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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years ago

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There is no such thing as vampires #1 || Jurdan AU

Jurdan Smut Week 2020 • DAY 2

The prompt was technically dagger play...it didn’t really worked that way but HEY more smut! (vampire smut cough)

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: E (no I don’t mean ‘everyone’)

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of blood, some biting (it’s a vampire au c’mon), swear words (just in case)

Summary:

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying.

Extra comments: Just because I’m extra af, I’ll leave you the ambience music videos I listened while writing this. In case you’d like to hear them while reading:

Rain in a forest at night - Haunted Mansion/rain/thunder/wind - Narnia Lullaby

Written for: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 MA’AM AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HELP AND SUPPORT, FOR BETAING THIS UNENDING PIECE AND FOR HELPING ME CRAFTING THE IDEA FOR IT! ❤️

Part 1 || Part 2

Masterlist • AO3

“Please tell me again why are we doing this?” I ask for the third time, leaning to rest my head on my sister’s shoulder. We bounce as the uncomfortable van we travel in turns to a cobbled path, leading us deeper into the woods.

“Because,” Vivi hisses back. “Your little brother is currently in his Twilight-obsession phase, and he just broke up with his girlfriend so we’re trying to cheer him up!”

“He’s 9! And they lasted like, what? Four hours?”

In that moment, Oak turns violently from the front seat, scowling at me. “First of all Jude, we were together two full days ok? She was the love of my life and suddenly she’s not sure about us anymore? Now I shall never find love again! I might have to become a priest. I expect a little consideration.”

Vivi ruffles his hair affectionately. “We absolutely understand, your sister here doesn’t have an ounce of romance in her veins but of course she supports the cause.”

That said, he returns to his place. I bite my lip hard, trying not to laugh. Typical Oak. I love my brother I really do, even if half of the time I can’t understand his dramatic outbursts.

Sighing, I stare through the window, to the heavy clouds gathering on top of us. Great. We are probably far away from the highway by now, nothing more than trees, rocks and occasional wild animals around. For some reason, our father had thought that there was no better way of fixing a kid’s broken heart than going on a quest in search of legends and hidden castles.

The thing is that apparently, it works. Instead of an incessant whining about love being doomed, my brother spends the days throwing the most random facts about werewolves, vampires, ghosts and any impossible creature. To be honest, I don’t think wikipedia and the Twilight books are a reliable source, but if it makes Oak happy I could live a couple of days with it. And most importantly if I have to choose between this or spending the week back at home with my mother and twin sister going to tea parties for old ladies, well, the answer is very clear.

I remember reading a few books about myths when I was younger. When I turned fifteen, I developed a hard crush on Brad Pitt after I saw Interview with the Vampire, filling half of the walls in my room with posters of him. Even now ten years later, I actually enjoy talking about old folklore and legends, urban myths and stuff like that.

What bugs me, are the fraudulent morons who want to take advantage of Oak’s naive curiosity to engage us in the most ridiculous tours that were obviously a waste of money. So far, we’d entered three “museums” where most of the so-called relics were made of plastic, and a haunted house with special effects so poorly done, father had discreetly asked for his money back. Only another two of the places we visited were actually interesting, but since the guides spent most of the time flirting with Vivi or me, it had annoyed our father.

Now though, we are driving behind the car of an old couple who swore their ancestors owned a castle where true vampires had lived once. The sole mention of the word “castle” was enough to make Oak hang from our father’s sleeve begging to go.

I’m not going to lie, it is an intriguing idea. But I remain a little worried about how much money Madoc is ready to pay before he hurries his little son back to his fantasy books and videogames.

“Dad, did you know that vampires like to live in the woods because it allows them to make racing competitions without being interrupted?” Oak asks with enthusiasm.

Madoc gasps. “Do they? Is it because they’re so fast?”

Okay, he might be willing to pay more than I thought. Next to me, Vivi muffles a laugh and keeps taking pictures for her instagram, occasionally asking for my help.

Upon arriving at the castle I have to suppress a curse. This, now, is a real castle. Nothing like the pitiful buildings we’d visited before. It is huge, made of pure stone and a modest wooden bridge that connects the entrance with the spot where the cars park. A slight fog covers the sides of the castle giving it a creepier look.

A shiver goes down my back. I turn to find my family who are all equally gaping at the place in front of them. Oak is visibly shaking with excitement. Vivi shoots me an astonished look before taking my brother’s hand and following the couple across the bridge.

The first thought that pops into my mind is that this place must have been taken out from a movie. Or set up for one. Maybe this is one of those pranks for TV. There is no other explanation for the massive room we find behind the giant front gate. Every inch of the walls is covered by paintings, several images barely recognizable through the dust. Aged furniture rests under dust and spiderwebs, pointing out they haven’t been used in quite some time. The illumination doesn’t help either. Electric lights hang from a few spots on the walls, though not enough for the big space, which I suspect is the reason that long candles are lit up too.

My next thought is that I should’ve brought my sweater. The damn place is freezing.

“Phew, sorry about the dust!” The old man says, flashing an embarrassed smile to us. “We were not planning to have any visitors yet.”

“You said this is going to be a museum?” Madoc asks, carefully surveying the walls. Next to him, Vivi tightens her hold on my brother’s hand to prevent him from starting to run around. I swear his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets.

“It will indeed! This place has been in our family for generations, but since it’s hard to adapt it to modern technology it was abandoned.” He turns to Oak and winks. “Not to mention the creepy things that happen here all the time.”

His gaze widens. “What kind of things?”

“Well, some distant relatives used to try spending their vacations here. But after a couple of days they left in a big rush, claiming some strange force had commanded them to go away.” With a lower voice, he adds. “They also mentioned noises coming out from empty rooms and dark hallways. Steps. Shadows that followed them along the place.”

For a second everyone remains silent. The only noise I can hear is the wind outside and the start of a slight rain. Somehow my hands are even colder.

“The legend says,” The woman, whose name is Marrow if I remember it correctly, continues while taking one chandelier with her hand. “This was the hideout of ancient vampires, how many, we don’t know. But they didn’t appreciate people trying to live within their domains.”

“So why come here at all?” Vivi asks. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It might be.” She shrugs. “But that’s half of the fun, isn’t it?”

“We like to think we’ve found a safe way to open this castle to the public without taking any risks. We will use a part of it as a museum, to show some of the family relics. But be aware, no one is allowed to go further than the marked area.” He signals at the yellow tape stuck on the floor forming arrows.

“If you please...” Marrow says, motioning at the stairs where the markings start.

They get me for a moment, not gonna lie. The surroundings and the way they speak are creepy enough to make me doubt my beliefs for a second. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away and walk behind my family. There’s no such thing as vampires or haunted castles.

We go through passages. Madoc has to remind Oak to not touch anything, constantly. From what I see, he’s living his best day. Several counters line up side by side against the wall. Some of them contain jewelry, others weapons, old writing pens among other things. Most of them carry a family shield, although it’s too blurry to properly identify what it says.

The rain thickens outside and Marrow keeps talking. She tells the story of her so called ancestors, whose family were big enough to fill all the rooms in the castle. Elwen, Eldred… something like that, and his many wives had once lived here. Along with his abounding children. I see in Oak’s face the intention to ask about how that family arrangement worked but Vivi gives him a slight pull of his hair.

I would have thought our guides would try to keep a proud name for their so-called ancestors. But they don’t. In fact, she seems particularly interested in explaining how Eldred’s cruel and terrible nature brought him nothing but disgrace. His once prosperous castle and assets were gone little by little. He claimed he was under the effects of a curse, but no one dared believing him. At least not until people started disappearing.

I stop listening at some point, focusing my attention on the relics in front of me. I’ve always felt a significant attraction to weapons, but not the ordinary ones like guns or rifles. These ones though, such beautiful daggers and swords. I’d give a kidney just to hold one of them.

On the next shelf books pile one next to the other, the dust around them a clear sign of how long they’ve been unbothered. All except for one. The navy blue cover has almost no dust at all, yet it looks like it would fall apart with a gentle blow of wind. The title is partially gone, probably through time.

I turn my head to my family but they’re gone, probably to another corridor since I can still hear the muffled voice of Marrow and my brother. Would she care at all if I check out that book?

I bite my lip. As long as it doesn’t break it’s probably alright. Standing on the tip of my toes I reach for it.

“That is an excellent book.”

I shriek and whip around, my hand flies to my mouth trying to cover the embarrassing sound. The book falls open next to my feet.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying. “My personal favorite. Too bad the author was a poisonous bunch-backed toad.”

My mouth opens to apologize, but I only manage to let out a strangled. “Shit”

The stranger lifts an eyebrow and chuckles.

“Sorry, I- that wasn’t what I meant to say.” I stutter. I feel as if my heart has jumped to my throat. “I wasn’t trying to steal the book.”

“I did not say you were.” He answers, his voice is like velvet.

I nod and take a deep breath. “I came in with my family. Marrow is showing us the place.”

His dark eyes wander down my body, but not like one of those rude men on the streets. No. Something in his gaze feels feral, like an animal sizing up his prey. A strange urge to run pools in my stomach, yet at the same time my muscles seem to have forgotten how to do so.

He looks me in the eyes again and it’s all gone. I let go of the tension in my back and a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When he smiles again, I feel as if I could trust him. Why shouldn’t I?

“And are you enjoying the tour?” He bends to pick up the book I’d dropped before and puts it back on the shelf. His movements are fluid and carefree. I doubt I’ve ever seen such elegance in a simple action. It is unsettling as much as it is attractive. Then I realize I’m supposed to answer.

“Yes, this is amazing actually.” I look around and take in the aged stone of the walls and ceiling. In that corridor there’s only one electric lamp, the rest is only lightened by candles. I can see our shadows dancing along to the flames. “All of this really helps getting in the ‘mood’.”

“The mood?”

I look at him and notice his tilted head. “Yeah you know, the mood of enchanted castles and old legends. This is well put enough that a credulous person would believe any story. Marrow is pretty good at it too.” Motioning a hand to him I add. “They even have their own actor.”

A thunder roars outside. “I beg your pardon?”

I roll my eyes and flash him a smile. “You don’t really have to keep the charade with me. I’m not some schoolgirl.”

“Yet I managed to pull a scream out of you, didn’t I?” The way he says it feels as if he was talking about an entirely different subject. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

“That was… not the same.” I mumble. “I didn’t hear you approaching. That could scare the living hell out of anybody.”

“I have been told I am quite sneaky, I concede you that.” He nods. “Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour? As an apology, of course.”

He’s doing his job, I remind myself, he’s not flirting with you.

“You haven’t even told me your name.” I say. “If we’re roaming around a castle together I should at least know who’s guiding me.”

That sounded an awful lot like flirting. Dammit.

“Cardan, at your service madam.” The tone he uses feels like a caress, he bows his head in a way I’ve only seen in movies. He takes his role seriously. I almost chuckle, but the sound dies in my throat.

“Cardan.” I repeat, just for the pleasure of doing it. “My name is Jude.”

He straightens. “Delighted to meet your acquaintance.” He answers and offers me his arm. “Shall we, Jude?”

I can’t believe how far away my family has gone. Cardan and I walk through a couple of corridors and still there is no trace of them. Did we take that long talking?

He’s an excellent guide, I have to acknowledge that.

While Marrow uses a tone of suspense and mystery, Cardan has this melancholy in his voice that sounds as if he’s talking about a memory. It’s bewitching. He also drops the most ridiculous “facts” about the people on the paintings. I refrain myself from asking if inventing things is allowed for employees, because saying that the girl with the pearl necklace enjoyed to play on the beach while saying she was the Princess of the Sea, certainly sounds like it.

“If you bite your lip one more time, I am going to do it for you.”

My heart skips a bit and I let go of my lower lip. I hadn’t realized I was tugging it. It’s an unconscious habit. I turn to him and I find his gaze different, hungry. It sends a shiver down to a place I know it shouldn’t. He arches an eyebrow as though he notices it.

“Is that a thing vampires like to do?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing I want him to know is that for the last twenty minutes I’ve been listening to him speak wishing he put a different use to that wicked mouth of his.

His gaze doesn’t change. “It is a thing I would like to do.”

I am pretty sure my expression is giving me up by now. Knowing my traitorous body, I’m probably flushed, my mouth open in awe. Desire coils inside me.

At my lack of answer, he continues. “Why don’t I show you something vampires really like to do?”

He walks back without letting go of my hand. I notice he steps out from the marked section and into a forbidden corridor.

The sensation returns, the one that is telling me to run. The problem is that I don’t know whether to run away, or straight to it. My mind wants both and my body, only one.

“You’re going to the restricted area.” I’m partially surprised by how breathless my voice sounds. “You can’t go in there…”

Cardan pauses and a confused expression crosses his face. A second later, it returns to his charming and teasing smile. “Are you afraid?”

I am.

Yet, I don’t care. I walk into the shadows with him.

As we cross the passage darkened by the lack of chandeliers I tell myself this is a terrible, terrible idea. The way he devours my mouth the moment a door slams shut behind us, convinces me it is the best.

Cardan pushes me against the wall, the cold temperature of the stone goes through my clothes making me gasp. He takes the opportunity and kisses me harder, his tongue explores my mouth with such deliciousness I have to bite back a moan.

My fingers are tangled in his hair pulling him closer to me, if such a thing is even possible. His hands are everything but still. They roam intensely from my breasts, down my sides and finally to my rear, where he grabs me, pressing me against his pelvis. I hear him groan and the sound makes something clench inside me.

Before I can double-think about it, one of my hands lowers to rub his hardness, still hidden behind his trousers. His breath hitches. He pulls back a bit and whispers to my ear. “Needy little human.”

I frown a moment, something about his words not clicking inside my brain but whatever it is I forget it the moment he slides his cold hands under my jersey. I yelp at the sensation, not sure if what flutters down my back is a result of the temperature or the eagerness which he’s holding me with. When he reaches my bra I hesitate for a moment. Cardan pauses too and leans back to stare into my eyes.

“Do you want to stop?” His voice is throaty and charged with desire. Still, he doesn’t make a move, waiting for my answer.

An instinctive part of me knows this is something I shouldn’t be doing. But that’s definitely not any close to me wanting to stop. Without removing my eyes from his I take the hem of my jersey to pull it over my head. The piece of fabric hits the floor, but neither of us pays attention to it. Once again Cardan’s gaze roams me in that predatory way.

I don’t stagger this time.

When my bra falls to the floor too, I take his hand and guide it to my jean’s button. “Do I look like I want to stop?”

Without hesitation he yanks the button open and slides his hand inside to cup the apex of my thighs. The contrast of my warm skin against his coldness makes my hips buck. Cardan buries his other hand in my hair and tilts my head back. I can feel his lips nipping down my jaw and my neck. A moan escapes my lips as he swipes a finger along my heat. He hums in response, the vibrations of it against my neck makes my eyes roll back.

He continues his ministrations until he feels me wet enough to slide a finger inside, he curls and pulls out. Then back inside. My breath comes out in elaborated pants as he quickens his pace. My hands almost finish unbuttoning his shirt when he slides another finger through my folds, his movements turn fast and punishing. Wet sounds taint the silence around us. As pleasure takes full control of my body I cling to him like a life saver, trying to muffle my moans.

“Let go Jude, let go for me.” He breathes next to my ear. My back arches and I sob a curse, writhing down on his hand.

He slows down as I come back from my orgasm, but never stops. Despite the freezing surroundings a drop of sweat runs down my chest. My heart beats as if I just ran a marathon. Cardan’s lazy moves continue, frequently grazing that spot that makes me mewl.

I hear him sigh. “You smell so good.” He claims my mouth one more time and bites me hard enough to make me wince. His tongue caresses my lower lip and a warm throb expands through my veins. He freezes and pulls back, releasing me. I stare at him in confusion, or at least as much as I can manage giving my current state.

He pants a couple of times before looking up at me. There’s a fiercess in his eyes that would’ve been scary under normal situations, right now, it only makes me want him more. He swallows before finally speaking. “If we go further, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice is like sandpaper.

My body seems to work on its own account, as I move to cup his face between my hands. “I already told you.”

“Jude…” He warns me, but I interrupt him joining my lips to his.

“I want this.” I breathe into his mouth. Cardan lets out a defeated groan before pulling my body back against his. Either he’s been holding back or it is until that moment that I realize how strong he actually is. He kisses me like a starved man and I can feel my pulse rise once again.

Soon his shirt joins my other clothing. My fingers trace his chest and torso, marveled at the softness of his skin. I mimic him moments before and kiss his neck. A low sound that almost resembles a growl comes out from his throat. My hands travel lower.

Somehow I manage to free his raging erection from his trousers, closing my hand around him. He hisses and then tilts his hips up to my touch. I start pumping him with unsure movements before gaining confidence to do it harder, tighter. Now it’s his turn to curse. Even though it sounds like something taken out from a Shakespeare novel, it makes my core pulse.

Cardan grips the hem of my jeans strong enough that for a moment I fear he’d rip them away.

“Take these off.” He demands instead.

I’m not sure of how I manage to do it. My mind feels blurred with a mix of sensations. Disoriented, not sure about exactly how my body is doing all of that, and the bliss of knowing I’m enjoying every second of it.

Before the air hits my skin, Cardan lifts me from the ground. My legs circle his waist in a reflexive move. His lips quirk in approval. Then my back is once again pressed against the wall, making me arch in a failed attempt to avoid touching the cold stone. A sound leaves my mouth, though it is not clear if it’s a protest or a moan. I hear him chuckle in my ear and I turn my head, searching his lips.

His kiss is slower but still deep. I feel as if small electric sparks are tickling every single one of my nerves. More, I need more. Cardan holds me in place with his hips, letting his hands wander up and down my legs.

The tip of his shaft is grazing my core over the thin fabric of my remaining piece of clothing, with an aching slowness that is not enough to ease my thirst. More.

I might have said that out loud because Cardan’s hips grind faster against me. It feels so good. And yet, it’s not enough.

I whine his name like a plea.

He continues for a couple of torturing seconds before reaching between my thighs again. There’s no teasing now as he moves my panties aside and immediately sinks his fingers inside me, pumping in and out with a pace that has me gasping in no time. He murmurs something I can’t understand and lines himself up to my entrance.

With soft, deliberate movements he slides through my heat, letting me feel every inch of him until he’s completely filling me. Then he stills. My muscles twitch around him, trying to adjust to the invasion. The exquisiteness of it is making my head swoon.

Cardan grabs my jaw and locks his gaze with mine. I can imagine what he’s looking at. Hooded eyes and flushed skin, though he doesn’t let me think a lot about it as he starts to move. Slow at first, with careful strokes that quickly evolve into long and deep. My mouth falls open at the sensation and my eyes shut.

“I warned you.” I hear him pant. “That there was no coming back.”

A whimper escapes my lips. I’m not even sure I’m actually trying to say something. He doesn’t seem to care either and leans to whisper to my ear. “You are mine now, Jude.”

There is something in the way he says it, his words carrying some compelling implication I can’t fully catch. His lips trail down my neck and I want to answer. To tell him that I am, that after the way he’s taking me, how could it be otherwise?

That’s when I feel a sharp stinging pain on the base of my throat.

I cry out and try to shake it away but whatever it is won’t let me go. Cardan’s words echo at the back of my mind, Needy little human.

As if sensing my thoughts he grabs my thighs and opens them wider, he thrusts into me harder and faster. Everything mixes in sensation. Pain leaves as fast as it came, leaving behind it that throb in my veins I can’t really explain. It is more intense now, what I felt as warm now is scorching. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, I’ve never felt so exhilarated before in my life. I don’t want it to stop.

Cardan sucks on my neck again and I moan his name. Without realizing it, I’m on the brink of another orgasm. I only realize it because he groans when my legs start to shiver around him. I cling to his neck and his hair. If I’m pulling too hard I can’t really know. A familiar swirl comes up from my core to the rest of my body as I spasm around him. It takes me a moment to notice the broken moans and sobs I hear come from my own mouth.

He keeps going a little longer until his fingers tighten over my skin, surely leaving bruises on both thighs. Muffled moans ring against my skin as he comes, thrusting in a couple of times more before stilling. A warm sensation covers the place where we join together. His mouth lets go of my neck. I grunt and shiver.

He puts me down carefully, still holding my waist, which is good considering I don’t know if I’m able to stand by myself. I feel dizzy. Cardan lowers his lips to mine one more time. He’s slow and gentle as though he’s worried. There is a slightly metallic taste in his tongue but I don’t pay attention to it. I trace the fine features of his face with trembling fingers. Little by little my senses start to take in the surroundings, the cold.

The place rumbles with another crack of thunder.

“You have to go back.” Cardan says, barely pulling his lips apart. Go back. I frown, then images of my family crash in my mind. I look around searching for the door, there is something on the floor. I realize soon those are my clothes. Shit. The tour, Oak. How much time have I been gone?

I dress in a hurry, not really caring if I put on my jersey correctly. He does the same but with the calm an elegance he has.

Panic must be written in my face because he grabs my chin and turns me to him. “Hey. Calm down.” He soothes me. Then his tone changes, turns commanding. His eyes are darker too. “Listen to me. You are going to do exactly as I say, do you understand Jude?”

I want to ask why, but for some reason I only nod. Cardan grabs my hand and pulls me out of whatever room we were in. “You must follow this passage until you find a way to turn left. Then continue until you see a painting of a black snake then turn right, you cannot miss it or you will get lost. Walk straight, and you will be back to a safe area.”

“But-” I start. I don’t want to go alone. And I don’t understand why but I don’t want to separate from him either. Which is nonsense, I barely know him and still...

He interrupts me. “I cannot go with you, I have lost so much control already and I don’t think…”

“Cardan, I can’t-”

A growl echoes in his chest and he pulls me closer to him. While his voice is still hypnotizing it sounds threatening now. “You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. Now go if you intend to leave this place alive.”

Then he's gone. I can’t recall if I blinked or turned, because a moment before I could still touch him and now he vanished.

I take a deep breath and start walking. Focus. Go straight, then turn right. Or was it left?

All passages look the same, some spaces don’t even have a painting or anything at all to help me differentiate them. Sometimes I whip around, thinking I heard a familiar chuckle behind me. Distant rain is the only sound that is a constant companion, but even with it I’m able to hear an echo of every step I give. It unsettles me more with every minute that passes. Although I feel more in control of my body than before, my knees falter constantly and a sensation of tiredness slides over my mind.

I find the snake painting just as I’d started to think I would be trapped here forever.

It’s huge, and despite the years that have probably passed the scales still seem to shine. The head is painted in an angle that gives the illusion of the eyes following the person looking at it. It doesn’t help that the candle’s flames also make the snake look as if it’s moving. Stalking. Before noticing, I start hyperventilating. I shut my eyes close and turn away. Something is terribly wrong with me, I need to get out.

Turning right, I start running. I cover my ears fearing that if I don’t, I’ll start hearing the snake’s hiss behind me.

I cross an arch made with the same stone and stop right in my tracks upon realizing somehow I’m back at the room where we first arrived. I blink to adjust my eyes to the change of light, since here’s where all the electric lamps are. The room is empty though.

I’m not sure of what I am supposed to do now. Sit and wait? Go out to the car?

While I’m weighing my options, trying to choose any that doesn’t imply dropping myself on the floor to have a panic attack, I hear murmurs and steps getting closer.

“Jude!” My little brother yells and runs to me. Behind him, Vivi scans me like she’s trying to find something wrong. I straighten my back and put on my best calmed face.

“Where were you?” She demands. “We lost you hours ago! Are you ok? You look pale.”

Always such a mother hen, I sigh. “I’m fine. I fell behind and lost y’all. Then... I guessed it would be better to just… return here.”

I try not to frown at my last words, since I didn’t fully intend to say them. You will not tell anybody about what you saw here.

“Jude knows how to take care of herself.” My father adds. I could hug him, but we’re not exactly the affectionate type. So I just flash him a smile.

Vivi does not look convinced but still stands down. “I guess so. The weather did a mess with your hair though.” A flash of Cardan’s fingers pulling from it to gain access to my neck sends a shiver through my body. Had that really happened just minutes before?

Before I can answer, Marrow calls for us. We turn to find her standing next to a big set of paintings that apparently were covered with a curtain. “You cannot leave without meeting the royal family.”

The canvases are ordered to mimic a family tree. A man with a severe expression rests at the very top. Eldred, I assume. Just by looking at it I feel judged. I can’t imagine what was like to actually live with him. The pictures of his wives look all so different but under them, their sons do have resemblance to one another. A weird sensation tickles my fingers as my gaze continues travelling over the paintings. Finally, I get to the last one. Once more, I cover my mouth to avoid an undesired sound.

Staring back at me I see Cardan.

I don’t care if it’s a painting, there is no way I could not recognize those features. Those lips.

“A big family, I see.” Madoc’s words seem so far away.

Marrow hums in agreement. “The Greenbriars always felt proud of their vast offspring. Such attractive sons and daughters. It’s a shame the curse took most of their lives all those centuries ago.”

“Did he…” I start, without knowing how to continue.

She approaches me to look at the canvas. “Ah, young master Cardan. He was the last one of Eldred’s children.” Then a frown appears on her face. “There was a lot of controversy regarding his death. Some say he died because of the curse, some others say he was the curse. The books all have different versions.”

“That sounds creepy as fuck.” Vivi says.

“Creepy as fuck.” My brother mimics her, the thoughtful expression on his face makes him look ridiculous. We cackle as Vivi shouts Oak he’s not supposed to say bad words.

By the time we get out of the castle the rain has decreased to a drizzle.

Madoc carries Oak on his shoulders, listening to his non-stop squeals of excitement after visiting what he calls ‘a real vampire hideout’. This time, I don’t find the words to contradict him. Vivi is the first one to get to the car, shouting back some nonsense about the Greenbriars needing a protection hex.

The moment I step down from the bridge something shifts in my head and I feel as if I had just woken up.

Perhaps it is me who needs a protection spell after all.

Before closing the car’s door, I turn to the castle one more time. Marrow and her husband wave at us from the front gate.

A dull ache throbs on the base of my neck and my hand flies to the spot. I retrieve it and see blood staining my fingers.

My heart misses a beat when I lift my gaze to the upper windows, where a tall figure with white shirt and dark hair is looking right back.

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Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @sweetlyvillainous @poeticbrownmermaid @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003 @booksandothersecrets

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you like an utter idot) please let me know!

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losingmyjustice · 4 years ago

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@nurotoxin sent;

scraTCH THAT [ everything ( minus appeal ) ] + glados

Thoughts & Feelings

Send [ word ] + a character name for my muse to talk about that character.

"Unfortunate that I ended up running into her." beat. "Or rather, that she ended up approaching me. Because, clearly, the first thing you think of when seeing a stranger sitting alone trying to get some peace and quiet is how great of a test subject they'd be. Absolutely normal."

"Also, I'm quite annoyed by how persistent she is — clearly there are more cooperative people she can irritate with her tests, yet she still sees it necessary to bother me despite how I've opposed to it since the get-go."

"Frankly, I don't get it, how she can loathe me to bits yet still be the one initiating an interaction. Sounds rather self-sabotaging, if you ask me. I'd think both of us would profit from it if we'd avoid each other."

Send [ oops ] + a character name for my muse to blurt something about that character.

"If you think about it," he spoke, while not thinking much about it, let alone how offensive it might be. "to claim she's taller than me is ridiculous."

"Her, er, vessel had been assigned by the Stars upon her arrival, right? It's not ... bound with her, so to say. Meaning, should one put her into a tinier vessel similar to the ones you find in Craft-Punk, then she'd have a new, much smaller height than she initially did, while still being the same person. Therefore, her vessel being taller could be compared to someone wearing high heels, no? It's not her, physically, being taller." he’s just salty.

"— Should she argue about this, then just put her in a 2ft tall vessel and see if she still believes it's fair to judge height per the vessel she's in. I bet she'd hate that."

Send [ think ] + a character name to know my muse’s thoughts on that character.

You squint as she took her leave. Despite having her back turned, you're rather certain she's aware of the stare piercing her, though really it'd only be all the better if she is.

All she had said is for you to wait with no further explanation. Likely bringing something, you reckon. You did scoff that you'd leave immediately just to spite her, but both of you know that it won't come to such — it's difficult to find a quiet spot as is with all these celebrations, and you genuinely don't have the energy to bother today. So here you are, grumbling; What the hell is her problem?

If you'd only go by the 'tests' she offers, you'd think of her as a joke. You still do, but — aside from amusement, what's there for her to accomplish? Granted, she does gain some info here and there about Spirale, but apart from that? If that's it, she sure picked quite the horribly inconvenient way to approach the matter. Someone who'd seek actual results wouldn't do that. What's worse; that isn't it. If it'd be just a puzzle enthusiastic scientist wanna-be would be one thing, but only a glance on her attitude and you'd argue her to be worse than the imbecile Dimitri, for obvious reasons. So why? Is she studying people and their way of thinking solely to understand them? That'd barely make sense, considering how she gives no damn about humans to be this interested. Hell, you'd not be surprised if she'd replace her test subjects with these stupid turrets if she could, considering how she reacted when you tossed it the other day. So, what is it then? You can't fathom a potential goal she might be seeking that isn't ridiculously outlandish.

... Maybe she doesn't have a goal, you think. Perhaps she truly is driven by the concept of 'doing science' alone, like she had been programmed to do — and that's all she does, despite the fact that she isn't even where the task was given to her. Gathering information just for the sake of gathering information, with no slight interest on who it aids, or who it expenses. A pointless routine, pretty much. "Despicable," you find yourself muttering, seeing her return again from a distance. You can't imagine anyone living content and happy without having an aim they're striving for in life.

You'd know.

Send [ heart ] + a character name to know my muse’s true feelings for that character.

As much as I'd love to say he's holding a front or whatever, unfortunately, beneath the disrespect is just the same thing but bass-boosted. True, he did act on prejudices at first, but his assumptions had been more than confirmed to him by now, so really he'd call it horseshit if you were to speak to him about how he's got to be open-minded and etc.

However!! While he does have more respects for a snail than for GLaDOS, it might come to a surprise to you when I say he finds her much more tolerable than Dimitri! So hey, at least she got that going for her! Even if he'd never admit that. There are several reasons that go into this — for instance, the fact that she isn't love-struck & her actions (cough, life) not entirely centered around such do make talking to her less annoying. You could claim that she's love-stuck by science, I guess, but she doesnt whine about it. GLaDOS is also far less gullible, much more observant; while it was fortunate for Clive that Dimitri wasn't alike to her in that aspect, conversing with a fool that has only one thing in mind is hardly interesting, and at some point forward even the thrill of deceiving them was gone, more alike to a ludicrously boring routine. It hurts me to insult Allen like this but, yeah — speaking to someone who's less naive is, ultimately, less tedious.

Also uh, this is sad to say but, yknow, Clive keeping up an act around Dimitri at all times was draining — smiling while wanting to strangle someone is!! not a fun thing. Neither is acting like you're a fan of a work that had your parents killed. But, with GLaDOS, he doesn't have to pretend shit. To put it bluntly, it's a relief he can be the asshole he wants to be without repressing it. And, relief makes stuff more tolerable! For him.

There's definitely the comfort of 'im having a bad day and im about to make that everyones problem' that he was unable to do all these years but, hey, you didn't hear that from me.

Regarding testing, they're not always horribly annoying to him unlike he'd claim — especially the ones you could (almost) compare to puzzles; they do catch his interest, and there's always the satisfaction you get when you got it right. However, he'll always be awfully reluctant to do the tests despite how intriguing they might be, and should he end up doing it anyway — never express that delight. Maybe a smirk might slip, but should she point that out he'd make sure in one way or another for her to take that back, or reason said smirk to be something insulting against her — yknow, the usual. Clive wants to be as inconvenient as possible as a 'test subject', and, is doing a good job at that. While yeah, the tests can low-key be temporarily nice, you won't find him miss these should she finally leave him alone. There are a lot of things he's missing, but GLaDOS and her Tests will never be on the list, really.

Send [ body ] + a character name to know my muse’s body language around that character.

So, uh. we both know he's emotionally unstable, right. Talking about his Body Language when he's acting like that is,, difficult, since it depends highly on his mood swings and I'm not about to count them all,, we'll be here forever if I do that. All I can say is that he's surely tense & sensitive whilst it.

However!! I'll ramble a bit about his usual demeanour w/ GLaDOS when things are "fine", whatever that means when talking about Clive

If he's just 'kinda there', as in low-spirited yet still well enough to talk shit (which is the 'usual' in their interactions IG) you can absolutely expect him to intentionally sit 'wrong' yet comfortably — just, y'know, to express disdain even further. Usually, it'd mean he's rather comfortable around you, but in this case, it's frankly just a lack of care of what GLaDOS thinks of him. She already knows he's got issues smh why bother giving a good impression,, Guard isn't really up either, slacking far too much to be so — just this state of "meh." where he very well can complain about the situation at hand without leaving despite it. Uhh, what else — ah and he got his hat off, likely just cast aside somewhere. shrugs

If Clive is ACTUALLY spacing out, be it to the extent where he trails off and loses his line of thoughts like all 30 seconds, or even as far to where he doesn't respond at all — if he's standing, sitting, henceforth, one thing for sure his posture would be slumped, although seeing how it's usually a thing that happens gradually, he'd stop sitting so improper (aside from the slumped posture, of course) so there's that, at least. Guard is obviously thrown out of the roof in such things. Whilst sitting there's also this habit where he'd tip with his fingers on the palm of the other hand (imagine like playing on a piano) or instead have a fist resting in it (as if you're counting for rock paper scissors) while he's spacing out— I can imagine GLaDOS would have already picked up on that to tell when he's getting lost in thought again.

Obviously, he got better days than that, where he'd care to keep up the manners you'd expect from him — but rest assured if he has the energy to act normal, he'll also have the energy to leave should GLaDOS show up. So, the next best thing is where he's irked, which. Well, that's not all too fun either, but. He'd sit upright, arms crossed, perchance even legs crossed, rather tense, you get the idea—much less cooperative too, but what else is new.

#it’s friday and the house is burning [memes]#nothing left to say [ask reply]#nurotoxin #// hands u an essay

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minijenn · 7 years ago

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Universe Falls Preview 2

Hahahahahah Jen be on a mcfuckin roll again kiddos I’m back in the saddle and ready to fucking go ahahah (now if only college didn’t get in my way...) But anyway, here’s some cute, fluffy, initial interactions between Rose and Greg, as well as Marty being a fucking scumbag. Enjoy!

“Thanks for coming everybody, I’m Mr. Universe,” he spoke through the microphone, still quite worn as the adrenaline of the show started to wear off. “If you like what you just heard, go check out our merch table! My manager Marty can hook you up with CDs and tee-shirts—oh wait,” the young musician cut himself off as he glanced over at the aforementioned table, only to find it unmanned. “He’s not there. I guess I’m going over there now…”

Greg did just that, hopping off the stage and running over to the table. He didn’t really expect his lone audience member to stop by, and yet she did. And as soon as the young musician glanced up and got a better look at her, he was absolutely awestruck by what he saw.

Simply put, she was gorgeous, perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. She was also quite large, her full, yet elegant figure standing at least twice as tall as he was, if not more. Her hair was an abundance of soft, flowing unexplainably pink curls and her attire was a long, graceful, sleeveless white gown that revealed, oddly enough, a bright pink gemstone resting upon her navel. But what caught his eye the most was her smile, bright, kind, and curious as she picked up one of the CDs he had for sale, a hint of amusement in her sweet, harmonious voice as she read its title.

“‘Space Train to the Cosmos’… How interesting…” she remarked, intrigued, before looking back to him with a smile that made him practically freeze in awe and amazement. When his initial shock finally did fade, he shook his head clear, playing it as cool as he could, given the circumstances.

“Yeah,” Greg nodded with a nonchalant shrug as he broke out into song. “One way ticket and I’m ready to ri-ide!”

The woman let out a genuinely charmed laugh at this, one that seemed to make Greg melt even more than he already had at the mere sight of her. “Aw, that’s adorable!” she quipped sweetly. “But how will you get back?”

“Back?” Greg frowned, confused.

“Back to Earth?”

The young musician smirked as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m never coming back.”

“Oh, that’s awful!” the woman gasped, as if appalled by this news. She smiled once again though, before looking back down to the CD in her hand. “This is your home… And I know I never want to leave it. There’s far too much to see and do here to ever want to go anywhere else…”

Another beat of somewhat awkward silence passes as Greg took this in, the woman’s gentle, almost nostalgic smile filling him with even more curiosity about her than before. Yet for as many questions as he had about this mysterious, beautiful being, he quickly remembered what he was there for in the first place as he glanced at the CD she was holding. “Uh… you want that? C-cause you can have it…”

“Hm?” It was the woman’s turn to be confused now as she looked back at him.

“Oh, a-and it comes with a free tee-shirt!” Greg added, holding a smaller shirt up. “You’ll probably need a bigger one though… I’ve got an extra-extra large in my van! Stay right there!”

“O-oh, you… you really don’t have to…” the woman shook her head, her smile turning somewhat strained as she put the CD back down on the table.

“Oh no, I insist!” Greg grinned as he got up and started walking backwards towards his van. “I mean, you came all the way out here to see the show. There’s no reason for you to walk away empty handed!”

“N-no, it’s… I… I really shouldn’t have… I-I…” the woman said, her smile finally dissipating into hesitance and discomfort. Discomfort that the young musician didn’t really notice in his innocent cheerfulness. “I… I should probably go…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Greg reassured warmly, calling over his shoulder at her before he began to open his van. “It’ll take me just a second to grab-” The young musician cut himself off as he realized the back of his van was occupied, namely by his manager and his apparent female companion who was leaning incredibly close to him. That is, until they were caught.

“Star child!” Marty exclaimed, hardly surprised as he hopped out of the van, his blonde-haired date accompanying him. “Perfect timing. I want you to meet Vidalia.”

“Nice van,” Vidalia greeted dully, her tone obviously unimpressed and deadpan as she popped her bubble gum. “Really living the high life.”

“I picked her up right before the show,” Marty whispered to Greg with a leering smirk. “Guess there are some actual babes in this boring old hick town after all, huh?”

“Uh…” Greg frowned, rather put off by what his manager had just implied. Marty, however, didn’t really give him much of a chance to respond as he continued, putting an arm over Vidalia’s shoulder as he did.

“So, how’d the show go? You finally sell out for a change? Or you know, sell anything at all?”

“Oh, the show was great!” Greg perked up. “One person showed up! And she—oh, that’s right!” The young musician gasped as he hurried to pull a large ‘Mr. Universe’ shirt out of his stash. “I have to give her this free tee… shirt…” His smile fell as he turned back to where the woman had been waiting, only to find that she had ended up slipping away after all, much to his newfound disappointment.

“Greg! You can’t give stuff away for free!” Marty scolded, breaking the young musician out of his thoughts on the mysterious woman. “What about my 75%?! 75% of nothing is nothing. Are you worth nothing?”

“N-no…” Greg hesitantly replied, glancing down.

“That’s right,” Marty nodded coldly. “Just you wait and see, star child. I’m gonna make us both rich.” He paused, leaning forward to whisper to the young musician so Vidalia, or nobody else for that matter, couldn’t hear. “And as far as these backwoods boneheads know, we already are. So let’s live it up before we hit the road again, alright?” The manager smirked as he began to lead his date off for a wild night. “Next stop, Portland!”

Greg didn’t reply right away as he instead glanced down at the shirt in his hands, a part of him knowing completely well that Marty’s heart wasn’t entirely in the right place. True, at first, the manager had encouraged him to keep things solely about the music; but as time went on and expense money ran dry, cash soon became his primary drive. As much as Greg wanted to try and steer Marty back in the right direction, he always backed down when it came right to it. After all, out of anyone he had ever known, Marty was the only person who supported his dreams of becoming a famous rock star, who actually helped him begin climbing his way towards that dream. The young musician knew he couldn’t possibly turn his back on his transparently greedy manager, especially since, regardless of his frustration with his lack of ticket or merchandise sales, he had never turned his back on him.

Yet at the same time, he soon found his thoughts drifting back to that intriguing, alluring woman, who had, in just the very brief encounter they had had, already managed to leave a tangible impression on him. Greg wasn’t entirely sure where his newfound curiosity about her came from, but all the same, he craved to know more about her. Certainly, she was special; her memorable presence and her poetic words were definitely indications of that. But exactly how she was special, the young musician found himself wanting to know. Perhaps it was foolish, seeing as how he didn’t even know her name, to want to chase after a woman he had only candidly talked to for a moment or two. But he was quick to remind himself that such a pursuit wouldn’t be completely without merit.

After all, he had never gotten the chance give her the free tee-shirt.

“Y’know…” Greg called after Marty, his gaze still fixated on the shirt to the point that he didn’t even notice his manager was already long gone. “I’ll catch up with you…”

#i got a few asks i gotta answer i know #ill grab em tomorrow imma go to bed for now #pick this baby up where i left off and give ya'll some original content for the third preview #wooooo #jen writes #universe falls #like a comet #uf preview

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theseventhhex · 7 years ago

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Editors Interview

Editors

Photo by Rahi Rezvani

British indie-rock 5-piece the Editors are back with album number six. ‘Violence’ was produced by Leo Abrahams, with additional production from Benjamin John Power (Blanck Mass, Fuck Buttons). The band’s latest captivating release marks an intriguing stylistic shift for the Editors, all the while offering a diverse range of striking compositions and an enthralling level of remarkable musical understanding. Equipped with powerful post-punk numbers, symphonic and haunting tracks and a beautiful piano ballad, ‘Violence’ is a bold, confident and absorbing album. Having established an ambition to consistently sell-out mainland Europe via playing arenas and headlining festivals across the continent, there is no doubt that the Editors latest work is destined for the biggest of stages this summer… We talk to Russell Leetch about having a free-form approach, performing live and Aston Villa...

TSH: Was it once again a case of having a free-flowing approach as you readied ‘Violence’?

Russ: Yeah, absolutely. It certainly flows whenever we work on new music. I’d say we definitely have our own pace, which can mean it takes a while for new music to come together at times. However, we always try to mix it up a little bit and offer some sort of variety. I guess it often depends on our moods. Nonetheless, we really did enjoy making this record and it was nice to go for a more in your face type of feel.

TSH: From an instrumentation standpoint you’re covering brutal electronic ideas alongside a band orientated feel. With Blanck Mass on board, was it key to get the right balance between the two?

Russ: Definitely. Obviously in working with Blanck Mass we had his production on board. He worked on almost all of the songs and did versions of the songs himself, which helped us to realise which brutal and electronic elements we wanted to use and incorporate. We didn’t want to have Tom’s vocals over too much programming because that would be a shock to the system for listeners, so the balance was definitely key. It’s also worth noting that we decided to pull the band back in and we each chipped in with various ideas to tie the album together.

TSH: Speaking of Blanck Mass, do you still listen to a lot his music, as well as the likes of Nils Frahm and Jon Hopkins?

Russ: Totally. Nils and Jon are both excellent. I also like older stuff like The Blue Nile too. But yeah, as a band, we really like what Blanck Mass does with his music. I’ve been a fan of Fuck Buttons for years and his ‘World Eater’ album from last year was truly incredible.

TSH: Whilst working on this record, the band was located in a farmland rehearsal room in Oxford for months, where you each tinkered away with the songs and various ideas. What was the level of focus like out there?

Russ: It was just nice to be away and to knuckle down to get the work done. It was a good 10 to 5 every day type of routine and we’d really work hard on the music. We’d basically go over these songs for a long time and see what would work out best. It was certainly a nice way of getting things done.

TSH: Have there been notable changes with your personal approach to this record?

Russ: Yeah, in addition to my work on bass, I was programming and putting drum machine ideas together. You know, there wasn’t anything that was off limits this time around. If someone wanted to create a lead part, it didn’t just have to be Justin or Eliott, it could be anyone, that’s how we did it this time. We each had the freedom to explore and hone in on our selected ideas.

TSH: The track entitled ‘Magazine’ touches on human connection and coming together as people. It’s also a song that is pretty much a pointed finger aimed at those in power...

Russ: Yeah, the intention was to go all out. It’s strange because we’ve been working on this track for quite a long time. It’s been around the bush for quite a while. Tom has a lot of ideas that are stored some place and sometimes they don’t work out, so they go back into the box and come back out later down the line, which was the case for ‘Magazine’. Also, given all the political and notable newsfeeds being broadcast daily in the U.K. these days, this song definitely felt apt and suitable.

TSH: What was it like to flesh out ‘Counting Spooks’?

Russ: It was a very organic process in bringing this song together. I actually wrote the riff for that song and a lot of the drum programming too. Since the song is sequenced late on and is kind of like an outro, we needed Leo’s help to make sense of it. I’m so glad with how it came out.

TSH: The ending of the record is slightly more dramatic and drawn out, it was important for you guys to show a different side of what you’re about with the last two songs..

Russ: Yeah, for the last two songs it was. They are pretty epic I guess and are placed at the end to achieve a certain effect, for sure. Again, the programming for both of the final tracks was quite key. In fact, the programming on ‘Belong’ was done by just the band whilst we were in Oxford. It was one of the only songs that Blanck Mass didn’t do anything with, it was solely us. All in all, I feel like we managed to get a good broad-stroke of all of the things that we were up to with this album.

TSH: With your live shows constantly evolving, is the idea of being present and switching things up very essential?

Russ: Yeah, certainly. We always aim to keep it fresh and engaging for ourselves and the audience. We use a lot more technology now, in addition to mixing the electronic parts with the guitars. We really are bringing our instruments right to the forefront in a way that we haven’t really done so before. Also, we spend a lot of time road testing too. We did 5 weeks of rehearsals for this tour beforehand, simply because we like to go onstage and feel like the songs have been planned out. It’s always better to establish the strengths of the new songs and to present them in the best way possible for our fans.

TSH: How do you like to spend time outside of music?

Russ: Outside of music, I like to surround myself with my loved ones. I especially like spending time with my girlfriend. We tend to go out for meals and catch up with friends and family over drinks, it’s a pretty normal life really. Also, each band member has a studio at home, so music is never that far away if we ever get the itch to start crafting new tunes.

TSH: You’re a proud Brummie too...

Russ: Yeah, I love being located in Birmingham. The city has changed a lot over the last 10 years or so. It feels quite vibey and there are so many interesting art, food and music scenes that are present to keep me occupied.

TSH: Moreover, being a big Aston Villa fan. How do you feel about the team’s promotion chances?

Russ: I’m hopeful, that’s for sure. I’m also a bit nervous going into the playoffs, but fingers crossed we’ll perhaps get that second place. Personally, I think it’s going to go down to the wire.

TSH: Like Tom, you’re also very much into your movies. Paddington 2 almost brought Tom to tears, have you seen it yet?

Russ: It’s funny you should mention Paddington 2 because I’m going to watch it tonight! Especially since Tom keeps going on about it, haha! I have actually seen a lot of the Oscar movies recently. I saw Ladybird, which I thought was excellent. Although, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Three Billboards or The Shape of Water.

TSH: Are you constantly looking to in some ways reinvent the band’s sound with future music?

Russ: Yeah, it’s always important to show that we can pull from a range of different angles so to speak. I guess we just hope that people will stick by us with each passing album. The attention span of the U.K. audience is always kind of unpredictable as they mostly like a band for only a couple of albums. However, it’s been going well for us for quite a while, so we’re very appreciative and happy about that. I guess we’ll just try to keep doing interesting things, and hopefully our fans will keep paying attention and still be interested.

Editors - “Magazine”

Editors - “Hallelujah (So Low)”

Violence

#Interview #Editors #Tom Smith

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turtlesoupstories · 7 years ago

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through blue. i

good afternoon everyone! as promised here is (finally) the first installment in the latest series i will be posting here on tss, through blue! blue will be a series of one shots (or, for larger scenes, small ‘parts’) all from jamie’s pov. i am currently accepting suggestions for scenes both here on tss and on my main blog, @cagedbirdsong, so feel free to send them in! i am accepting both scenes from the book series and television show.

i am also accepting prompts for scenes we didn’t get to see! feel free to send in requests for any scenes you wish we had gotten as well. :)

without further ado, the first part of through blue: the scene where jamie falls off his horse. as requested (and inspired) by my other lovely kilt kult ladies! this chapter, in particular, is for my tumblr mom @kaitrionabalfe (aka @mibasiamille). i love you lots

Roadside Revelations

In hindsight, perhaps the whiskey had not been the best idea. His shoulder was hurt bad enough, and a full night and day of riding had done him no good. His shoulder had nearly come out of place again twice, by his count, and the gunshot wound he had suffered was troubling him something horrid.

Come to think of it, between the exhaustion, pain, and adrenaline coursing through him - not to mention copious amounts of whiskey - Jamie Fraser was starting to feel well and truly wretched. He gave a small grunt as his vision swam and blinked hard, trying to clear his head.

It didn’t help.

He was already poorly balanced as is, what with the addition of a second person in his saddle and his injured arm, but he was positively reeling now, and was only vaguely aware of tipping, the sensation of falling, and the impact of his body hitting the ground with enough force to take his breath away.

He jerked back to reality with a Gaelic curse some time later, the Sassenach woman’s face hanging over him and her hands on the exposed skin of his shoulder, pouring the contents of a flask on the open gunshot wound. “I’m alright,” he panted, making a serious effort to sit up and shy away from the woman - Claire’s - ministrations. “Only a wee bit dizzy.”

“You are not alright,” she said firmly, hand on his shoulder to push him back down, yellow cat eyes gleaming. “Couldn’t you tell how badly you were bleeding?” She leaned in again, pulling back the material of his shirt to get a better look. “You’re lucky you’re not dead-” she snapped “-brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.”

She stared down at him, a challenge, and he stared right back, blue eyes gleaming in the dark. She had quite the tongue, this Englishwoman. Quite the tongue and quite the temper… And, if he was being completely honest, quite the arse. He had noticed it first during their ride, with her wedged between his thighs, bumping up against him the whole way. And now he noticed it again, with her perched on his thighs, knees in the mud on either side of her hips. He couldn’t really have got up if he tried… or wanted to.

She tore her eyes away from his, and it was decided. Jamie would stay put and suffer her attentions. “Alright, I need some bandage and a clean cloth,” she called, turning back to the crowd of men looking on.

Silence. No one moved.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered, grabbing a fistful of her shift and tearing for all she was worth. Jamie’s eyes went suddenly wide, watching her with rapt intent, and then his modesty got the best of him and he looked away, cheeks flaming.

He wanted her.

He could feel the heat of her bare skin now as her shift rode up, pressed up against the bare tops of his thighs where his kilt had come out of the way. He clenched his jaw, cleared his throat, and tried not to think of his current predicament. Between a rock and a, hmm, hard place.

“Hold still,” she murmured, dousing the rag with more whiskey before taking it to the wound, making an attempt to clean it.

Jamie’s eyes flew open and he grunted, sitting up more in an effort to get away from her, his sudden predicament forgotten in lieu of the searing pain in his shoulder. His eyes rolled momentarily, and he clenched his jaw harder, a fistful of grass caught in one hand.

“Easy,” Claire murmured, a hand on his shoulder as she wadded the makeshift bandage against the gunshot. She met his eyes again, hers somehow incredibly calm, and he nodded ever so slightly, taking a sharp breath.

When she was done, she gave him the smallest nod, and climbed off his lap and to his side, one hand on his back. “Alright,” she breathed and then turned to the other men. “Lift him up.” Together, she and Murtagh, who had dropped to Jamie’s other side, hoisted him into a sitting position so she could wrap the rest of the linen around his torso and hold it in place. He heard her curse under her breath as she fumbled with the awkward position, and then, louder, “Come on, you goddamn bloody bastard.” A momentary hush fell over the group, and Jamie struggled to hide a grin in the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve never heard a woman use such language in my life, hm?” He heard Dougal remark quietly, eyes peering down at the trio from beneath his cap.

Jamie arched an eyebrow back at him. Seems they were all entranced by this mysterious Sassenach woman.

“Your husband should tan yer hide.”

“Och, Saint Paul would-”

She stopped, eyes rolling, and Jamie saw the exasperation written clear on her face as she turned over her shoulder to face Angus and Rupert. “You can mind your own bloody business, and so can Saint Paul.” Silence again, and she nodded, pleased, then turned back to Jamie to fix him with another blazing look. “And if you move so much as a single muscle while I’m tying this bandage, I’ll bloody throttle you.”

Half of him wanted to take her up on the offer. The other half of him wizened up and sat still, letting her finish up the wrappings. His eyes flickered up to her face briefly, and both her eyebrows shot up, daring him to test her.

“Hmm,” he smirked, “a threat, is it? And after I shared my drink wi’ ye.” The other men didn’t seem to find his little joke as amusing.

“We’ve fifty miles ta go yet. Another five hours, at least,” Dougal growled. “We stay here long enough for ye ta stem that bleeding and dress his wound.”

“He needs rest,” Claire countered, shooting to her feet and leaving Jamie to sag against Murtagh. All eyes watched the interaction between the woman and the Scottish warlord, and Jamie could practically feel the tension ripple through the men. Someone nearby cleared his throat and let out a low whistle.

“Did you hear me?” She stomped off in Dougal’s direction, and Jamie’s heart leaped in his chest. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

“Randall!” He called quickly, relieved when she whipped around to look at him now. He sat forward, wiping a hand across his mouth, and tried to catch his breath. “The officer ye encountered,” she moved to sit back beside him, checking the security of the bandages, and he looked over at her, curious and intrigued all at once. “He won’t give up so easily. He commands the Redcoats hereabouts.” She glared testily at him. “He’ll ha’ sent patrols out in e’ry direction by now.” She paused, and he saw a flicker of concern pass over her features. She understood then, the danger that the captain posed, even after such a brief interaction.

Right then and there, Jamie would have rather gutted himself than seen her handed back over to the madman, and she was coming dangerously close with every snide remark in his uncle’s direction. She had to know that. Wherever it was she had come from, things were obviously different, but around here… Well, a tongue like that could get a woman in a lot of trouble.

“We canna stay here long,” he continued, reasoning with her, hoping she would just give up the argument and let Dougal have his way. He knew his little story about the Redcoat Captain was not exactly truthful. While, yes, they would have patrols out combing the woods, it wouldn’t be for the sole purpose of finding the Englishwoman. Jamie and his merry band of men were wanted for treason, and worth far more than an oddly dressed Sassenach found wandering the forest.

She licked her lips briefly. “You know Randall?” He almost laughed. That was an understatement. “Black Jack Randall, that is?”

He nodded a little, head hung. “Aye.” A moment of silence lapsed between them. “I willna risk you-” quickly, he added “or anyone else” as an afterthought, “by that man.” He looked up at her, gaze level. “If ye canna fix me up well enough ta ride, ye’ll be leavin’ me here wi’ a loaded pistol so I may determine my own fate.” He felt her stare at him.

“Might have well told me you were shot before you fell off the horse,” she muttered.

Jamie grinned. “Didna hurt much at the time.”

She fixed him with another one of those looks. “Does it hurt now?”

He glanced down at the bandages, and then up at her, a smirk tugging on one side of his mouth. “Aye.”

“Good.” She smirked, patted him on the shoulder, and sat back. “That’s about all I can do. The rest is up to you.” She stood, and he nodded a little, lips pursed, and then looked up to see her with her hand extended.

He took it.

She pulled him up bodily, and the two stood facing one another for a moment, each trying to discern and work out a small bit about this stranger they had come to know. “Thank you, Sassenach,” he said softly after a moment had passed between them. “Truly.”

She stared back up at him for a moment, and the spell was back, and then she nodded, smiled, and wiped her palms on her shift. “Alright then. On your horse, soldier.”

He chuckled, nodded, and turned. Yes, ma’am.

#so excited for this!#my own little tss series #it's gonne be really exciting #feel free to send scenes and things in!#anything is acceptable #through blue #roadside revelations #blue #mikayla #cagedbirdsong #new series #canon divergence #jamie's pov

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essenceanddescent · 7 years ago

Text

Your "Beautiful" Character Sucks

Or … Why I Avoid Fics with overly "Beautiful" OCs

Or ... What Makes a Mary Sue, Part 2

Pre-rant: I don’t normally write about what people shouldn’t do. I don’t like guidelines. I don’t like standards. I don’t like best practices. I don’t like any rules that are placed on highly subjective and creative art forms. So the point of this isn’t to tell you what you shouldn’t do, because you should write whatever the hell you want to. The point of this mini-rant is to point out something that, I … as a reader of fiction … make it a point to avoid reading and why.

For the most part, I’m going to put "beautiful" in quotes, because “beauty” is supposedly subjective, although that is not, in fact, true. For the purposes of this ramble, I’m going to be referring to the socially accepted standards of “beauty”. I am not talking about the people who are so intriguing that they are attractive in ways that are not conventional. I’m talking about the person that 98% of the people in any given room would agree is “beautiful” without ever speaking to them.

So … Those Kinds of Fics. Yeah, you know the ones.

We’ve all read that fic. The one that starts highly promising. It's got all the right tags: Romance, True Love, the right pairing. It’s even well written, the spacing is perfect, the author’s note and summary before the story actually starts is clever and almost pleasant. It shows INCREDIBLE promise.

We are immediately intrigued and very optimistic. Those little butterflies flutter in our stomachs as we start to read and take in all the glorious words, hoping deep down inside that this is going to be the fic that we’ve been waiting for. This is it. Someone has done it and it that will introduce or fix something that is missing in our broken little fandom hearts and then we get to the line (or one very much like it).

He/She steps into full view and [everyone or anyone] gasps as their jaws drops at his/her jaw-droppingly beautiful eyes, and jaw-droppingly beautiful skin, and jaw-droppingly beautiful hair and jaw-droppingly beautiful body and … and … and … and … beautiful … beautiful … beautiful*. Maybe you don’t understand: BEAUTIFUL.

YES, I know this is a blatant exaggeration, but you get my point. It's love at first site because they were just so goddamn beautiful. They haven’t spoken yet. They haven’t shown they have a single thought behind their beautiful eyes … but it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s beautiful, and that means she’s a good person. And that means we have to love her immediately, because Beauty Equals Goodness in our fucked up superficial society.

No romance, no growth, no nothing. Everyone on the cast wants to fuck your OC because they are simply irresistible. I sniffle because … sadly … this fic is not the one. Rarely reading even another single word, I close the tab and begin my search anew, feeling suckered into reading the beginning of it at all.

Look, I get it. I really do. A lot of fic is wish-fulfillment and a lot of us wish that we were that beautiful, but there’s a cost to that kind of power that authors never take into account when developing their characters into something that could make me care about them.

Beauty really IS a Real World Superpower

Before you write blindly about "beauty", do you really understand it and its effect on those around it? I’m not a “beautiful” person, but I’m not ugly either; I’m like the majority of women out there, stuck in some kind of terrible nebulous middle ground: Unbeautiful Purgatory.

As women, we are taught from birth that our worth, regardless of how intelligent we are, regardless of how talented we are, regardless of any other trait, is placed solely on our appearance and ability to be desirable. Franky, anyone who tells you otherwise is full of shit. "In my household." BAH. It's not just our own families that uphold this stereotype, it’s the media and society itself. It even comes directly from us (even in the fics we write) and our friends. We enable and continue to drive and reinforce these superficial ideals on a daily basis.

But, being a highly intelligent woman, stuck in this strange tortuous middle ground, you get a fascinating view of how real world people react to "beautiful" women. When an incredible “beauty” enters a room, she has a powerful effect on all of those around her, men and women alike. This isn’t a myth or an unfounded stereotype, this is a well documented cognitive bias known as the Halo Effect.

TL;DR: The halo effect works in both positive and negative directions (the horns effect): If the observer likes one aspect of something, they will have a positive predisposition toward everything about it. If the observer dislikes one aspect of something, they will have a negative predisposition toward everything about it.

If you’ve watched 30 Rock, then you might have seen the episode, The Bubble, (see Handsome Bubble for the trope of this) with Jon Hamm that touches on this point quite laughably. Hamm plays an overly attractive doctor who doesn’t even know the heimlich maneuver; he’s a tennis coach who doesn’t even know how to play tennis. While this is obviously an exaggeration for comedic effect, it doesn’t make this phenomena any less true. "Beautiful" people experience life quite differently from the rest of us, whether it be for the better or not. And … “Beautiful” people are BORING.

The Halo Effect … First Hand

This is a personal story, and you can skip it if you wish.

I’ve witnessed this effect first hand and found it actually terrifying. Being internalized and introverted, I tend to observe in social environments more than interact. At a social event, a few years ago, I found myself in a room full of highly intelligent men and women engineers who got flustered immediately when a "beautiful" woman entered the room.

Just a quick note here: I am not talking about just some pretty face. This particular woman’s "beauty" was talked about at the water cooler daily. She could easily have been a model instead of an engineer.

So, I watched, in awe of the situation unfold, as this said person committed various atrocious acts of social crimes: forgetting people’s names, touching people inappropriately, talking over people, not listening to what people were actually saying before replying. She was entirely unable to follow the technical aspects of the conversations currently in play and as such the dialogue was immediately dumbed down to allow her to participate. She immediately became the ultimate center of attention and … everyone loved it. It was like a show was being put on and you were supposed to be enamoured by her, regardless of what she was actually contributing. It was her mere presence that was the drug to them.

Now, I should have been just as enamoured with her and I do not think that I am immune to the Halo Effect, but I was immune to her effect, specifically, because I had been her officemate for over a year a few years prior to this strange social interaction. We shared cubes in the same office for over a year passing each other every day and exchanging nice pleasantries.

I had learned, over several months, that she was entirely incapable of doing her own work and was … in fact … lacking any kind of significant personality. Over the year of sharing the space with her, she progressively became less and less attractive until I found myself standing uniquely outside of her realm of influence. Don’t get me wrong, it is an extremely powerful effect as it took months and months of constant stimulation for me to build up a tolerance to it and see through the thin veil of just her exterior.

So when someone introduced us at this social event, I started to laugh, because … duh, we already know each other and she put her hand out to shake mine because she had no idea who I was. Sure, it’d been a few years and I’d grown up, lost weight, and changed my hair color but …

Wait. What? Are … you … kidding me???

When I spoke to a friend about this, they actually dismissed me. "It's not a big deal. She didn’t mean to be rude. She’s actually a really nice person. You shouldn’t be so sensitive." I really didn’t look that different, but I was confused why this was suddenly socially acceptable. I have a hard enough time dealing with socializing as it was and the entire experience was a big turn off for me going forward putting in effort to socialize with this group of people.

Socializing and interacting is a pretty tricky game as it is, especially for someone who is hyper observant. Extroverts have a one-up on introverts here. Sure. But the game is entirely stacked the other way around when you are playing with an obvious handicap or … in her case … a Game Genie.

I also want to make it clear that this story wasn’t to put down one unlikeable "beautiful" person. No, the purpose of this story was not to point out her as an abnormality or even to call her out as the standard of “beautiful” people. The point was to appreciate the reactions by everyone around her. These were people whom I’d know for years. People who I considered were highly intelligent. People who had earned my friendship over years of interacting. How did a group of people that I had so much respect for fall prey to groupthink so very easily? It’s simple, we’re wired that way.

I learned a lesson that day: Beauty Completely Disrupts Normal Behavior

But "Beautiful" and disruptive means it’s a Mary Sue. Doesn’t it?

You knew I was going to tie this back to Mary Sue-ism, right? Hehehe, of course I was.

I see a lot of talk about a character being so "beautiful" that she overwhelms the characters and plot and therefore, she is a Mary Sue. This definition, as the previous definition of a Mary Sue, is a bad one.

So, here is the thing with "Extreme Beauty". If you read about the Halo Effect and the physical attractiveness stereotype, then when an insanely attractive person walks into a room, most (it does not have to be all) of your other characters (original or canon) will most likely be enamoured by them and will automagically treat them much differently than other people.

But, you say, the argument that a character is a Mary Sue because they change the characters and plot and story to fit around them is somewhat invalid at this point, isn’t it? Some part of a Mary Sue is all about causing characters to act OOC or act unbelievably. If most people are, in fact, affected by The Halo Effect then it is absolutely IC (In Character) for them to be enamoured with her at first glance and treat her quite a bit differently than they would treat anyone else.

I would even go as far as to say that if you have described your character as infallibly "beautiful" and most of the characters are NOT in the least bit flustered with her beyond reason, that might be OOC (Out of Character). “Most” is an important distinction in that previous statement, as I do think that there are people/characters who are, in fact, immune to the Halo Effect. (This is an extremely important trait for me to find in a hero, btw)

Great! If she’s not a Sue, then I can disrupt with her all I want!!!

Sure. Yes. Yes, you can and yes, in my eyes, she would be a valid character in that sense because absolute "beauty" has a tendency to disrupt absolutely, but why do that? Is it a satire? I might read that then. If not, is that really interesting? Will there be any growth behind her trials or her affect on the characters? Will she provide a lesson learned or just serve as a porn star in the fic to be used and discarded?

Who really wants to read that? Probably some people? I don’t and I won’t. If I’m reading fic about a canon character, chances are I like that canon character and I feel like that canon character deserves my extra attention, so why would I want to read about them and an obvious sex toy with them? I know, I know … that is what smut is, right? No. Smut can be written with real people. Show me real attraction, don’t just tell me about fleeting infatuation driven by the physical features of a vapid bombshell that is supposed to be a husk for reader to assume control of in their minds.

I’m so very tired of being bombarded by the media that makes me feel inadequate as it is. From the issues introduced by problematic tropes to recent Hollywood shenanigans, I actually turn to fanfic specifically to read about realistic characters with which, I always hope on some small level, to be able to relate to and when I find that it's the same regurgitation, I get turned off immediately.

But My Character really is ULTRA UBER Special! LOVE HER!

You: No, no, no. You don’t understand. My ultra "beautiful" character is different. She’s nice, kind, sweet, and she’d never let her beauty get to her head. She’s incredibly smart and playful and lovable and absolutely empathetic and charismatic … She’s JUST SUPER SPECIAL!

Me: ಠ_ಠ

Ok. Here’s the deal …

If you’ve grown up with this "effect" on you for your entire life, there will be parts of your character and personality that are inevitably stunted or just flat out fundamentally different compared to those who didn’t grow up with such … advantages or … (I shudder to use this word) privilege. It’s easy to understand: if you’ve never really used muscles before, then people who have will have stronger ones. Get me? “Beautiful” people are usually gonna be socially stunted and inevitably very, very, very boring.

You: But that’s just the rule. There are exceptions! Extenuating circumstances!

Me: ¯＼(ツ)/¯ Uh … sure? I guess? You just better be goddamn good at SHOWING and SELLING me on it, instead of just TELLING me.

So, the above characters can exist and they can actually be written very well. Absolutely. Who I just described above is … Captain America, handsome Steve Rogers himself. Yup, he is all of those things, but do you know what makes him nearly believable for me? He didn’t grow up like that. He experienced a transformation. He was given this super power after being the complete OPPOSITE of what is considered "beautiful" for a man. He grew up battered and beaten down, learning what it really meant to be empathic and understanding. They SHOWED us that, on so many levels. I related to him. He was introverted and he stood alone in the corner at parties. He went on double dates and was the third wheel that the girls ditched in favor of his best friend. Because of his appearance, he was the outcast.

But, be careful using the Beautiful All Along trope though. Unless you can provide some interesting backstory for said "transformation", then it can be hard to buy. Some people go for the She Is All Grown Up, which isn’t much better IMHO.

All I ask is that you put a little bit of effort into making your character attractive in ways other than physically “beautiful”. It’s tiresome and, honestly, it only perpetuates the problem further.

#it's just a big long hateful ugly rant #rant #fanfiction #fanfic #mary sue #what makes a mary sue #beauty #lazy character development #I'm sorry #if all i cared about was beautiful women i would stick to hollywood and not read fanfic

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cluelessnamelessao3 · 4 years ago

Text

But It’s Not Funny

8. I’m Trying

“I, like, distinctly remember telling you not to text at three in the fucking morning,” your irritation was more for show, but also because, you certainly didn’t want to encourage this annoying habit.

You were, of course, referring to his multiple late-night texts that hadn’t happened just last night, but (once you’d bothered to check) several nights in a row. And honestly, you just were not about that life—meaning, you were going to fight someone, even the rather large and somewhat imposing Sans, if it meant you’d be able to sleep through the night without another three-in-the-fucking-morning text.

“You said I could,” he responded simply, an impish smile on his face.

You sputtered for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed in both confusion and indignation, “What!? No, I did not!”

“Nah, yeah, ya did, kid, you said, and I quote,” he paused, raising his voice an octave to try and mimic yours, “‘Don’t text me at three in the morning—or do’ and so obviously, that means do, so I did.”

You snorted, throwing your hands up with exasperation, “I vaguely remember an exchange like that, b-but, like, what the hell man?”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“Who texts someone at three in the morning for no, like, real reason? I mean, like, if you’re dying or some shit, then yeah, I get it, but like, you ain’t dead,” you tried to soften your tone with a smile, but nothing could really hide the exasperated lilt in your words.

Something dark flickered across his expression, so fast you couldn’t quite put a name to the emotion. He scoffed, a smirk on his face and his eyes half-lidded, the bright whites of the pupils shrinking in size slightly as he stared you down.

“Let me remind you that I am… a literal skeleton.”

With a snort, you took a sip of your hot chocolate, the heat of the cup warming your cold hands, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze.

“A very much alive skeleton, Sans.”

This little meeting was rather nice, though, there was something strange about sitting in this specific little coffee shop with this particular skeleton.

The way he casually rolled his eyes at you and made some unnecessary joke—another damned bone pun—seemed so weirdly foreign and familiar. Part of you felt—more like knew something was missing and you wanted to know what it is and part of you wondered why you felt like this had happened before.

But it hadn’t, obviously, it hadn’t happened—that was impossible! You’d only known him for… a little less than a month… And there had never been time for the two of you to grow close before this.

In not so many words, this little lunch ‘date’ felt more comfortable than it should.

It was so nostalgic sitting here with him though—it felt like a dream, it felt like a nightmare, it felt like a forbidden wish coming true; a wish you hadn’t even known you’d made.

Above all, none of it really made sense.

He lifted his steaming coffee to his non-existent lips and took a quick drink; his eyes closed softly as he enjoyed the taste. It was… something else… to see a skeleton—no, he’s not a real skeleton, you reminded yourself—be so expressive. He sure did look like one, from the hollow space where his nose should be, to the empty eye sockets, to the way his phalanges—his fingers—moved around as he gestured and talked animatedly.

Honestly, it was equal parts intriguing and unsettling.

A kid—not a kid, he was probably around his late twenties, older than you were—came by the table just as Sans finished his drink.

The guy, some nondescript, awkward being, with a face full of unfortunate acne, sneered at the two of you while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “dirty monster fucker.”

Your face flamed with embarrassment and rage as you gave an icy glare at the idiotic stranger, “At least I can get it, unlike you.”

The guy huffed, his face contorted with anger and disgust before he sauntered off, throwing a quick, “Skele-fucker” over his shoulder, a smug smile on his face, pleased with what he probably considered a golden insult. You just rolled your eyes at Sans, hoping that the monster wasn’t too offended by the stranger’s rudeness.

But the look you saw on his face was something you weren’t expecting.

It… almost looked like… adoration. Pure. Unadulterated. Adoration.

And it was aimed at you.

“Wh-what…?” You rasped, taken aback.

The sound of your voice seemed to be enough to knock him to his senses as he shook his head slightly before turning to glare in the direction the stranger had stalked off in. Faintly—almost imperceptible—you could see the smallest bit of blue burning on his cheeks. It looked like he was blushing, but you were at a loss for what could have possibly elicited such a reaction.

He didn’t say much about the little scene that had been caused, instead choosing to brush over the topic with a short one-liner (“What a bonehead”).

The two of you talked about a variety of topics afterward, each one of minor importance, but still interesting and engaging all the same.

All too soon, it came time to head back to the groomer’s shop. You almost felt a little disappointed, and altogether unprepared to leave San’s charming company—because damn if he wasn’t a charismatic person, what with his groan-worthy puns, sharp wit and ridiculous—no, wait, ribiculous amount of knowledge about anything related to physics and or most sciences in general.

You found that you quite liked talking to him. And when he offered to meet again (“Same place, same time tomorrow, smalls?) you felt a flutter of anticipation and excitement.

It seemed like every day your previously non-existent social life significantly improved.

You guys met the next day and both of you ordered the same thing—he even offered to pay, which you quickly turned down, but not without giving many thank you’s and no thank you’s. And the two of you settled down in the booth you’d taken last time and discussed the moon landing (which you’d researched quite a bit last night just for this occasion). He told you about Waterfall with the beautiful glimmering rocks and shinning, bioluminescent rivers.

As your lunch break came to a close once more, he asked again to meet and you readily agreed.

The third time you let him buy your drink and the two of you talked about Luna and why you had her.

“So, I thought animals couldn’t come into stores?”

You had nodded, already preparing yourself to answer the too-personal questions people asked once they realized you had a service dog, “Yeah, typically that’s how it goes, but Luna isn’t, like, a pet-pet. She’s… different.”

“Oh?” He’d asked, seeming both interested and indifferent. How he could manage to be so nonchalant about everything you’d never know.

“Mhm, she is a working dog… meaning she helps me with tasks… and keeps me functioning…” You'd launched into your explanation and the more you’d talked about your dog the easier it was—especially considering how attentive and polite he’d been.

He only asked a few more questions: ‘how’d you get her?’, ‘did she go through a lot of training?’, ‘can any dog be a service dog?’, etc, before he seemed satisfied.

Never once had he asked, ‘what’s wrong with you?’ or judged you.

The fourth coffee-date (you were officially calling them dates—hell, even Frisk had teased you about them) you were running late. Actually, you weren’t so much running late as you were just stuck. Literally, stuck. In a tree.

A rather tall tree, in your defence.

But still, definitely stuck in a tree.

How had you gotten here? Ah, well, you’d just been trying to play the ‘good Samaritan’ act when it’d backfired on you.

“Miss? My cat is stuck in this tree and I am not quite so young and sprightly as I used to be, so would you mind climbing up there to grab her?” An elderly woman asked, her voice quavering slightly with worry.

You nodded, flashing your brightest smile, “Certainly, ma’am, a little ol’ tree like this will be no problem for someone like me! I’ll be up there in a jiffy!”

“Oh thank you, darling! I would have been at such a loss without your fearless bravery”—

Okay so maybe that was exaggerated, but you hadn’t been unwilling to help—just a little wary of climbing the tree.

"My cat is stuck. Could you please go get her?"

You frowned, giving the tree a once over, "Can't you... like... ask someone else?"

The older lady shook her head, voice quivering with age, "No, dear, everyone else has turned me down... and Ms. Muffet needs her afternoon snack... I can't leave my baby here by herself!"

A sigh left your lips as you once again looked the tree up and down, "I... uh, I think I can do this."

The issue was that once you’d climbed the tree, the cat had leapt gracefully down, giving you what you considered a rather saucy glare. And what was worse, the old lady hadn’t even thanked you, but instead was focused solely on the little she-devil of a cat that was now meticulously cleaning her fur.

And if the thanklessness of the situation wasn’t bad enough, you couldn’t get down from the tree.

The branch you’d crawled out onto was thick, and you were laying across it, your legs wrapped around with ankles locked to prevent yourself from falling. You were, you had to admit sheepishly, too scared to move from your position, plus you no longer had the drive of wanting to save a ‘helpless’ animal to motivate you to move.

You fished your phone out of your back pocket, your arm wrapped around the branch in a vice grip. Cautiously, carefully, somewhat nervously, you sent Sans a quick ‘S.O.S.’ and prayed that he would respond sooner rather than later.

And luck was on your side, for you received a reply not even a minute later, just a short ‘where?’

He showed up in five minutes, with the biggest grin you’d ever seen on his face—and really now, considering his mouth was always stretched wide in a Cheshire cat-esque smile, it was almost impressive.

Except, when he saw you hanging on to the branch with a death grip, he started to laugh.

And this was no laughing matter.

“Well, this is a surprise, whatcha up to, kid?”

You frowned, your tone turning sarcastic, “Oh, you know, just hanging around…”

“I tree what you mean, but I’m not quite sure I beleaf you. You don’t look like you need me to stick around,” his hands were shoved in his pockets and despite his cool tone you could see his shoulder shake with laughter.

This was not an ideal situation.

“Okay, fuck boy, this is not what I had you come here for.”

His eyes flashed with mischief, “Oh? So, what did you want me here for?”

You sighed, “Come on, captain obvious, I think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

“Well, you look like you’re in quite the predicament… That someone as small and weak as you managed to climb up in the first place is an achievement in itself… No wonder you managed to get yourself stuck,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders in an ‘oh well’ kind of way.

You could feel the blood rush to your face as your cheeks burned with embarrassment, “I am not stuck. I’m just… taking a break because I got tired climbing up.”

He quirked a brow bone up and smirked. You mimicked the expression.

“So, you’re sure you’re not stuck?”

“No! I am not stuck in this tree! God, I’m not that dumb…”

He turned around, waving as he made to leave, and you felt your gut drop with a sudden wave of panic.

“Sans! Wait!”

He glanced back at you over his shoulder, eyes twinkling with mirth. You weren’t sure your face could feel any hotter. Actually, you weren’t sure you’d ever felt so embarrassed for such a simple thing.

“…I’m not stuck…” He took another step away, the bright pupils of his eyes watching you the entire time, “BUT,” you emphasized, “It’d be… cool if you could… help me down…” your voice got smaller with each word as you tried not to drown in the humiliation you felt.

It wasn’t a big deal. None of this was a big deal—and it wasn’t a shameful thing to ask for help on such a simple task…

Except it was a big deal! Because it was your fault you were in this situation and it was your own stupidity that led you to being unable to escape.

“What was that?” He asked, clearly enjoying your misery.

“Can… you help…” you sighed, the words rushed out in a jumbled mess, “canyouhelpmedown?”

He cocked his head to the side, now facing you, “Hmmm?”

“Can you help me down?”

He hummed, as though in deep though, “I don’t know, what’s the magic word?”

“I’ll fight you.”

He blinked, seemingly shocked, uttering a simple, “Fair enough,” before breaking into loud and contagious laughter—you even managed a weak giggle despite yourself.

Sans moved forward, standing beneath you, his arms outstretched. The fabric of his t-shirt rode up the slightest bit and you could see the tops of his hip bones—huh, you thought wonderingly, he really is skeletal… You shifted slightly on the tree, still maintaining that terrified, white knuckled grip on the limb.

“Do I have to jump…?” You asked, your voice sounding smaller than you intended. It wasn’t a far jump, but it still gave you anxiety.

He only nodded, his characteristic smirk softening into a reassuring smile, “I’ll catch you, no matter what.”

Those words stirred something in you and you… you who had so much trouble trusting others, you who had been lied to, hurt, and slandered in the past, you wanted nothing more than for his arms to catch you and embrace you with their warmth.

This was not normal, but neither were you and nor was he.

How could something so simple end up so profound?

You let yourself fall from the branch, sliding to the side awkwardly, and as promised, he caught you. You felt feather-light wrapped up in his arms. He laughed, and after a pause you joined him.

“That was ridiculous.”

He agreed, snorting.

“Thank you,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

He shrugged, that light blue flush on his cheek bones once more.

“S’no skin off my back.”

You groaned at the pun but smiled all the same. The light banter that ensued between the two of you continued the entire walk to the café and again later on your way back to the groomer’s shop.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked.

“Same time tomorrow.”

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