#slowly getting closer to happily representing my body type- this is a pretty good one

[thunder-opossum]

Me in all mah wideness and acne scars from years of bad anxious habits. Me and my unconventional but charming looks.

Remember to have a good self image 👍

[popatochisssp]

Make Your Mark, 3/10

Series: Undertale, Underswap Relationship(s): US!Sans/Reader Chapter Warnings: Suggestive joking, language  

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere–anywhere– on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn’t make relationships easier…but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

Sans hasn’t yet had the pleasure of being invited to your bedroom, but it’s not as if it’s hard to find.

He can hear your great, wracking coughs from the living room, and what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t intervene?

He hefts his bag of supplies more securely over his shoulder and tracks you down to your inner-sanctum. His knuckles rap twice against your door—for manners’ sake—but he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before barging right in.

“JUST AS I SUSPECTED,” he tsks at the sight of you. “YOU LOOK TERRIBLE!”

And you certainly do!

You can barely sit up to blink owlishly at him through bleary, bloodshot eyes. Your bed-sheets are in a haphazard tangle around your legs and your face is flushed—Sans can’t even tell if that’s snot dripping out of your nose or just sweat, but either way, you’ve clearly given up on trying to mop it off of yourself.

Your voice comes out of you in a pathetic croak, nothing at all like your usually delightful tones. “Sans…? What’re you…doing here? I told you not to come…” Then, as if doubting your own recollection, “…didn’t I?”

“YOU DID,” Sans promises, trying to assure you that you aren’t losing your mind. “BUT YOU ALSO SAID YOU WERE SICK! AND I’D BE A PRETTY GARBAGE FRIEND IF I JUST WENT ABOUT MY DAY WHILE MY BEST PAL WAS STUCK AT HOME EITHER DYING A HORRIBLE, INCURABLE DEATH OR SUFFERING FROM THE COMMON COLD.”

You squint at him knowingly. “…You’ve been on WebMD, haven’t you?”

“I HAVE! TERRIBLE WEBSITE, HATE IT, BUT IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA TO COME OVER AND DO A LITTLE CARETAKING, ANYWAY! …OR HOSPICE CARE, DEPENDING!”

You groan a little.

“I’m not dying,” you say, “and you don’t have to do anything, really… I was just gonna…sleep it off…”

Really, Sans thinks, you oughta know better than to think he’ll be that easily dissuaded.

“AND WHO’S GOING TO GET THE COUGH MEDICINE YOU LEFT ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER?” he asks. “OR HEAT UP THAT CAN OF SOUP I SAW NEXT TO IT? OR EMPTY THAT ABOMINABLY FULL TRASH CAN RIGHT THERE? YOU?”

You poor, sick, scatterbrained human. The both of you know damn well that you’re not going anywhere for the rest of the day—food and drugs and more room to cram used tissues be damned.

You could really use Sans’ help right now, and he watches you slowly realize that.

It’s not long before you physically slump back against your mattress, defeated. “I’m…not gonna be much fun,” is your last feeble protest, and Sans’ grin broadens.

“THEN, I’LL JUST HAVE TO BE ENOUGH FUN FOR BOTH OF US, WON’T I?”

And so begins Sans’ lovely afternoon taking care of his best friend and not-so-negligible crush.

-

………Sans will be the first to admit that he may have a case of the rose-colored glasses, here.

It’s not particularly lovely to have to dump out a bunch of snot-filled tissues…or to stop you from sleepily face-planting into your soup before you could finish it…or listen to you audibly gag at the terrible flavor of the cough syrup, triggering yourself into a wince-inducing coughing fit.

It’s actually kinda the opposite when your hacking sends a wad of…fluid…straight onto his favorite bandana, probably staining it beyond repair.

But the wide-eyed look of horror you give him just half a second afterwards shows off your entrancing eyes, and the sheer mortified panic on your face makes you look so cute, and it’s all Sans can do to hold back a laugh.

I REGRET NOTHING, he decides with ease.

Sans just reaches up to undo the knot at the back of his neck, even as you sputter, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that’s so gross! I’ll! I’ll wash that for you, let me—”

He jerks his arm back, pulling his bandana off and out of your reach—your grasping fingers barely even graze his ulna—and he wags a finger at you.

“NO CHANCE,” he firmly tells your paling, wide-eyed self. “I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT. YOU STAY HERE AND REST, THAT’S AN ORDER!”

You’re…oddly compliant, almost uncharacteristically so…but Sans isn’t about to complain.

You just sit there and watch him leave in search of your bathroom, and Sans puts your gawping stare down to your illness.

-

At least…he does, until he starts to rinse his bandana in the sink and catches a strange flash of green in the mirror above it.

The soiled cloth slips right out of Sans’ fingers, his eye-lights winking out from shock at the sight of his own bare collarbone.

There’s a flower there, its stem coiling along his clavicle and bursting into a colorful bloom of petals across his manubrium.

It’s your favorite.

Sans knows that because you told him so when he asked and he's associated it with you ever since, just one of a thousand inane little facts about you that he memorized because everything you’ve ever told him feels like the most important, interesting thing he’s ever heard.

And…you’re his soulmate.

Somehow, he’s not surprised…but he is excited.

In the mirror, he sees his eye-lights pop back to life in his sockets, already star-shaped, and as lazy as it is, he doesn’t want to waste even a second—he has to see you, right now.

Sans shortcuts back into your bedroom.

In the few moments he’s been gone, you’ve managed to kick off your sheets and are puzzling very intently over your leg, where some squiggly blue lines seem to have taken shape.

“WHAT IS IT?” Sans asks eagerly, jogging all two steps up to your bed. “WHAT’S THE MARK???”

“I…I dunno?” you admit. “I’m happy, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t… It’s just, like…hexagons? And…lines? I don’t…get it…”

The up-close view triggers something in Sans, though, a nearly-buried memory from his schooldays.

“THAT’S…THAT’S A SKELETAL FORMULA,” he realizes.

“Uh…what?”

Sans doesn’t bother to explain, whipping out his phone and yanking you closer by your calf in spite of your startled squeak.

“C…43, H66, N……” He quickly types the values in and looks the chemical up, clicking through to the first reputable-looking website he can find. “OKAY, THAT’S……OH. OH!”

“What?!” you demand, starting to sound distressed. “What is it?!”

“IT’S OXYTOCIN,” Sans happily informs you, discarding his phone with the cockiest smirk he’s ever worn in his life. “IT’S A HORMONE IN HUMANS. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S FOR…?”

“No…? I, uh…uh.” Your mouth drops open as Sans starts crawling onto the bed, eye-lights bright with excitement.

“YOU CALL IT THE ‘LOVE HORMONE,’” he purrs above you, “THE ‘CUDDLE HORMONE’… DO YOU GET MY DRIFT, DEAR…?”

Sans can practically hear the, oh, holy shit racing through your mind, clear as day. His grin goes crooked when you just swallow hard and shake your head.

“IT MEANS…THAT YOU MUST BE…IN DIRE NEED…OF SOME GOOD, HARD…CUDDLING!”

You yelp as Sans pounces, scooping you into his arms and snuggling you tightly against his chest. He nuzzles fervently at your sweaty neck, making you laugh even as he tucks the both of you back up against your pillows and pulls up your sheets.

You laugh until you start to cough and as much as Sans hates to hear you suffering, he can’t quite resist teasing you.

“SEE?” he says against your skin. “YOU’RE STILL SICK! CUDDLING’S ALL YOU’RE GOOD FOR RIGHT NOW. HEHEHEH, WHAT DID YOU THINK I WAS GONNA DO?”

“Oh…oh god…” you breathe between rattling hacks. “…fuck…”

Sans clucks the tongue he doesn’t have. “I THOUGHT SO—LEWD HUMAN! YOU’RE SICK AS A DOG AND WE HAVEN’T EVEN HAD OUR FIRST DATE AND THAT’S ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT!”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I hate you…!”

“BLATANT LIES,” Sans declares. “YOU LOVE ME, YOUR SOULMARK SAYS SO. NOW, GO TO SLEEP ALREADY—AND DON’T HAVE DIRTY DREAMS ABOUT ME, THIS CUDDLING IS PURELY THERAPEUTIC!”

“Hhhhhhhhhhhh…”

But you turn and bury your face into Sans’ chest, clinging to him in a way that just makes him want to squeeze you tighter.

He can’t wait for you to get over this cold.

UT!Sans | UT!Papyrus | US!Papyrus | UF!Sans | UF!Papyrus | SF!Sans | SF!Papyrus | HT!Sans | HT!Papyrus

[bleep-blop-lizard-hop]

Jenny/Vastra Prompt #6

Prompt: Post-Deep Breath, Jenny and Vastra talk about some things after Clara leaves.

A prehistoric dinosaur, a newly regenerated Doctor, ancient homicidal body-snatching robots….all of these factors were tied together to create one quite eventful week for the Paternoster Gang, and it has now come to an end. Vastra watched, smiling contentedly, as Clara Oswald ran toward the TARDIS in search of their next adventure across time and space. It wasn’t long before Jenny also came to stand beside her wife and see the pair head off.

“There goes the Impossible Girl...I’m going to miss having such young and lively company around the house,” remarked Vastra somewhat wistfully upon witnessing the TARDIS vanishing into thin air from their home.

As soon as Vastra said that, Jenny turned to eye her with peculiar apprehension. Vastra’s flirtations with Miss Oswald during the past several days did not escape Jenny’s notice. She wasn’t the type to get jealous that often, but this bothered her much more than she was willing to admit; So far she’s only been maintaining a cordial appearance while not mentioning anything about it since Clara was staying with them. Well now that Clara’s gone, Jenny felt like it was something that needed to be addressed immediately.

“At least she won’t be turning your head with her oh so pretty face anymore,”scoffed Jenny with just a lingering hint of passive-aggressiveness in her tone. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a type.”

“A type?” Vastra merely stared at her wife, head tilted in puzzlement for a few moments until it finally dawned on her as to what Jenny meant. The Silurian then flashed her signature endearingly captivating smile, and began speaking in earnest, “Well, as far as I’m concerned, you are my type, Jenny. Though I won’t deny that I saw certain qualities in Miss Oswald that reminded me of you, which is why I was drawn to her in the first place. What I feel for Miss Oswald is simply pure fancy, unlike my feelings for you which burns like an eternal flame within my heart. Nobody can ever replace you, Dearest Jenny, for you will always be my one true love.”

Jenny knew that she couldn’t resist Vastra when she turned on the poetic charm like that, and she ultimately leaned over to plant a kiss upon her green cheek.“You’re just lucky that you look cute when you grovel. Just dial it down a bit on the flirting alright, you reptilian Casanova.”

Vastra laughed mirthfully at the amiable nickname as her arm wound itself around Jenny’s waist, saying, “I only flirt to get a rise out of you, you know. A little jealousy can often bring out the passion in people, which I find to be very sexy indeed.” Vastra gave a playful wink for emphasis. “Besides, Clara would not look nearly as good as you in a leather catsuit.”

Jenny gasped softly in surprise when Vastra’s hand found her buttocks and firmly squeezed them.

“Well, she’s certainly got the legs for it,” mused Jenny, a joyous grin tugging at her lips, only to be suddenly replaced by a more serious expression as she added, “Another thing, Vastra, would it kill you to quit calling us humans ‘apes’? It’s really been getting on my nerves lately!”

“I’m deeply sorry for upsetting you, my Darling,”apologized Vastra with sincere remorse in her voice, for she had been unaware of her actions, but was determined to make amends. “I suppose that I can at least make an effort to change...though, you might have to be patient with this old Silurian as these habits do die hard.”

Hearing that from Vastra was more than enough for Jenny, who smiled happily and placed another appreciative kiss onto Vastra’s cheek.

“Good.”

The pair then proceeded to move out of the room side-by-side, with their arms held lovingly at each other’s backs and heads touching together in an affectionate manner. Once they reached the main sitting room, Jenny began to gather the teacups and dishes left from earlier that morning, but Vastra intervened for some reason.

The Silurian took the teacups into her own hands, insisting, “No, allow me to do it! You have done quite enough as my maid in these past several days, so I bid you to take a break as my wife.”  Vastra bowed her head a little, sighing rather dolefully; She hadn’t stopped thinking about what Jenny said regarding their pretense as mistress and maid. It was a necessary precaution that they’ve been implementing for as long as they could remember in order to blend in with Victorian society. Neither of them was particularly fond of the fact that they have to keep their true relationship a secret all the time, which made Vastra feel like she should try better to ease this burden whenever it’s just the two of them in private. A few moments passed before Vastra was able to look at Jenny again, tenderly using her finger to tuck a stray wisp of dark hair back behind her ear. “I truly wish that it doesn’t have to be this way….but you are aware that you mean far more to me than just a servant, right?”

“Of course I am, you silly lizard! This ring on my finger here does not lie!” Answered Jenny, holding up her hand to brandish the shiny golden band that represented their marital bond. She found it utterly unbelievable that Vastra would even ask such a question after they’ve been married for a good three years now. Though her ever serene smile and beaming brown eyes did show that she was grateful for the sentiment, nonetheless. Suddenly, a subtle change occurred in Jenny’s demeanor as she bit her bottom lip and spoke, “Speaking honestly as your maid, there are some services that I actually enjoy carrying out. Specifically the ones that require a little more…..hands-on approach.”

Jenny’s sweetly sensuous tone sent a delightful shiver up Vastra’s spine and the teacups were immediately forgotten. Jenny placed one hand on Vastra’s cheek while the other slowly travelled up towards her head crests. A low, guttural moan escaped from the Silurian’s throat as those clever fingers proceeded to stroke and stimulate her sensitive crests. Vastra could feel Jenny’s warm breath against her face as she moved closer, even standing on her tiptoes, in order to seal their lips together in a passionate kiss. Sparks flew from that single contact, which gradually turned into a full-blown wildfire that engulfed them both.

It was only a matter of time until they had to retreat into the privacy of their bedroom, where they gave in to their desires and brought immense pleasure to each other’s bodies upon their marital bed. Any lingering doubts that Jenny still held regarding Vastra’s loyalty, was ultimately blown away when she cried out Jenny’s name upon reaching ecstasy, as if it was some kind of sacred prayer.

Yes, it was Jenny… and only Jenny.