teleportin

thefloatingstone  asked:

... if you don't have a set place to live, what do you do when it rains? Or even worse, snows? How prone are you to getting sick? (Do you still get sick?) and what do you do if snow really starts coming down hard? I figure you're not as prone to cold (I remember you mentioning?) but there's cold and then there's.... a blizzard.

* … i… put my hood up, really, and roll down my sleeves?

* … don’t remind Q. he’s STILL givin’ me hell over that. but the cold really doesn’t bother me - ‘n i don’t get sick, per se, though if i’m wounded while fightin’ a void creature i’m more vulnerable to the weather just in terms of healin’ slower.

* … though, i will say, if it’s a real blizzard blowin’ in, i’ll at least hunker down some, if i can’t spare teleportin’ somewhere else for a while. you only have to have eyesockets full of snow once to know it is not a bag you wanna be a part of…

* though i do keep a pair of aviator-style goggles in my inventory now, because sometimes i’m actively chasin’ a void creature down when real bad weather hits. blizzard, tornado, sandstorm, monsoon… i can’t exactly stop and let ‘em get away, so i gotta power through. it at least keeps the water ‘n such from pushin’ into my eyesockets, heh.

Bitty Reader - Runaway Reader & Underfell!Sans

**It’s Underfell Sans, which means swearing**


           You were lucky to have found the take-out box when you had. The thin Styrofoam was waterproof, which meant it was also snow proof. It was the perfect size for a burger or sandwich, but any leftover food was long gone. That left you a perfectly-sized shelter from the falling, fluffy snow.

           The lip bent beneath your slight weight as you climbed in. There was a bit of melted cheese stuck to one side, and the entire thing smelled like grease and salt. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but a bad smell was a small price to pay for shelter from the snow. You tucked yourself into the corner farthest from the opening, ignoring the way your stomach ached for attention.

           Life on the streets was not as easy as you’d thought it would be. Yes, it was preferable to your life before, but being on the run was proving to have its own difficulties. Food was scarce, shelter from the elements was spotty, and the threat of being found was a constant weight on your mind.

           Still, you thought as you ran your fingers over the deep cut along the back of your right arm, it’s better than before. The gash had scabbed over, but the skin around it was red and puffy, and there was a slight green tint to parts of the scab. It was bad, you knew, but short of walking up to a monster and asking for aid there was nothing you could do.

           A fierce wind whipped through the alley you’d taken shelter in, shaking your box and bringing with it the sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the snow. You tucked yourself deeper into the corner of your box, hoping that whoever it was, they weren’t looking for food. As the steps grew closer, you began to make out some mumbling.

           “Can’t believe the fuck threw out my smokes.” The voice was deep and rough, like a garbage disposal gargling rocks. “Fuckin’ asshole, who the hell does he think he is?” There was a clatter as the lid of the trash can beside your hiding spot was yanked off and tossed to the ground. A rustling of plastic bags and cardboard nearly drowned out the monsters angry muttering as he rooted through the trash.

           “Dammit! Fuckin’ Grillby – bet he just burned them up. I’m gonna extinguish that fucker…” The lid was slammed back down on the can. The snow crunched as the monster – a male, judging from the voice – stomped his foot several times, hissing more threats under his breath. You huddled deeper into the box, wrapping your arms around yourself and hoping that he wasn’t going to knock over the trash can. You couldn’t help but think that death by squishing would be a painful way to go.

           “ARGH!” You weren’t exactly sure what happened – one minute you were in the corner of the box, staring blankly at the sticky glob of cheese as you listened to him rant. Then suddenly you were airborne, the white box flopping open as it was kicked by what appeared to be a black and yellow sneaker. You screeched in surprise, entire body jolted by the impact that sent the box flying. Instinctively, you pulled your knees up to your chest, hiding your face.

           The impact was just as painful as you thought it would be. You rolled and slid along the snow, wincing as the ice rubbed against your arms. A cry slipped past your lips, though it was drowned out by a rather loud, “What the FUCK?” From behind you. Slowly – painfully – you rolled over to look up at the monster that had kicked the box.

           He wasn’t the biggest monster you’d seen, but he was wide, dressed in a black jacket with a fluffy hood and basketball shorts. His skull was smooth and white, made of bone, with holes for his eyes and nose, and a mouth of sharp, shark-like teeth, one of which was gold. In his eye sockets were little white pips, which were focused solely on you.

           Had you not been in pain and terrified, you would have groaned. This edgy-looking skeleton was obviously part of the Underfell Clan. They were more violent, angry, and dangerous than the other clans. Your last owner had been an Underfell, with unfortunately sharp claws and a short temper. Plenty of Readers happily lived with Underfell monsters, but you hadn’t been as lucky as them.

           “A reader?” The skeleton had slowly approached while you looked him up and down. You didn’t – couldn’t – move as he drew to a stop only a few feet away and crouched down to get a better look at you. “I didn’t know there were feral readers,” the monster muttered to himself, shifting so he was leaning on one hand and holding the other out to poke at you.

           You snapped your teeth at the approaching finger, doing your best to scoot back in the snow to put some distance. The skeleton stopped, raising a brow as you growled, shoulders hunched up around your ears. “Heh. Feisty, aren’t you?” He kept his hand hovering between you, his gaze curious but not angry. “Careful kiddo, don’t want to go biting off more than you can chew.” He chuckled at the pun, not seeming put out that you didn’t even smile.

           “So, what’s a little reader like you doing out in this kind of weather? Where’s your owner?” His gaze flickered around the alley, as though hoping to see a random monster hop out with a Reader carrier and a worried expression. You wanted to snort at the thought – it had been a week and the bastard hadn’t found you yet. You doubted he was even looking for you.

           “No owner, then?” The skeleton had re-focused on you. “What, were you ditched?” He tried to poke you again, but you shuffled aside, leaning hard to the right and glaring at him. “Or are you a little runaway?” He squinted and rocked forward on his toes, getting a better look at you. “You’re pretty banged up, kid. Rough time on the streets?” To your surprise, he actually sounded a bit worried.

           He tilted forward and rested his knees on the snow, watching with an amused little smirk as you dragged yourself backwards. You were so focused on glaring at his face that you missed the fact that his hands were free now. In one quick move, he had clapped them around you, scooping you up in a warm, boney hammock. He lifted you up to his face, sharp teeth gleaming as he grinned.

           “Heh, sorry kid. You looked a little bonely on the ground there.” His breath smelled like mustard and relish, and you wrinkled your nose as it engulfed you. The hands around you were rough but gentle, cradling you from the wind and snow. “Let’s get you outta the cold.” He stood, and you felt the swooping feeling of your stomach getting left below. “I’ve never done this with a Reader before, so, uh, close your eyes and hold on tight.”

           You obeyed, squeezing your eyes shut and curling in on yourself. For better or worse you’d been caught by a large skeleton with pointy teeth and an odd sense of humor. Whatever happened next was out of your hands.

           A weird feeling made your stomach stick to the back of your spine, and your brain felt like it was made of chewing gum. Despite having your eyes shut tight, your vision wavered, stars bursting behind closed lids. The hands that held you were steady throughout it all, and despite not knowing what exactly to expect, they made you feel a bit safer.

           “Hey buddy, you still alive?” The skeleton wiggled his hands a bit. “You can, uh, open your eyes now.”

           You slowly opened one eye, and when nothing attacked you or blew up, you opened the other. The skeleton was looking down at you with a bit of worry, droplets of sweat sliding down his skull. You slowly sat up and rubbed at your face, trying to shake the sticky feeling from your mind.

           “Heh, sorry. Teleportin’ is always rough the first few times.”

           You zoned out halfway through his explanation, distracted by the fact that you were now inside, where it was warm and safe. The two of you were in a brightly-lit kitchen with orange-white tiles and a sink that was much, much too tall to be of any real use to anybody as short as the skeleton. While you were looking around, said short skeleton set you down on a small breakfast table shoved in the corner of the kitchen.

           “Yeesh, kid, you’re filthy. How long you been living in the trash?” He crouched beside the table, bringing his eyes to your level and looking at you closely. When you didn’t answer, he did his best to soften his sharp smile. “C’mon, kid, you can talk to me.” He tapped his sharp fingers (claws? Talons?) against the tabletop patiently.

           That was a pleasant surprise – your last owner had been very strict with a ‘pets are to be seen, not heard’ policy. You rolled your tongue around your mouth, then licked your lips and spoke.

           “A-a-about a w-week.” Perhaps ‘spoke’ was too generous a description – it sounded more like a froggit croaking than anything else. You swallowed hard, preparing to repeat yourself, but the skeleton beat you to it.

           “A week? Hell, kiddo, you got guts!” He chuckled. “How did something as tiny as you survive a week in this neighborhood?” He seemed suitably impressed. “Explains why you’re so banged up though. So, you got a name, kiddo?”

           You shrugged, averting your eyes. “Master never gave me one.”

           “’Master’? Heh, kinky.”

           You blushed bright red, bristling a bit. “Not like that!” You croaked.

           He chuckled, but stopped when you looked away, embarrassed. “Aw, c’mon kid, I’m just teasing.”

           Still pouting, you glared at him from the corner of your eye. “So what’s your name then?”

           “I’m Sans. Sans the Skeleton.’ He tipped you a wink. “Good to meet ya, Tiny.”

           “Nice to meet you too.” You responded, absently scratching at the cut on your arm.

           The skeleton wrinkled his oddly-pliable bone brow as he looked you up and down. “Ugh, you need a bath.” You frowned, but he cut you off before you could protest. “Boss won’t let you stay if he thinks you’re dirty.” He stood and moved to one of the counters, bending over to root through the cabinet beneath.

           “W-who’s ‘Boss’?” You asked, scooting to the edge of the table to watch as he pulled out a small plastic cereal bowl with Mettaton’s face on it (the Alpha Clan one, not the Fell Clan one).

           “My bro.” Sans flicked his hand and levitated the bowl up to the sink. A few more twitched turned on the water. “He won’t want you to stay, like, at all, but if you’re at least presentable then I might be able to convince him ta’ let me keep ya.” The floating bowl dipped beneath the water, which had run warm while Sans spoke. As soon as there was a decent amount, he snapped his phalanges and teleported the bowl straight onto the table. He turned off the tap and returned to the table, washcloth and soap in hand.

           “Alright Tiny, in the tub.” He dipped the washcloth in the bowl, then rubbed the wet corner over the bar of soap, lathering it up.

           “What? No!” You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him.

           Sans snorted, setting down the washcloth and giving you a dangerous smile. “That wasn’t a request, kiddo.” He reached towards you, only to stop when you smacked one of his fingers. It hurt you more than him, but you didn’t show it, distracted at the moment.

           “I’m perfectly capable of washing myself!” You declared angrily.

           “No, yer not.” Sans snorted, leaning on the table. “You’re hurt, tired, probably runnin’ a fever, and you’re been tremblin’ since I grabbed ya. Yer very fucking far from being okay enough to be left alone.” His comment surprised you – trembling? You glanced down at your hands, and saw tremors gently run through your limbs. You’d been so distracted by the monster that you hadn’t even noticed. Now that you had, however, your legs began to feel weak beneath you.

           Sans sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Look, Tiny, you got spunk. I c’n appreciate that. But I’m not gonna let ya drown just ‘cause you’re shy. I don’t give a rat’s ass about how yer skinny Reader body looks. Now get in the tub or I’ll force ya in!”

           You hesitated, which he apparently took as defiance. He growled (it was much scarier when he did it), and his left eye lit up with an angry red glow. A snap of his fingers and your ragged, dirty clothes were on the table in a heap beside you. You squeaked and tried to cover yourself, earning an eye roll from the annoyed monster.

           “You don’t have anything I’m interested in, kid.” He scooped you up and dropped you in the water. It was a bit too warm, but the blissful feeling of being completely warm for the first time in a week overrode any pain you felt.

           The water was almost three inches deep, coming part of the way up your chest. As soon as you’d surfaced and got your feet beneath you, Sans shoved the washcloth in your face and began scrubbing the dirt off your skin.

           Is was a very odd feeling, being washed by the large monster. The washcloth was soft and Sans hands were warm and gentle. Your old master had never done this – you’d been a toy to show off, a trained pet to impress others. He’d never taken the time of make sure you were happy or even simply content. The monster had certainly never taken the time to bathe you himself, or tend to your wounds (most of which he, himself, inflicted).

           Neither of you spoke as Sans scrubbed away the dirt. You were too flustered, while the monster was focused on not irritating the scabs and bruises that littered your body. Your old master’s treatment, combined with a week dodging around back alleys, had really done a number on you. The warm water quickly grew a murky gray as your skin returned to its normal color. By the time Sans finished, the warmth of the bath water and his gentle touch had turned you in a limp noodle.

           “Yeesh, kid,” Sans lifted you out of the water and draped a dry dish towel around you, “What’d you do, steal all the dirt in the king’s garden?” You pulled the towel tight around your shoulders and peered over the edge of his hand. The water was too murky to see through, and plenty of dirt clumps and strands of grass and twigs floated along the top.

           The monster set you on the table before dumping out the water in the too-tall sink. He plucked your clothes off the table before you could wiggle back into them.

           “Heh, wow. These have seen better days, huh?” He grabbed the wet washcloth and balled it all together. “I’m gonna throw these in the washer.” He paused, raising a brow thoughtfully. “Huh. I coulda just thrown you in the washer too, I guess.” He grinned widely and winked at you. “Ah well, there’s always next time!” He teleported out of the room. A moment later the rusty pipes beneath the house began to creak, and a wash chugged to life in a nearby room.

           Sans popped back into the kitchen just as the front door banged open, bouncing violently off the wall. The short monster went rigid, sweat beading along his brow, as the new monster crossed the next room with steady, sure, heavy steps.

           He was almost twice as tall as Sans, and ten times as intimidating. He was all hard lines and sharp edges, red and black armor standing out starkly against white bones. His boots clicked sharply against the tile as he strode across the kitchen to stand a few feet away from his brother. His eyes, which lacked the small white-pip pupils, slid over to glance at you. His gaze was sharp and cold, very unlike his brothers.

           “Sans, what is this?” His voice was higher than Sans, and a bit smoother, though there was a nasally undertone.

           Sans shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, is gaze anywhere but his brother. “’s a Reader, Boss. Found them outside o’ Grillby’s.”

           “I see. And what is it doing in our house?” Boss asked, a thick tone of false politeness overlaying his words.

           “I couldn’t just leave ‘em, br – Boss! Boss. They were gonna freeze out there.” He shuffled one sneaker against the tiles, focusing his gaze on the floor.

           “And that is your business…how?” When Sans didn’t answer, Boss ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “Honestly, Sans, you can’t be so weak! How do we know it’s not a spy for our enemies, or if it has some kind of disease? You could have let our death into our home simply because it gave you a sad look!”

           You were rather insulted, down below the terror ripping through your body like an electric current. You pulled the dish towel tighter around your shoulders and shuffled back a few steps, closer to the center of the table and farther from the edge. The tall skeleton noticed your movement and snapped his head to the side. His glare pinned you in place, and you hunched your shoulders up around your ears, trying to look as small and innocent as possible.

           Boss sighed again, as though he had been tasked with a great burden. “Sans,” his voice was flat and unkind, “I will forgive you this once.” He flicked his wrist, summoning a large bone – femur, maybe? – that he clutched in one fist like a club. “I will take care of it, but you must never bring another thing into this house again.”

           “Boss, what are ya-“

           Sans was cut off when Boss swung the bone at the table. You barely managed to roll out of the way. The femur slammed down onto the table, creating a large crack and sending splinters into the air.

           “Stand still and it will be painless,” the tall skeleton hissed as he lifted his club, watching with disgust as you scrambled backwards. Your legs tangled in the washcloth and you fell back, head bouncing off the table with a painful (but tiny) thud. You threw your hands up over your head and cringed, waiting for the blow.

           Instead of hearing a crack as the bone shattered your fragile body, you heard an ear-ringing crash from the other side of the room. The feeling of a looming danger had disappeared, which gave you the courage to open your eyes. Boss was gone, and Sans had moved to stand right beside you. You sat up slowly, looking around, and found where the skeleton had gone.

           He had been thrown into the too-tall sink. The door to the cabinet beneath it was splintered, and an avalanche of bones had buried him. If it weren’t for his armor, you wouldn’t have been able to tell where the skeleton ended and the bones began. A pure-black puppy dog leapt out of the cabinet, barking angrily before grabbing one of the larger bones and running from the room.

           Boss was not down for long. The pile of bones heaved and clattered across the tiles as he stood, a furious look on his face. Sans shifted so he stood between you and his seething brother, hands and left eye flickering with dark red magic. The taller skeleton had his own magic flaring, a brighter orange-red than his brother that crackled and arced like lightning. It was much more energetic and dangerous than the darker magic that rolled off his brother in thick, twisting waves.

           The larger skeleton shifted his grip on the femur and slid one leg back, before launching himself across the kitchen at his brother. Your breath hitched – if Boss hit Sans, they would both end up crashing into the table and squish you.

           Instead of panicking or moving out of the way, Sans simply raised a hand. Boss’s SOUL, which had leapt out when he moved to attack, went from a pure white to a dark blue. He was stopped mid-air, hanging in front of his brother, looking surprised and a bit confused.

           “Heh.” A casual twitch of his fingers – not even a full movement, just a lazy little wiggle – and the skeleton went through the wall into the next room, leaving a Boss-shaped hole in his wake. Your jaw dropped, nearly hitting the table, and scrambled to your feet.

           “H-how did you d-do that?”

           Sans snorted, his magic slowly dispersing as he shoved his hands back in his pockets. When he looked back at you, his eyes had returned to white pips. “Magic.”

           You stared at him, trying to figure out if it was okay to start laughing hysterically at the comment after almost being killed. “Really?” You finally deadpanned, matching his smirk.

           “Really,” he winked, pulling one hand from his pocket and using it to scoop you off the table. He lifted you to his shoulder, settling you between the super-fluffy furry collar and the neck of his red turtle-neck sweater. It was surprisingly comfy, and his shoulders were flatter than you’d thought they’d be, the dip of his clavicle creating a nice little spot to sit. “Glad I found ya, Tiny. You’re gonna be a good little pet.” He shuffled to the doorway to the living room and stood there, leaning against the doorjamb.

           Boss was lying on the carpet, surrounded by drywall and wood splinters. His magic had disappeared, and he groaned as he slowly sat up. He held one hand with his claws, wincing in pain as he felt a new divot in his skull.

           “Ya know bro, if you wanted to redecorate, ya coulda just asked.”          

           Boss froze, eyes snapping to Sans, narrowing dangerously. “What did you just call me?” He demanded, climbing to his feet.

           “Bro. Ya know, it’s short for brother. What, would you rather I call you ‘little bro?’” Sans glared at his brother, though his eyes sparked with amusement beneath his wrinkled brows.

           “I am the GREAT and TERRIBLE PAPYRUS!” The taller skeleton bellowed, posing dramatically. His cape flapped, despite there being no breeze in the room. “You do not address me as bro!”

           “Yeah, I do.” Sans looked bored, though you could see sweat beading along the back of his neck from where you were sitting. He pushed himself off the wall and moved to stand in front of his brother, who switched between glaring at you and Sans in turn. The now-named Papyrus was fuming but seemed unsure of what to say next.  

           “Look, bro,” Sans tone was casual, though there was an undercurrent of annoyance and anger to it. “I didn’t do a good enough job raisin’ ya, I get it. I fucked up. I shoulda protected you better when we were growin’ up.” His gaze flickered to the scars along Papyrus’ eye. “More importantly, I shoulda stopped ya when ya started listening to Undyne instead of me.”

           “Undyne has done more for me-“

           “Shut up.” Magic flared, licking along Sans skull. You winced and leaned away from the sudden heat. The skeleton glanced at you from the corner of his flaming eye, and immediately quelled the fire. “I get that you hate me, bro, but that doesn’t give you the right to try and kill them.” He gestured to you. Papyrus’ eyes snapped to you, a ring of orange surrounding one. You huddled down, trying to hide behind the fluffy collar. Spunky or not, you were intimidated by the glare. A snarl from Sans pulled the larger skeletons gaze away, and the magic disappeared as he refocused.

           “Sans-“

           The portly skeleton spoke over him. “I’m done licking your boot heels, Papyrus. This is my house as much as yours. They,” he motioned to you again, “are mine. Deal with it.” He barred his shark teeth at his brother.

           Papyrus was frowning, teeth a deep line in his jaw. He crossed his arms, lines above his nose wrinkling as he stared down at his brother in thought. After several moments of the two glaring at each other, Papyrus snorted.

           “It took you long enough to grow a backbone,” he smirked widely. “Now get out of the way, I need to make dinner.” He shouldered past Sans, who was speechless. You rocked a bit as the taller skeleton passed, but your grip on Sans fluffy jacket kept you from falling.

           When he didn’t say anything or move, you tilted back so you could look up at him. “Does this mean I can stay?” You prodded.

           The short skeleton finally moved, shuffling across the room to fall back onto the ugly green couch in front of the TV. You bounced at the force, nearly falling off his shoulder. His hand came up at the last moment and stopped you from tumbling off.

           “Yeah, Tiny. Welcome home.”


Whew, this one got away from me a bit. People seemed to like the first one, so I made another Bitty!reader fic! Let me know if you liked it! I have a few more ideas, and if people like this one I might do a second part with the Reader bonding with UF!Papyrus. Cheers!


@bittybones-au was created by the awesome @fucken-crybaby! Check it out!

fuck abra fuckin teleportin piece of shit get in my fuckin pokeball i need ONE MORE CANDY to get my alakazam you motherfucker i cant believe i used a razz berry and an ultraball and you kicjed out at one you fuckin crap bag the next abra i see im gonna kick in the stomach and put it in a box and take it to professor willows wood chipper myself

anonymous asked:

If a Monster absorbed a Human SOUL, would that give them the ability to remember you? Specifically a version of a 'bony' brother?

* no, i’m afraid even if someone like that - and i’m guessin’ you mean one of my counterparts, a Sans - or Sans personality? man this timeline stuff gets screwy - anyways, no, at most it’d put him at more risk for partially perceivin’ me, therefore gettin’ far worse pains if he does run into me. he’d be tryin’ to remember me for longer, thanks to his sense for the Void with the teleportin’, but it’s not enough to actually allow him to do so - so he gets stuck in that ‘forgetting’ limbo for longer.

“What’s he like?”

“What, the General? Eh, real quiet type; tough as nails. Could probably order Arceus himself down from on High if he had a mind to… Lemme tell ya somethin’, kid: if you want an easy victory, tell ‘em General Sonnen is on the way – the enemy’ll high-tail it out o’ there faster than a Teleportin’ Abra.”


Taking a break from real life to give Howard a new outfit. I meant for this to be a more formal uniform, but I think it’ll end up replacing the other one entirely. His respirator won’t change, however. Also, there’s a slit in the middle of the cape just below the shoulder blades for that armor bit to loop around and attach to the back of the belt; so yes, this was designed to be fashion-over-function. He could probably still fight while wearing it, but it’s not like his superiors will let him try.
teleportin replied to your post: teleportin replied to your post: teleportin…

( That sounds kind of interesting. But kind of— greasy. If that’s the proper wording for it. Aw, eat well. )

Oh it is good, believe me. Though it can get greasy like you said. So if I do make it one day it would be wise to have a napkin with you. Thank you very much  (●´∀`●) It’s delicious, don’t look down on your ramen making skills. They’re good. [/continues eating his ramen.] Yep, good.