a frame of 2x4s screwed into each other with 2 1/2 inch screws then planks get attached to the top with wood glue and finish nails.
I measured the distance between the insides of the long supports on the underside of the table and made the shelf that exact width and 62 inches long. For the top I used pieces of leftover something I had picked up at some point that was not the size I thought it was (I think they were 8 inches wide by 1 1/2 or something) It turned out I had just enough to perfectly fit the frame I'd made, and the pattern of the alternating depth wood looked cool so I wen't with it. It was either that or go buy more wood, and once again, laziness and aesthetics are not mutually exclusive.
I sanded, stained and finished it the same as I had done with the tabletop and legs, attached the legs to the corners of it from the inside with 2 1/2 inch nails and it was all done.
I attached bottle openers to the four corners of the table top so people could open their beers while we play, and it was all ready to go except for getting it moved inside, assembled, and finishing the play surface on the interior.
I did bring it inside at this point and attached the top to the bottom. For the play surface I decided to use cork. I thought felt would look bad if I tried to put it down myself, and that 5mm craft foam that you see used a lot didn't seem like it would hold up, so I found a roll of 4ft by 6ft cork sheeting that I could cut to size and super glue to the play surface.
If you were following along, doing your own table build, you could call it a day at this point if you wanted to. The table has everything it needs to be a completely low tech solution for your tabletop game. As I said, I'm not really a computer maps and mounted monitor kind of DM so for the most part a nice looking table with some minor bells and whistles pretty well covers my needs.
I did however get a little ambitious with some ideas for some slight upgrades to add a little bit of tech flare to my setup. If none of this other stuff appeals to you, feel free to stop at the above point, but here is a breakdown of a couple of add-ons I made:
The first thing I added was these color changing LED strip lights that I found around the interior border. The lights I found have a little remote control so I can switch them to different hues so I can play around with mood lighting. Red when the party fights the dragon in it's lair full of magma flows? Green when they walk through the sunlit forests of the elves? Pink when the bard starts playing Barry White in the tavern to seduce wenches? You get the idea, I told you I run an immersive game and anyone who says otherwise is a lying son of a bitch.
I secured them around the interior lip of the play area and drilled a small hole through which to run the power cable out of the table and down the leg.
Last, I decided I wanted to create a piece that would give me (or anyone DMing) extra space at the head of the table for all the assorted stuff they need, so I took a scrap piece of the plywood I'd cut off the table and made a single horizontal plank about a foot wide that I stained and finished. Plywood doesn't really take stain properly the way a normal piece of lumber will so I don't typically recommend it. For me it was the only spare piece of wood I had that was large enough and it was a combination of wanting to make use of what I had if I could and not caring all that much about the appearance since it was only there to get hidden behind the DM screen anyway. Sometimes laziness and aesthetic appeal are in fact, at odds.
If you wanted to do this, it would be a simple matter of getting another board at whatever width you felt was suitable for the DM area.
Here is the finished product, all the bells and whistles added
I put two chairs on each side for the picture here, but it easily fits three to a side with two on each end for a total of eight people comfortably around it. Eventually my plan is to make a pair of benches for the long sides and get a few interesting looking chairs for the ends. Until then, I'm just using chairs from wherever in my house..
All in all I'm pretty happy with the way it came out. It's very sturdy, looks pretty much how I envisioned it, and will suit my gaming needs perfectly.
Now I just have to do something about the rest of the room around it. . .
Link to the youtube video with plans that I followed: here
These can also befound in the description of the video:
Link to the cupholders: here
Link for bottle openers: here
Link for LED's : here (note here: They cost me 24 bucks of a supposed original price of $138. They have an expiration timer on the sale, but it said the same thing when I bought them three weeks ago, so I think it's just bullshit to make you buy them faster.)
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