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glassmarcus · 4 months

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The Rogue Lite Mexican Stand Off

*All games played in January 2023, Written in November 2023

I've had a backlog of Rogue Lites I planned on checking out for years now. This list keeps growing and I've accepted that I'll never reach the bottom. So I decided to knock out the three I felt were at the top of the genre at the very least. First I played Hades, a title I wasn't super psyched to try because I'm not a huge fan of isometric angles in games. But word of mouth overcame that doubt and I gave it a shot anyway. And yea, the game is aces. I was not led astray. Second on the docket was Rogue Legacy 2. I knew I was going to love this game because of how much I loved the first. To zero shock, I loved Rogue Legacy 2. Last was Dead Cells. A game I was interested in because I heard it be compared to Dark Souls at one point. What got me to finally buy it was the Castlevania DLC which I had to purchase because I'm a huge shill. By the way this game is also pretty good.

I see why this gallery of Rogue Likes are praised so highly and I enjoyed my time with them immensely... But which one is the best? I tried to place them all on the same level in my mind, but that's not how I operate. There needs to be a clear pecking order. A hierarchy must be established and that's exactly what I will do here. I'm going to pit these three Rouge Lites against each other and see who comes out on top. And no, I will not stop using the terms Rogue Lite and Rogue Like interchangeably. I know they are technically different things, but they sound far too similar for me to care. All games that expect you to complete their procedurally generated adventure in a single run are Rogue Likes/ Rogue Lites. That's the definition I'm using here.

In one corner of this Rogue Like Mexican stand off is Hades. Hades is a mechanically efficient masterwork of roguish progression. Not a single aspect is wasted and unpolished. You look at the weapons you get and might think "oh, there's only six of them" only to realize that they only made six because you only need six. Every weapon is completely fleshed out and has its own advantages over others. Swords deal high damage and take out a lot of enemies at once, but require putting yourself in risky situations. The Bow is weaker but safer as you can attack from anywhere in the screen. The Spear is somewhat of a jack of all trades, not as much range as a bow, not as much power as a sword, but enough of both to be worth using. Shields take a different approach in being a middle man by having its normal attack be melee and it's special long range. Fist and Guns act as the gambling man's version of the sword and bow. With Fist, you can get a lot of damage in when you're close, but it's harder to gauge when you should retreat. With Guns you can get way more hits than with the Bow, but you also have to manage your ammo and if you lose count you'll be shit out of luck.

I gotta say, there is no clear best weapon to use. I like the fist the best because obviously I'm gonna gravitate towards the punchy one the most, but I can't say it's strictly better than the others. And I came to this conclusion by naturally trying out every weapon. Hades attributes a point bonus for a random weapon in each run. These points can be used to permanently upgrade yourself between runs. So you have to decide if you want consistency with the weapons you are used to, or invest in the future by trying something new and getting potentially more points. Its a great way to incentivize variety and exploration of the mechanics of the game. The weapon options don't even end there as you get the ability to permanently upgrade your weapons after you've probably found a favorite. And these upgrades can substantially change the way you play as they aren't merely damage increases, but diverse effects that you can take advantage of to great result.

This game could just have these weapons and be perfectly great, but what takes it to the next level are the mid run upgrades you'd expect from any rogue like. Boons, the power gifted from the gods, are what really counts in getting you strong enough to claw your way out of hell. When you understand the advantages of your weapon, the permanent abilities you've acquired, and the effects boons can have, you can figure out which boons cynergize with you the best. As I stated prior, I was a Fist Aficionado. A weapon that hits fast and requires you to get in and out of enemy range. So when I picked boons that worked well with that, I got outstanding results. Abilities that decreased enemy attacks were my go to, because I knew I was going to get hit so I thought I might as well make it hurt less. And figuring out that build myself was when I really started to mesh with Hades. At first I wasn't getting any of the mechanics, flailing around with my standard attack until I dodged. But as I progressed it only kept feeling better to me. They introduce new combat options and improve the old ones. I think the game went from decent to incredible once I got a second Cast.

Cast are such a beautiful mechanic. Somehow both great for single target damage and Area of Effect depending on what boon you choose. But no matter which you choose, it changes the flow of combat due to the fact you have to pick that shit up. Keeping your rhythm despite cast not recharging automatically is the heart of why combat feels so good to me. Calls and Specials are great, but the real heroes are Cast, Attacks, and Dashes. In my experience, that’s actually the order I prioritize these moves. Your cast always have some effect that influences how you attack so that comes first. Then you attack to take advantage of what the cast does. While attacking you are dodging to stay alive. And then the cast wears off and they are left on the ground. And now you must use your attack and dash to navigate through enemies and pick up your cast so you can start the whole thing over again. Once you get into that flow state and start incorporating specials and calls into the equation, the combat of Hades becomes something truly special.

On a gameplay level this is brilliant. And you know what? The story ain't too bad either. Most Rogue Lite stories aren't something to write home about as far as I've experienced. After all, they are kind of the junk food of video games. Short and sweet experiences that don't have time to make an interesting story. Hades is built a bit different. Every run you do progresses the story and everything you do is canon. Games have been explaining away respawning for decades now, but I think this is on a different level. Characters acknowledge the things you did in prior runs. Story lines are moved through both success and failure so there's a palpable sense of progressing delivered in multiple ways. There's dating sim elements. And every character is hot. The story of Hades doesn't just work well, it works in a uniquely video game way. The setting of Hades is roguish in both thematics and mechanics. It's all about taking failure on the chin and accepting any help you can. It drove me to play it even more than I normally would have and made each run unique. It drove me to play it even after I beat it. This game’s story doesn't conclude until you beat it 10 times and I’m not upset about it one bit. You can customized each run's difficulty in a variety of ways after you beat it to add new rewards and content.

It really is a near perfectly crafted game in its genre. The only thing it drops the ball in is music which is a bit underwhelming. Don't remember a damn thing from it. And I've heard praise for the OST too, but it appears to not be my bag. It worked for what the game was going for and it matched the environments well, but it didn't stick with me the way I'd prefer an OST to stick with me. That's really is the only issue about the game I can conjure...but if it was clearly the best one of the three, I wouldn't be writing this.

In the second corner we have Rogue Legacy 2. Rogue Legacy is the inverse of Hades. Its narrative foil in a way. They are both games about overcoming impossible odds with the help from your family and end up being equally powerful despite going separate routes with this premise. Hades is based around Nepotism. You get to know your uncles and cousins throughout the game and your bonds with them push you forward. As such Hades is a more character driven narrative due to how large and important the supporting cast is. The cast in Rogue Legacy 2 is potentially bigger, but they're mostly all the same character. The Premise of Rogue Legacy 2 is that each run follows the latest heir of a family sworn to conquer an evil castle. When you die, you play as your offspring in the next push through the castle. It's a different character technically, with a different class and unique attributes. But one thing is maintained between the end of your last journey and the beginning of your new one: Your Bank Account.

If Hades is about Nepotism, Rogue Legacy is about Inheritance. Your character is given every advantage their predecessors were given and then some, assuring the next generation grows up stronger. Rather than death being equated to a minor setback, it's given real narrative consequence in a way. Every failed run is an echo of your past self. And it's cool that their efforts aren't going to waste. You are carrying the weight of your entire bloodline on your shoulders and it makes it all the more gratifying when you get to your points of respite. It's not as interesting as the standard well written game story, but it's just as powerful as one. When I beat the game and saw 100+ ancestors given their due credit, I felt that shit.

None of this is authentic by the way. Every bit of this was executed in Rogue Legacy 1 prior. The thing is, the sequel is better than that game in every conceivable way that it overwrites its very existence. I'm not exaggerating one bit when I say that there is zero reason to play the first game anymore. I get that it would be embarrassing for a game about improving over generations to not be way better than it's predecessor, but Junior didn't have to go this hard. I'd go as far to say that the first area of Rogue Legacy 2 completely encapsulates the experience of the first game. Everything beyond that point feels fresh and new. So for the remainder of this essay, Rogue Legacy only refers to the second game. It's such a large improvement to an already good game.

Rogue Legacy works because it's unabashedly brutal. Your hit boxes are so small and the enemy hit boxes are so big. Damage values are obscene. Enemies are around every corner and are relentless. Conquering this game is supposed to be difficult so it is designed around failure. It's not fair, but doesn't pretend to be. Your goal is rarely about accomplishing shit on your own and is more about fostering a new generation. Sewing seeds for the future. This game has six areas you need to conquer before gaining access to the final boss. Areas that you can access in a non linear way. It's essentially six separate Rogue Likes glued together. After you beat one area, you can still revisit that area in future runs, only the boss is permanently dead now. Once you've built an heir capable enough, you have the freedom to make short runs where you B-line to the boss or long runs where you scrape each prior area before the showdown. The draw of Rogue Legacy lies in how unlikely it is that you beat it in under a few dozen runs, but because every single run you failed in built towards your eventual victory, it is all the more satisfying.

Rogue Legacy is a game with an insane number of mechanics. Classes, armor, seals, equipment load, bank interest, skill trees, artifacts, upgrades and the list keeps going. Rogue Legacy takes Search Action gameplay and implements systems with the breadth and complexity of a 60 hours long RPG. And it functions perfectly because this is going to be a very looooong game, so the player has time to understand how the systems interact. Unlocking a class you can vibe with and figuring out which abilities and equipment optimize well with it is one of the many joys of Rogue Legacy 2.

Classes define your initial weapons, skills, and spells and additional stats. Class skills and stats basically determine how you're going to play. Weapons are important too, but the skills and stats can't be swapped out the same way weapons and spells can. And much like any craft, they can be improved. You can level up classes by playing them and defeating enemies. This incentivizes focusing on a single class that you've grown fond of so that their base stats will improve. But the random character generation limits your choice in the matter. It forces you to choose different classes. You're always making the best with the hands you are dealt, similar actual genetics. Classes aren't the only thing randomly generated in character creation. Each heir has a genetic trait that has a benefit and drawback. You can be born as a dwarf with shorter weapon range, but makes more money per chest. You can start off with a character who falls slowly, making some sections easier and some a nightmare. Every aspect of build creation of this game has a push and pull.

The armor you buy in this game increases your defense but the set bonus combination for said armors can give you extra stat or ability modifications. Seals are exclusively ability modifications guaranteed to make the game more fun to play with reliable effects. Artifacts fulfill the same purpose a lot of the time, but they are objects you find within the castle runs themselves. Having the right class, armor set, artifacts, and seals can make for a devastating build that will get you far in your adventure. But it's never that simple. Everything in this game has a cost. Armor cost money and ore to make and their weight fills up your maximum armor equip limit. Seals cost money and blood stones and have their own equip limit as well. Artifacts cost resolve and maybe re-rolls to get the best ones, and your resolve lowers if you have too much armor. The lower your resolve gets, the lower your Hit Point Maximum gets, making the character’s stats themselves a form of currency. Nothing in this game is simply handed to you and you have to do everything yourself with the small loan of 1 million gold your dead father gave you.

These systems and how they interact push this to being a phenomenal game, but they wouldn't mean anything without fun gameplay and that is something Rogue Legacy has in spades. Movement is the best part of this game I feel. It really leaned into the Metroidvania aspect. You get powers throughout the game that make world traversal delightful, and become even more fun when you have seals to build off of. Not many games let you do a quintuple jump into a triple air dash, but Rogue Legacy is one of those games. No mechanic you are given is that complicated as they are simply extensions of what you can already do. Attack, Magic, Skill, Dash, and Jump are basically the whole of the gameplay. Just fine tuning those things makes it satisfying to master. But there is one aspect added in this sequel that felt so natural I forgot to list it.

The Spin Kick. The spin kick is essentially a Duck Tales pogo. But you don't get that much height from it. But what it loses in height, it makes up for in surface area. You can spin kick basically any thing in this game so long as long as it's physical or electrical matter. Enemies, projectiles, weird candelabras, are all spin kick approved. Think Cup Head parry, but exclusively down ward, which doesn't seem that great, but it's a platformer essentially. You are jumping a lot. It's really not that different from attacks coming from the side when you are in mid air so much of the time any way. This platformer parry is utilized throughout the whole game to making interesting level obstacles and boss patterns. It is the unsung hero of this game and 3 playthroughs later, I'm still finding joy in executing it.

It's very hard for things in Rogue Legacy to overstay their welcome. Even the procedural level design remains fresh. Lots of variety in the rooms. It's not only a series of corridors where you have to kill enemies in a generated mini level. Some rooms are puzzles. Some are platforming challenges. Some are gauntlets and mini bosses. Some are purely story related. Also the 6 level motifs are distinct both visually and how they are designed. Level 2 almost entirely horizontal while the last area feels like a true dungeon crawler due to how dark and dangerous it is. I wasn't kidding before. Rogue Legacy 2 is 6 Rogue Legacy sequels stuffed into 1 game. And the post game adds another layer to that variety. One of the best parts about a long dev cycle is that entire trends go by in the middle of it. And because of that the creators can be given new ideas. Rogue Legacy blatantly takes the same post game ideas displayed in Dark Souls and Hades and injects it into itself. Rogue Legacy waited until the last moment to turn in its homework and then unabashedly copied off its classmates for an easy A. And god bless it for doing so. With the scaling and customizable difficulty, expansion of rewards and enemies, and completely unique bonus challenges, I'm gonna be playing this one for a long time.

So clearly I enjoy these two games a lot. But what about Dead Cells? What does it bring to the table? What can it do to stand up to these titans. Well. Honestly not much. If Hades is Angel Eyes, and Rogue Legacy is Blondie, then Dead Cells is Tuco stuck in the stand off with an unloaded gun.

Dead Cells is a good game. It looks better than Rogue Legacy. I might enjoy the gameplay more than Hades. But that's where the advantages end. And I'll be honest I haven't spent enough time with this game to truly have scholars opinion on it, thus I can’t write paragraph about its design. But that's kind of the problem. I beat this game in 4 runs. I'm no god at gaming. I'm slightly above average on a good day. The fact that I stumbled upon the ending of this game so early is disappointing. Rogue Legacy, I died a hundred deaths before reaching credits. Hades took me around 14 to beat the first time. Dead Cells gave it away and it was so deflating. I didn't work towards anything. I just sort of won. I never even died to a single boss. Once I upgraded how many estus I could hold, the only thing that mattered was the pick ups I got during the run. I'm sure if I go back there is way more to the game, but after seeing the credits I kind lost all motivation to play it. It's not fair to the game that I did that, but that's how I feel and I got other things to do with my time. It’s too bad I had the idea of comparing these three games before playing all of them.

So it all comes down to Rogue Legacy 2 and Hades. Hades has untouchable presentation and succeeds in everything it attempts with grace in a way that Rogue Legacy 2 doesn't. I can't really break down why, there's an air about it that makes it feel more thought out and seamless. But...I value what Rogue Legacy 2 is more as a game and more over, as a Rogue Like. Sure I like 2D games more than isometric games, but even beyond that, Rogue Legacy has a layer of exploration that pushes it over for me. I find it far more replayable. Hades likely has more condensed quality, but the quantity of Rogue Legacy makes up for it, and quantity is a bit more important for the genre honestly. The depth in content for Hades lies more in the story after you've beaten it, while Rogue Legacy is more in the gameplay. There are more things to do and experience, so it has more value to me. It was likely obvious what my preference was due to how I wrote more about it and made that spot on Dollars Trilogy Reference, but I couldn't really hide it. It's just that damn good.

#dead cells #rogue legacy 2 #hades game

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uniasus · 2 years

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What's this? Am I actually putting foreshadowing into a fic, hinting at things that won't come for at least two chapters?

This is rare for me all, because I never plot my things. But the medical side-effects I'm playing with in Grocery List Goals 100% deserve to be followed up and played with in the worst way.

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"This is the part of your brain that stores memory," the doctor said. "Had you taken a dose before the test?"

"An hour or two, yeah." She'd had the test done after a session with Reginald's therapist.

"Okay. The medication you're on is an unheard-of combination of chemicals, so we weren't sure what side effects you might have presented, but something that happens with benzodiazepines is memory issues. Anesthesiologists use it sometimes as part of the mix to knock people out for surgery – it prevents people from remembering the procedure."

"Are you saying the medicine makes Vanya forget things?" Five asks.

"In a way. Shortly after a dose, her brain's ability to turn something into a memory is impaired."

"Oh." Vanya says.

The past few years have been a grey blur, a mix of sleep problems, fighting depression and apathy, little variety, and almost no socialization. It'd never crossed her mind that maybe she sometimes forgot what she had for dinner, or if she'd even eaten it, was anything other than brain fog after a long day.

"How big of a problem is this moving forward?" Five asks.

"You're working on reducing your intake, correct?"

Vanya nods. "I always take one every morning and evening. And during the day, only as needed. Usually only once now. Maybe two if it's a bad day."

It's progress, so much progress, and Vanya knows in two weeks she and her therapist, the new one, are scheduled to talk about switching medication. Vanya's not even sure she has anxiety, not the way Reginald told her, but she certainly has mood swings and anxiety now that she's coming off the pills. Another medication option to take her through to the finish line of no more pills, one that's safer, is on its way.

"You should be good," the doctor said. "Most patients at your age are just upset it might mess up their eating habits, hard to keep to a diet if you don't remember what you had for breakfast. There's nothing you can do about past memory loss. But be aware there's a chance something that happens in the two hours after you take a pill, you won't remember it."

#viktor hargreeves #pre transistion viktor hargreeves #my fanfiction #tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #snippet #grocery list goals

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shigarakislittlepet · 3 years

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im so happy to find a blog with good nsfw content for literally all my faves lol we share the same braincell it seems! how about fluffy nsfw headcanons for Dabi, Shigi, Aizawa and Shinsou and well, Baku but I don't want to overwhelm you even if you don't have a character limit hhh, with a s/o that was completely inexperienced in sex before they got together? They grew more comfortable with the idea of sex over time as they used to be really shy about it but they're scared they'll mess up and disappoint their loves? If possible could you mention what kind of approach each boy would have for the first time with their virgin s/o? I'm just feeling some fluffy dick tonite ya know lol stay safe out there <3

Ohhhh my gosh, this whole thing gave me brain rot lmao, thank you for giving me this power <3<3<3

This also took me literal months to finish because life got crazy, so I’m sorry about that. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

TW: loss of virginity, gentelness, fluffy smut, unprotected sex bc I’m a whore (Y/N is on birth control), and as always all characters are adults especially Y/N

-Dabi-

> You are surprised by how patient he is with you. You were sure he’d have gotten tired of waiting, but he didn’t push. He didn’t make you feel badly about it, and the last thing he would ever want to do to sweet little innocent angel is coerce them into something they weren’t ready for. So, he waits.

> It happened so gradually. Over time, light kissing became making out. After a few months, you got more comfortable and it didn’t feel at all odd to fall into bed with him, cuddling and “swapping spit” as he called it, which always made you giggle like a schoolgirl at his crudeness. His hands would test the waters, but he was always feeling for nervous tremors and flinching, never wanting to go further than you were comfortable. At first, he only rested a hand on you lower back, drawing lazy circles into your waist, his other cradling your face gently, reassuringly. Eventually he could get his hand beneath your shirt, still just at your lower back, but he was content with his progress. Your skin was soft and you said he felt warm, and that was the first time he ever thought of his quirk as “sweet, comforting”, as you described the warmth from his hands.

> After a few months went by, he had progressed to the point of being able to freely roam your body with his hands, the warmth helping you stay calm and anchored to him.

> What continued to surprise you is how easy it felt, once you were ready. You didn’t even see it coming. He asked you, so gently, if he could take your shirt off. You told him he could as long as he promised to keep you warm. He went along slowly, constantly reassuring you, “God Angel, you’re so beautiful. I gotta see more of you, can I? Please?”, “You’re so soft, I need to feel more of your skin, angel, please?” You didn’t even hesitate, you didn’t need to. You felt safer with him than you ever had in your life.

> You realized, once you were both naked together, just how comfortable you were with him. And suddenly you felt like you needed to give him everything he ever wanted, and you knew he would do the same for you.

> It happens so slowly, or at least, it feels like it does. His hand slowly grazes down between your bodies until he reaches your core. You gasp, no one but you had ever touched you there, and it feels so foreign and wonderful. And warm. Once you begin bucking onto his fingers, an insatiable grin stretches across his face. He retracts his fingers, bringing them to his lips, and you watch as he sucks them clean. He calls you delicious and rolls on top of you, asks you if you’re ready for him. For the first time, you look down between your bodies and see just how huge and hard he is for you. When he sees your concern he kisses your forehead, then your lips. “I won’t hurt you Angel, I promise.” You nod and smile, and he starts easing into you, stopping every so often when he can tell the stretch is too much. He kisses your cheeks, your shoulders, your lips, whatever he can get his mouth on as he pants and mumbles little praises. “I love you”, “You’re doin’ so well”, “You’re takin’ me sooo well”, “God, you’re so beautiful, you know how beautiful you are Angel?”, “Ahh, you’re so fuckin’ tight and wet for me Angel, you want me that badly?”. The praises and teases help you considerably to keep you relaxed, and fuck, you DO want him. So fucking badly, you need him. When he’s finally seated inside you fully, he waits, clearly using every last bit of his restraint and self control to give you time to adjust. When you finally whine and buck your hips up on him, he loses it. “I hope you’re fuckin’ ready, Angel.”

>You find rather quickly that Dabi’s style is a beautiful mix of “fucking” and “making love”. He fucks you, hard and deep, so much so that it makes you see stars, but while he does it he’s caging you in-between his arms, holding you close while he pistons in and out of you. He looks you in the eyes, watching your reactions, quickly finding what angle makes you convulse and let out those beautiful moans and coos that he’s now desperate to hear.

>When he nears his end, he reaches down between you again to rub sweet circles against your clit, because no way is Dabi cumming first. It’s just not his style.

-Shigaraki-

>BRAIN ROT

> Shigaraki is definitely happy that you’re inexperienced, he’d kill anyone who had ever laid a hand on you before him. You belonged to him.

> It also means that you’re a virgin, which really gets him going because hes a pervert. ((He’s also secretly glad that he’s not the only virgin))

> He is touch starvvveeeeddddddd. We all know this. But at first, he’s so hesitant to touch you, for fear of destroying you.

> You are patient with each other, and together you find out what works and what doesn’t. He got some artist gloves so he could hold your fucking hand without hyperventilating about dusting you. He’s still afraid of you disappearing beneath his fingertips.

> You were never, not even for a second, worried that he would hurt you. You knew that he could, that he had the ability, but you knew that he wouldn’t.

> He wasn’t so sure, he was afraid of rolling over in the night and finding a pile of dust where you used to be. He wakes up from nightmares about it and has to wake you up to hold you while he shakes uncontrollably. He just has to know you’re alive.

> You both get more and more comfortable with physical proximity and contact together, because you both wanted it, you were both just so worried about fucking everything up.

> When the time came where both of you decided you were ready to have sex, you admitted to him that you were afraid of not measuring up to his expectations. All these “what if’s” kept popping up in your mind: “what if he doesn’t find my body attractive enough”, “what if I don’t know how to move right”, “what if I cant please him”, etc. etc. etc.

> He just looks at you kind of taken aback and confused. He was worried about you not being able to see him as sexually attractive because of how he looked, he was just as self-conscious as you. “Darling, you’re the most perfect person in existence, how can you not see that? Look at me! I’m... I... Look like this! How could I ever hope that someone as beautiful as you could ever see me that way?”

>You didn’t immediately know how to respond. You were... heartbroken that he saw himself that way. You couldn’t image him being self-conscious about anything because in your eyes, he was a god. He was perfect and angelic and you told him as much. You looked at him with such adorably big eyes and your voice was full of so much honesty and adoration, he had to have you immediately. He’d never felt desired, he had never felt lovable. He always thought it would be a miracle if anyone would ever be able to even stomach looking at him without cringing away in disgust. But you were so perfect and you loved him so immediately and so much that it knocked him out. He launches himself at you and just kisses you for a while.

> You both fumbled around a bit at first, trying to find what felt best. You both quickly came to the conclusion that you were going to have to practice together. A lot. As much as possible actually, because even in your inexperience, you both felt more amazing than you ever had in your lives. When you were connected like this, panting, kissing, licking, trying your damndest to become one being, it felt like bliss. You never wanted it to stop.

-Aizawa-

> MORE FUCKING BRAIN ROT

> Aizawa has an innocence kink. There I fucking said it.

> When it comes to the person he’s with, he’s a shameless flirt, and while he would NEVER cross a line or pressure you, he definitely does his best to get you in the mood whenever he can, much to your naïve frustration.

> At first you genuinely don’t even realize he’s doing it on purpose. The heated looks he gave you that made your knees weak? You didn’t think he was doing that on purpose, it’s just because he’s... tired? And he always looks so gorgeous, so that’s why. He ALWAYS makes your knees weak. Yeah that’s all it is, obviously.

> And when he comes up behind you, hands on your hips gently, and lowly rumbling in your ear. Sometimes it’s just comments about whatever you’re doing, which was bad enough. But sometimes it was mumbled compliments. About your outfit, how good it made your ass look. About how soft your hair was, how good you smelled, the softness of your skin while he gently rubbed his stubble against your neck.

>YOU COULDN’T FUCKING HANDLE IT.

> He was so soft most of the time, cuddling you while watching movies, cooking together, dancing in the kitchen with you at 3 in the morning after he finished grading papers. The shift that happened when he would get flirtatious was dizzying.

> You were nervous though, Aizawa was a bit older than you, and obviously way more experienced that you. One night while you were curled up in bed together, you told him you were nervous about disappointing him when the time finally came. He sat up and turned a light on immediately and pulled you into his lap. He held you and stroked your hair and told you how much you meant to him, how you could never disappoint him, how much he wanted you, and how he was willing to wait however long you needed. He held you until he was sure you felt better about it, and then he held you until he was sure you were asleep. You were the most important person in the world to him, and he wasn’t gonna let you think anything was ever gonna change that.

> When you finally got tired of his teasing and felt like you were ready, you decided to get him back. Before he got home, you put on one of his long shirts as a dress and started getting dinner ready.

> When he walked through the door and saw that you were wearing nothing but one of his black button ups, he had to maintain every ounce of his self control to contain the rush of feral need that suddenly consumed him. Now it was HIS turn to assume you were being innocent. And man did you play it up. “What’s wrong Shota? Are you feeling okay?” And you bat your big beautiful eyes at him. He was going to have a stroke.

> It wasn’t until you bent over and he noticed you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt that he realized it was an invitation. He came up behind you, caging you in against the counter, and growled lowly in your ear, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He gently pushed his growing erection against your ass, making you gasp. Score.

> “W-what do you mean?” you looked up at him as innocently as you could. He took your hand and pressed it to the front of his pants. He groaned low in his chest, thankful for any friction. “Don’t play dumb with me, kitten. You know exactly what you’re doing. I think you should take responsibility.” You grinned.

> “Yes Sir,” he jolts at that, and you sink your knees and get to work undoing the fastenings on his hero costume. When his cock springs free, you eagerly give it kitten licks until he’s had enough. He grips you by your hair and gently guides your mouth down onto his cock. He’s big, bigger than you can take, but that doesn’t stop Aizawa from purposefully making you gag on him every so often. He really does get off on how innocent you are, the tears that hang in your eyes from gagging on his cock. He’s gonna cum soon if he’s not careful.

> After he’s had his fun making you suck him off, he pulls you up and carries you off to bed. No way he��s taking your virginity on the floor, he’s too much of a gentleman. And dinner, what dinner? Thank god nothing happened to be on the stove or in the oven.

> He sets you down in bed and kisses you, takes his shirt off of you and finishes ridding himself of his hero costume. He takes pride in getting you ready for him, relishing in your sweet noises and how wet you are for him. A fact that he teases you about. “S-Shotaaa~” you moan and clench down on his fingers. He smirks, “What happened to ‘Sir’, hmm? I liked that, you know...” All you can do is whine up at him in response.

> When you feel like you’re close to cumming, you whine louder and clench down harder and before you can reach your peak, he stops. You whine in frustration before he leans down and rumbles, “Oh no, kitten, the only way you’re cumming is if you cum on my cock.” You gasp and nearly convulse at his filthy words, but you’ve never felt like you needed him more.

> He fucks you gently, at first anyway. For as long as he can. He rolls his hips into you and angles his thrusts expertly, aiming for that spot inside you that’ll make your head spin. And he hits it. Every time. And your head DOES spin. And soon you can feel the pressure build again and you start whining again, “Sh-Shouta, please! I’m s-oh! So close!” He smiles, and decides to take pity on you. He pistons harder, faster, brings a hand to your core to rub circles against your clit and when you cum, you scream his name and he can’t take it anymore. He slams into you, chasing his own high and simultaneously extends yours. You’re seeing stars by the time he cums deep into you. He rolls over, bringing you with him. You lie on top of him and he strokes your hair, and you just hold each other for a while.

-Shinso-

> I wanna say this now, Shinso is Aizawa Jr. I’m so sorry, but its true. They’re both tired, overworked, cat lovers that just wanna come home and cuddle and pass out.

> He knows he’s your first boyfriend. You met at UA and pretty much bonded immediately. Now that you’re both pro-heros working for the same agency? It was only a matter of time before he made a move. And thank whatever higher power exists that you have the same schedule. More time for cuddles.

> HOWEVER! Don’t let the fact that he’s a cuddle-bug fool you. He frequently has to remember that you’re a virgin and you’ve never been in a relationship before, so you have no idea how much he’s affected by you answering your door on a Saturday morning you both had off wearing one of his hoodies that absolutely swallows you. Looking up at him smiling and yawning sleepily, rubbing one of your eyes and groggily asking, “What are you doing here so early? I thought we weren’t going out till tonight?”. He has to breathe deeply to stop himself from jumping you.

> Because much like Aizawa, seeing you so sleepy and soft and small and knowing how innocent and naive you are to all of the things you do that make him need you... is going to make him lose his mind. Quickly.

> Instead of an innocence kink though, this motherfucker has a corruption and a mind break kink. He wants to make it impossible for you to feel pleasure without him, he wants to make you need him desperately, forever. And he wants to do it without the help of his quirk. But that would all come in time, at the moment he has to stop himself from cumming in his pants because you’re bending over on your way to your room so you can change, stooping to pet your cat and his hoodie rode up your ass and he can see your lacy black panties and you were GOING to drive him insane long before he ever got the chance to make you his, he was sure.

> He had brought you coffee and suggested you just stay in all day since you both had such a late night. Watching movies and stuff. You know, normal stuff. He told himself he wasn’t going to try and make a move. Right? Right.

> But when you emerged from your room 45 minutes later, showered and changed, your hair still damp and a droplet of water drifting down your neck and landing in the dip of your collar bones, all he could think of was licking it up. How good your hair must smell, how your skin was still probably warm form the water... He was staring, and you pretended not to notice.

> You were nervous about not measuring up to his expectations. You’d seen the women he usually went out with, and how comfortable they were with their bodies and their sexuality. How beautiful they were. As far as you were concerned, you were nothing like them.

> He could see the gears turning in your head and the downturn of your mouth, and he asked you what was wrong. He motioned for you to come sit with him, and it wasn’t five seconds before he pulled you into his lap. After some coaxing, you let him know what you were worried about. He assured you that the reason he was so happy with you is because you weren’t anything like the women he had dated before. Because, not only were you far more beautiful than they were, they had also been conceited and cold, only dating him because he was an up and coming pro-hero that could get them into events so they could dump him for the first bigger hero they’d meet. He liked that you were soft and warm and he could trust you, that you had always trusted him, even despite his quirk.

> You talked for awhile, and as the morning sun drifted higher into the sky, you decided it was time to door dash some food. While he ordered it, you excused yourself the restroom. You needed to think. The heaviness of the conversation still weighed on you, and you’d never felt closer to him than you did now. It was time, you were sure. You wanted to give him everything he’d been waiting so patiently for, he deserved it. And so did you damnit, no more of this scaredy-cat bullshit! You gave yourself your best war face in the mirror before you exited the bathroom and going back to the living room where Shinsou was reclined on your couch. Head tilted back, resting on the pillow behind him.

> He was so beautiful. Lavender hair a wild mess, eyes closed and lashes fluttering softly. You wanted to kiss his neck suddenly, and unlike when urges like this usually happened, you didn’t shove the thought away. You quickly straddled him and, before he had the chance to question you, you began kissing up and down his neck softly. “K-kitty...” he groaned beneath you, gripping your waist, his hips jerking up against yours.

> After a while of your explorative kissing, he growled impatiently and flipped you over easily, pressing you into the couch. He kissed you like he might die if he didn’t, deep and slow and desperate. When he finally broke for air and looked at you, he felt his heart and his dick jump. Your flushed face and your eyes that were looking up at him through your eyelashes heavily, your mouth hanging open gasping and your kiss bitten lips, your brows softly cinched at the effort it took for you to remember you needed to breathe.

> He asks you if you’re sure you were ready, and when you nod dazedly up at him he doesn’t need any more convincing.

> He takes his time, he’s slow and methodical. He wants your first time to be an enjoyable experience. Something you can look back on fondly and remember how much he loved you, how good it felt, how comfortable you were. He wanted it to be better than his first time, drunk after a hero convention, with some woman who didn’t remember his name in the morning and never called him back. He pushed the thought away. He focused on you, on how perfect you were.

> When he finally thrusts into you, you think you want to feel like this forever. You tell him so, and beams with pride, pushing your pleasure further. Kissing your neck and praising you. Telling you how perfect you are, telling you all the things you do that drive him crazy, telling you that he’s never going to let you go, that you’re his forever and he’s yours.

> You cum together, and you think that everything in the world must have always been this beautiful. You spend the rest of the day cuddling, eating, and making love.

-Bakugo-

> No thoughts in this mans head. None. At least when it comes to romance. When you first start dating, you had to make the first move cause his oblivious ass just thought you were challenging him. You had to explain to him that what you were actually doing was called “flirting”.

> So when it comes to your first time, you know you’re gonna have to make the first move there too. He fears rejection, so he avoids the things he really wants the most. Which in this case is you whining on his dick.

> But he also knows you’re a virgin and he doesn’t wanna scare you, so he leaves it be. Trusting his fist to get the job done when he really needs to let off some steam. Either by punching shit or jerking off.

> One day, you do catch him jerking off, and you immediately start to (stupidly) think that you’re not enough for him, that he might leave you for someone who can give him what he needs. You don’t think he notices you having a mini panic attack in the hallway so you sneak back to the kitchen to catch your breath and think. Why HAD you waited this long? What were you waiting FOR? You guessed you had just been worried about not knowing what to do, about him getting impatient and annoyed with you for your lack of experience.

> Making your final decision, you square your shoulders and march yourself back to your shared room. You confidently open the door to find him ... waiting for you?

> “Tch, took you long enough. You done freakin’ out now?” He grumbles from his spot on the bed. You nod meekly and he opens his arms for you, an invitation you gratefully accept. He pets your head and continues grumbling, “ just as bad as shitty-hair, nobody ever knocks anymore. You shouldn’t be surprised when you just try to walk in like that...”

> He keeps petting your head until eventually you hit him with it. “‘Tsuki, I wanna... uhm...” you look up at him with pleading eyes hoping his quirk somehow suddenly allows him to read your mind.

> It doesn’t. “ You wanna what? C’mon, spit it out.” No thoughts, remember?

> You huff and blush and finally squeak out, “Wanna make you feel good, ‘Tsuki...”

> His brain stops working momentarily. When he catches back up, he smirks. “Seriously? It just took you gettin’ jealous over my left hand for you to be ready?”, he teased. You stick out your tongue and he grabs your jaw, looks you dead in the eyes when he says, “I have something much more important for that cute little mouth to do.”

> Your eyes go wide at his suggestion, even though it really doesn’t surprise you. When Katsuki wants something he wants to go all out, no half-assing it. You nod nervously and he laughs at your apprehension, allowing you to shift down his body until you were face to face with his fly. You undid the button and zipper with shaky hands, and gently guide his dick out of his jeans.

> Beautiful is the first word to come to your mind. Beautiful and massive, just like the rest of him. He was easily over six feet tall, and built too so it really shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. For a moment all you can do is look up at him from your place below him, your big strong hero. You melt a little and you notice him smirking down at you again, “What ‘ya lookin’ at, princess?”. He gently strokes your cheek while you admire him, “You.” you reply dazedly. His smirk widens to a bear malicious grin, “Me? How come?”. A feeling you’re not totally familiar with, but you’re pretty sure is called submission, fills you suddenly and you feel warm and content. “You’re perfect,” you bat your eyelashes and bite your lip as you gently start to stroke your hand up and down his length.

>He controls his breathing, because he really can’t handle you looking so cute with his cock that close to your pretty little face. “‘Tch, and? What’s got you so worked up about it?” You giggle and nuzzle your face into the base of his cock and look up at him innocently. “I’m just glad I’m yours,” you smile and lick him from base to tip before gently taking him into your mouth. You’d read enough smut online to at least have some idea how to do this.

> He almost cums when you say that you’re glad to be his. His, he grins. He doesn’t get to think about that for too long though because your warm, wet tongue is sliding up his shaft and then your pretty little mouth engulfs him and he thinks he might hyperventilate if you keep looking up at him like that. He’d almost say it wasn’t fair, but then you start moving and he thinks that he could actually die happily from the warm bliss that fills him while he watches you try to take more and more of him down your throat.

> This is much more fun than you thought it would be, especially because Katsuki keeps letting out those little sighs and groans, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You hollow out your cheeks and suck a bit harder before taking a deep breath and relaxing your throat as much as possible. You lower yourself down as far as you can, pushing past the ring of muscle in the back of your throat before moving down further. You feel him lay his hand gently, encouragingly, on the back of your head. You’re surprised when you find your nose nestled in the light blonde fuzz at the base of him and you stick your tongue out to lap at the underside.

> He jolts when you begin your descent. You’re not really gonna try to deep-throat him, are you? He watches you, mesmerized. No ones ever even tried, always saying he was way too big. It felt way too good. He laid a hand on the back of your head to ground himself, quickly realizing he had to control himself so that he didn’t clench his fist in your hair or shove you down all the way and hold you there. When you reached your goal, he sighed. Your throat felt perfect wrapped around him, just like he knew it would. When he felt your tongue sneak out of your mouth and lick, he thanked whatever creator there was that your tongue was long enough to reach his anchor. when you start to move your head up and down, he can only take it for so long before he’s thrusting up into your mouth. When you gag on him, that’s it, he has to pull you off him before he grips your head and suffocates you on his cock.

> He’s nearly at the point of begging, but thankfully, mercifully, you seem to get the idea. You wipe your mouth and lie back on the bed, giggling at his abruptness and he growls in response. He kisses you, and praises you, telling you how good you are, how much he needs to be inside you as he undresses you. You’re surprised at how automatically your legs open for him, and you tell him how much you need him inside of you as well. You feel so empty all of a sudden. Until one of his thick fingers finds your molten core and gathers some of your slick before sinking into you and you gasp.

> He continues to kiss and praise you as he works you with his fingers. You whine and moan and beg, it’s like music to his ears. When he thinks you’re ready, he lines himself up with your entrance, sliding up and down, grinding against your clit briefly before continuing. “I wanna hear you beg for it, princess.” and fuck, did you beg. A beautiful litany of filthy fucking words fell from your mouth, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He sinks into you fully in one thrust, gripping your open legs for stability.

> At first you can’t speak, you can’t make any noise at all. You feel so unbelievably full, and you look up at him and his eyes are clenched shut and his jaw is set. He’s holding himself back. He’s trying to be gentle with you because it’s your first time. He really is very sweet when he wants to be. You raise a shaky hand to his face and he leans into it. He met your eyes and you watch as his control falters when he sees you bent in half like this. You smile, “Katsuki, please”, is all you can say. It seems to open the flood gates. For all his self control, he pounds into you mercilessly and it fills you with the most intense feeling of ecstasy. “F-fuck ‘Tsuki, you feel s-so fucking good,” you moan and gasp brokenly.

> He cums hard. Grunting, growling, and near snarling the whole way through. You’re seeing stars, even though you haven’t cum. It had felt so fucking amazing, and you’re more than content with that. Katsuki is definitely not however, and is intent on eating you out until you beg for mercy. He always takes such good care of you.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #shinsou x reader #shinso smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut

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felidaefighter · 3 years

Text

Our Metaphorical Get-Along Sweater

In which Wilbur thinks of Ranboo as an arch-nemesis while Ranboo is just There Vibing and also, Phil has adopted Ranboo, making for two very different siblings and a very interesting relationship

[Fluff, comedy, fix-it fic, some light angst that is immediately softened, work in progress; every chapter will swap POV]

Chapter Two: A Second Chance From The Second Son

For Ranboo, coming home empty-handed was always the worst part about his trips, second only to not seeing Michael for a while. So, before even stopping at home to unload, the moment he got back to familiar lands he headed to Snowchester, spending the entire afternoon with his son and only heading back to his own house as the sun was beginning to set. In truth, he had been grateful for the accidental timing regarding his trip. It allowed him time to think. Although he and Phil had discussed Wilbur before, he hadn’t been alive during that, and Ranboo honestly felt a prick of guilt at how he knew that might’ve changed things-- he highly doubted Phil would’ve adopted him had Wilbur still been alive, after all.

It definitely didn’t help, either, the way Tommy had spoken about Wilbur-- though Ranboo had known Ghostbur, and knew that in some ways they were likely similar, they weren’t the same-- it made him wary of Wilbur; not just for himself, but for Tommy and Tubbo’s sake as well. Still, he believed in second chances, and a second chance at life was something pretty rare. He wanted to be optimistic. And although Phil was going to be biased, because Wilbur was his son-- his son that he had raised from birth, especially-- Ranboo trusted Phil’s judgement on people more than nearly anyone else save for his husband. He wanted to get to know the man. Not the man he used to be, not the man he was, but the man he is now.

After putting away the small amount of trinkets and excess materials Ranboo had picked up on his adventure, he checked his memory book to see if it had anything to offer in terms of what his next step was. Oh, right! He’d wanted to give Wilbur a proper tour of what had changed; Tommy had succeeded in showing him around, after all, but if Ranboo knew Tommy (and he did, very well), there was no way Tommy had actually given a good explanation of the events behind the changes to the man. Now he just had to offer. He just… had to do it. Yeah. Noting that the sun had only just set, it was reasonable to assume that Wilbur and Phil were still awake. Very very awkwardly for someone who had every right to be there given his adoption, Ranboo knocked on the door to Phil’s house.

Phil let him in with an easy smile. “Ranboo, mate, you don’t have to knock y’know.” It kind of felt strange not to though? Considering the recent change in situation. “Yeah, but with Wilbur here, I don’t wanna interrupt anything, y’know?” He asked Phil with an awkward laugh. “You’re just as much part of the family as he is,” Phil assured, and Ranboo felt himself untense a little. “Welcome back from your adventure, by the way! Were you successful?” Phil asked, realizing he hadn’t yet. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” Ranboo moaned miserably, and Phil laughed. “Not well then! Got it.” Ranboo shook his head. “Everything else I can find no problem! Like, come on, man, this one isn’t even for me.” The two stood in a pleasant moment together.

Right. The reason he was here. He had to get it over with one way or the other. “Hey Phil, I was wondering actually, is Wilbur around…?” He asked before he could convince himself not to. Phil looked at him quizzically. “Yeah, he’s upstairs. Wil!” Phil called, and Wilbur immediately stuck his torso out the ladder hole, looking like he very much would rather be elsewheres. “Ranboo wanted to speak to you,” Phil explained, and Wilbur disappeared for a moment before climbing down the ladder properly. “Okay, I’m here, I see you. What’s up?” Wilbur asked, and although he looked like he’d been interrupted genuine curiosity colored his words. Admittedly, it was a little intimidating to have Wilbur’s attention. Ranboo had just… heard so much about him.

“Oh, well uh… you got a tour of what had changed from Tommy, right?” He started. Wilbur tilted his head. “Yeah, you could call it that.” Ranboo nodded; he’d expected something like that. “Well, I was wondering-- if you’re free tomorrow, would you like a proper tour? I know Tommy is horrible at being straightforward and explaining things like that, so it might be nice to have an actual explanation right?” Ranboo asked. There it was, the big, awkward sibling bonding question. Huoagh. Ranboo turned to Phil. “No offense, Phil, but you and Techno don’t really…” Ranboo trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence. Phil shook his head. “None taken, you’re right. Aw that sounds nice eh Wil? It’d be good to get you all caught up.” Wilbur looked a bit taken aback, but not unpleasantly so. That was good! That seemed like a good thing.

“You know what? Sure, Ranboo. I’m down to try that.” Ranboo grinned in excitement. “Awesome! Okay, tomorrow, I’ll give you the grand tour.” Wilbur nodded, continuing. “I’ll admit Tommy left some holes in his stories-- almost as big as the one I apparently left in L’Manberg,” Wilbur added with dark chuckle. Ooohhh okay that didn’t seem like the greatest sign but dark humor wasn’t necessarily indicative of anything bad-- though it did, admittedly, make Ranboo feel a little wary. Caution would probably be best when handling everything. But that was okay! Ranboo was a cautious guy. He felt confident in his ability to, well, be cautious. “Yeahhh that’ll happen with Tommy,” Phil said to Wilbur in agreement, and Ranboo nodded in turn. The three chatted idly for a short bit, and then Ranboo left for the night, ready to sleep in his own bed after a week of travel, with the plans for tomorrow secured.

------

Ranboo woke up and did his morning routine, bracing himself for the plans he’d made for the day. In truth, he wasn’t really sure what to make of Wilbur still. He’d had an entire week to think about it, but it just seemed so complicated. He’d heard good things from Phil and terrible things from Tommy, about the man who had created a nation and also was now his older brother. It would be good to get to know him, though, Ranboo reasoned-- so the tour was a good idea. Ranboo found Wilbur tinkering with some things in Phil’s house, having very clearly been awake for quite some time. “You’ve been up a while,” Ranboo said, and Wilbur looked about to scowl at the intrusion before settling himself into a more neutral expression and nodding. “The sunrise; It’s beautiful,” he explained-- and suddenly Ranboo felt as if Wilbur might be okay after all. They headed off in relative silence aside from a passing remark from Wilbur about the magma cubes that consistently jumped to their deaths; the only thing of note about the nether was the vaguely safer renovation of the community portal.

“The community house looks different,” Wilbur commented, and Ranboo grimaced. “Oohhh yeah. It got blown up. Dream--” At least, as far as anyone knew it was Dream-- “Blew it up and framed Tommy for it while he was in exile. He used it as an excuse to blow up L’Manberg. With uh, Phil and Techno’s help actually, but y’know.” An unreadable expression crossed over Wilbur’s face, and he nodded. “Dream’s a tricky bastard, that doesn’t surprise me. I do remember Tommy’s exile, now, by the way, it--” Rage flashed across Wilbur’s face, almost too quickly for Ranboo to take note, but not quite quick enough-- before he took a breath and looked calm again. “It was rough,” He surmised instead. Ranboo nodded. That had been a horrible time. He’d tried writing letters, but, well. Ranboo decided to focus on the tour before the queasy feeling in his gut grew too big.

“Over therrrre is Kinoko Kingdom or whatever it’s called-- Sapnap and Karl live there I think? Also George maybe but that guy is always asleep so honestly who knows,” Ranboo said, gesturing to their right/the East. Wilbur looked like he was calculating something. “So there are new nations here after all?” Ranboo shrugged. “I mean I wouldn’t really call it a nation-- I don’t think there’s a government so much as a lot of buildings that nobody even lives in honestly.” Wilbur just frowned at that, despite it being true. Ranboo was beginning to think that maybe it’d be a lot harder to get on his good side than he’d initially hoped.

Ranboo walked out the other side of the community house and Wilbur trailed behind idly, long-legged stride making up for his casual pace. His dark eyes flitted about, searching for things the passage of time had and hadn’t touched. “The prime path is pretty much the same,” Ranboo said, desperately hoping the shift away from nation-talk would lighten Wilbur’s mood. “Oh! On the right there is Captain Puffy’s therapy office. I’ve heard about it from--” Actually, that was none of Wilbur’s business, no offense to him. “--From somewhere. That’s why it says ‘therapuffy’ on the sign.” Personally, Ranboo was very pleased with that pun. Puffy had done a good job with it. And Wilbur-- Wilbur actually quirked an eyebrow. “She’s started a therapy office, has she?” He mused, and Ranboo hummed in affirmation. “I s’ppose that’s useful. I’m sure a lot of people around here need it.”

“Apparently there’s a discreet box you can drop a note into to make an appointment,” Ranboo said, which was about as close as he was going to get to saying his real thoughts which were more along the lines of oh my god PLEASE get therapy you of all people need it especially considering you made your dad help you kill yourself and have been dead and gone for years in what you essentially described as hell. “That’s cool,” Wilbur said, and Ranboo nearly wilted a little, but he did take a small victory in the lingering glance that he noticed Wilbur left it towards it. Ranboo allowed himself to hope just a teensy bit that maybe Wilbur would visit again after the tour with nobody else around.

“On the left here is Niki and Puffy’s flowershop and bakery, and Fundy and I’s icecream shop we made to compete with them. Ours is just a little bit taller,” Ranboo added smugly. “They’re both kind of abandoned though, because--” Oh, that was not a good look on Wilbur’s face. It passed almost immediately, which was almost even more concerning. “Go on, Ranboo, what were you saying?” Wilbur prompted softly, and Ranboo hesitated but it was clear he wasn’t going to get anything out of that look. It was also, frankly, not something he was willing to unpack with the older man. “They’re both kind of abandoned, because I haven’t seen Fundy in a long while and I think Niki and Puffy kind of drifted apart? They were dating at one point I think,” He rambled, and relaxed a bit as Wilbur smirked, easily caught up in gossip and drama.

They passed by Church Prime-- Wilbur declining to go in for personal reasons-- Punz’s house, the karaoke stage, and the weird, pale-checked building, which had all been there since long before Ranboo’s time and thus didn’t earn anything more than a passing, melodramatic comment from Wilbur about familiarity and stagnation and how sometimes even the land couldn’t change. Ranboo didn’t really think that was a fair assessment, though. Basalt columns supported chunks of Punz’s house that bore visible fire damage. Nearly every time he’d passed by the checked building the inside had been renovated. He was pretty sure even the karaoke stage had been patched up a few times. But to be honest, being around Wilbur was awkward. Even the idea that he knew things that Wilbur didn’t didn’t seem quite right, since Wilbur had been there first-- with both L’Manberg and being Phil’s son-- even if he’d missed some time. So for now, Ranboo would just stick to the facts.

“That’s a Christmas building,” Wilbur said, aghast, pulling Ranboo out of his thoughts. “Hm? Oh! Yeah, that’s-- I think somebody lives there but I’m not sure actually. It’s definitely--” Ranboo made a noise, and Wilbur nodded his head at the noise. “Yeah. See, that’s something you and I can agree upon, Ranboo.” Wilbur then swivelled his head around and did a double-take. “Is that gay Target? ...Didn’t that used to be a walmart?” They passed the Targay, beginning the steep climb up the mountain, and Ranboo nodded, bemused. “It’s Targay, I think. Puffy renovated the walmart. It’s kinda been ‘opening soon’ since before I even got here though so I think it’s effectively abandoned. Tommy and I were talking about that the other day, actually.”

Speaking of, they reached the top of the mountain and Tommy’s plot of land-- “Tommy’s shit-fucking-shack is the same,” Wilbur said dryly, fake disgust in his voice betrayed by the fondness on his face. And there it was-- proof. Not for anybody other than Ranboo himself, of course, but it was there. Wilbur did care about something. Or someone, at least. Someone that Ranboo cared about, too. That was enough to get Ranboo’s confidence in his plan back up a bit. Good, actually. He liked being optimistic. Preferred it without a doubt to anxiety spirals and the idea that everything was doomed. “Pretty much,” Ranboo admitted, “But there’s a bunch of flowers and stuff around that were planted when-- when he was gone for a bit. He took down everything else. I guess he likes it looking like a hole in the hill.” Wilbur rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to see the hotel and the prison and Snowchester next, or would you like to visit L’Manberg?” Ranboo asked, hoping Wilbur wouldn’t realize the near-slip-up had been alluding to Tommy’s death. The mischievous, conniving look in Wilbur’s eyes clouded, and the man looked thoughtful. Ranboo waited anxiously, fiddling with his hands. “Let’s go visit L’Manberg,” He said, taking the lead, and Ranboo followed behind. The man’s strides were purposeful, and though Ranboo did think that Wilbur could change, something about the way he was moving hinted at… lingering ideologies about the former nation. Also, Ranboo was internally pouting a bit about Wilbur taking charge now. It was meant to be his tour.

“I haven’t seen L’Manberg since I blew it all to kingdom come,” Wilbur remarked, Ranboo trailing nervously behind him. Confusion temporarily overrode his nerves, and Ranoo tilted his head. “Are you su-- really? I thought you said you remembered stuff that happened when you were-- Ghostbur?” Wilbur downright scowled at the mention of Ghostbur, and waved off the mention like he was shooing away a pesky fly. “I don’t see what Ghostbur has to do with that,” Wilbur huffed, and Ranboo was silent for a moment. Maybe-- hm, that would be interesting wouldn’t it? Because Ghostbur couldn’t remember the bad things, and the only example Wilbur had given of remembering Ghostbur’s memories was how awful exile had been for Tommy.

Ranboo was so focused on theorizing and figuring out how he might propose said theory to Wilbur that he nearly careened right into the man, who had stopped dead right at the end of the prime path. Luckily, he saved himself the dignity and Wilbur his dramatic moment right at the last second. If Wilbur noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He was staring out over the massive crater. “Wow,” Wilbur breathed mournfully, “I really did do a number on this place, huh.” He stepped off the prime path, minding the pockets where fire and explosives had scarred the earth. Ranboo watched him walk across the glass-- eerily, like a ghost taking long-forgotten trails, the transparent glass helping the illusion. Except, no, Wilbur was alive, and more importantly--

“You didn’t, actually,” Ranboo said bluntly, and Wilbur snapped out of whatever daze he had been in, the illusion shattered as the contradictory statement made him virulent and very much alive. “What?” Ranboo admittedly reeled a little at the tone, but come on. He didn’t. “You didn’t,” Ranboo reiterated; “Techno, Phil, and Dream were the ones to blow it to bedrock. Your explosion didn’t get anywhere close. And the reason I know that is because it flooded afterwards, but it didn’t even flood that deep. It’s why L’Manberg-- the one I knew at least-- was rebuilt on stilts,” Ranboo explained, carefully watching the expression on Wilbur’s face. The disdain on Wilbur’s face was slowly blotted out by confusion.

“What do you mean rebuilt on stilts?” Wilbur asked, and it was definitely visible on Ranboo’s face when it clicked for him that his theory had been correct. Wilbur didn’t actually remember Ghostbur’s memories-- not all of them, at least. He only thought he did because he, well, couldn’t remember the rest. Ranboo knew the feeling. “And what does that look mean?” Wilbur scoffed. “Well, you--” Ranboo felt his face get hot, the center of attention and eyes being on him never really the best for his enderman instincts. Ranboo opted instead to glance down at the bedrock, visible through the glass. “After-- after you died. L’Manberg was rebuilt. Tubbo said the land was still good, so when it started flooding they built it up on stilts and platforms. It was mainly Ghostbur that did the rebuilding, actually!” With the last fact, Ranboo glanced back up at Wilbur, who was just staring, trying to process what he’d just heard.

“So, you’re saying… I didn’t have a big impact on this place.” Wilbur prompted. Ranboo just sighed. “Well, you did. It just wasn’t all one thing, y’know? I know Tubbo-- I know Tubbo liked having L’Manberg around and so did Tommy. They were devastated when, well--” Ranboo gestured to the visible bedrock deep, deep below them-- “That happened. And Ghostbur rebuilt it, he made it beautiful, with the lanterns.” Ranboo paused. “Phil told me a bit about the lanterns, actually.” Something indiscernible crossed over Wilbur’s face. Then he looked almost bitter-- then-- Wilbur sighed. “See, Ranboo, I appreciate your trying to ‘tell me I’m not a bad guy’ or whatever,” Wilbur said, emphasizing the quotations with a false, mocking tone, and gesturing dramatically, “But it doesn’t really matter. This is my legacy! This crater. Everyone knows I’m a bad person. That’s just fact.”

“...I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Ranboo said quietly, wincing at how unconvincing that must sound even as genuine as he meant it. Wilbur scowled. “Why? Because Phil said?” Ranboo immediately countered, offended that Wilbur thought he couldn’t have his own opinions. “...No, not because Phil said. Because I don’t know you at all. We haven’t gotten a chance to meet. And I think that maybe you were a bad person, if you blew up L’Manberg, but I also think that you were going through some things that affected you and I think that people can change. Even if it’s only been a few years for us, it’s been thirteen years for you. You aren’t going to be the same person as before. And you deserve a second chance. Everyone does.”

Wilbur was the one to turn away this time, and Ranboo politely pretended not to notice the way his eyes had become more reflective and puffy. He seemed like he had something he wanted to say, and Ranboo would’ve let him, really-- but instead he looked out over the glass at the bedrock and rubble and dead vines that hadn’t yet been reclaimed by nature. Wilbur took a deep breath, and Ranboo waited in nervous anticipation. “What do you mean it’s ‘only been a few years for you’, Ranboo?” Wilbur asked. Oh. That had not been-- but he did have a good point. That was probably some important information that Tommy had apparently also left out.

“Tommy… didn’t tell you that either. Figures,” Ranboo muttered. “Okay so, when Tommy came back and said he’d been gone for months, it had only been two days, so…” Ranboo began, and Wilbur held up a hand, signalling him to pause for a moment. “Thank you for the tour, Ranboo,” Wilbur said, “But this has been a lot. Let’s walk and talk on this one, eh?” He sniffed, not in a cry-y way, in his usual talking way, (even if one would think it’d be in a cry-y way-- Ranboo tried to not let his thoughts wander too far, though), and said softly, “I’d like to go home.” It did catch Ranboo a little off-guard. There was still more to the tour! But… well, it did make sense, L’Manberg being what it was. Yeah. That seemed reasonable. “Alright, yeah,” Ranboo said, and the two found their way back to the prime path. “So since Tommy had been gone for two days but lived-- or unlived I guess?-- for months-- we figured time moves differently in the afterlife or whatever it is, right?” Ranboo explained the time differential to Wilbur as they walked, and the man was surprisingly free of snarky commentary the rest of the way home.

-----

They had trudged through the snow in complete silence, leaving Ranboo to his swirling thoughts about how he felt about Wilbur being his brother. He was trying hard to not think about it actually. The mix of the family thoughts and the snow on the ground did remind him that they never went to Snowchester for the tour. Honestly? Ranboo was okay with that. He hated to admit it, but he did not trust Wilbur around Michael. Okay, in all fairness, he didn’t really trust anyone other than Tubbo around Michael. Call it paranoia, or maybe “an awareness of what the rest of the people in the realm were like”. It was hard enough dealing with having a sibling when he’d only just gained a parent-- Ranboo really didn’t need to deal with whatever thoughts might come with Wilbur technically being Michael’s uncle. He shuddered to himself, and Wilbur glanced over questioningly, but Ranboo muttered about the cold and the man seemed to buy it.

Phil was waiting for them when they got home, and opened the door warmly to both of them. He shot Ranboo a questioning look when he didn’t immediately come inside, but Ranboo subtly shook his head-- Phil giving an almost unnoticeable tilt upwards of his head in acknowledgement. Talk later. “Sooo how’d it go?” Phil asked conversationally from the doorway, and Wilbur was startled out of his own thoughts. Luckily he didn’t catch the exchange they’d had. “Huh? Oh.” Wilbur turned to Ranboo thoughtfully. “The tour was lovely, thank you. You definitely did a better job than Tommy, at least. And cleared some things up for me.” Something about Wilbur, Ranboo had noticed, was always guarded. He guessed that’d be the paranoia. Or maybe old habits from being sneaky-- Phil had told some stories of when Wilbur was younger.

“I’m glad,” Ranboo said sheepishly though, “I’m glad I could do that and, clear some things up for you, yeah. And it was nice getting to hear your stories about the things that had been there for a while, too,” Ranboo offered, an open invitation for reconciliation, even if he still wasn’t sure what he’d done that made him and Wilbur get off on such a strange foot. Wherever Wilbur’s thoughts had been drifting to, they quickly snapped back at Ranboo’s softer tone. “Yes,” Wilbur said curtly, “Thank you for the tour, see you around.” And he promptly slipped past Phil, who was muttering baffled protests, into his room upstairs.

“What?” Phil squawked out as the door shut, and then turned to Ranboo. “I don’t-- what-- I’m sorry Ranboo I genuinely don’t know what that was about.” And Ranboo laughed, relieved to have someone else sharing in his confusion, feeling at home with Phil for the first time in a while since it was just the two of them. “I don’t either!” He admitted, sharing in Phil’s trait for giggling in confusion. “But I think I said something that maybe he thought was nice and he doesn’t like the fact that he thought it was nice…?” Phil sighed, and then laughed. “Yeah, yep, that’d do it. Wil’s-- He’ll come around. He’ll come around. He just needs some time to adjust to the situation properly.” Phil narrowed his eyes at Ranboo. Uh-Oh. It was his dad mode.

“And so do you. You can’t let him bully you around just ‘cuz he’s older or you think he gets more rights as my son due to seniority.” Ranboo flushed, feeling very caught-in-the-act. “Okay well hey wait a minute you didn’t have to call me out that hard,” he fake-complained nervously, and the two of them laughed. “I did though! It’s true!” Phil protested. “You’re as much family as he is,” Phil continued softly, and Ranboo desperately tried to not let his eyes water.

Phil, either due to his allergies for prolonged contact with softer emotions, or sensing the need for a mood change out of worry for Ranboo’s allergies to water, decided to change the subject back to Wilbur’s style of siblinghood. “--And Wilbur will bully you around ‘cuz he’s older. And you can’t let him get away with it or he’s gonna get away with it forever,” Phil scolded, “Ranboo, you have to grow a backbone.” Well that just hurt. “I have one, that’s not fair!” Phil, however, put his hands on his hips and looked sternly at Ranboo, who was thoroughly pouting. Then he sighed and laughed softly. “Fair enough, fair enough. That’s a start.”

They stood on the porch together for a moment, enjoying one another’s company. Phil sighed again. “How did the tour actually go? How was Wil?” He asked finally. Right! Now this was something Ranboo was prepared for. He straightened up, much to Phil’s dismay (because Phil was much shorter than Ranboo as it was). Ranboo laughed a little internally at that, but he was rather proud of his observation skills in this matter, so he was all business on the outside (not that this was business). “He was kinda melodramatic, honestly,” Ranboo explained, and Phil nodded; it did make sense that that wasn’t out of the ordinary. “I did point out to him where therapy was,” He added, Phil bursting out laughing in response to that with a sort of ‘bwahahaha’ sound. “Good,” Phil said, before letting Ranboo continue.

“He did… he did get a bit weird when it came to L’Manberg,” Ranboo admitted, and Phil sobered some at that. “He took over the tour and started talking about how it was his fault. Phil, I don’t--” Ranboo leaned down in a conspiratorial whisper, Phil drawing him closer to the door and away from any windows or line of sight. “--I don’t think he actually remembers Ghostbur’s memories. He just thinks he does. He only remembers the bad things from Ghostbur’s memories.” Phil paused. “Ghostbur had bad memories?” His eyes widened. “Oh.”

Ranboo nodded. “Yeah. I did clear up some stuff-- like how the bedrock leveling was you and Techno and Dream and not him, and he’d only been gone for a few years as opposed to thirteen like on his end.” Phil nodded some more, thoughtfully. “Ah, yeah. Thank you for clearing that up, Ranboo, I honestly-- time for me is, well, y’know.” He made a so-so gesture with his hand and Ranboo understood. “I do feel kinda bad about that, but uh-- I still stand by it. It had to be done. That government was corrupt.” Ranboo nodded. He had complicated feelings about that-- he supposed most of his feelings were complicated, actually-- but ultimately he respected Phil’s decision, and liked where he’d ended up because of it.

“And I take it you didn’t show him Snowchester.” Ranboo grimaced. “Yeahhh I didn’t really want to have that conversation. Plus it was in the opposite direction of L’Manberg, so…” Phil nodded once again. “Good thinking. We can chat some more later, yeah? When you’re comfortable doing so in a place that isn’t the freezing cold.” Ranboo nodded, grateful that Phil understood his hesitations even if he didn’t agree with them. Phil patted Ranboo’s arm softly as Ranboo headed off and he went back inside, and Ranboo was grateful for the time alone to think. Because a lot had happened, but he did want to think through that particular scenario, since it was important. Even if the family aspect was strange. Even with Ranboo being particularly protective. And especially with his relationship to Tubbo being what it was. So the question was this: How did Ranboo want to go about introducing Wilbur to his nephew, Michael?

[Until I publish this to AO3, anyone is welcome to ask to be tagged when the fic updates!] @enternalempires

#ranboo #wilbur soot #philza #dreamsmp #mcyt fanfic #they write #oh gosh please don't open this readmore on mobile. new tab is better #it's almost 5000 words #HERE IT IS CHAPTER TWO #oh gosh i'm so sorry it's been so long #my appointment for my finger injury ain't until october but. slow and steady writing should be alright

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schnoogles · 4 years

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Temporary Escapes written for the @jonsa-halloween event! Day 1: Wargs/In The Dark Read on Ao3

Sansa and Jon are ruling the North together after the defeat of the others. Sansa, already prone to making up stories and bury her trauma, finds an escape in warging into birds, soaring high into the skies to escape her fears and nightmares. Jon worries though. Varamyr once said birds often cause wargs to be disassociated with reality.

The knock on the door shook Jon out of his stupor. Going through ledgers was his least favourite part of ruling, he found it boring. And going through them late at night was just abysmal. He shook his head and called out to the door. “Enter.”

“Your Grace?” a timid looking woman peeked through, “Pardon the interruption. It’s just- well you told me- uhm- always come fetch you-”

“Gwin? Remember what we talked about? Speak freely, please.” The poor woman had been around during Ramsay’s reign of terror. And sometimes, she still felt like she had to tiptoe around Jon. He’s been working with her to try to get her to feel safer in the walls of Winterfell. It’s a work in progress.

Gwin, very much still distressed, started over, “Your Grace, she’s doing it again. And I can’t get her to stop.”

Jon shot up to his feet, “How long has she been at it?” Already marking his place and closing the books, Jon was ready to leave immediately. They both walked out and headed towards the sleeping chambers as Gwin answered.

“I’m not sure. She was like that when I found her, and I tried making her stop, but she wouldn’t! I’m sorry.” Gwin was wringing her hands as she tried to keep up with Jon. He noticed.

“You did all you could Gwin,” he reassured her, “If you don’t mind fetching some warm washcloths and hot water?” Gwin nodded and turned to leave. Before she could get any further though, Jon called out. “And Gwin? Thank you.”

Jon carefully opened the door to their chambers and saw her sitting there, in the dark. She was by the window, a cup of ale sat next to her untouched. With her back to him, she looked as if she was just gazing out at the night sky, admiring the stars. Jon knew better. It’s been a while since she’s done this, but every time it happened, it lasted longer and longer.

He walked over to the window and knelt in front of his wife. Even though he knew what to expect, every time he saw her eyes a pure white instead of her usual Tully blue, his heart broke, just a little. “Sansa? Darling, please wake up.” No answer. He knew waking a warg up from skinchanging was near impossible, but damn it he’ll try. Cradling her face, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. All he could do now was wait.

It was probably less than five minutes later when her eyes flashed blue again. “Jon?” she whispered, still in a daze. “What are you doing?”

“Sansa? I lost you again, love. You went away.” He kissed her sweetly, gently. “You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

Tears filled Sansa’s eyes. Afraid that even speaking too loud would somehow cause her memories to resurface, she whispered, “I didn't want to, I swear. But when it got dark, it was like the monsters came back. The echoes of knives scraping, of fabric ripping, their voices. I couldn't take it. All I felt was alone and I felt trapped. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go away for a little; escape reality for just a bit. I forgot myself.” She was softly crying now.

“Shh shh, it’s alright love. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left you alone like this.” Before he could say anything else, Gwin returned.

“I’ve got the washcloths and hot water Your Grace,” setting down the items, Gwin curtsied and retreated, but she hesitated by the door before turning around and spoke to Sansa. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Your Grace. I’m glad to see you’re back.”

Sansa smiled at the kind woman. “It’s not your fault, Gwin. You’re my lady’s maid, not my slave. You aren’t expected to be at my beck and call at all hours of the day and night. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, turn in for the night and rest. Have tomorrow off even, I don’t mind.”

Touched by her queen’s kind words, Gwin returned the smile and left.

Jon picked up the washcloth and dabbed Sansa’s face, clearing off any sweat he’s sure has dried off since. Sometimes he wishes Bran had never taught Sansa to hone her warg skills. Skinchanging into one of Winterfell’s hunting dogs -into Ghost even- was one thing. But skinchanging into birds? And so frequently? He worried for her. Varamyr once said that birds cause skinchangers to be disassociated with reality. He knew that’s why Sansa did it though. The horrors she’s seen and the trauma she’s been through would cause any man to wish it all away and escape.

“My love you can’t do this anymore, please,” Jon quietly begged. “One day you might not come back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you Jon.”

He sighed. After the light cloth bath he gave her, they quietly dressed for the night. Though their marriage started off with many awkward silences, they now lived with moments of comforting quietness. When he had finished brushing her hair, they went to bed. He wanted to know what today’s trigger was, but he would never ask her. Sansa would tell him when she was ready. He was on the precipice of sleep when she was.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’ll be a terrible mother?” Her voice was soft, filled with an anxiousness he couldn’t quite name. But it was what she said that had him wide awake, turning to face her.

“Absolutely not. Where is this coming from love?”

He could feel the hesitation radiating from her body. “I saw Maester Wolkan today.” She whispered to him, as though afraid of his reaction. But Jon didn’t notice, his heart was beating wildly. He was told not to hold much hope, Sansa had been through too much.

“Sansa?”

“Jon, I’m with child.”

The euphoric feeling in Jon was indescribable. He pulled his wife over to his arms and peppered her in kisses. “That’s wonderful news Sansa.”

“Is it?”

Jon immediately stopped his affections. Had he read the room wrong? Did she no longer want children? Did she not want his children? His mind was spiraling and Sansa would have none of that.

“Jon, I’m happy. Incredibly so. But after everything that’s happened to me, what if I can’t be the mother that our child deserves?”

“Impossible. Darling, I think we both have fears when it comes to raising a child. But we can’t hide from our fears. Or warg ourselves away.”

“I know.”

“We can’t rely on magic to escape. Gods know how I wish I could just warg into Ghost whenever Glover talks.” Sansa laughed at that. Jon has done that once before, and the Lord of Deepwood Motte didn’t take his King’s absence too kindly.

“Jon, what if our child becomes a warg?” There was worry in her voice. If she could so easily get addicted to skinchanging, who’s to say their children wouldn’t?

“Then we’ll teach them.” He said simply. “We’ll teach them right and proper. Stark blood runs through their veins. Blood of the First Men runs through their veins. If they'll have magical abilities like I think they will, then we show them how to handle it."

Sansa still wasn’t reassured. “And we’ll make sure it’s not a clutch?”

Jon smiled at his wife in his arms and nodded. “We’ll make sure it’s not a clutch.”

10 years later

A dog was trailing behind Sansa, trying to get her attention. When it did, she turned around and looked at it. It tilted its head back. Sansa sighed and put her hands on her hips, ready to lecture.

“You get your skinny little arse out of there and back to your lessons Sarra!”

The dog whined and then suddenly looked at Sansa curiously, as if wondering How did I get here? Sansa huffed and continued on her way.

When she arrived at her destination, she went in and closed the door behind her. She didn’t say a word until she had his undivided attention.

Jon took his time to carefully sign the last bit he needed, put down his quill, and looked up at his wife. “Yes, dear?”

“Your daughter-”

“Now hold on.” Jon was affronted with her implications. “Why is she only my daughter when she’s in trouble? When she does something wonderful, suddenly she’s yours too?” Sansa pouted. “C’mere love. What did she do now?”

Sansa planted herself on her husband’s lap and placed her hands on his shoulders. “She skipped her lessons again by warging into one of the hunting hounds.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Don’t be impressed!”

He laughed. “I’m sorry darling, but for a nine year old, even you have to admit that’s pretty impressive.”

Sansa sighed. “I just don’t want her warging so much and so soon.”

Jon suddenly understood. It’s been a few years since Sansa last skinchanged into anything, but her fears were not unfounded. “We’ll talk to her tonight. We’ll explain why it’s dangerous to warg so much, alright? I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever broken one?”

Sansa blinked.

“Right.” Jon cleared his throat and picked Sansa up, bridal style. “Up we go, Your Grace.”

Sansa yelped and clung onto Jon for fear of falling. “Jon! Where are you going?”

“Where are we going, my love.” Jon kissed his wife and she laughed.

“Alright, where are we going then?”

“To the bedroom of course.” He had a few broken promises to make up for. Sansa giggled all the way to their bed, sure she wouldn’t want to warg anytime soon.

#actuallyjonsa #jonsa fic #jonsaff #jonsa #jonsa halloween #jonsaaaaaa #my writing

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leotssukinaga · 4 years

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Only Fools Fall In Love

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Summary: You were perfect. At least, that's what Kageyama thought every time he saw you. Not that he'd ever told you that- the setter was far too awkward to get those words out (or indeed most words, unless he was angry.) Until he did, he'd never know that the feeling was entirely mutual.

You were perfect. At least, that's what Kageyama thought every time he saw you. Not that he'd ever told you that- the setter was far too awkward to get those words out (or indeed most words, unless he was angry.) The animated way you talked as you told Tanaka and Nishinoya another anecdote, the way your laugh echoed through the gym louder than anything to else ever seemed to (which of course had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn't focus on anything but you right now.) Nobody seemed to notice how he was falling apart at the seams because of how close you were, despite being at least 30 feet away from him. He'd rarely spoken to you, maybe three times since you started showing up to practices, and he was convinced you were scared of him. Of course, this wasn't the case.

He was the whole reason you were there in the first place. The option had always been there, your brother being the captain now meant that an invitation to watch (you were good at volleyball, having played in your backyard with Daichi most of your life, but never harboured a desire to play with a club) was extended before you even started at Karasuno, but as much as you loved volleyball (and Daichi) you always figured you'd just turn up to cheer for them at games. Until Daichi mentioned Kageyama by name for the first time, and you remembered the middle school tournament he'd taken you to, and the intimidating but beautiful boy you'd had on your mind ever since. Just your luck that he would end up going here. Great.

Just as nobody knew about Kageyama's crush on you (they knew. He was too awkward around you to be subtle about it), as far as you were aware nobody knew about your crush on Kageyama. Daichi had picked up on it almost immediately. He knew you almost as well as you knew yourself, so if anyone was going to work it out it would be him. And maybe Suga, but he didn't actually need to since Daichi had told him pretty much the moment he'd figured it out (how was he supposed to deal with his younger sibling having a crush? Protective older brother mode had activated and he needed advice. He was sure you'd forgive him, eventually.) Your few conversations had been awkward as all hell, and played through your head every time you shut your eyes. You were a stuttering mess around the boy, and you were certain he knew you liked him. Subtlety was not your strong suit. (It wasn't his either, but you were both so worried about making fools of yourselves that you never noticed the other acting in the exact same way. Maybe things would've progressed quicker if you had.)

It had been 3 months since you both started at Karasuno, and 2 since you started regularly coming by the club. The excuse of "I feel safer when I'm walking home with Daichi" was bullshit, but considering most of the members of the club didn't have two brain cells to rub together unless they were thinking about volleyball that didn't really matter in the end.

All of this is of course to say, Kageyama Tobio was helplessly in love with you, and you were too busy being helplessly in love with him to realise it. ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ The light clicked on in Hinata's head eventually, at least a month after everyone else (did Kageyama really think they wouldn't catch on?) One would think that with all the stuttering and mumbling and blushing the boy did the second you were nearby it would take anyone 3 minutes to figure it out, especially someone who spent as much time with him as Hinata. Alas, what the spiker lacked in height he did not make up for in thinking skill, unfortunately. But he'd have to be completely and utterly dense to miss it this time.

The bright sun, poised perfectly to get directly in their eyes if they turned at the correct angle, seemed to have no negative effect on their Saturday morning practice. Sure, they had access to the gym, but sometimes it was nice to go outside. A little bit of vitamin D could do no harm and in the warmer months, the fresh air was a huge help. You'd been watching them (morespecifically, him) for the past half hour, leaning against a tree a few feet away. Your presence had not gone unnoticed (did it ever?), and you looked particularly stunning today (but he thought that every day.) He was distracted, off his game, and his anger at himself for letting himself get distracted was only distracting him further. When you pushed yourself off of the tree to go get a drink, he momentarily lost all ability to focus and sent the serve too far. Time slowed down as the ball soared towards you. Visions filled his mind of you being hit in the face, of bleeding noses and angry words and being brutally murdered by Daichi and never, ever having the chance with you he so desperately clung to the hope of. The one scenario he did not imagine was you noticing the ball's trajectory and taking a step back before effortlessly receiving it, sending it back towards them before continuing on your way. Kageyama Tobio had never looked so smitten in his life.

"WHERE DI- HOW DID YO- THAT WAS AMAZING Y/N! WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO DO THAT?" It was the easiest he'd ever complimented anyone, and the most complete sentence he'd ever directed towards you. The rest of team smirked and/or smiled at him as he stood there, amazed. He could be an idiot sometimes. You were far too flustered by the compliment to offer an actual worded answer, so you just gestured to Daichi before running to the vending machine, beet red. Oh, right, he thought to himself, I'm a fucking idiot. The boys were cracking up at him, and he was far too embarrassed to even get angry at them for it. You'd never like a dumbass like him. (Yes, you would.)

You, meanwhile, were low key hyperventilating by the vending machine. Holy shit. Kageyama complimented my recieve?? You were far too freaked and flustered to register that his question had been idiotic at best, at least until you'd had a drink. When it hit you, you stifled a giggle. How was he so effortlessly cute, even when he was being a dumbass? You realised he was probably feeling incredibly embarrassed right now, and didn't want him to think you were secretly laughing at him or judging him when you got back. A split second decision was made.

The poor boy just about died when you came back and marched right up to him. This is the way the world ends, he ruminated, not with a bang but with my crush laughing at me for being a dumbass, or shouting at me for nearly killing them. Humiliation turned into confusion when you shoved a carton of milk into his hand with a sweet smile. "You'll serve better next time, Kageyama! I believe in you!" You weren't quite sure whether it was the right thing to say when you said it, but it was all you could really think of. You couldn't just say nothing. What seemed like a genuine smile (it was) appeared on his face and you hurried back to your tree before your cheeks could give away the fact that he'd instantly melted your heart with his stupid dumb face. You could see Daichi smirking and glancing between the two of you and you realised he probably knew how you felt. Excellent. ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ Kageyama spent the next few days trying to work out what drink you usually got from the vending machine without making it seem like he was stalking you. Not only had he nearly killed you and then made an utter fool of himself, but you'd bought him a drink afterwards, and your simple "I believe in you!" had bolstered his confidence a lot. He had a desperate need to return that gesture (and keep returning it until you fell for him.) Of course, the idea of asking someone- Daichi would be the smart choice, or even Yamaguchi since you were in the same class and seemed to be friendly- never crossed the poor fool's mind. Luckily for him, you were far too busy freaking out that he was around you at all to ever notice that he seemed to follow you every time you went to get a drink.

For you, on the other hand, the next few days were dedicated to trying to pry how much Daichi knew- and who he told- out of him. He knew what you were up to, and refused to let on. By Tuesday, you'd given up. It was 9:30pm when you knocked on his bedroom door and although his face didn't betray it, he knew exactly why you were there. "Yea, what's up?" You decided to just come right out and say it, giving yourself no time to back down. "So, I have a crush on Kageyama." "...Yeah." He said it like you'd just told him the simplest fact in the world and expected him to be surprised. "You knew, didn't you? You bastard!" You slapped his arm playfully- he pretended to be hurt as he always did (you both knew you would never hit hard enough to hurt him and that you'd probably cry if you actually did)- before crossing your arms in front of your chest. "How long have you known?" "Pretty much since the start. You asked me if you could come to practice less than 5 minutes after you grilled me about him being in the club." You chuckled a little, and he couldn't tell whether it was meant to hide embarrassment or upset. "Yeah, subtlety isn't my best skill." By which you meant that you had absolutely none whatsoever and probably never would. "So, now the cat's out of the bag- and apparently has been for months- how awkward would it be if I talked about him?" "Only a little. Come sit down." The two of you sat on his bed for a few hours, and you poured your heart out about Kageyama. You and Daichi had always had an open book policy, and it felt nice to be 100% truthful with him again. Besides, his advice had always been pretty solid (not as good as Suga's, but since there was no way in hell Daichi was about to tell you that he knew as well, you'd never ask for it.) He didn't once tell you to just confess, knowing you too well for that, but he helped you come fully to terms with your feelings, and figure out how to cope with them just a little better. You left his room feeling far lighter than you had in a while. ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ Three weeks after what Kageyama simply called The Incident in his head, he followed you to the vending machine yet again. This time, he didn't watch you from a distance, but instead rushed ahead of you (making you jump a little, you hadn't even noticed him behind you), and bought your drink before you got there, holding it out to you when you arrived.

"Kage-" He cut you off, speaking so fast it took you a moment to catch up. "I really, really like you. I like you so much I feel like I'm gonna explode when you walk in the room, and if Daichi doesn't murder me for telling you this then the embarrassment I'm feeling right now will probably do it for him but you didn't need to know that and you look incredibly confused which means that not only do I look like a rambling fool now but I'm a rambling fool who's made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry, I won't bother you again." He turned to walk away, not sure whether to cry or just give up on living right there. You finished processing, and a sudden rush of confidence led you to do something you never -not in your wildest dreams- would have seen coming. You caught him by the collar of his shirt just as he began to turn, pulling him back to face you and then down a little, so his face was only a few inches away. Before that action registered with either of you, you kissed him. He felt like he'd been gasping for air his whole life, like your lips on his was the oxygen mask he so desperately needed to survive. It was almost cruel how quickly the kiss ended, how even with time moving at a tenth of its normal speed it felt like you'd been there less than a second. "You can be an idiot sometimes, Tobio." You whispered, a soft smile on your lips (where his lips should be, instead.) He couldn't agree more, and he'd tell you that once the high of hearing his given name spoken in your angelic tone wore off.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq #kageyama tobio #tobio kageyama #kageyama #kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #my writing #haikyuu imagines

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Text

Hurt, pt. 7 (E.D.)

Summary: While Ethan is working to fix himself, Y/N seems to be moving on.

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, talk of depression

Word Count: 2200

Hurt - Series Masterlist

Ethan sat in the same chair for what's probably the fortieth time if not more. His mind is much clearer, his heart a little heavier. It's been six weeks since he checked himself in an institution, aware there are two more weeks of his inpatient treatment left. It's taking him a little longer to respond to his medication, but he doesn't really care at this point. He's better. He feels like he's gotten pieces of his old self back.

Depression is the unseen, unheard, silent killer. It's the pain that's too much to cope with, too hard to deal with and so misunderstood. People try, but they can't escape it because it follows them around like a black shadow that's on the inside, eating away at all they’ve once loved.

Ethan finally feels as if the shadow had lessened, like he can finally breathe. He’s not healed just yet, but it’s tremendous progress.

“What about Y/N? What if she doesn’t forgive you?” Doctor Abbot asks, purposefully pushing his buttons now. She had never coddled him, but Y/N was a touchy subject he’d usually talk about on his own and she rarely ever pushed him to open up about it. Until now.

He looked up as if he had been dunked by ice-cold water, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t thought about that possibility. But he has. It’s all he’s been thinking about. It’s the worst-case scenario and he didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“I, uh…I’d accept it. Not like I have the right to hound her for anything. I’d ask to be a part of their life…I’d want to know my children. I’d want to be their dad.” Ethan looks down at his hand, at the empty place where his ring used to reside. He’s still reaching for it blindly, hoping to feel the platinum ring, to twist it around when he’s nervous or missing her. He wished he could have it.

When Ethan removed his wedding ring, he had stashed it deep inside his sock drawer. He would take it out at night, holding it in the palm of his hand as if it would bite. He’d let his eyes wander over the inscription infinity times infinity like it’s his saving grace. He never knew why he kept it, not when he was the cause behind their split, but he knew now. It was his way of keeping her close. It was a rope for him to reach out for when he felt like he’d fall from the edge he was hanging from. It was his last hope.

“And if she met someone else? Remarried?” Doctor Abbot’s words had unnerved him to the point of scratching his ring finger, the thought nauseating, corroding his insides.

“I…I don’t know, okay? It would kill me, but I’d still be alive…the worst kind of death. I don’t think I can love anyone after her, you know? Like, she was it. She was it for me. The one in the million, my soulmate, the love of my life, everything. There’s no one that could compare. I realized that when I broke things off with Bianca. If she couldn’t get my mind off Y/N, no one can.” Ethan sighed deeply, lifting his hands to his face. Hiding his face in the palms of his hands, Ethan leaned his elbows on his knees. Allowing his hands to move into his hair, Ethan tried to collect himself.

“Do you have any anger towards Y/N because of that?”

The question hit a mark, one he didn’t even know existed. Deep in his heart, Ethan had a small reserve for feelings he still hid. Those feelings were the ones he was ashamed of, desperately hating them for existing.

Resuming his sitting position, he placed his hands on the armrests. He faced his psychiatrist with a dark look in his eyes.

“I’m not sure if I’d call it anger. I’d say I resent her obliviousness. I was there. I was falling apart right before her eyes and she never saw it. She didn’t notice anything, questioned anything. It feels like she didn’t care. I resent her letting me fall when I needed to hold onto her. When it was pouring, I was left in the rain while she walked away under the safety on her umbrella. That’s how I feel. And then I remember just how hard I worked to cover my emotions, to seem as I was. How can I blame her for being fooled by me when I fooled myself as well?” Chuckling in disbelief, he ran a hand through his hair.

“And yet I still resent that fact. Or the fact she might not forgive me. Or the fact she might remarry. I am so…so fucking bitter about how everything went down and even more so about it being my fault. I want to go back in time and knock some sense into me, but it’s too late for that. I’m left in so much shit that I can hardly claw my way to the top and it wasn’t even me who fucked up…Not really. It was me, but it was a darker version of me who wanted to burn the world to the ground. I wouldn’t even blink if everything went up in flames.” Rubbing his chin, Ethan sighed. He knew admitting this, speaking up about it, it was all a step forward from the man he was.

After all, he promised Y/N to find himself again. He has every intention on keeping that promise.

“Why are you up? And getting dressed?” Clara spoke in hushed tones knowingly. She was aware of the insanity of her husband and his ability to drive Y/N crazy. The imminent threat of a miscarriage had passed and Y/N’s medication was enough to stop it from progressing. The babies were doing great, but the mother was withering.

Y/N felt absolutely suffocated by Grayson and his need to act like her mother, father, grandparents, doctor and prison warden. She needed to get out of bed without him grabbing her in his arms and carrying her around as if that was enough. Hell, he tried to take her to the bathroom too! It’s safe to say Y/N had been in desperate need to go out for some fresh air and just be a woman. She needed to talk to someone other than the kids who seemed to tell on her whenever she was out of bed – something Grayson probably bribed them to do. She needed to be out an about. It was healthy to take a few shorter walks and she swore she’d take them today.

“I have a…coffee date…sort to speak.” She smiled, speaking just as quietly as Clara. She knew Clara would understand. She had been supportive this entire time and that’s exactly what Y/N needed. Unfortunately, neither of them knew of Ethan’s current whereabouts.

Y/N had begun thinking he had moved to Australia to avoid her. She was ready to talk in a civilized manner without lawyers at their sides. She was ready to find a compromise for their kids’ sake. And he was nowhere to be found. That angered her. It made her angrier that she couldn’t really hold onto the anger. She missed him far too much. She needed him in this state, even if he was a lying asshole she used to want to push under a speeding car.

She had stopped imagining all the ways she’d kill him now. She had taken it a notch down, so she imagined herself punching him instead. He was to be the father of her children after all.

“Well, Grayson said he had someone to meet and acted all cryptically before he left. I’d say it’s safe to go, but the kids will call him if they spot you. I’ll have to create a distraction.” Clara giggled and Y/N followed. She absolutely couldn’t stop herself from laughing because Clara had a laugh that was always funnier than the joke.

Managing to get out, Y/N had taken her car out to the city. She had a particular destination in mind, one that meant she’d run into someone she probably shouldn’t start anything with.

‘BUT HIS EYES ARE SO BLUEEE’, she’d think a moment after which would draw a smile out on her face. She hadn’t felt such attraction to anyone since she met Ethan. Her mind felt calm for the first time in a long time, her heart…not so much. But she wanted to ignore the annoying muscle in her chest for it fooled her more than once. Her brain felt like a safer option and her brain wanted to see someone other than Ethan today and she had committed herself to the mission.

And it worked like a charm.

“Y/N?” She heard his voice call out and it took every ounce of self-control not to mess up and act like she’s genuinely surprised meeting him there.

“Doctor Henstridge!” She turned around, reminding herself to smile politely instead of lustfully, stepping closer to him. He had sat there in a pair of dress pants and a blue dress shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. He looked delicious and she had to stop and swallow, hard, otherwise he’d her drool and that’s not a pretty sight.

“Are you – are you actually drooling on me?” Ethan chuckled in disbelief, wondering if this is real life. He went all out – ordering a nice dinner, buying her chocolates and watching a romantic movie. Little did he know his beautiful fiancé had fallen asleep on his chest fifteen minutes into the movie.

She opened her eyes once the vibrations of his chest reached her. She was absolutely mortified over the dark mark on his yellow shirt. It was clear she had fallen asleep with her mouth open, drooling all over him like she tried to create her very own ocean.

Wiping her mouth, she had shaken her head. What does one say when they drool on someone? She didn’t know.

“I mean, I know I’m sexy, but daaamn.” Ethan teased, making her roll her eyes at him before hitting him with a pillow.

“That was so not funny. And my drool is so not sexy.” She covered her face in shame, trying to hide herself from his amused eyes that wanted nothing more than to remember the moment for as long as he lived.

Reaching out, Ethan grasped her elbows. Pulling her closer, he left a kiss atop her head. His embrace is tight, warm and secure. He felt like a comfort blanket and his scent only contributed to that feeling.

“You silly woman. I’d find anything you do sexy. I don’t give a shit if you drool on me. I love you regardless.”

She nearly laughed at the insanity of her mind right now. Even when she’s standing in front of an incredibly attractive man, her mind goes to Ethan. It’s like a virus, a disease she can’t uproot from her system. He’s not even there and yet he is - like a ghost...a ghost of her past. But he’s not just that. Ethan will always be a part of her life - ghost of her past, present and future.

As for the drool...well…to some it may be a pretty sight but she wasn’t ready to risk it with doctor hottie.

“Please sit.” Henstridge stood up. Pulling out her chair, he allowed her to join him for a lunch break. Technically he wasn’t really her doctor anymore for he had called someone more experienced to take over the case. He was still a consultant, but he wasn’t the one leading her medical chart. He allowed himself this freedom of inviting her to sit at his table. It wasn’t a crime to be polite now, was it?

“And it’s Edward. No need to be so formal.” He smiled and she felt her heart flutter. It’s been so long since she felt her heart flutter that she couldn’t help but smile. This man was the epitome of handsome, intelligent, charming and chivalrous. And she wanted him.

The annoying voice reminding her of Ethan had returned almost instantly, but she pushed it aside.

“Alright then.”

They talked for the next hour. It wasn’t hard to find common topics to discuss and she found him to be a great conversationalist. She found him to be witty and open, very opinionated but accepting of her contradicting opinions. He challenged her and in the best way possible. She wasn’t just a future divorcee nor the woman carrying triplets of a man who seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. She felt like a human being again. As a desirable woman who could still very much charm any man if she put in even a little effort. It did wonders for her mood and confidence and she knew she wanted to see him again even before he had to leave for his night shift.

She sat at the table a little longer, enjoying her second milkshake of the day as she stared through the window at the busy street. She wore a faint smile upon her lips, unaware of trouble coming closer.

“Y/N?” She turned at the sound of her name, not expecting to find herself facing someone she never wanted to see again.

“Bianca?”

Tags: @melodiesforari @brittttneyyyy @beautorigin @dolandolll @xalayx @godlydolans @heyits-claire @peacedolantwins @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @ethanhes @lanadeldolans @ebbach-03 @dolangels @xxaamzxx @cutestdolans @yaren-ates @dolansmith @vintagebitttch @primadolangirl @caqsicle @jjustjoy @justordinaryjen @graydolan12 @imaginashawnns @graysonslovie @fandomsfeministsandothershit @bdsmdolan @graysavant @ethanspillow @dopedoodes @anything-dolan @sugarfootdolan @joyrivh @reblogserpent @jonesana @emiemille @herewegoagainandagainandagain @adventureswithmell

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan angst #dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan x y/n #ethan dolan series #ethan dolan au #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan fanfic

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lilithsgayadoptednephew · 4 years

Text

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 35

Satan was fine.

He'd never really liked that human anyway. If they were going to leave that was completely understandable. He left Lucifer to his denial and went to focus on more important things.

Luke's messenger bag turned out to be stolen from Simon. Inside were potions and spells and even orders straight from Michael. Luke was a bit embarrassed at having stolen from Simon, but he quickly shook it off with the idea that he was justified because he was a demon now.

Luke was doing that often. Just doing mild crimes because he could. He had stood next to the "no food allowed" sign to eat his lunch even though it didn't seem very comfortable. He'd borrowed a pen from Raphael and never given it back. He was honestly kind of adorable in his hi-jinks.

Satan took the bag to sort out its contents. He laid the miscellaneous items on a table and looked them over. There were plenty of useless things, two gold-wrapped herb bundles, 8 miniature glass vials, 3 scrolls yet to be opened, just to name a few. He couldn't focus on what was important and what wasn't, he was too distracted. Too busy wondering things. Things he shouldn't– didn't care about.

Things like whether or not MC was ok. Why they would go this far with them just to bail at the end. Why they'd ditch them all when it was so unlike them.

Had they ever been sincere? Had all their self-assured words and actions been a ruse and they only now decided to show their true colors?

He shook his head, he had to focus.

The horn might be worth something if they used it right. Perhaps they could call Abaddon for help, especially the sheer numbers of his locust swarm...

What could he have done to make them stay? Did he do something wrong?

Shut up, SHUT UP! He didn't care about the human that ditched them and he didn't care about whether or not he had driven them away...whether or not their friendship was real in the first place.

He was fine.

He sat down heavily and sighed. He could understand the humans unwillingness to fight a Celestial battle, he had no right to expect that kind of sacrifice.

But not even an explanation? Not even a goodbye?

He was often envious of them and their understanding. Their ability to shrug off irritation and always be there and be supportive. To both the brothers and their sister. He often thought of his brothers and how they'd never be so close of not for MC. He thought of MCs relationship to Acacia and how it almost paralleled Lucifer's responsibilities.

Knowing MC, had in a way, helped him understand his strict older brother better.

But they'd just abandoned Acacia to the battle. Abandoned her like an old jacket that no longer fit. Maybe they thought she'd be safer with the brothers, bit it was still unforgivable.

"Hey Satan! Luke sai–" Mammon walked in the room without knocking. He stopped when he saw his younger brother slumped in his chair with the Celestial junk on the table before him. "Woah...you look miserable."

"Well I'm not, what do you want?" Satan snapped, harsh even for him. Mammon approached slowly.

"Hey...are you ok? Did something happen?"

"No"

"Don't make me bother it out of you." Mammon smirked and Satan winced at the threat.

In the past when Mammon wanted to get a secret out of one of his brothers he'd "bother" them until they broke. One time Satan had figured he could outlast Mammon's short attention span and took the challenge. This led to 6 straight days of Mammon persistently telling the same knock knock joke. The punchline was always banana...never orange. And he would continue relentlessly saying 'knock knock' until Satan gave in from exhaustion and said 'whos there'. Leading the endlessly repeating cycle to continue.

"No no bothering, Diavolo's sake." Satan gave in. "Fine...yes something happened." He grumbled. Mammon tossed an arm around his chair.

"Alright, tell big bro all about it. What's troublin' ya?" He said. Satan rolled his eyes so hard he saw into the future and actually witnessed his own death.

"MCs gone" he said. Mammon's whole demeanor shifted to one of fear.

"What? Gone? Who has them I'll kill him!" He growled. Satan just raised his hands to explain.

"They ran away Mammon, they got scared and ditched us."

The room went silent, Mammon's mouth fell open but no words came out. He closed it and opened it to try again, but still nothing. Finally he spoke.

"But...no they… they wouldn't…" his disbelief was fragile, and it broke when Satan gave him a mourning look.

"We shouldn't have expected they'd stay" he said solomnly.

0Mammon was sad. He knew he was expecting a lot and being selfish when he wanted MC to stay with him. He knew he was even more selfish for taking their leave so personally.

But he couldn't help it. He was the Avatar of greed, and he wanted the world and he wanted it to cost nothing. He should've known it would just blow up in his face.

He trudged away from Satan's brooding-room to find Acacia. The least he could do was break the news to her gently, no one else was gonna do it.

He hated feeling like this, but it wasn't the first time. He'd felt this horrid sting of abandonment multiple times before. When his father cast him out for defending Lucifer. When Lucifer got so busy he stopped talking to Mammon, unless of course it was to yell at him.

He knew how to deal with this feeling by now, the key was gratitude.

Gratitude didn't come easily to one so greedy, but he could summon it when he really needed it. To calm his heart and feel whole again. So he thought about it.

He was grateful for those who were still in his life. His brothers, Satan working through denial to give them the best chance of success. Lucifer, working tirelessly for years to keep them together and still managing to have time to flay Mammon for his grades. Acacia, ever-present with a smile and an inappropriately timed joke.

He was grateful for this, but he'd also been grateful for MC before they left. Maybe everything good in his life was destined to leave.

Maybe he just drove people away.

He was just a stupid mammon after all, he couldn't even be an angel right. How was he supposed to focus on anything other than money when they paved the place with gold?

Reaching Acacias nook where she was charging her phone, he cleared his throat.

"Maaaaaaammon!" She called while shaking her head side to side vigorously. Her hair flying wildly around her.

"Acacia I need to tell you something." Good start, good start, but then a chilling thought struck him.

What if she blamed him?

What if he told her this and she thought it was because MC was scared. Because he wasn't enough to protect them. He hadn't been enough during the exchange program or when they were trampled on earth or when they fell on the bridge. It was no wonder they'd run. Acacia looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes and Mammon choked.

He couldn't just turn back now.

"MCs gone." He said in a strangled voice. Acacia tilted her head.

"Gone where?"

"Gone…" he couldn't elaborate. Acacia's curious face suddenly morphed to one of horror.

"They... they're dead?" She sounded disbelieving. Mammon immediately backpedaled.

"No no no they just ran away! They ditched us Acacia."

The human looked at her hands in her lap, her hair obscuring her face. Silently she stood, her shoulders shaking slightly.

Oh no she was crying, he wanted to break this too her gently, but he'd obviously fucked it up.

"Oh hey, Acacia I'm sorry. Don't–" but Acacia didn't listen, she walked slowly to the door. She looked up and Mammon saw she wasn't crying, she was just shaking.

Faster than he thought possible for a human, she slammed her fist into the drywall beside the door, leaving a sizable hole. With a roar of aggravation she threw open the door and stomped down the hall. Leaving a confused and slightly scared Mammon in her wake.

0Acacia was Mad. She had to take a walk and she had to do it now. Her body shook with energy and rage as she power walked through the halls of the hospital.

How dare MC leave? How dare they...they...AAGH!

It was just the day before that Acacia had been panicking over the situation. She always had MC around to help with her anxiety attacks, and it was MC who told her not to be afraid. To trust that they would find a way to get through this.

How dare they run away? After telling her not to fear.

Acacia screamed incoherently and punched the air as she walked. MC had always been there, always promised they'd be there. Then they just left? Without so much as a good bye?

She was fuming so hard as she rounded the corner she almost ran over the small demon walking the other way.

"Hey!" Luke yelled in indignation before seeing Acacia's red faced anger. "Woah, what happened?" Acacia balled her hands into fists.

"MC ditched." She spat. Luke looked at her for a few moments.

"What a fucking meanie" he said a little hesitantly. Acacia blinked. "Yeah I say 'fuck' now" he crossed his arms and tilted his chin up. Obviously thinking himself very cool and edgy. Acacia almost laughed.

"Hell yeah little dude! What an absolute Fucking meanie. You said it." She pumped her fist as her anger turned more into reckless energy. Luke looked very proud at the praise. "You a little sinner now?"

"Yep, and this is just the beginning!" He waved one finger in the air as he spoke. Acacia got a devious idea as she looked at the little trouble-maker-in-progress.

"Wanna go trespass?" She wiggled her eyebrows. Luke hesitated for a moment.

"Yeah?" He said cautiously.

"Alriiiiiight!" Acacia yelled and Luke started getting into it. "Screw everything let's commit property damage."

"Fuck it!" Luke chirped as the two went off to cause mayhem.

0Lucifer was pensive.

He knew MC hadn't ditched him. He knew it in his bones, his skin, his hair follicles. He was so sure they hadn't that he could practically hear MC laughing at the notion.

They were trying to do their job. Some way, somehow, they were gone because they had to be to complete their task. He was not suspicious of their intentions.

But he was afraid.

So many things could happen to them out in the Celestial Realm. So many horrible, inhuman things. Things he couldn't protect them from because he wasn't there, and he didn't know where they were.

He could only trust they could hold their own. They had Liliths bow, and they were smart, creative, alluring to a dangerous degree. And most of all, they were confident. That seems vague, but an unshakable self worth and resilience was the only defense a human could have against the pure aura of an angel. He had seen it when they'd faced Michael on the Petco roof, and he saw it every day when he looked in their eyes and they didn't look away.

If any one could survive out there. It was MC.

#obey me!#obey me fanfic #Holy Hands

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myqueenjudeduarte · 5 years

Text

Glances and Glares ch. 6: Wonder

Set after TWK and contains spoilers! Also, warning -- this chapter is explicit. Enjoy <3

Summary: “You taught me that protection does not come from hiding, but from fighting for what you want. I suppose that’s what I am doing.”

Cardan’s nightmares weren’t like Jude’s. For one thing, his were few and far between, as he spent so many of his nights too drunk to dream. His nightmares were also loud. Disruptive. Screaming. They used to terrify him, not for the content but for the very act of having them. He was afraid that he would wake Balekin, would be punished for the sound — it had happened before.

Now, he didn’t have Balekin to fear, but he still felt the familiar panic rise in him as he awoke, sweating and hoarse from screaming.

The panic abated slightly as he recognized Jude kneeling before him, lightly stroking his arms, back, hair.

“It’s okay,” Jude was murmuring. “It’s just a nightmare, I have them too, you’ll be okay.”

Cardan knew it was a risk, but he needed her, reached for her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Jude let him lay his head in her lap, stroked his hair gently back from where it clung to his forehead.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, voice as soft as Cardan had ever heard it. “You don’t have to.”

Cardan shook his head, felt Jude’s fingers run through it as he did. “Not right now.”

Jude’s fingers kept moving through his hair and she pressed a delicate kiss to his forehead. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

Cardan nodded and closed his eyes, hoping beyond hope that Jude would let him stay in this position, at least for a little while. He had never felt safer than he did now, head in her lap, her hand on his brow. This was the home he had never known he needed.

“Jude,” he whispered as sleep crept up on him.

In that moment, he knew that he was about to ruin everything, everything he had worked for, everything he needed now and always, and there was not one thing he could do to talk himself out of it.

“Yes?”

Cardan was shaking.

“I love you.”

What broke Cardan in the moments that followed his admission was not that she left, but how. She left with sadness, rather than anger, defeat, rather than revenge. She left slowly, moving his head off her lap with gentle motions, and she closed the door softly behind her. She left quietly, when he wished she would have screamed.

She did not return that day.

Or the next.

—

A week passed before Cardan had enough.

Yes, he could admit that he had messed up. That what he’d done had been too sudden, too quick and daring and bold. That he had wounded her, made it impossible for what they had been developing to continue in the same way.

And yet...

The way she treated him — and, he hoped, the way she treated herself — had begun to shift over the weeks before his admission. She had grown ever so slightly more open. She was still the Jude who killed his brother, the Jude who would never forgive Cardan for exiling her, but there was… something else. A speck of vulnerability that Cardan wanted to seize on, not to exploit but to nurture.

The fact that Cardan loved Jude had been both shocking and obvious. It had taken him by surprise both that he loved her and that he had not realized it sooner.

It was because Cardan loved Jude that he couldn’t let her do this again, let her isolate herself, pull away from him and pretend there was nothing between them, that all she felt was hatred. He knew there was a solid, distinct chance that she did truly hate him, but she felt far more for him than that. He knew she craved the openness they had shared over the past few weeks, that she needed it as much, if not more, than he did.

Cardan knew, too, that he needed Jude. He needed, craved, her presence in his bed, in his life, on the throne by his side. He had long since lost the ability to do without her biting remarks, the way she looked at him, glared at him. He loved her, and he needed her, and he knew she needed him, whether or not she would ever admit it.

All of this was why, that night, a week after he had told her he loved her, Cardan visited Jude’s rooms. He knocked cautiously, nervous but resolute. He heard her footsteps a moment before Jude opened the door.

She looked at him for a long moment before sighing and stepping back.

“Come in,” she said, sounding resigned.

“Jude—“

“I know, Cardan,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s been a week, and—“

He cut her off right back.

“Listen to me, Jude,” he said, taking her hands in his. She didn’t jerk away. “Please. Just listen. I can no more watch you do this to yourself again than I can allow you to do it to me. I won’t suffer another week of silence between us, and I won’t be punished for my honesty, and for something that needed to be said. I love you, Jude. I do. And that won’t change if you prevent me from seeing you, and it won’t change if you isolate yourself, and it won’t change if you lash out at me. I love you. And I understand how you want to hide from this, because I feel that desire as well, but fight it. Please, Jude, fight it, because you told me once, after that first time, that you were just getting it out of your system, but I now know you were lying. Don’t tell lies that only serve to hurt you, because you taught me that protection does not come from hiding, but from fighting for what you want. I suppose that’s what I am doing.”

All of this was said in a rush, a desperate scramble to get the words out before she interrupted or left, but she stayed quiet, still, kept her hands in his.

“I expect nothing from you, Jude,” he said, voice softer now, slower, “but to let me love you.”

“I don’t know how,” Jude replied, voice barely a whisper. “How do I let you love me?”

“Allow me to show you,” Cardan said with a soft smile, before leading Jude to the bed.

—

In all of Jude’s years in faerie, all of the terror she had endured at the hands of the folk, all the fright of being mortal in a world of immortals, she had never been so afraid as she was when Cardan told her he loved her. Nothing had evoked the sheer depth of feeling in her that those words did, and that scared her most of all — the feeling. The plethora of emotions that flooded through her was earth-shattering, intoxicating, and miserable. She felt torn apart and sewn together at the same time, and she had no idea what to do about it.

She was just as scared now, with Cardan leading her to the bed, but she was also resolute. He was right that she fought, rather than hid. She just hadn’t thought of letting herself be loved as fighting. Love was a weakness, or so she thought. But how could doing something this hard, this terrifying, make her weak?

She put the thoughts, the terror, the urge to run aside as Cardan propelled her gently to sit on the bed. She made herself malleable for once, let him remove her clothes, his hands reverent where they brushed her bare skin. He stripped her of her doublet, her pants, and then her undergarments, such care in his motions and expression that she thought she might never stop seeing it, feeling it.

Cardan pressed on Jude’s shoulders and she lay back on the bed, moving up until her head was on the pillows. He then removed his own clothes and lay beside her.

For a moment, they were quiet, simply listening to each other breathe.

“Do you want this, Jude?”

Until now, Jude hadn’t quite realized where this was going, what Cardan was asking. Now, she was very aware of what was about to happen. Her breathing sped up. Her hands shook lightly against the sheets, and Cardan took them in his.

“You don’t have to, you know. Want this. I would never pressure—“

“Yes,” she breathed, “yes, I want this.” In fact, at this moment, she wasn’t sure if she had ever wanted anything more.

Jude and Cardan had done many things in the bedroom, many things Jude would never tell anyone, things she was occasionally ashamed of but which more often made her feel powerful, devious, reckless and proud. This, though, they had never done. She hadn’t allowed things to progress past fingers and tongues, kisses and caresses, teeth and nails.

Jude rolled toward Cardan. “I want this,” she said, finality in her tone.

Cardan pushed her gently to lie again on her back.

“If you feel pain, even for a moment, you must promise to tell me immediately.” “What if I feel pain but I don’t want you to stop?”

“Then I will simply make sure you are as comfortable as possible. I still wish for you to tell me.”

Jude conceded, nodding.

“And,” Cardan continued, much to Jude’s chagrin, “if you need me to stop—“

“Cardan. I will tell you. Can you touch me already?”

Cardan grinned. “As you wish, my queen,” he said, before bringing one hand up to draw lazy circles on her stomach. “Like this?”

“Cardan,” Jude growled, a warning in her voice. “I’m past the point of games.”

Cardan raised his eyebrows. “Already? My powers of seduction are stronger even than I thought.”

Jude couldn’t help but laugh, partially because she was nervous. Cardan blinked and stared at her.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self conscious, acutely aware of how many times Cardan had done this, compared to her grand total of zero. Wondering if he was thinking about her inexperience.

“I haven’t heard you laugh… truly laugh in quite some time. I should like to hear it again.”

Jude felt every part of her soften, and instantly cursed herself for just how deep into this she was. Into him.

“And you will,” Jude said, smiling. “We have time.”

It was a gift she was giving him, the knowledge that she didn’t plan on running, on shutting him out, and she knew it.

Cardan placed a hand on Jude’s breast, circled her nipple with a finger.

“Thank you,” he said.

Jude closed her eyes, basked in the feeling of being touched like this, gently and with love. Basked in the fear it evoked. Cardan brought his mouth to her breast, placed delicate kisses across it before flicking her nipple with his tongue. She arched her back slightly, a gesture of silent encouragement, and he scraped his teeth lightly across her skin. His hand he now occupied with tracing paths down her stomach, across her hips, almost — but never quite — between her thighs.

They had barely begun, and already Jude was becoming desperate, desperate to feel his hands and mouth on every inch of her body, desperate for him.

Suddenly, she was aware of how useless she was being, of the fact that she was letting Cardan do all the work while she just lie there, breathing laboriously and fluttering her eyes open and closed.

She moved to touch him, to run her hands over his chest, but he pulled back.

“Let me,” he said. “Just let me touch you.”

She returned her hand slowly to the bed, the chasm of feeling widening inside her, so much emotion welling up that it felt bottomless. For one blissful moment she wondered why she had ever tried to restrain her feelings, when they could feel as heavenly as this.

Then she remembered herself, remembered the fear.

Let me love you.

She closed her eyes against any part of her that was unwilling to do just that. If nothing else, this night was her gift to both of them, one night of pretending she was a girl who could be loved. Who deserved to be.

Cardan’s mouth returned to her breast, and his hand came up to mirror it, tugging at one nipple at the same time he bit gently down on the other. Jude moaned softly.

Cardan let out a shuddering breath.

“You make the most beautiful noises,” he said against her chest before sucking softly. Jude moaned again.

“Full of flattery today, I see,” she said, breathless.

“I can say nothing that I don’t believe to be true,” he said with a grin, moving his head to trail kisses down her body, across her stomach.

“Gift me with some more truths,” said Jude, her voice grown serious.

“Will you repay me in kind?”

“Yes.”

“When you were crowned queen of mirth and I announced that your face featured prominently in my most frequent nightmare, the nightmare I referred to was of your death.”

His mouth trailed lower when he stopped talking, over her hips, across her abdomen, the tops of her thighs.

“And your nightmare of a week ago?” Jude asked, unsure if she truly wanted to know, but sure that he needed to talk about it.

Cardan looked up, gave her a sad smile. “We will talk about it at a more… appropriate time.”

Jude smiled slightly, admitting that perhaps this was not the ideal time to talk about more serious matters.

Cardan continued. “I liked it when you were able to command me,” he said, a sheepish grin on his face. “And it is an ability you have not lost.”

Jude laughed again at what he was implying, and Cardan’s face lit up.

“Two laughs in one day? I must be outperforming myself.” After speaking, he spread her legs gently, pressed kisses to the insides of her thighs, as high as he could go. Jude’s breathing grew shaky once more, but she sensed that it was her turn to speak, so that Cardan’s mouth could occupy itself in other tasks.

“I’m sure this is a truth you can guess at, but I am very, very afraid.” When Cardan started to pull back, she clarified. “Not of this. No, this I’m excited about. I’m afraid of what you said, and of the way it made me feel.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“Whole,” she breathed. “Fulfilled in a way that I thought only power could.”

“My love is your power, Jude.”

“Then why do I feel utterly powerless? Entirely out of control?”

“Love does that as well, I’ve learned.”

“Was it like this with Nicasia, for you?”

Cardan paused.

“I never loved Nicasia,” he said.

“You told me that you did.”

“I was mistaken. I know that now, because of you. My feeling for Nicasia was a childish desire to have someone who was mine, as no one had ever been.”

“And your feeling for me?”

“My feeling for you is to have you be mine, as well, but also to be yours. It is a desire to see your smile, hear your laugh, and know that something in your life is causing it, regardless of whether it is me. Although,” he said with a smile, “I do prefer it to be me.”

As he spoke, Cardan plunged two fingers inside her, curling them against the perfect spot, a practiced art.

Jude leaned her head back and moaned.

The only things she could have said in response to him would only have darkened the mood. She didn’t know how to be his, or to have him be hers. So, instead, she lost herself in the sensations he evoked, and in feeling his hands on her, in her.

Teasing her no longer, Cardan lowered his mouth to the apex of her thighs, bringing his tongue to her clit. His ministrations were impossibly gentle, licking and sucking without the urgency she usually felt from him. Perhaps this was the first time he had been confident she wouldn’t walk out at any moment; perhaps he knew he had time.

Jude grew closer and closer to the edge.

“Cardan — oh, you’re good at this,” she sighed as he swirled his tongue in a particularly delightful pattern.

“I know,” he said against her, and the rumbling sensation caused her to laugh for the third time that night. She was giddy for the first time in as long as she could remember, giddy with anticipation of what they were about to do, giddy with the heady sensation of being loved and wanted. For all that she was afraid, in this moment, Jude was something akin to happy.

As Jude’s breathing quickened, Cardan added another finger, slowly stretching her entrance and scissoring his fingers inside her. Jude gasped, not in pain but in surprise, and Cardan’s movements stilled.

“Jude—“

“Cardan, if you’re going to stop every time I make a sound, this will take all night.”

“Oh,” Cardan said, resuming his motions inside her. “I plan for this to last all night, dear Jude.”

Jude smiled.

—

Cardan was terrified.

He was utterly, thoroughly afraid.

Afraid that he would hurt her, that she would stand and leave at any moment, but most of all that he would never have this again. That he would never again feel her beneath him, vulnerable, open, and that he would never again be given the chance to show her his love so gently, slowly, as this.

He was also infinitely grateful. Grateful to be given this chance at all, these softer moments alone with the strong, beautiful, powerful woman he loved. Grateful that he had been chosen for her first time, and that he would get to feel her fall apart around him.

With that thought, he redoubled his efforts, speeding up his pace slightly and reveling in the delectable noises she made in response to his motions.

Cardan’s desires were out of control. He wanted her to beg, and he wanted to give her everything she begged him for. He wanted to watch her come undone over and over again. He wanted her so satisfied that she could do nothing but let him hold her into the night.

Maybe she would let him love her, from this night forward, but more likely she wouldn’t. And that was why he resolved to make the most of this night, of the precious moments that comprised her gift to him, a gift he would do well not to squander.

Cardan was afraid, and he was grateful, and he was resolute, and he was about to show Jude what love could feel like.

—

“I’m close, Cardan — oh god, I’m close.”

With those words, Cardan ceased all motion. Jude cried out in frustration, but she knew she was as ready as she would ever be. Cardan had worked four fingers inside her and now found her wetter, most likely, than he had ever felt her.

“Thank you for warning me,” Cardan said, and reached a hand up to stroke her stomach, her thigh, a gesture of approval. Jude was surprised to find that she basked in the praise, craved more of it.

“Are you ready, Jude?”

Jude shivered in anticipation, but she knew that she was ready. That she had never been so ready for anything.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “God, yes, just—“

He cut her off by claiming her mouth in a kiss, leaving her even more breathless than before.

“If I hurt you, tell me,” he reminded her before lining himself up at her entrance.

He pushed in slowly, so, so slowly, and he had prepared her as much as he could, but she still felt pain, gasped with it, and thought that surely something must be going wrong.

Cardan stroked her sides once more, circled a nipple gently as he stilled his motions.

“It’s okay, dearest. I know it hurts. It’s okay.”

Jude closed her eyes and nodded. She focused all of her thoughts not on the pain, but on the fact that he had never called her “dearest.” “Dear Jude,” certainly, but it felt different, more intimate. Loving.

She shuddered again, this time in pleasure at the thought, despite herself.

Cardan slowly, ever, ever so slowly, began pushing into her once more. She didn’t gasp this time, and after several long moments she began to feel… not a lack of pain, but a fullness despite the pain. A pleasurable fullness.

Once Cardan was buried inside her, he stilled, waited for her to move past the point of pain that was too much for him to continue.

“Cardan?” Jude asked, almost tentative.

“Yes?” There was concern in his voice, and love, love, always love.

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“How much you love me.” She whispered it.

Cardan smiled, a gentle, vulnerable thing that she saw all too rarely, and pulled back, thrusting into her, still slow but gaining speed when he saw, felt, that she was ready.

Jude couldn’t say that it was a comfortable experience, exactly, or that she would want it to feel like this forever, but it was with Cardan, and it was gentle, and it was kind. It was what she never knew she needed, and she felt some small part of herself begin to heal with Cardan’s gentle motions, his hands stroking her hair as he plunged again and again inside her.

At some point, one of his hands found her clit once more, and then she saw stars, felt the combination of fullness and sensation until she was overwhelmed, until she came undone around him.

He followed soon after, groaning and tangling his long fingers in her hair as he came, pressing soft kisses to the sides of her neck, down her chest, across his stomach as he pulled out of her.

As Cardan fell back into bed beside her, as he pulled her into his arms and kissed the shell of her ear, something clicked into place in Jude’s mind, and it made her want to run, and it made her want to stay.

She loved him too.

—

Cardan knew he would live a long life, if no one succeeded in killing him young, and he knew that he would never again feel the way he felt in this moment, the all-consuming bliss he experienced as he gazed down at Jude, nestled in his arms. For this moment, he pretended she was his. That he was hers. That they could be more than husband and wife, king and queen. That she loved him with all the power and helpless devotion of his love for her.

Of course, it wasn’t true, and he soon came back to reality, though the lingering fingers of bliss still stroked his heart into action, made him as stupid and reckless as he had been a week before.

“Jude,” he said.

“Cardan,” she replied.

There was silence between them for several moments before she said,

“You love me.”

She wasn’t asking, but stating a fact.

“Yes.”

It was all he could say.

Another, longer silence followed before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, a gentle, fleeting kiss.

“I love you,” he said.

“I felt it.”

It was all he wanted to hear and more, her belief, her admission. The knowledge that he had done something right, that he had gotten his message across as intended.

“Jude,” and here, the blissful stupidity was pulsing to make itself known. “Jude, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How beautiful you looked below me? How beautiful you will look above me, and before me, if you allow this to continue? You are stunning.”

He wanted to make sure she knew, that after what they had just done she felt beautiful and wanted, and besides, there was nothing he could have done to keep those words of her beauty inside.

“You could say the same of Taryn,” she returned with a smile.

“No,” Cardan answered simply, “I could not.”

Jude buried her face in the pillow in perhaps the cutest gesture Cardan had ever seen, hiding her blush. Her blush. Jude Duarte, spy, killer, queen of ice and stone, was blushing.

Cardan took that as encouragement, and continued.

“Jude, I beseech you — beg you — not to run from this. You felt my love, in what we just did, so allow yourself to continue feeling it. Allow me to continue showing you,” and here he grinned wickedly, “over… and over… and over.” Cardan stroked his long fingers down Jude’s spine to punctuate his words.

Jude looked up at him, and the cocktail of desire, delight, and determination in her eyes was breathtaking.

“I want it,” she said gently, “I want it all,” and then they were kissing, hard and passionate and fast, so different from what they had just done with its gentle softness, but exactly what they needed.

When they finally broke apart, Jude was panting, flushed, eyes wide with want and need and words she wasn’t saying.

“Let me love you, Jude,” Cardan said, echoing his earlier statement, this time more emphatically, desperate. Everything was going well, and yet he was terrified that her mood would shift, that at any moment she would grow scared and leave.

Jude stroked a hand through Cardan’s hair, gently, sweetly.

“I’m trying. I want this. And so far, I’m letting myself have it. I’m fighting, like you said, fighting to let myself do something hard, to let you in. And I’d say,” she said, smiling, “that I did a pretty good job of letting you in.”

Cardan laughed, delighted.

“Thank you,” Jude said, softly now, “for showing me what love can be.”

Cardan merely kissed her on the head, wordless for once, and for the long minutes that followed, they gazed into each others’ eyes, both wondering at the newness of feeling that accompanied being in love.

They wondered at the feeling through those soft minutes, the sunset making their naked forms glow. They wondered at the feeling through the hours and the sex that followed, as Cardan made good on his promise to ensure he showed her how much he loved her again and again, all night long.

And they wondered at the feeling when the morning light began to filter in, and when they fell asleep wrapped up in each others’ arms, and when Jude didn’t leave.

Jude didn’t leave.

#my fic #jurdan #jude x cardan #cardan x jude #tcp #twk #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the folk of the air #tfota #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #i hope yall like this one it took me 3 months LMAOOOO #i mean i was super busy during those three months which is why but still

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do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them · 5 years

Text

On the Other Side / Ch14: Heroes’ Gym Class

Last / Masterpost / Next

Summary: For the past thirteen years, a secretive organization has been raising two groups of superpowered children. Half of them, since their very first memories, have been told they’ll grow up to be brave and strong superheroes; the rest were taught a much harsher view of the world, and groomed to become villains. Neither group knows of the other’s existence. But when a certain trio of heroes-to-be meets two future villains who really just want to be left alone, they all realize how much they haven’t been told.

Warnings: non-graphic violence, bullying, child abuse, sympathetic/good Deceit (Devon) is a main character

A/N: yikes it's been a while uh. did not mean to take a 2 month hiatus but here we are. probably gonna start updating again? maybe? maybe not every week though, like every other week or something, cause that schedule was sort of burning me out and that was probably the reason it took so long to get back into it. we'll see

Read on AO3

Although nothing felt even remotely normal at this point, the trio still needed to return to school and act as though it were. Fortunately for them, there were only a couple of things left in the school day now that free time was over. Less fortunately, one of those things on this particular day happened to be working with their powers in the specially designed gym, and that required a lot of focus. When they caught up with the rest of their classmates, the excited chatter was building to a crescendo as everyone waited for the doors to be unlocked. The three of them, however, were unusually quiet.

“At least this class can be fun sometimes,” Patton offered, trying to get in the spirit. Neither of them really responded, although Roman shrugged and nodded his head a bit.

After a minute or two of waiting, the gym teacher Mr. Jacobs arrived, pushing through a sea of children to open the doors. “Settle down, kids,” he called over the general ruckus. Eventually, they stopped running around and chatting to each other and listened. “Good. Now, spread out and find a spot not too close to anybody else, and wait for me to come by and tell you what you’re working on today. Do not start until I tell you,” he reminded them.

The children scattered without issue, save for the occasional argument over who was in a particular area first. The floor was divided up into large grid squares. Once everyone had claimed one, Mr. Jacobs flipped a switch on the wall and barriers of light sprang up along the grid, ensuring that no one’s powers would directly affect anything outside their own square. It didn’t contain the kids themselves—if it had, it would’ve also prevented the teacher from walking around to check on them—but it would keep them from accidentally injuring each other. Well, mostly. There was the occasional “oops, threw something across the room with my powers and hit someone” incident. They were working on it.

The trio, of course, ran to claim three adjacent squares. Patton went ahead and sat down on the floor, since he already knew he would be practicing the same meditation exercises he’d been doing for the past few weeks. …He’d get it eventually. To be fair, they didn’t have this class every day; often it was the regular sort of gym, with the exercise and kickball and such. Still, no one else had to stay on the same thing this long. His situation was a bit unusual, since his powers were based in his emotional state and happened to him more than he controlled them.

It wasn’t long before Mr. Jacobs made his way over to their corner, to give Logan and Roman their instructions and… mostly just encourage Patton, since he had the general concept down at this point. Roman was extremely disappointed to learn that, rather than getting to play with the extent of his powers and what he could form with them, he was being relegated to a side-room to turn the lights out and practice making his own. That was his least favorite! It wasn’t dark enough to creep him out, but it was no fun and he wasn’t any good at it. Why were his teachers always making him practice things he wasn’t even good at? It was so unfair. While he sulked away, his complaints growing distant, Mr. Jacobs explained Logan’s task.

He thought it sounded fairly simple, at first. He was to work on his ability to transport things from one place to another without literally teleporting them—the reason being, things that were alive wouldn’t take that kind of treatment in stride quite as well as the inanimate objects he practiced on. To avoid any unwanted outcomes, Logan needed to learn a more indirect method: manipulating the air surrounding the thing he was trying to move. This ability would be invaluable if he ever needed to, say, get people to a safer location when he grew up and became a superhero. For practice he’d been given a foam ball of the type school gyms everywhere have in surplus, presumably because it wouldn’t hurt much if he were to “yeet” it into someone’s face. He frowned at it for a minute, trying to visualize the way the air molecules would need to move in order to lift it without throwing it against the ceiling. He didn’t want to embarrass himself on the first try, especially right in front of Patton. He’d probably find it hilarious and then Logan would never be able to forget about it.

As it turned out, the aforementioned Patton wasn’t likely to notice anything Logan did, because he was too busy sitting with his eyes closed and trying very, very hard to be relaxed. He’d been given a small container of mulch from outside, as it had been deemed the easiest earth-element-related thing to clean up, and every once in a while (every ten seconds, more like) he would peek to see if he was “grounded” enough to affect it yet. Thus far, nothing. He thought it moved for a second at one point, but he’d actually just gotten fidgety and bumped the container with his foot. He sighed and closed his eyes again, trying to suppress his frustration with the fact that it wasn’t working so it could start.

Roman groaned and slumped in his chair. He hated this. Glaring at his hands, he tried his best to produce light, but all he got was a few sparks. He tried to count them before they disappeared—maybe it was at least a bigger mini-explosion than last time? No… no, not really. Better keep trying. He was getting a little bit of a headache, and his teachers always told him that meant he ought to stop and rest, but how was he going to master it if he stopped practicing? Adults didn’t know everything, after all.

The hour went by quickly and painfully slowly at the same time, somehow, as the kids concentrated on their respective tasks. By the time they were given a ten-minute warning, most of them were at least making progress. Logan, for example, was beginning to get the hang of pushing his ball around in the air, and although it was quite wobbly, he at least hadn’t knocked his own glasses off with it after the first couple of times. Roman was having less success. After a long and disappointing mini-fireworks display, he finally managed to produce a tiny ball of light, less than two inches wide. He held it carefully in one hand and improvised a little victory dance with his other arm. When he’d composed himself, he went to shape it into something—a lightning bug, possibly; that would be cool. He didn’t make it far enough to find out, though. The second he touched it, it exploded into a shower of sparks. Roman slumped even further than he’d originally been, until he slid right out of his chair and onto the floor. It was clear to him that he simply wasn’t meant to succeed today.

Back in the main room, Patton opened his eyes once again and looked at his mulch. It was stubbornly refusing to move, or… do anything, period. To be fair, that was how mulch normally acted—or rather, failed to act—but in this particular moment he wished it were a little more energetic. It would be nice of it to meet him in the middle here, was all he was saying. He glanced over at Logan, who was doing great, because of course he was, he always did great. Patton was happy for him! He was so smart, figuring everything out right away like that. Logan would never be stuck on the same stupid task for weeks at a time…

He looked at his mulch again. It burst into flames.

Luckily, it was similarly easy to make it stop being on fire when he realized what a problem that was, and by then it was time to clean up whatever needed cleaning up and move on. The last class of the day was art. Whether it was normal gym or the superpowered kind, nobody wanted to leave a bunch of children all hyped up from it afterward, and a nice calming activity was ideal. At the moment they were working on making little animals out of clay. Logan could cheat at this if he so chose, but he tried not to, since he knew the purpose of the class was to learn to do it normally and he certainly wasn’t very good at that right now. And he needed to become good at it, because otherwise Roman would never stop bringing up how he was better than him. Patton, for his part, didn’t notice any of that and just wanted to make cats.

Once school was finally over—and under the circumstances, it seemed to take far longer than usual—the boys headed to their room. Dinner was in a few hours, but until then they could do whatever they wanted. Right now, they wanted to stop having to pretend nothing weird was going on, and also their guests would start to worry if they didn’t come back right away.

Speaking of said guests, they were having some sort of discussion when the trio returned, but as soon as the door opened they fell silent. Their resident empath was a little worried by the somber atmosphere, but then Roman was flopping in the middle of the floor and beginning the story of how the rest of their day had gone, and he soon forgot about it before he could find an opportunity to ask. It was probably for the best, really. They could all use a nice, relaxing evening or so of not focusing on anything too serious, at least until Thomas wanted to talk about it again.

#sanders sides #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #my post #my writing #on the other side

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my-love-peterp · 5 years

Text

Mistaken Chapter Four

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST DROP ME AN ASK

please like and rb/comment <3

Word Count: 1452, SMALL BABY THIS WEEK, SO SORRY

THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: HOnestly, not my finest work but I’m so tired and I feel so bad about not getting anything out there sooner. I want to change bits and pieces of this story but my goodness, yeah. So if you’d like to Beta read shit for me, y’all would be much appreciated.

Warnings: DEPICTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS, GUN USAGE, BLOOD AND VIOLENCE, unnamed character death

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

There was a reason I felt as though I was on the verge of alcoholism. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the absurdly large amount of Spandex-clad people in the Tower every day. I sucked in a deep sigh, lips curling over my teeth with my harsh intake of breath. My hand shook so hard, the glass tumbler full of whiskey slipped and shattered all over the floor. I stood and moved to clean it up, but found myself suddenly frozen. My head was throbbing and my heart was racing. Or maybe it was dragging. It was hard to tell at this point.

No, it was that I was actually crumbling from the inside out. As my training progressed, so did my introduction and understanding of the purpose of the Avengers Initiative. All this talk about doing good, making the world a safer place…

Let’s just say it didn’t exactly allow me to ignore my past like existing in the shadows had.

Panic attacks haunted me frequently as more and more memories I had repressed came back to haunt me.

I was six years old and a man was pulling my sister’s hair and punching me in the stomach. I choked back my sobs but Nadia screamed and screamed. The dark dingy walls were solid concrete and several feet thick, and below ground… No one ever heard us.

I choked on the blood welling up in the back of my throat and coughed it out when it became too much. I was forced to breathe out of my nose which resulted in gags as the stench of feces, urine and unwashed body hit the back of my throat.

Hours later, I was being dunked into a tub of freezing water and scrubbed down with the roughest of washing stones I’d ever felt. I knew Nadia was being treated similarly because I could feel her pain as well as my own, as she could mine. It created quite a painful feedback loop.

Finally, after hours of this same cycle, we were plunged into total darkness and swiftly fell asleep, naked, freezing bodies huddled together.

Then there’s what came after. Our parents, executors of our torture, were murdered as our home was invaded. The men wielding the guns said they were part of an organization they said wanted to take us in and bring us home. Become a family and give us purpose. Neither Nadia nor I hesitated. We were just two pre-teens desperate to escape our lives in a dungeon and to take action against people like those that had kept us locked up.

What we didn’t know is that things could, and would get a whole lot worse. Not for us, but for the world we would be unleashed upon.

Thoughts swirling in a panic, I burst out onto the balcony of the communal floor I was on. The wind ripped through my hair, blowing so hard antenna flew off the top of the Tower, causing F.R.I.D.A.Y. to sound the alarm.

Muffled shrieks and yells sounded behind me.

Suddenly, the glass doors behind me flew open and a hand clamped down on my shoulder. Cold, icy fear ran through my veins as I saw the shiny metal hand turning me around to face him. Bucky.

“I’m fine,” I bit out, quickly averting my gaze, “just give me a few minutes. It’s all under control.” I had no sooner gotten the last word out than a solar panel came flying down off the top of the building adjacent to Avengers Tower.

Heat roiled around me, the skies darkening, clouds threatening a massive downpour.

Deep breaths, Kaida, deep breaths.

Unsurprisingly, breathing wasn’t helping this time.

“Hey, kid, listen to me. Tell me five things you can see right now,” Bucky commanded, his tone leaving little room for argument.

“Uh, I c-can see clouds, and uh, you and me, and those pigeons. And that damn spandex clad idiot clinging to the side of the building over there,” I couldn’t keep from maniacally cackling as I looked over and saw Peter clinging to the side of the Tower, looking for the world like he was clutching for dear life.

“Okay, good. Now, what about four things you can feel.”

“The wind, your hand—which is cold, by the way—the railing and my clothes.”

“Okay, good. I don’t think we need to go any further with that, it seems you got that under control pretty quickly. I was taught that by my therapist after coming back from Wakanda. Hydra really did some shit to fuck me up. It’s still a struggle all these years later.”

I just nodded, extremely uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had turned. I didn’t need therapy, I wasn’t the victim here. Not anymore, no, I created them.

I looked up at Bucky finally, eyes flashing and hardening, looking all for the world like ice chips. I would know. I practiced in the mirror. He caught my gaze and flinched back, hand dropping off my shoulder.

“D-do we know each other? I know those eyes…” he shook his head, “never mind, I have to be seeing things. There’s no way. Anyways, uh be safe Kaida,” Bucky blurted as he stumbled away and left me to brood on the patio for just a little while longer.

Later, as I sipped at a bottle of Moscato, having forgone a glass entirely, there was a knock at my door. Tony, of course, let himself right in and collapsed on the couch next to me.

“So,” he said without preamble, “What the fuck was that today? Are you trying to take down my building? And how on God’s green earth did you scare Barnes shitless? Maybe I should take a page out of your book, kid.”

“I’m not in the mood Tony. Could yo-.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t in the mood to get berated by Cap and his long term booty call today, but that happened. So you’re going to get over it and answer my questions. Now.” His commanding air suited him well. I hadn’t really seen any side of Tony besides the petulant, pseudo-alcoholic brainiac that was as fickle and narcissistic as they come.

As if the day couldn’t get any worse, my body decided that it rather liked this new, more mature Tony. Sometimes I was convinced one of my superhuman features was the ability to be turned on by almost anything at the drop of a hat.

Clearing his throat, Tony stole my bottle away from me and stoppered it before shifting to face me head-on. “So, answer away, Stormy. And try not to mince words.”

“It was nothing Tony, just a panic attack. You’re not unfamiliar with the concept, or so I’m told. I think it’s being in a new place with actual pressure to perform. Now could you get off my back and let me go back to drinking myself to an early grave, please and thank you.”

Tony didn’t move. He opened his mouth to speak again, but as he did, the building rocked with an explosion that was quickly followed by a roar that shook the building just as hard.

Not a moment later, F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice crackled over the intercom, alerting everyone in the tower of a Code Green.

“You stay here,” Tony commanded as his nanotech suit quickly spread over his form.

“Nice try, gramps, where you go I’m following.”

Tony tipped back his head and groaned. “At least suit up first. And then meet us down there. We won’t be waiting on you kid.”

He was no sooner flying away and out of sight than the impenetrable glass leading to your own personal balcony was shattered, two masked figures rappelling inside. Immediately, I assumed my battle stance, but it didn’t matter. Two gunshots sounded over my shoulders and red blossomed from the intruders' foreheads, one after the other.

I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw that it was Bucky, again coming to my rescue. I hated it.

Slowly, we approached the bodies, searching their person for any identifying marks or clues.

Bucky pulled a piece of paper from deep in a tactical pocket on the bigger of the two men. He unfurled it, his eyes going wide and glassy, tremors running down his form. He started panting and then screaming endlessly for Steve.

“Buck, Buck where are you?” Steve was calling as he sprinted down the hall to your location. Steve immediately wrapped the soldier in his arms and guided him out of the room. As if in a trance, Bucky dropped the paper and it floated to the ground, writing side up.

There, in deep, gouging scratches was the message I’d been dreading my entire life.

Hail Hydra.

taglist: @laurfangirl424 @peeterparkr @private-bucky-barnes

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lowat-golden-tower · 6 years

Note

I sent one like this to another but now I want your take with my other favourite ship! So here we go- Roman is smitten with his flatmate Virgil so he tries to summon a demon at the crossroads to make a deal so Virgil will fall in love with him. But the demon that's summoned ends up being his flatmate and hoo boy this is awkward!

(I saw the other prompt you sent to @secretglittersauce and specifically didn’t read it so as not to be influenced. XD Too bad you specified Virgil as the demon, I was leaning more towards Roman for shits and giggles… but now you get Southern!Roman, so there’s that. :D

This took me like fifty years, and wound up way too long, but I hope you enjoy it @fangirltothefullest! I might do one with demon!Patton and Logan as a follow up, if you’re interested?)

Honestly, Roman wasn’t entirely sure this would work. According to folklore, one could summon a demon at a crossroads to broker a supernatural deal. It was a legend spinning around the South for decades, sung in the Blues and whispered between old men in rocking chairs on front porches and store stoops. Hell, Roman had heard it from his own next door neighbor as a mere child. The man, a retired musician and one of young Roman’s many inspirations, used to tell all kinds of stories and fables. Really, it became evident in Roman’s later years that he’d just wanted someone to talk to, or listen.One of those tales had been about the crossroads, and his own experiences with chatting up a demon for a foothold in the music business. Roman had been positively dazzled, though his mother had warned him not to believe in such “nonsense.” She especially warned him not to go wandering about intersections in search of some monster or spirit; that he could pave his own path to his desires.

He really never gave her enough credit. Her advice had pushed him through to adulthood, to where he was now, just the star attraction at the local theater but soon, soon Broadway would be knocking. No, it wasn’t furthering his career that brought him to the crossroads.

Skin white as snow. Hair the color of roasted chestnuts, but fluffy as a newborn chick. Lips that were always chapped because their owner wouldn’t stop chewing on them, pulling them between his teeth and oh, how many times Roman had envisioned his own lips being there instead-

He, may have had a… small thing, for his… roommate. They hadn’t known each other for exceptionally long, but already Roman simply knew they were meant to be. Putting out that ad for a roommate had been the best decision of his life, besides auditioning for his first theater role. They’d hit it off like oil in hot grease, gunpowder and flame, shoving aluminum foil in a microwave and watching the sparks fly. The phrase “opposites attract” had never been more appropriate and Roman knew, he just knew, Virgil must have felt the same. It was a gut instinct, intuition, a feeling in his very bones.Yet, strangely, no matter how hard he tried the man was positively infallible to his advances. Roman liked to think of himself as a romantic; truly the cream of the crop in the flirtatious crowd. He was young and handsome with a smile that gleamed and a voice smooth as silk on the skin. Men and women alike swooned at the mere sight of him. Heartfelt serenades had left more than one romantic prospect weak in the knees.Not Virgil. No pickup line, affectionate gesture, thoughtful song or bold action would sway his roommate. There was the banter, of course, the core and life blood of their relationship, but the mutuality of the spark ended there. Virgil either shrugged off his efforts or outright turned his back on Roman, avoiding it all in the same stubborn manner he’d avoid a proper sleep schedule. It was infuriating at first, but as the weeks went by with zero progress, Roman felt himself growing more and more disheartened. He was desperate.

Which brought him to the crossroads.

Of course, it wasn’t all so simple as wandering to the nearest intersection. No, Roman had to do a little research, and tried to recall details from the story he’d been told as a child. This was going to be quite the grim undertaking, but Virgil was worth it. Roman would do anything to at last break through that gloomy shell and harbor his roommate’s subtle affections.

First, he needed a dirt crossroads. That would be a slight drive to the countryside, but nothing beyond his abilities. Next, he needed a photo of himself- again, hardly a problem. Roman took enough pictures and selfies for ten people. The other two “offerings,” however, were the real test of his mettle. Dirt from a graveyard; morbid, and he’d nearly gotten caught, but luck was on his side. Who knew having a historic graveyard just a few blocks from his residence would be a good thing? The last was the worst. He couldn’t even comprehend why this particular ritual piece would be necessary.

A bone from a black cat.

Roman didn’t like to think about how he’d obtained that one. He hadn’t killed any animals, obviously, thank god. But the alternative wasn’t much more desirable. Still, at the end of the day, he’d claimed his prize and was ready for the event itself.

He wasn’t nervous.

That’s what he told himself, as he shut the items away in a box and pulled the shovel from his car. He kept the mantra up as he found the exact center of the dirt crossroads and dug a shallow hole. Were it not just before midnight, he might have gotten in trouble for this. Thankfully, there wasn’t a residence in sight for at least a mile, and only one lone street light illuminated his desecration.

In went the box. That wasn’t his anxiety spiking, it was adrenaline. This was a big power move. How many people summoned a demon to attain true love? Virgil would probably love it, with his dark affinities and creepy interests. He definitely seemed like the occult type.

Burying the box, Roman patted down the dirt, then returned the shovel to his car. From there, it was just a matter of waiting. Pulling out his phone for a quick game of Candy Crush or a scan of his social media feeds would have been the best time passer, but somehow it felt wrong to bring technology into such a place, during a touchy process like this. He didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. Roman’s knowledge was already shaky at best and at its core this was all nothing but pure rumor and folklore. There was no guarantee it would work.

In the quiet of the countryside, it was just him and the crickets, and the frogs. They chirped away in the field, paying him and his endeavor absolutely no mind. He caught the hoot of a nearby owl and assumed the creature must be up in the old oak tree beside the road. It was the only thing around, besides the streetlight and telephone poles.

The light’s presence came as a relief, honestly. Roman had no idea what phase the moon should be in that night, but it didn’t matter, because the whole sky was clouded over. Not a single star could be seen and thus without the streetlight he would have been stuck in pitch blackness. The heavy shadows outside its circular beam, a metaphorical sanctuary from the unknown, made him uneasy enough. And as the minutes stretched into nearly an hour, he started to wonder if this really was such a grand idea, after all.

In hindsight, it was rather foolish. Go to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and bury something in the road, hoping to summon a demon? What was he thinking, exactly? There had to be better ways. There had to be a safer, more sane method to have Virgil fall for him. He didn’t need to do this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

It was when he reached towards his pocket for the car keys that it finally happened, because of course that’s when it did.

The loose dirt where he’d buried the box shifted. It drew his attention instantly, and he blinked. Nothing else happened for nearly a full minute and Roman started to wonder if he’d just seen things, if his mind was indulging his wishful thinking. He shook his head. Anything could have made the dirt move. Maybe he’d buried a beetle too, on accident. Maybe gravity or the wind had finally knocked a few bits of sediment loose. Maybe… maybe…The dirt shuddered again, and then it swelled, rising and spilling out in a circle as something broke through it. Roman knew the hole he’d dug was too shallow for even an animal, let alone a person. There had been nothing this large inside when he’d dropped in the box. The sequence he was viewing with his own two eyes didn’t make any sense.

Yet there it was, a looming shadow with glowing purple eyes. It didn’t look to be much larger than Roman, but its shadow stretched far longer, crossing the boundary of the streetlight to meld with the surrounding darkness. It was holding the box he’d buried. Stunned almost breathless that the stories were true, Roman could only gawk at the thing as it popped the lid off, rummaging around the contents. A hiss bubbled forth from it; Roman swore he could hear the sneer there, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Is this an animal bone? Dude. Nasty.”

Roman blinked again. He recognized that voice. Yes, it was distorted and gravelly, but beneath that was a core cadence he found all too familiar. He squinted, inquisitive, some of the shock ebbing away so that he could push off his car. “I was merely followin’ the necessary ritual! Are ya tellin’ me I didn’t need to include the bone of a black cat?”

The culmination of shadows tossed the bone aside in distaste, snatching up the photograph before callously dumping the graveyard dirt onto the ground. “I mean, if you wanna be all old school about it, sure, I guess. Hope you didn’t kill anything for it.”

Good lord. What place did a demon have to be so damn judgmental?

Roman scoffed and puffed out his chest, confidence returning swiftly on the wings of defensive indignation. “’Course not! Just what kinda person do you take me for, creature of the night?”

He swore the demon rolled its eyes at him, but it was difficult to tell when there were no visible pupils. It stared at Roman’s picture for what felt like ages, not saying anything else, merely scrutinizing his visage. Was this part of the ritual? Did it have to do with the deal Roman would be making? Why didn’t the demon just look at him instead? Then there was the matter of that voice, which Roman still couldn’t pin down. He just knew he’d heard it somewhere- though, that was impossible. This was a demon. How could he know its voice?

At last, the picture abruptly went up in violet flames, not exactly turning to ash but instead disappearing before Roman’s very eyes. The demon performed the equivalent of rolling its shoulders before locking Roman into place with its piercing gaze. “Alright. You summoned me. What is it you want? Fame? Fortune? The hand of some girl who couldn’t care to give you the time of day?”

Roman gasped and pressed a hand to his chest, rightly offended. “Bold of you to assume I like women.”

“Oh, please.” The demon snorted; actually snorted. That sounded familiar too. “I know your type. A dime a dozen; brazen young men who know ‘exactly’ what they want but can’t seem to get their hands on it. So they cut corners, and they summon me, and get me to do their dirty work for them. Or were you just feeling lonely and wanting some company out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Roman sputtered. He’d expected some derisive comments, perhaps something sinister about the ritual and his soul, but this? This was an absolutely outrageous and unwarranted level of sass. From a demon! He was positively gobsmacked. In fact, there was only one person who so thoroughly thrashed him like this. Ironically, they were the cause for this entire debacle, yet if Roman didn’t know any better he’d think Virgil were there making fun of him. The uncanny similarities were really beginning to grate on his sanity.

Was this part of the demon’s ploy? Did it already know his deepest desire, and was playing on it to wear Roman down? Make him more inclined to accept a grave deal? Swindle him straight out of his soul without actually providing a lick of compensation? What had Roman gotten himself into?

Apparently, the demon didn’t have much patience. It growled softly at Roman’s lack of verbal response. “Well? What do you want? I don’t have all night.”

Roman was surprised by that comment. “Don’t have all night? Whatever do you mean? You’re a demon. What else could you possibly have to do but make deals with people? What, do you have some angels to terrorize? Candy to steal from a baby?”

Oh, the demon was scowling, Roman could just feel it. “I thought maybe, just maybe, viewing me in this form would make you even a tiny bit less annoying. This is what I get for hoping. I should have known hell nor high water would get through that thick skull of yours.”

“Uh. Excuse me?” Now Roman was really confused. “Do I… know you? What do you mean, ‘this form?’ Are you not always a walkin’ ink blot, Bendy the Depressin’ Demon?”

“Like you just said, I’m a demon, princey. I can change my form at will. One of the perks of being a monster. Usually, I just can’t be bothered, so I show up like this and get the deed done with.” The demon sighed, its voice edged with another sneer. “You would be difficult.”

Roman stared. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended again, because there was only one person who used that nickname for him: “princey.” Virgil had coined it after coming to one of his musicals, after begging and pleading with the reclusive grump for days. Roman was playing a prince, and after returning home Virgil had commented how fitting the role was. After a bit of banter regarding whether the title was a compliment or not, the nickname had stuck, and it retained a small soft spot in Roman’s heart.

Had the demon read his mind? It was speaking to him with such stark familiarity now, though. The menace and eerie factor were fading in the wake of a growing sass and gruffness. As if directly affected by the change, the elongated shadows were coalescing as well, framing a more distinct silhouette. Roman paled.

It couldn’t be.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Your Royal Arrogance. You’ve labeled my appearance as ‘concerningly demonic’ before.”

“Virgil?”

The shadows melted away, revealing pale skin and brown hair and smudges beneath glimmering purple eyes. Virgil’s clothes were nothing out of the ordinary; just his usual ripped jeans and thick, patchwork hoodie. Were it not for the circumstances, Roman might think his roommate had simply snuck along for the ride. Instead, the reality of the matter was starkly reaffirmed for him when Virgil parted his lips to reveal two rows of sharp, pointy teeth. More could be seen behind them as he spoke, the distortion gone from his voice. “In the flesh. Well, relatively speaking. This still isn’t my true form.” He shrugged.

Roman gaped, eyes so wide they could have popped right out of their sockets. He had to be dreaming. Maybe he’d never actually left the apartment. Maybe he’d changed his mind, been sensible and just gone to bed, and now his brain was conjuring up what going out to the middle of nowhere to summon a demon of all things would have looked like.

Which was why it looked like Virgil, because dreams were messed up and jumbled together and never, never made a lick of sense. That was the only explanation. He refused to believe this was real.

A blink, and suddenly Virgil- the demon- no, the dream demon- was in his face, mere inches separating their noses. The demon had raised a fist to mime knocking on the empty air and there was mirth glinting in his eyes. “Knock knock, Prince Gawking. Anybody there?” He gave a dark chuckle when Roman understandably leaped back, hitting his car with a loud “thud.” “Okay, I take it back. You are difficult, but this is also really amusing and totally worth the trouble. You look like a mouse.”

Roman spluttered, his indignation returning as he felt an embarrassed heat rush to his face. “I beg your pardon! I am no mouse!” He hurried to straighten up and dust himself off, tugging down his shirt hem. “An’ you will cease usin’ the visage of my cru- of my roommate immediately!”

Virgil- the demon- snorted, still clearly amused. Every time he so much as smirked, or sneered, Roman got another good look at all of those sharp teeth. The sight of them sent chills running laps along his spine. “Oh, but princey. This is what makes you comfortable, isn’t it?” He spread out his arms. “The person you spend the most time with, the one who’s always on your mind. Oh yes- I gleaned enough from those shoe box offerings you buried. This, is precisely who you want to see.”

Roman paled a bit and swallowed hard. “Listen here, Bruce. Cloakin’ yourself in his skin doesn’t make you any less of a shark. Much as I might compare Virgil to the demonic sort an’ the occult, you are besmirchin’ his name by puttin’ on this little act! I won’t stand for it!”

Abruptly, the demon rushed up in a violent surge of purple flames. Roman was so stunned he stumbled back and landed on his butt in the dirt, all bravado expelling from his lungs in a rush. The sass really made it easy to forget he was speaking with a denizen of hell. “Then sit for it! Because guess what, princey, this is no act.” The demon bellowed. Clearly, it was exasperated and possibly frustrated.

Well, it wasn’t the only one. “Stop callin’ me that!”

“Calling you what? Princey?” The demon sneered, though it was simmering down, returning to its more humanoid form.

“Yes, princey!” Roman snapped. He scrambled to his feet, determination burning in his brown eyes as he worked up the courage to stare the monster down. His fists had clenched at his sides. “You’re not allowed to use it. Only he is.”

The demon quirked a brow. “Who? Virgil?” Another dark chuckle and the demon shook its head. “Oh, princey…”

“What did I jus’-”

“Who exactly did you think you were talking to all this time? A doppelganger? Tough luck.” A blink, and suddenly a more realistic, spot-on Virgil was standing there. The sharp teeth were gone, the eyes had dulled and the sinister aura which had been whipping about the creature had disappeared. “Virgil is already here. It’s me, I’m him. So, that means I can say what I want. Princey.”

“That’s impossible!” Roman exclaimed. “Virgil isn’t a demon. He’s my roommate! He’s always been perfectly human, this is jus’- ’s some dream, ‘r a sick joke. You said it yourself, you can shapeshift! This is jus’ a trick to steal my soul!”

“Uh, newsflash, Drama Overlord. You came here and summoned me. To make a deal. Exactly what were you planning to barter with if not your soul?”

“Well- that’s, uh…”

“Trust me when I say you’re not dreaming. I know that first part- trust me- might be a hard pill to swallow, but this is real, and you’re no Sleeping Beauty. You’ve already hit your ass twice. Don’t you think you would’ve woken up by now?” Virgil was starting to circle Roman, eyeing him up like a wolf or a butcher.

Roman would really like to know just where his bravery had run off to. He had a few choice words for it. “I mean, that’s… that is…”

“And you’re right. I can shapeshift. But I’m not gaining much by taking this form, am I? I could’ve stayed a shadow and gotten this crap over with. I just wanted to see the look on your face at realizing you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as a demon all this time. Real hellspawn. I could prove it, if you like.”

He swore he felt something brush against his back; did Virgil have a tail? Horns, too. Was it on purpose? Was Virgil just messing with him?

“You always hide the spare key under the loose step instead of the doormat. You won’t admit it but there’s a bunny sticker still stuck to the sliding glass door for the balcony from when you put them up as Easter decorations and didn’t realize they’d be a bitch to peel off. All of your shampoo smells like a fruit salad, you have an entire stash of Lush bath bombs hidden under your towels, you spend at least one entire hour every morning getting ready, even if you have nothing planned for the day.”

“Now jus’ hold on a minute-”

“You sleep with a stuffed Build-A-Bear you dressed up like a prince, his name is Sir Growls-a-Lot. You refuse to drink anything carbonated, even sparkling water, and you always put Crofter’s on your breakfast- even when it’s not toast. You prefer cinnamon toothpaste over mint like the damn Extra diva you are. I can go on. And trust me, unless I’d been targeting you, I would not know all of this.” Virgil grumbled, “I sort of wish I didn’t….”

Roman was gobsmacked- again. He stared at Virgil for a long period of time before finally, slowly, bringing a hand up to press against his own chest. His eyes stung with the wetness of unshed tears and his expression was the epitome of fondness. “You… remembered all that… about me?” His voice squeaked a little.

Virgil immediately looked like he’d swallowed an entire lemon. He glowered at Roman and shoved hands into his pockets. “Shut up.” His voice reverberated and echoed, like it had while he was ensconced with shadows. “Point is, I’m a demon. The dude you’ve been rooming with is a goddamn demon so now the question is, what are you gonna do about it? I’m still waiting to hear what you want. But then are you just gonna go back? Pretend this was all a dream and look at me the same in the morning?”

Roman blinked. Oh. Right. The entire reason he’d driven out here in the middle of the night, and gone through the trouble of gathering the ritual items. He’d almost forgot. In an instant, it felt like a stone had been dropped into his stomach, and his next swallow was around a dry throat. He began to fidget, no longer able to look at Virgil, those soft feelings gone from his face. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah… yeah. About that. You see… it’s… um. Right, the thing is… I….”

Virgil released an aggravated sigh. “Get on with it, Your Shyness. I don’t have all night.”

“What do you mean you don’t have all night? You’re a demon- nevermind, nevermind, gettin’ off topic here.” Roman cleared his throat again, desperately coughing into his fist as if it would make this any easier. How was he supposed to know the demon he summoned would be the same person he wanted to fall for him? This is what he got for messing with the supernatural. “I wanted… to… have someone fall for me. As hard as I’ve fallen for them. You see, they don’t seem to really notice me, or my advances. I’m… jus’ about at wit’s end.”

Virgil scoffed. “I can see that. You summoned me for help. Pretty desperate.” He brushed some of his bangs out of his face with a soft huff. “Should’ve known it’d be something love related, if not fame. You always were the worst type of romantic.”

Roman winced. He tried not to shrink under Virgil’s scrutiny, but it was hard. Because he knew which question was coming next.

“Surprised you’re so embarrassed about it all of a sudden. Or that you didn’t rant to me about it. You ramble about all your other passions in life. What makes this guy so different?” He eyed Roman a bit longer, partially just to make the man squirm, before shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever. Not like it matters. What’s the poor asshole’s name?”

“Ah…” Roman rubbed at the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. Never before had he been so nervous, even before his very first on-stage performance in front of a real crowd. He was basically confessing here- not even just that, he was admitting that he cared for Virgil’s affections enough to seek out a demon. Hoo boy. He’d really stepped in it this time. “His name… is… Virgil.”

It was Virgil’s turn to blink. He stared at Roman, taken aback, before cool indifference slid over his face again with a shake of his head. “Wow. Figures. Same name as me, this is gonna be fun to deal with.” He sighed. “Last name? Gotta have the whole thing if I’m gonna mess with their head.”

Roman wrung his hands together. Well, there was no real backing out now. Might as well go the whole nine yards. “Virgil Deimos.”

The silence which instantly engulfed their little ring of light was palpable. The tension from Virgil’s initial appearance, which had slowly ebbed away, returned with a nasty vengeance and then some. It was so thick in the air Roman swore it was trying to choke and suffocate him. He wanted to cough, but he’d admit it- he was too scared. Virgil was staring him down with such a blatant intensity and disbelief that it stole away his last remaining breath.

Why the hell did he still find him so beautiful, even like this? He must have a death wish.

At last, the silence was broken by the sound of tinkling glass. Except it wasn’t glass, it was Virgil, and he was beginning to laugh. The demon laughed, tilting his head back, the sound warped and distorted and just a touch hysterical. Roman thought he saw a glimmer of tears rimming those smudged eyes and he grimaced. He hadn’t even known it was a thing for demons to cry. He’d certainly never seen Virgil do it, but then, Virgil usually hid away in his bedroom whenever he was feeling upset about something.

The laughter subsided, and Virgil brushed away the tears with a careless finger. They must have been from pure mirth because he didn’t look sad at all when he focused on Roman again. “You’re joking. Okay, I get it. You find out I’m a demon, you know I’ve been scaring the piss out of you on purpose, so you try pulling my leg. Good one. Now what’s his real name?”

Roman sputtered. “That is the name! Virgil Deimos.” He stared the demon down, even as he felt that heat return to his cheeks. “…you. It’s you, alright?”

Virgil’s eyes glinted purple for a brief moment, and then he took a step back. His expression shifted to shock. “You’re serious. Holy shit.”

“Uh, isn’t it an oxymoron ‘r somethin’ for a demon to use the word holy-”

“Shut up.” Virgil snapped, before running clawed fingers through his hair. “Holy shit. Holy shit. You mean it. You mean… me. Me. Why?” He turned to look at Roman again, his eyes narrowed with newfound suspicion and paranoia. “…why?”

Roman bit at his tongue for a moment. Lord, hadn’t he gone through all of this trouble to avoid blatantly confessing his feelings to Virgil? Still, now that he knew Virgil was a demon with untold power, he was far more inclined to just answer the question. He only hoped Virgil didn’t get insulted or something and decide to rip his guts out. “Why? Why? Because you’re soft-” He tensed as Virgil hissed and hurried on. “-a-an’ attractive!”

Virgil scoffed. “You call me things like ‘Emo Nightmare’ on a regular basis, princey. And constantly judge my ‘look.’” Virgil raised his hands to use air quotes for emphasis.

It was Roman’s turn to huff. “Jus’ because I might not… agree… with your fashion choices, that doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive. You’ve got this sort of… broody, dark allure about you.”

“Wow, you really only hit half of that ‘Prince Charming’ nickname, don’tcha?”

“Shut up an’ listen to me!” Roman snapped, and he was a little surprised when Virgil actually blinked and shut his mouth. Well… good. Maybe he could actually get out more than one sentence at a time now. He tugged down his shirt a bit and straightened his shoulders. “From the moment I saw you, I was smitten. Downright lovestruck, do you hear me? Cupid took one of his frivolous little arrows an’ jabbed it straight into my heart!” He mimed the act of being stabbed in the chest.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Nice choice of words there.” At Roman’s glare, he held up his hands. “Couldn’t resist, couldn’t resist, go on.”

Roman pouted at him. “Laugh an’ be amused all you want, but I speak the truth. There are many things I like about you, Virgil.” His tone softened, along with his gaze, and he offered the demon a hand. Of course, Virgil only proceeded to stare at the appendage like Roman had lost his mind, and maybe he had. He continued speaking nonetheless. “I like how your hair is an utter mess in the mornin’, but you don’t seem to care. I like how meticulous you are about your eye liner, an’ your hoodies, but little else. I think it’s adorable that your favorite color is purple, that you doodle little storm clouds any time you get your hands on paper an’ a writin’ utensil. I like how intense your voice gets when you’re passionate, an’ how witty you can be with your sass. Few can be a match for me, after all.

“I like how you always curl up into a ball, no matter what you happen to be sittin’ on. How you always hug the throw blankets an’ pillows. You’re never cold, you jus’ like to be cradled in soft things, an’… I’ve always wondered if that could include my arms.” Roman dropped to a knee. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it just felt right. This grand gesture and confession of love needed the proper pose! “I’ve wanted you, Virgil. I’ve wanted you for weeks an’ I’m at my wit’s end.”

Virgil actually looked uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. More like he’d never dealt with this sort of affection before, or the feelings it caused. He was flustered. “You can’t be serious. Crushing on me for weeks? All we ever do when we’re in the same room together is butt heads.”

“That’s jus’ it!” Roman exclaimed. “I absolutely live for our banter, the heat of a verbal battle, each of us vyin’ to have the last clever word! That’s when you’re at your most fiery, your most enticin’. I tried comin’ onto you in several ways, but you always mistook my flirtations as a gag, ‘r a tease. You always completely missed the point an’ you never took me seriously- just like you’re not takin’ me seriously right now!” Roman’s eyes might as well have been aflame. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not! You’re here to make a deal with me, right? I want Virgil Deimos to notice me. I want him to feel things for me. Or at the very least, see my motives for what they truly are.”

Virgil seemed to be at a loss, and Roman knew he had him. The demon squinted at him, scowling hard and shoving his hands back into his hoodie pocket. “You realize that means I get your soul, right? You’re not even asking me to fall in love with you, or be yours. You’re asking for a chance. That’s all.”

Roman smiled, and his voice had gone soft again. “I know. But even if you are a demon, I wouldn’t want to force you into anythin’. I wouldn’t try to make anyone love me. What’s the point, then? Is it really love? I just want a chance to earn it. I want that initial spark, an’ then time to see if I can fan the flames into somethin’ truly marvelous an’ worthwhile. An’… if I fail at that….” He dropped his gaze. “…I suppose it would at least have been worth the adventure, in the end.”

Virgil pursed his lips. He looked legitimately torn for a moment, which was odd. For him, as a demon, surely this must be a real win-win of a situation. No matter what, he’d get Roman’s soul, and he might not even need to pay the full price for it. So why did he look so conflicted? “I….” He stared at Roman for several moments longer before sighing. “I… can’t. I can’t make this deal with you.”

Roman was immediately on the defense. “Why not?! I summoned you! You’re supposed to take whatever deal I’m offerin’, that’s how it works, you can’t jus’-” A cold finger pressed to his lips and his brown eyes widened.

“Shut up, princey.” Virgil growled. He was quick to remove his finger, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture but desperate to stop Roman from talking. “I’ll still make you a deal. Just… not that one. Not one for your soul.” He grumbled, “At least not immediately.”

Roman blinked. “What… do you mean?”

Virgil sighed. “Listen. I might be a demon, but I’m not heartless, and I’m not as cruel as I could be. I’m not… just gonna let you throw away your soul on me. But I am obligated to make a deal with you. So how about this? I’ll… give you your chance. To swoon me, win me over, whatever. If… if you fail at that, like you decide to give up and move on, I… I get your soul then. But if it works, deal’s off. You won’t owe me anything.”

Roman could do nothing except stare at Virgil, wide-eyed. He belatedly realized he was still on his knees. Something about that minute detail made the situation all the more poignant. “But… why? Why do this for me?”

Virgil wasn’t looking at him, but he did provide an answer; sort of. “Don’t worry about it. Demon business. You wouldn’t understand.” Roman had a feeling that was a load of bull, but Virgil barreled on so he couldn’t call the demon out on it. “Anyway, do we got a deal or not? I can’t refuse to make one with you, but… you can change your mind. Now’s your last chance to do it.” Virgil stuck out his hand.

Roman’s stare shifted to the appendage instead, while the gears churned away inside his head. Technically, he was still getting what he wanted. Now he just had the chance to skip out on eternal damnation. He couldn’t even be paranoid about it being a trap or a trick; Virgil had clearly lowered his odds at getting Roman’s soul. It really didn’t make a lick of sense to him, but… who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Perhaps Virgil had a change of heart. Maybe he already saw Roman in a new light, after all. His stance on trying had hardly changed, so… he had nothing more to lose.

Decisively, Roman took Virgil’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”

A flicker of anxiety passed through Virgil’s face before it dimmed back into indifference, and he retracted his hand. “Alright. Cool. You just made yourself a deal with a real life demon, Sir Desperate. How does it feel?”

In a single, fluid motion, Roman rose to his feet. One hand pressed fingertips to his chest, while the other swooped out in a grand gesture towards Virgil. He was giving the demon his very best smolder. “Like I’ve got a chance in hell.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, then he snorted, shaking his head. “This is gonna be hell. For me, anyway.” He looked over at Roman’s car and quirked an eyebrow. “You drove all the way out here in the middle of the night? You really do have a death wish.”

Roman laughed and spun on his heel, hands rising up towards the sky. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #demon au #hey look roman its an actual demon lmao #still taking prompts btw #fangirltothefullest

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rydenstories · 6 years

Text

12 Children

It begins with the click and whir of a tape being played. Light buzzing for a moment. Finally, a young woman's voice speaks up.

"This is Dr. Tiffany Abshire with the children's emergency unit. It is currently 4:27 P.M. on August 2nd. This will serve as a personal log under these extreme circumstances, rather than typing it out. Only an hour ago, this department received a call from emergency services with warning that they would be bringing in a rather large number of children. We weren't given much information beyond that. Our staff prepared the entire emergency wing; transferring less serious cases up to another floor of the hospital. The children that arrived were not what we expected; malnourished looking, but not in terrible condition other than the dirt and grime on their school uniforms. Nurses have placed each child in their own individual room. There was also an adult woman with the children and while we assume this is the teacher, we cannot be sure until we can get someone from Psych at City Hospital. The woman is catatonic and unresponsive, seeming in the worst condition of the group. I will be joining Dr. Fieldsman in the initial interviews with these children, but we can't do much for them until we can contact the school and the parents."

The tape resumes that light, low buzziness that indicates a pause between recordings for about five seconds before the doctor picks up again.

"Dr. Abshire. It is now 5:30 PM and we haven't gotten anywhere with the children. We have no records for these patients and finding a way to reach their school has been challenging. The officer in charge of the case came and spoke with me shortly after the children arrived. He states that he was driving on a bridge that passes over the nearby lake when he spotted a rather large passenger boat out on the water. The children were desperately waving for attention, for rescue. Shortly afterward, 12 young students and their catholic school class monitor were pulled up onto the bridge from the boat, which apparently had died some days or even weeks ago. He didn't know much beyond that. He made a personal comment, something that always makes us feel a little more optimistic as doctors. "They seem like strong, resilient little kids. More hungry than anything else. I think they'll make it."

bzzzzzzz.

"Dr. Abshire. 6:30 PM. Dr. Fieldsman and I did a short round, just getting names and making sure the children were in stable condition. They all are in generally brave spirits, I don't think I've heard a single child cry for their parent. It's almost a little odd, but it has left our staff feeling at least optimistic about their overall health. As for everything else, well.... We're having a hard time identifying these children. No parents or local schools have reported children missing. The police are doing a nationwide search, but it will take a while. For now, Dr. Fieldsman and I are waiting for the green light to treat the children anyway. They could all use an IV drip to get their hydration levels back. I've also sent one of Fieldsman's techs to the cafeteria to bring back snacks for the children."

bzzzzz.

"This is Dr. Abshire and it is 7:43 PM. We got the go-ahead to treat the children at around 7. Fieldsman and I went around and explained to the children to the best of our ability, something we're not really used to as we normally deal mainly with the parent. It was surprisingly easy, though. Most of them didn't seem to mind, still more concerned with when they'd be given dinner. On a personal note, I felt a little horrible when they brought up food. We've been so concerned with identifying them even though feeding them would greatly improve their treatment. Strangely enough, though, Fieldsman's tech came back and passed out tiny bags of chips and cookies to the patients. They remained untouched when we did another round to check on their progress. As for their monitor, she still hasn't spoken. Someone is on their way from Psych and will hopefully be giving her the help she needs soon."

bzzzzzz.

"Dr. Abshire. 8:19 PM. Things have taken quite the turn as the children and monitor both have become incredibly agitated over the past some 30 minutes. She still wont speak, but the children are demanding food. We've reassured them that the hospital serves dinner soon and they'll be fed, but being children, they've become very impatient. It's understandable, but a few have already gone to the extreme of ripping out their IVs in anger. Psych send someone but being the oh so fantastic group of doctors they are, they could only come up with someone who can sedate their monitor. I guess they hope calming her down with bring her lucidity back."

bzzzzzzzzzz

"Dr. Abshire. 8:40 PM. The children were served dinner and all finally seemed quiet for about three minutes before trays of grilled cheese & tomato soup came flying from doors. One of the nurses that was in one of the rooms could be heard loudly chastising a child before we heard a large smack and cry of surprise. The nurse sprinted from the room in tears and shouted that the child had punched her before running off to the restroom to likely cry. From there came the sound of shouting from all 12 patient rooms. The children have protested that what they were given was not food, but we're not sure what they mean by that. Dr. Hayim clocked in around this time and organized a team of nurses and techs, which will attempt to calm the children, or at least prevent them from causing harm to themselves or others. Hayim says that if needed be, she isn't afraid to sedate them."

Bzzzzzz.

"Abshire. One of the children just bit a tech in his throat. He's not severely injured but he'll need to be moved to City Main for for it anyway. I personally tried to talk to their Monitor afterward. I got a first name; Amelia. Other than that though, the sedatives have her incoherent and unhelpful, although not for lack of trying. She mumbled and babbled and even tried to get out of the bed. Her assigned nurse settled her down and nearly as soon as her attention dropped, so did her consciousness. Dr. Hayim just put in a request to sedate all of the children to prevent further harm to any staff. Additionally, the nationwide search for a possible missing class of children has shockingly turned up nothing. It's quit puzzling; we see a lot of unwanted kids come through here over the years, but it doesn't seem plausible that a whole class of private school children would be so unloved that they weren't reported missing."

Bzzzzzzz.

"This is Dr. Abshire and the time is 10:30 PM. Normally, I'd be going home right around now. I just can't leave when I'm needed on a case so honestly baffling. I don't think I could sleep if I tried anyway. These kids have just gotten stranger and more aggressive. Chief of Medicine has refused to approve any sedatives, so we're pretty much all hands on deck down here. Fearing for the safety of our staff after two more techs were hit/bitten, we've pulled them from the rooms and have had no choice but to lock the children in until we can find space for them in safer quarters, the Psych wing. Until then, our staff hasn't much to do besides deal with other patients and watch the children through the tiny window of each door."

Bzzzzzzzzz

"Dr. Abshire. Staff is becoming increasingly worried as the children have turned their destructive, angry behavior onto themselves. Hitting, biting, scratching, throwing themselves into walls. Painting with their blood. Just screaming. Many of our techs and nurses have left, too afraid to deal with the situation any further. Fieldsman tried to slip out as well but Hayim stopped him with a swift slap in the face, accusing him of losing his compassion for sick children. I'm not sure what we're going to do next but...."

The voice on the tape trails off but the soft buzz didn't resume. Dr. Abshire's breathing can even still be heard as her attention is pulled away from the recorder, and to something else.

"Is that.... Amelia? Amelia?! Hey, what are you doing out of your room?!"

Bzzzzzzz.

Before any speaking starts, there is a lot more clear and distinct chaos in the background. Yelling and laughter. It all sounds very frightening although it begins to distance as Dr. Abshire's panting can be heard. There is the sound of a door closing and a little more shuffling around.

"This is Tiffany Abshire. I am hiding under my desk, in my office at City Children's. I'm so scared."

A pause.

"Amelia let the children out of their rooms. They went berserk. Within moments, the nurses station of the emergency wing became an absolute madhouse. I've never seen anything like it. Frail, sickly little children, coming at full grown adults with the strength of men. No. Not men. Monsters. I watched as two little girls dragged Dr. Fieldsman, one leg each, from one end of the hall to the other, playfully laughing and skipping as he bled from two very distinct bite marks on his neck. When they reached the end of the hallway, both screamed TAG before pouncing onto him again. I broke my eyes from that gruesome scene but they only locked onto another, and another, and another. I crouched down behind a toppled-over stretcher but it was almost immediately knocked into by Dr. Hayim, who was fighting off a bucktoothed seven year old with a stainless steel tray until Amelia got ahold of her. She actually said not so fast. She spoke with a fairly posh english accent that I didn't notice at all when she was mumbling at me earlier. With one swift motion of her hands, Hayim's neck was broken and her body dropped heavily to the floor. That's when Amelia's eyes locked with mine and I knew I had to run. It was over already anyway. Every adult there lay dead or dying on the floor, knelt over by hungry children who tore at them with teeth and nails."

Another pause.

"Oh god. I think they're coming."

Sure enough, tiny footfalls accompanied by an adult's approached at a frighteningly rapid pace in the background of the recording. Abshire is whimpering as the door slowly creaks open and another woman's voice, deep and very posh, is heard on the tape

"Just one more, darlings! We'll leave this wretched place and go home!”

Dissonant cheers come from three or four small voices.

There is another pause, and then indescribable screaming for only a moment before the tape cut out. There are no more recordings after this.

After listening to all of this, I put the recorder in the drawer of the desk that I had found it under. Upon being hired here at City Children's, I was excited to be a doctor making a difference in an emergency wing that I was told was recently abandoned by it's staff as some kind of "worker's strike." Since coming here, however, nobody seems to believe that story and now that I've heard this recording, I don't believe it either. I've since been looking around the hospital and while I've found a few things that are frightening, nothing has struck me more than a plaque with a photo that hangs in the middle of the emergency wing's nursing station. It's an award given to outstanding doctors and staff, with each staff member's name engraved on their own little gold plate. The photo is missing, but three standout names are there.

Dr. Kyle Fieldsman. Dr. Davina Hayim. Dr. Tiffany Abshire.

#mine #my story #creepypasta #creepy #nosleep

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qlmondmilk · 6 years

Text

reflex

pjm x reader. last day of summer, falling for a boy with telekinetic abilities + science crack.

part 1 of ? words: 1619

note: the first part as written a year before, so this was untouched for long, sitting in my drafts and gathering cobwebs. the build-up is so long but i'm sorta writing it with the most detail so it would smoothly run in your imagination?? like a tv show hehe

shitty title preview bc i know nothing about graphics

Jimin was pissed, to say the least.

The start of regular activity in San Fransokyo Institute of Technology was a sleep away, but no one in his university cared for a few more popsicles to consume and savor. Far too eager to start on their respective projects, almost everyone busied themselves with the sense of responsibility and the desire to create. This included Jimin's reasonable number of friends, leaving him to be the only one aching for the one day left for rest. Given that he'll celebrate the sunset alone, he declared that today would be somewhat peaceful.

Not.

Of all mornings to mess around with, Yoongi decided that Jimin would be a perfect lab rat for his seasonal crack project. Without any warning or whatsoever, Yoongi managed to wake up in the ungodly hours to set up a station and special headphones, testing if specific wavelengths and frequencies would easily influence an orgasm. On Jimin.

Jimin was happy to be greeted by a Daniel Caesar song, but not too keen on flushing red for having to cover and change his embarrassingly soaked sweats. He would've chased after Yoongi, who ran out of his room with a triumphant gummy smile after recording all of Jimin's stunned antics; but Yoongi wasn't to be fully blamed, for it was partially his doing as well, having entrusted his hyung the keys to his room. That, and for being a heavy sleeper.

If only all geniuses would dedicate their time to making good use of their aptitude, Min Yoongi wouldn’t have used ‘for the greater good of science’ as an excuse to obtain blackmail-worthy material, and Park Jimin wouldn't be hacking into Min Yoongi's database so damn early only to be hit with arbitrary urges. A generous sip of good booze could salvage his morning.

The only solution to silence the impulse was to give in, naturally — so it's 6 o' clock am and he's got his least favorite sweater on, set out for a bottle of vodka. Coming out in that dire time of the day means seeing little to no one at all, which is a relief, he wouldn’t have to encounter a crazed schoolmate eyeing him up as a potential lab rat.

This morning in San Fransokyo is quiet, save for the constant humming of the technology scattered all around. Matching the infrequent serenity, the city seems to bathe in the sun’s soft illumination, on the rare hope that when people step out, they’d appreciate its kind appearance reserved only for the last day of summer. Still, even without the harsh lighting, Jimin’s eyes remain weary, comfortable wearing them as crescents for a while.

He doesn’t notice that Yoongi’s not the only one who didn’t pay attention to the sun, and definitely not the only one who woke up extra early to work. The streets near his university were made of the asphalt with infused programming and coding tools, a special project of the seniors a few years back. Anyone was free to reach down, do their magic, and have their work plastered on the ground for 24 hours. Every midnight it reverts back to an empty canvas, so the serious programmers wouldn’t dare leave their code vulnerable to the public and have all versions of it gone by the next day.

The cobbled code path Jimin’s walking on turns out to be coded on already, resounding with his quick footsteps, imploring for him to look down and take note that he’s stepping on someone’s unfinished code art, and shit, his steps were precise accidents, but it looks like sabotage. But he doesn’t look down, and what used to be half a butterfly is now a muddled creature with its forewing absolutely wrecked, compound eye gone, antenna sticking out way too long - only the proboscis is intact.

Blessed are his feet, truly.

Damn Jeon Jungkook. Jimin is ill-equipped to be buying alcohol.

Not that Jimin looked like a kid and he'd need verification to drown himself in liquor, no. The Christmas sweater that Jungkook gave wasn't enough to shelter Jimin from the coldness of the store and the icy stares from middle-aged ladies that were there for marked-down items. They didn't wake up early to see an abominable sweater being worn by a resting-bitch faced kid that looked like he'd lived through a thousand lifetimes.

Giving an ugly sweater is one thing, but to give a sweater with a gingerbread man flexing his icing abs is on an entirely different league.

Even the store is on a different league. It's close-set, aiming to provide as much as it could with the little area it has. What its span lack, the height of its shelves surely make up for it, reaching up to 7 rows. Not tall enough to be touching the ceiling, but it definitely towers over Jimin. So he sucks it up, cold, height difference, and all.

Height is an issue, yet the store's strategy in product location is ludicrous. Who in the right mind would allow such a thing? Jimin thought San Fransokyo was a progressive city, however, precious liquor settled in the same aisle as laundry detergent says otherwise. Most importantly, Jimin's favorite brand of liquor sits at the sixth row, just a little bit beyond his reach when he jumps. The only staff present are the saleslady that could challenge Jimin's resting bitch face, the two cashiers from his university looking dead before the semester even started, and that one janitor being reprimanded by one of the early-comer middle-aged ladies for placing a wet-floor sign near the 35% off fish fillet.

This aisle is more than a minefield.

There are two ways to complete his task. One is to arduously climb the shelf, grab a bottle or two, climb down, then go in peace. Two is to grab it in his mind and the bottle will come floating down to him, no climbing involved. Telekinesis worked like that, right? But his presumably telekinetic abilities (powers, whatever) came to him out of nowhere, and it could betray him for no reason. The shelf isn't made for occasional customer climbing. Both options are dangerous, and there are other variables to consider. The janitor reprimanding lady could happen to pass by the aisle to get to the rack of 50% off wet wipes and see Jimin - may the convenience store gods forbid it.

He tries to will the bottle to descend from the shelf. He imagines a path and directs it to his open hand, but to no avail, from any onlooker he appears to be forcing to shit himself.

He tries again. The entire shelf of laundry detergent and the whole sixth row of bottles float for a while and he panics. The detergents somehow spill themselves and join in the 'make Jimin panic more' party. All but the bottle that he wanted stops floating and blesses the store's floor by simultaneously breaking, along with Jimin's heart at the thought that he had to explain the mess. What would he even say? 'Sorry, I didn't want to disturb your staff to get the item I wanted so I took it upon myself to miraculously break all the bottles on the sixth shelf? Don't worry, I may have student loans to pay but I'm sure I'll compensate for this mess eventually!'

Even worse, he would have to choose whether to take the second semester and survive with cup noodles or work full-time as Yoongi's lab rat. He still has a shred of dignity to keep, no thanks, Yoongi.

He already broke things anyway, so it's all or nothing. Better come home with a bottle than none at all. Jimin resorts to first original option, because climbing is obviously way more safer than 'grabbing the bottle with his mind.'

So he climbs. Bingo. Should've done that the first time.

It's not a big store, so the small amount of staff and patrons they had heard the crash and are silently watching Jimin elegantly climb down the shelf, avoid bits of glass on the floor, and tiptoe on the sea of unicorn vomit. On one end of the aisle, the saleslady seemed heartbroken for the janitor, who didn't spare a second look at whatever calamity swept through. He had already turned on his heels, heading for his mop and bucket. The fish fillet lady looked absolutely furious. Not good.

Jimin is stuck a very delicate place.

He continues to tiptoe on the unholy offspring of fabric conditioner and booze until—

"Oh hey dude, what ha—?" One of the cashiers suddenly appears sat the other end of the aisle with a concerned look on his face, which iss oddly familiar to Jimin. Could he be one of Taehyung's past flings? Or that dude that Hoseok drunkenly kissed one time. Probably both.

Regardless of the cashier's identity, Jimin runs away.

Of course he fucking slips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck." His palms and knees took most of the impact and earned scratches. Still all or nothing, he continues to run even though his limbs disagree with the spontaneous plan to exert energy, wobbling with the guilt and panic of evading responsibility.

"Sorry man, not my fault!" Jimin shouts. Immediately spotting a rack full of Hello Kitty bandages, he grabs a handful and speeds across the store as fast as his unwilling limbs could take it.

A Jollibee statue is waiting for him at the exit, so with Jimin's last functioning brain cell he throws two 20 dollar bills somewhere and makes it out of the store, turning Jollibee into a casualty by knocking him down at the exact moment Jimin's legs give up.

"—ppened here?" the cashier says to Jollibee's decapitated body.

#park jimin #honeyboynetwork #im alive #what to tag??#bts fic #bts scenarios

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chantalkrcmar · 3 years

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India Receding

[I started crafting this blog on 14 April 2021.]

As our state of Maharashtra enters into a COVID curfew (which is essentially a lockdown — I just think politicians are afraid of using that word again), our hopes of moving back to India this summer are slipping more and more through our fingers.

The situation in India is dire. After a COVID lull during the winter, the COVID cases are again sky rocketing. Some health clinics previously doing vaccinations have stopped due to vaccine shortages. The central government is punting to the states to fund vaccines, which means prices will likely go up and be out of reach for people who are financially strapped. COVID variants are troubling and poorly understood. Schools, many of which just reopened, are shut again. Everyone is locked up again (unless, of course, they are attending massive rallies of un-masked, crammed-together crowds in support of BJP politicians). I worry deeply about the impact of these long lock-ups on children. My in-laws, who have been shut-ins for more than a year now, amaze me. How they have managed to keep their emotional and mental equilibrium is beyond me. As always, Ambhu Uncle is our family’s savior. My in-laws recently got their first dose of the vaccine, and are waiting eagerly for the second dose. But we still don’t know how effective the vaccine will be against the new vexing variants.

When we left India last September, we left thinking we’d be back in, oh, a half year or so. We assumed at the very least we’d be back for Anamika to start kindergarten at the school where she had been, American School of Bombay, at the beginning of August (when the school year starts in Mumbai). How naive we were. We left toys, books and clothes. Our bedrooms were frozen in time. Anamika’s artwork that I hung up all over her bedroom walls during our Lockdown days is still hanging (and there was a lot of it given how long we were locked up). Books and toys are collecting dust and mold (thanks to the relentless humidity there) waiting to be read and played with again. We had not left for good. And now…

Of course India will always be there. (Although in a few decades, there will literally be much less of India to go back to due to climate change related disasters. Many parts of Mumbai will be reclaimed by the Arabian Sea…I will refrain from going down that rabbit hole right now.) Of course we will go back for extended vacations once this COVID nightmare is over. But it is very hard for us to think about the possibility of uprooting our family once Anamika has started elementary school and I have started a job post-PhD (unless that job happens to be in India). We know families do move very far distances, and we may too again if the time is right. Mumbai is our second home, after all, so it would not be a leap into a complete unknown. But for now, living in India anytime soon is a distant dream.

It’s a loss. A real loss. So many people have lost so much this year, so I know we are not unique. So many people have lost way way way more than we have this year, so I should not complain. But I do mourn what could have been.

Somerville is a very good place to live, but there are aspects of Mumbai that are absolutely irreplaceable. We do not have Anamika’s adoring grandparents and Ambhu Uncle and Riaz Uncle right in our immediate orbit. We do not have our beloved Hemanta (better known as Haathi Baby) and Tutuji just an easy, inexpensive domestic flight away. We do not have the veg wallah’s cart stacked high with eggplants, okra, spinach, ginger, and other delectable fresh produce right outside our apartment building door. I cannot simply slip on my chappals (sandals) and skip down the steps, tote bag ready to be stuffed with his goodies. I can’t go down and ask for all those things in Hindi. (Sometimes when I go to our bland grocery store here, I name foods in Hindi in my head. Baingan. Bindhi. Palak. It’s just not the same as speaking the words — as laughably bad as my Hindi is.) We do not have — right in our apartment compound — the coconut wallah yelling, “Coconut panee (water)!” or the kela (banana) wallah carrying a huge basket of bananas on his head or the dudh (milk) wallah knocking on our door every morning to deliver our fresh milk packets along with his winning smile. We do not have jackfruit and mango and coconut trees towering over our parking lot. We do not have the ability to plan regular vacations with our family. Goa for a week all together? Kodaikanal? Temple towns or mountain towns? Not a possibility now.

While we are very lucky to be here where it is much safer in terms of COVID, India is still always on our minds. A few weeks ago, Anamika and I were playing on an outdoor basketball court at a local public school. There was an enormous map of the USA painted on the court. Anamika looked at it and asked, “Where’s India on this map?” I had to walk her over to the much smaller world map painted on another portion of the court to show her where it is in relation to where we currently are. If home is where the heart is (as the old saying goes), then our hearts are split into two.

(Permit me to vent for a quick moment about how Amero-centric even progressive Somerville is: the map of the USA at this public school should not be enormous compared to the rest of the world. It just goes to show how arrogant and self-centered we Americans are. I know people of other countries can be nationalistic too, but as one who has her feet in two different parts of the world, it particularly irks me. We should all know better — especially in a city like Somerville where so many families have recent roots in other countries.)

As in all things in life, this too shall pass (“this” being COVID and “this” also being mourning our current loss of India). As in all things in life, our life in Somerville and our life in Mumbai is a both/and — not an either/or. Both have plusses and minuses. Neither is perfect. We love both.

But for now, as Mumbai recedes away from our immediate grasp, I’ll just sit with the missing it. Our hearts will mend, I know. We will continue to get joy and solace from our community of Boston area friends, and the mountains, beaches and green spaces of New England. And when we do get to go back to India, I will eagerly welcome the wall of heat and humidity that hits us the instant we walk out of the stunning Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport in Mumbai. I will drink in the overwhelming bustle, noise and smells of our city. Dazed and tired from our 24 hour journey to get there, I will still have the presence of mind to be grateful to be…home.

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anettrolikova · 3 years

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When I saw this patterned irrationality, which was so extreme, and I had no theory or anything to deal with it, but I could see that it was extreme, and I could see that it was patterned, I just started to create my own system of psychology, partly by casual reading, but largely from personal experience, and I used that pattern to help me get through life.

if there’s anything valid in psychology, economics has to recognize it, and vice versa.

recognition of the power of what psychologists call reinforcement and economists call incentives.

People thinks that their relatives are innocent when the reality is usually different than they think. The reality is too painful to bear, so you just distort it until it’s bearable. We all do that to some extent, and it’s a common psychological misjudgment that causes terrible problems.

a lot of the way the world is run, including most law firms and a lot of other places, they’ve still got a cost-plus percentage of cost system.

human nature, with its version of what I call incentive-caused bias, causes this terrible abuse - people you marry & invite to your family.

there are huge implications from the fact that the human mind is put together this way, and that is that people who create things like cash registers, which make most behavior hard, are some of the effective saints of our civilization.

If you read the psychology texts, you will find that if they’re 1,000 pages long, there’s one sentence.

the human mind is a lot like the human egg, and the human egg has a shut-off device. When one sperm gets in, it shuts down so the next one can’t get in. The human mind has a big tendency of the same sort.

the really innovative, important new physics was never really accepted by the old guard.

if you make public disclosure of your conclusion, you’re pounding it into your own head.

It’s very important to not put your brain in chains too young by what you shout out.

The Chinese brainwashing system,They maneuvered people into making tiny little commitments and declarations, and then they’d slowly build. That worked way better than torture.

in economics we wouldn’t have money without the role of so-called secondary reinforcement, which is a pure psychological phenomenon demonstrated in the laboratory.

Pavlov the dog salivated when the bell rang.

3/4 of advertising works on pure Pavlov. Think how association, pure association, works. Take Coca-Cola company. They want to be associated with every wonderful image, heroics in the Olympics, wonderful music, you name it. They don’t want to be associated with Presidents’ funerals and so forth.

Persian messenger syndrome- He didn’t hear one damn thing he didn’t want to hear. People knew that it was bad for the messenger to bring Bill Paley things he didn’t want to hear. Well that means that the leader gets in a cocoon of unreality, and this is a great big enterprise, and boy, did he make some dumb decisions in the last 20 years.

nobody wants to bring the bad news to the executives up the line. But here’s a few hundred million dollars you thought you had that you don’t. And it’s much safer to act like the Persian messenger who goes away to hide rather than bring home the news of the battle lost.

ordinarily there’s a correlation between price and value, then you have an information inefficiency. And so when you raise the price, the sales go up relative to your competitor. That happens again and again and again

Where you see in business just perfectly horrible results from psychologically rooted tendencies is in accounting.

people who have loose accounting standards are just inviting perfectly horrible behavior in other people.

an institution that gets sloppy accounting commits a real human sin, and it’s also a dumb way to do business

Theses 6 principles are reciprocity, consistency, social proof, liking, authority, and scarcity. “I think the power of persuasion would be the greatest super power of all time.” Persuasion as a superpower is very much within reach.

three times the success by just going through the little ask-for-a-lot-and-back-off.

the human mind, on a subconscious level, can be manipulated that way and you don’t know it, I always use the phrase, “You’re like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.”

you tend to act in the way that other people expect, and that’s reciprocation if you think about the way society is organized.

what you think may change what you do, but perhaps even more important, what you do will change what you think. And you can say, “Everybody knows that.” I want to tell you I didn’t know it well enough early enough.

everybody looked at everybody else and nobody else was doing anything, and so there’s automatic social proof that the right thing to do is nothing.

the power of reinforcement, after all, you do something and the market goes up and you get paid and rewarded and applauded and what have you, meaning a lot of reinforcement, if you make a bet on a market and the market goes with you. Also, there’s social proof. I mean the prices on the market are the ultimate form of social proof, reflecting what other people think, and so the combination is very powerful.

Better to be roughly right than precisely wrong.

taking advantage of your contrast type troubles and your sensory apparatus

people are manipulating you all day long on this contrast phenomenon.

If you throw a frog into very hot water, the frog will jump out. But if you put the frog in room temperature water and just slowly heat the water up, the frog will die there.”

If it comes to you in small pieces, you’re likely to miss, so you have to … if you’re gonna be a person of good judgment, you have to do something about this warp in your head where it’s so misleading by mere contrast.

Over influence by authority

Ordinary people subconsciously affected by their inborn tendencies.

Envy/ jealousy an enormously powerful thing, and it operates to a considerable extent at a subconscious level, and anybody who doesn’t understand it is taking on defects he shouldn’t have.

Chemical dependency the tendency to distort reality so that it’s endurable.

Skinner's theory - learning is a function of change in overt behavior. Changes in behavior are the result of an individual's response to events (stimuli) that occur in the environment. ... Reinforcement is the key element in

Machines for poker and gaming computers were created by people who understands human psychology in order to ruin the society.

incentive caused bias

Once you realize that you can’t really buy your thinking down.

Availability does change behavior and cognition. If you have Coke available you will drink it all the time.

It isn’t just the lack of availability that distorts your judgment. All the things on this list distort judgment.

these psychological tendencies make things unavailable ’cause if you quickly jump to one thing and then because you’ve jumped to it, the consistency and commitment tendency makes you lock in, boom, it’s there. Number one.

You want to persuade somebody, you really tell them why. And what did we learn in lesson one? Incentives really matter. Vivid evidence really works

common mental illnesses and declines, temporary and permanent, including the tendency to lose ability through disuse. Then I’ve got mental and organizational confusion from the say-something syndrome.

What happens when these standard psychological tendencies combine?

the combination greatly increases power to change behavior, compared to the power of merely one tendency acting alone. Examples are: Tupperware parties. Tupperware has now made billions of dollars out of a few manipulative psychological tricks.

What you should search for in life is the combination, because the combination is likely to do you in.

Or, if you’re the inventor of Tupperware parties, it’s likely to make you enormously rich if you can stand shaving when you do it.

The Psychology of Human Misjudgment, by Charlie Munger

The Psychology of Human Misjudgment, a speech given in 1995 by legendary investor Charlie Munger, opened my eyes to how behavioral psychology can be applied to business and problem-solving.

Munger, for those of you who haven’t heard of him, is the irreverent partner of Warren Buffett at Berkshire Hathaway. He’s offered us such gems as: a two-step process for making effective decisions and the work required to have an opinion.

And this talk on The Psychology of Human Misjudgment is one of the best you’ll ever hear.

My nature makes me incline toward diagnosing and talking about errors in conventional wisdom. And despite years of being smoothed out by the hard knocks that were inevitable for one with my attitude, I don’t believe life ever knocked all the brashness out of the man.

… I have fallen in love with my way of laying out psychology because it has been so useful to me. And so, before I die, I want to imitate to some extent the bequest practices of three characters: the protagonist in John Bunyan’s Pilgram’s Progress, Benjamin Franklin, and my first employer, Ernest Buffett.

Munger made extensive revisions to The Psychology of Human Misjudgment in Poor Charlie’s Almanack because he “thought he could do better at eighty-one than he did more than ten years earlier when he (1) knew less and was more harried by a crowded life and (2) was speaking from rough notes instead of revising transcripts.”

Transcript

I am very interested in the subject of human misjudgment, and Lord knows I’ve created a good bit of it. I don’t think I’ve created my full statistical share, and I think that one of the reasons was I tried to do something about this terrible ignorance I left the Harvard Law School with. When I saw this patterned irrationality, which was so extreme, and I had no theory or anything to deal with it, but I could see that it was extreme, and I could see that it was patterned, I just started to create my own system of psychology, partly by casual reading, but largely from personal experience, and I used that pattern to help me get through life.

Fairly late in life, I stumbled into this book, Influence, by a psychologist named Bob Cialdini, who became a super tenured hotshot on a 2,000 person faculty at a very young age. And he wrote this book, which has now sold 300 odd thousand copies, which is remarkable for somebody. Well, it’s an academic book aimed at a popular audience that filled in a lot of holes in my crude system. When those holes had filled in, I thought I had a system that was a good working tool, and I’d like to share that one with you.

And I came here because of behavioral economics. How could economics not be behavioral? If it isn’t behavioral, what the hell is it? And I think it’s fairly clear that all reality has to respect all other reality. If you come to inconsistencies, they have to be resolved, and so if there’s anything valid in psychology, economics has to recognize it, and vice versa. So I think the people that are working on this fringe between economics and psychology are absolutely right to be there, and I think there’s been plenty wrong over the years.

Well, let me romp through as much of this list as I have time to get through.

24 Standard Causes of Human Misjudgment

First. Under recognition of the power of what psychologists call reinforcement and economists call incentives. Well, you can say, “Everybody knows that.” Well, I think I’ve been in the top 5% of my age cohort all my life in understanding the power of incentives, and all my life I’ve underestimated it. And never a year passes, but I get some surprise that pushes my limit a little farther.

One of my favorite cases about the power of incentives is the Federal Express case. The heart and soul of the integrity of the system is that all the packages have to be shifted rapidly in one central location each night. And the system has no integrity if the whole shift can’t be done fast. And Federal Express had one hell of a time getting the thing to work. And they tried moral suasion, they tried everything in the world, and finally, somebody got the happy thought that they were paying the night shift by the hour and that maybe if they paid them by the shift, the system would work better. And lo and behold, that solution worked.

Early in the history of Xerox, Joe Wilson, who was then in the government, had to go back to Xerox because he couldn’t understand how their better, new machine was selling so poorly in relation to their older and inferior machine. Of course, when he got there he found out that the commission arrangement with the salesmen gave a tremendous incentive to the inferior machine.

And here at Harvard, in the shadow of B.F. Skinner, there was a man who really was into reinforcement as a powerful thought, and you know, Skinner’s lost his reputation in a lot of places, but if you were to analyze the entire history of experimental science at Harvard, he’d be in the top handful. His experiments were very ingenious, the results were counterintuitive, and they were important. It is not given to experimental science to do better.

What gummed up Skinner’s reputation is that he developed a case of what I always call man-with-a-hammer syndrome, to the man with a hammer, every problem tends to look pretty much like a nail. And Skinner had one of the more extreme cases in the history of Academia, and this syndrome doesn’t exempt bright people. It’s just a man with a hammer and Skinner is an extreme example of that. And later, as I go down my list, let’s go back and try and figure out why people, like Skinner, get the man-with-a-hammer syndrome.

Incidentally, when I was at the Harvard Law School there was a professor, naturally at Yale, who was derisively discussed at Harvard, and they used to say, “Poor old Blanchard. He thinks declaratory judgments will cure cancer.” And that’s the way Skinner got. And not only that, he was literary, and he scorned opponents who had any different way of thinking or thought anything else was important. This is not a way to make a lasting reputation if the other people turn out to also be doing something important.

My second factor is simple psychological denial. This first really hit me between the eyes when a friend of our family had a super-athlete, super-student son who flew off a carrier in the north Atlantic and never came back, and his mother, who was a very sane woman, just never believed that he was dead. And, of course, if you turn on the television, you find the mothers of the most obvious criminals that man could ever diagnose, and they all think their sons are innocent. That’s simple psychological denial. The reality is too painful to bear, so you just distort it until it’s bearable. We all do that to some extent, and it’s a common psychological misjudgment that causes terrible problems.

Third. Incentive-cause bias, both in one’s own mind and that of one’s trusted advisor, where it creates what economists call agency costs. Here, my early experience was a doctor who sent bushel baskets full of normal gallbladders down to the pathology lab in the leading hospital in Lincoln, Nebraska. And with that quality control for which community hospitals are famous, about five years after he should’ve been removed from the staff, he was.

And one of the old doctors who participated in the removal was also a family friend, and I asked him, I said, “Tell me, did he think, here’s a way for me to exercise my talents,” this guy was very skilled technically, “And make a high living by doing a few maimings and murders every year, along with some frauds?” And he said, “Hell no, Charlie. He thought that the gallbladder was the source of all medical evil, and if you really love your patients, you couldn’t get that organ out rapidly enough.”

Now that’s an extreme case, but in lesser strength, it’s present in every profession and in every human being. And it causes perfectly terrible behavior. If you make sales presentations and brokers of commercial real estate and businesses, I’m 70 years old, I’ve never seen one I thought was even within hailing distance of objective truth. If you want to talk about the power of incentives and the power of rationalized, terrible behavior, after the Defense Department had had enough experience with cost-plus percentage of cost contracts, the reaction of our republic was to make it a crime for the federal government to write one, and not only a crime, but a felony.

And by the way, the government’s right, but a lot of the way the world is run, including most law firms and a lot of other places, they’ve still got a cost-plus percentage of cost system. And human nature, with its version of what I call incentive-caused bias, causes this terrible abuse. And many of the people who are doing it you would be glad to have married into your family compared to what you’re otherwise going to get.

Now there are huge implications from the fact that the human mind is put together this way, and that is that people who create things like cash registers, which make most behavior hard, are some of the effective saints of our civilization. And the cash register was a great moral instrument when it was created. And Patterson knew that, by the way. He had a little store, and the people were stealing him blind and never made any money, and people sold him a couple of cash registers and it went to profit immediately.

And, of course, he closed the store and went into the cash register business. With results which are … And so this is a huge, important thing. If you read the psychology texts, you will find that if they’re 1,000 pages long, there’s one sentence. Somehow incentive-caused bias has escaped the standard survey course in psychology.

Fourth, and this is a superpower in error-causing psychological tendency, bias from consistency and commitment tendency, including the tendency to avoid or promptly resolve cognitive dissonance. Includes the self-confirmation tendency of all conclusions, particularly expressed conclusions, and with a special persistence for conclusions that are hard-won.

Well, what I’m saying here is that the human mind is a lot like the human egg, and the human egg has a shut-off device. When one sperm gets in, it shuts down so the next one can’t get in. The human mind has a big tendency of the same sort. And here again, it doesn’t just catch ordinary mortals, it catches the deans of physics. According to Max Planck, the really innovative, important new physics was never really accepted by the old guard.

Instead, a new guard came along that was less brain-blocked by its previous conclusions. And if Max Planck’s crowd had this consistency and commitment tendency that kept their old inclusions intact in spite of disconfirming evidence, you can imagine what the crowd that you and I are part of behaves like.

And of course, if you make public disclosure of your conclusion, you’re pounding it into your own head. Many of these students that are screaming at us, you know, they aren’t convincing us, but they’re forming mental change for themselves because what they’re shouting out they’re pounding in. And I think educational institutions that create a climate where too much of that goes on are in a fundamental sense, they’re irresponsible institutions. It’s very important to not put your brain in chains too young by what you shout out.

And all these things like painful qualifying and initiation rituals, all those things, pound in your commitments and your ideas. The Chinese brainwashing system, which was for war prisoners, was way better than anybody else’s. They maneuvered people into making tiny little commitments and declarations, and then they’d slowly build. That worked way better than torture.

Sixth. Bias from Pavlovian association, misconstruing past correlation as a reliable basis for decision-making. I never took a course in psychology, or economics either for that matter, but I did learn about Pavlov in high school biology. And the way they taught it, you know, so the dog salivated when the bell rang. So what? Nobody made the least effort to tie that to the wide world. Well, the truth of the matter is that Pavlovian association is an enormously powerful psychological force in the daily life of all of us. And, indeed, in economics we wouldn’t have money without the role of so-called secondary reinforcement, which is a pure psychological phenomenon demonstrated in the laboratory.

Practically, I’d say 3/4 of advertising works on pure Pavlov. Think how association, pure association, works. Take Coca-Cola company we’re the biggest share-holder. They want to be associated with every wonderful image, heroics in the Olympics, wonderful music, you name it. They don’t want to be associated with Presidents’ funerals and so forth. When have you seen a Coca-Cola ad, and the association really works.

And all these psychological tendencies work largely or entirely on a subconscious level, which makes them very insidious. Now you’ve got Persian messenger syndrome. The Persians really did kill the messenger who brought the bad news. You think that is dead? I mean you should’ve seen Bill Paley in his last 20 years. He didn’t hear one damn thing he didn’t want to hear. People knew that it was bad for the messenger to bring Bill Paley things he didn’t want to hear. Well that means that the leader gets in a cocoon of unreality, and this is a great big enterprise, and boy, did he make some dumb decisions in the last 20 years.

And now the Persian messenger syndrome is alive and well. When I saw, some years ago, Arco and Exxon arguing over a few hundred millions of ambiguity in their North Slope treaties before a superior court judge in Texas, with armies of lawyers and experts on each side. Now this is a Mad Hatter’s tea party, two engineering-style companies can’t resolve some ambiguity without spending tens of millions of dollars in some Texas superior court? In my opinion, what happens is that nobody wants to bring the bad news to the executives up the line. But here’s a few hundred million dollars you thought you had that you don’t. And it’s much safer to act like the Persian messenger who goes away to hide rather than bring home the news of the battle lost.

Talking about economics, you get a very interesting phenomenon that I’ve seen over and over again in a long life. You’ve got two products, suppose they’re complex, technical products. Now you’d think, under the laws of economics, that if product A costs X, if product Y costs X minus something, it will sell better than if it sells at X plus something, but that’s not so. In many cases when you raise the price of the alternative products, it’ll get a larger market share than it would when you make it lower than your competitor’s product.

That’s because the bell, a Pavlovian bell, I mean ordinarily there’s a correlation between price and value, then you have an information inefficiency. And so when you raise the price, the sales go up relative to your competitor. That happens again and again and again. It’s a pure Pavlovian phenomenon. You can say, “Well, the economists have figured this sort of thing out when they started talking about information inefficiencies,” but that was fairly late in economics that they found such an obvious thing. And, of course, most of them don’t ask what causes the information inefficiencies.

Well, one of the things that cause it is pure old Pavlov and his dog. Now you’ve got bios from Skinnerian association, operant conditioning, you know, where you give the dog a reward and pound in the behavior that preceded the dog’s getting the award. And, of course, Skinner was able to create superstitious pigeons by having the rewards come by accident with certain occurrences, and, of course, we all know people who are the human equivalents of superstitious pigeons. That’s a very powerful phenomenon. And, of course, operant conditioning really works. I mean the people in the center who think that operant conditioning is important are very much right, it’s just that Skinner overdid it a little.

Where you see in business just perfectly horrible results from psychologically rooted tendencies is in accounting. If you take Westinghouse, which blew, what, two or three billion dollars pre-tax at least loaning developers to build hotels, and virtually 100% loans? Now you say any idiot knows that if there’s one thing you don’t like it’s a developer, and another you don’t like it’s a hotel.

And to make a 100% loan to a developer who’s going to build a hotel. But this guy, he probably was an engineer or something, and he didn’t take psychology any more than I did, and he got out there in the hands of these slick salesmen operating under their version of incentive-caused bias, where any damned way of getting Westinghouse to do it was considered normal business, and they just blew it.

That would never have been possible if the accounting system hadn’t been such but for the initial phase of every transaction it showed wonderful financial results. So people who have loose accounting standards are just inviting perfectly horrible behavior in other people. And it’s a sin, it’s an absolute sin. If you carry bushel baskets full of money through the ghetto, and made it easy to steal, that would be a considerable human sin, because you’d be causing a lot of bad behavior, and the bad behavior would spread. Similarly, an institution that gets sloppy accounting commits a real human sin, and it’s also a dumb way to do business, as Westinghouse has so wonderfully proved.

Oddly enough nobody mentions, at least nobody I’ve seen, what happened with Joe Jett and Kidder Peabody. The truth of the matter is the accounting system was such that by punching a few buttons, the Joe Jetts of the world could show profits, and profits that showed up in things that resulted in rewards and esteem and every other thing that human being. Well, the Joe Jetts are always with us, and they’re not really to blame, in my judgment at least. But that bastard who created that foolish accounting system who, so far as I know, has not been flayed alive, ought to be.

Seventh. Bias from reciprocation tendency, including the tendency of one on a roll to act as other persons expect. Well here, again, Cialdini does a magnificent job at this, and you’re all going to be given a copy of Cialdini’s book. And if you have half as much sense as I think you do, you will immediately order copies for all of your children and several of your friends. You will never make a better investment.

It is so easy to be a patsy for what he calls the compliance practitioners of this life. But, at any rate, reciprocation tendency is a very, very powerful phenomenon, and Cialdini demonstrated this by running around campus, and he asked people to take juvenile delinquents to the zoo. And it was a campus, and so one in six actually agreed to do it. And after he’d accumulated a statistical output he went around on the same campus and he asked other people, he said, “Gee, would you devote two afternoons a week to taking juvenile delinquents somewhere and suffering greatly yourself to help them,” and there he got 100% of the people to say no.

But after he’d made the first request, he backed off a little, and he said, “Would you at least take them to the zoo one afternoon?” He raised the compliance rate from a third to a half. He got three times the success by just going through the little ask-for-a-lot-and-back-off.

Now if the human mind, on a subconscious level, can be manipulated that way and you don’t know it, I always use the phrase, “You’re like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.” I mean you are really giving a lot of quarter to the external world that you can’t afford to give. And on this so-called role theory, where you tend to act in the way that other people expect, and that’s reciprocation if you think about the way society is organized.

A guy named Zimbardo had people at Stanford divide into two pieces, one were the guards and the other were the prisoners, and they started acting out roles as people expected. He had to stop the experiment after about five days. He was getting into human misery and breakdown and pathological behavior. I mean it was awesome. However, Zimbardo is greatly misinterpreted. It’s not just reciprocation tendency and role theory that caused that, it’s consistency and commitment tendency. Each person, as he acted as a guard or a prisoner, the action itself was pounding in the idea.

Wherever you turn, this consistency and commitment tendency is affecting you. In other words, what you think may change what you do, but perhaps even more important, what you do will change what you think. And you can say, “Everybody knows that.” I want to tell you I didn’t know it well enough early enough.

Eight. Now, this is a lollapalooza, and Henry Kaufman wisely talked about this, bias from over-influence by social proof, that is, the conclusions of others, particularly under conditions of natural uncertainty and stress. And here, one of the cases the psychologists use is Kitty Genovese, where all these people, I don’t know, 50, 60, 70 of them just sort of sat and did nothing while she was slowly murdered. Now one of the explanations is that everybody looked at everybody else and nobody else was doing anything, and so there’s automatic social proof that the right thing to do is nothing.

That’s not a good enough explanation for Kitty Genovese, in my judgment. That’s only part of it. There are microeconomic ideas and gain/loss ratios and so forth that also come into play. I think time and time again, in reality, psychological notions and economic notions interplay, and the man who doesn’t understand both is a damned fool.

Big-shot businessmen get into these waves of social proof. Do you remember some years ago when one oil company bought a fertilizer company, and every other major oil company practically ran out and bought a fertilizer company? And there was no more damned reason for all these oil companies to buy fertilizer companies, but they didn’t know exactly what to do, and if Exxon was doing it, it was good enough for Mobil, and vice versa. I think they’re all gone now, but it was a total disaster.

Now let’s talk about efficient market theory, a wonderful economic doctrine that had a long vogue in spite of the experience of Berkshire Hathaway. In fact one of the economists who won, he shared a Nobel Prize, and as he looked at Berkshire Hathaway year after year, which people would throw in his face as saying maybe the market isn’t quite as efficient as you think, he said, “Well, it’s a two-sigma event.” And then he said we were a three-sigma event. And then he said we were a four-sigma event. And he finally got up to six sigmas, better to add a sigma than change a theory, just because the evidence comes in differently. And, of course, when this share of a Nobel Prize went into money management himself, he sank like a stone.

If you think about the doctrines I’ve talked about, namely, one, the power of reinforcement, after all, you do something and the market goes up and you get paid and rewarded and applauded and what have you, meaning a lot of reinforcement, if you make a bet on a market and the market goes with you. Also, there’s social proof. I mean the prices on the market are the ultimate form of social proof, reflecting what other people think, and so the combination is very powerful.

Why would you expect general market levels to always be totally efficient, say even in 1973, 4 at the pit, or in 1972 or whatever it was when the Nifty Fifty were in their heyday. If these psychological notions are correct, you would expect some waves of irrationality, which carry general levels to … ’til they’re inconsistent with the reason.

Nine. What made these economists love the efficient-market theory is the math was so elegant, and after all, math was what they’d learned to do. To the man with a hammer, every problem tends to look pretty much like a nail. The alternative truth was a little messy, and they’d forgotten the great economist Keynes, whom I think said, “Better to be roughly right than precisely wrong.”

Nine. Bias from contrast caused distortions of sensation, perception, and cognition. Here the great experiment that Cialdini does in his class is he takes three buckets of water. One’s hot, one’s cold, and one’s room temperature. And he has the student stick his left hand in the hot water and his right hand in the cold water. Then he has them remove the hands and put them both in the room temperature bucket, and of course with both hands in the same bucket of water, one seems hot, and the other seems cold because the sensation apparatus of man is over-influenced by contrast. It has no absolute scale. It’s got a contrast scale in it, and it’s scale with quantum effects in it, too. It takes a certain percentage change before it’s noticed.

Maybe you’ve had a magician remove your watch, I certainly have, without your noticing it. It’s the same thing. He’s taking advantage of your contrast type troubles and your sensory apparatus. But here the great truth is that cognition mimics sensation, and the cognition manipulators mimic the watch-removing magician. In other words, people are manipulating you all day long on this contrast phenomenon.

Cialdini cites the case of the real estate broker. You’ve got the rube that’s been transferred into your town, and the first thing you do is you take the rube out to two of the most awful over-priced houses you’ve ever seen, and then you take the rube to some moderately over-priced house and then you stick ’em. And it works pretty well, which is why the real estate salesmen do it. It’s always gonna work.

And the accidents of life can do this to you, and it can ruin your life. In my generation when women lived at home until they got married, I saw some perfectly terrible marriages made by highly desirable women because they lived in terrible homes. And I’ve seen some terrible second marriages, which were made because they were slight improvements over an even worse first marriage.

You think you’re immune from these things, and you laugh, and I wanna tell you you aren’t. My favorite analogy, I can’t vouch for the accuracy of. I have this worthless friend I like to Bridge with, and he’s a total intellectual amateur that lives on inherited money. But he told me once something I really enjoyed hearing. He said, “Charlie,” he says, “If you throw a frog into very hot water, the frog will jump out. But if you put the frog in room temperature water and just slowly heat the water up, the frog will die there.”

Now I don’t know whether that’s true about a frog, but it’s sure as hell true about many of the businessmen I know, and there again, it is the contrast phenomenon.

These are hot-shot high-powered people. These are not fools. If it comes to you in small pieces, you’re likely to miss, so you have to … if you’re gonna be a person of good judgment, you have to do something about this warp in your head where it’s so misleading by mere contrast.

Bias from over-influence by authority. Well, here the Milgram experiment is it’s caused … I think there have been 1600 psychological papers written about Milgram. He had a person posing as an authority figure trick ordinary people into giving what they had every reason to expect was heavy torture by an electric shock to perfectly innocent fellow citizens. And the experiment has been … he was trying to show why Hitler succeeded and a few other things. So it has really caught the fancy of the world. Partly it’s so politically correct and …

Over-influence by authority has another very … you’ll like this one. You got a pilot and a co-pilot. The pilot is the authority figure. They don’t do this in airplanes, but they’ve done it in simulators. They have the pilot do something where the co-pilot who’s been trained in simulators a long time. He knows he’s not to allow the plane to crash. They have the pilot to do something where an idiot co-pilot would know the plane was gonna crash, but the pilot’s doing it, and the co-pilot is sitting there, and the pilot is the authority figure. 25% of the time, the plane crashes. This is a very powerful psychological tendency.

It’s not quite as powerful as some people think, and I’ll get to that later.

11. Bias from Deprival Super Reaction Syndrome, including bias caused by present or threatened scarcity, including threatened removal of something almost possessed but never possessed. Here I took the Munger dog, a lovely harmless dog. The one way, the only way to get that dog to bite you was to try and take something out of its mouth after it was already there.

Any of you who’ve tried to do take-aways in labor negotiations will know the human version of that dog is there in all of us. I had a neighbor, a predecessor, on a little island where I have a house, and his next-door neighbor put a little pine tree in that was about three feet high, and it turned his 180-degree view of the harbor into 179 and three-quarters. Well, they had a blood feud like the Hatfields and McCoys, and it went on and on and on. People are really crazy about minor decrements down.

Then if you act on them, you get into reciprocation tendency because you don’t just reciprocate affection, you reciprocate animosity. And the whole thing can escalate, and so huge insanities can come from just subconsciously over-weighing the importance of what you’re losing or almost getting and not getting.

The extreme business cake here was New Coke. Now Coca-Cola has the most valuable trademark in the world. We’re the major shareholder. I think we understand that trademark. Coke has armies of brilliant engineers, lawyers, psychologists, advertising executives, and so forth. And they had a trademark on a flavor, and they’d spent better part of 100 years getting people to believe that trademark had all these intangible values, too. And people associate it with a flavor, so they were gonna tell people not that it was improved ’cause you can’t improve a flavor. If a flavor’s a matter of taste, you may improve a detergent or something, but telling you’re gonna make a major change in a flavor, I mean … So they got this huge Deprival Super Reaction Syndrome.

Pepsi was within weeks of coming out with Old Coke in a Pepsi bottle, which would have been the biggest fiasco in modern times. Perfect, pluperfect insanity. And by the way, both Goizueta and Keough are just wonderful about it. They just joke. They don’t … Keough always says I must’ve been away on vacation. He participated in every single … he’s a wonderful guy. And by the way, Goizueta’s a wonderful, smart guy, an engineer.

Smart people make these terrible blunders. How can you not understand Deprival Super Reaction Syndrome? But people do not react symmetrically to loss and gain. Now maybe a great Bridge player like Zeckhauser does, but that’s a trained response. Ordinary people subconsciously affected by their inborn tendencies.

Bias from envy/jealousy. Well, envy/jealousy made what, two out of the 10 commandments. Those of you who’ve raised siblings or tried to run a law firm or investment bank or even a faculty. I’ve heard Warren say a half a dozen times, “It’s not greed that drives the world but envy.”

Here again, you go through the psychology survey courses. You go to the index: envy, jealousy. In a thousand-page book, it’s blank! There are some blind spots in academia. But it’s an enormously powerful thing, and it operates to a considerable extent at a subconscious level, and anybody who doesn’t understand it is taking on defects he shouldn’t have.

Bias from chemical dependency. Well, we don’t have to talk about that. We’ve all seen so much of it, but it’s interesting how it always causes moral breakdown if there’s any need, and it always involves massive denial. It aggravates what we talked about earlier in the aviator case, the tendency to distort reality so that it’s endurable.

Bias from gambling compulsion. Well here, Skinner made the only explanation you’ll find in the standard psychology survey course. He, of course, created a variable reinforcement rate for his pigeons, his mice, and he found that that would pound in the behavior better than any other enforcement pattern. He says, “Ah ha! I’ve explained why gambling is such a powerful, addictive force in civilization.” I think that is, to a very considerable extent, true, but being Skinner, he seemed to think that was the only explanation.

The truth of the matter is the devisers of these modern machines and techniques know a lot of things that Skinner didn’t know. For instance, a lottery … you have a lottery where you get your number by lot and then somebody draws a number by lot? It gets lousy play. You get a lottery where people get to pick their number, get big play. Again, it’s this consistency and commitment thing. People think that if they’ve committed to it, it has to be good. The minute they’ve picked it themselves, it gets an extra validity. After all, they thought it and they acted on it.

Then if you take slot machines, you get bar, bar, lemon. It happens again and again and again. You get all these near misses. Well, that’s Deprival Super Reaction Syndrome, and boy do the people who create the machines understand human psychology.

And for the high IQ crowd, they’ve got poker machines where you make choices, so you can play blackjack, so to speak, with the machine. It’s wonderful what we’ve done with our computers to ruin civilization.

But anyway, this gambling compulsion is a very, very powerful important thing. Look at what’s happening to our country. Every Indian reservation, every river town, and look at the people who are ruined with the aid of their stockbrokers and others.

Again, if you look in the standard textbook of psychology, you’ll find practically nothing on it except maybe one sentence talking about Skinner’s rats. That is not adequate coverage of the subject.

Bias from liking distortion, including the tendency to especially like oneself, one’s own kind, and one’s own idea structures, and the tendency to be especially susceptible to being misled by someone liked.

Disliking distortion. Bias from that. The reciprocal of liking distortion and the tendency not to learn appropriately from someone disliked. Well, here again, we’ve got hugely powerful tendencies, and if you look at the wars in part of the Harvard Law School as we sit here, you can see those very brilliant people get into this almost pathological behavior, and these are very, very powerful, basic, subconscious, psychological tendencies or at least partly subconscious.

Now let’s get back to B.F. Skinner, man with a hammer syndrome revisited. Why is man with a hammer syndrome always present? Well if you stop to think about it, incentive caused bias. His professional reputation is all tied up with what he knows. He likes himself, and he likes his own ideas, and he’s expressed them to other people, consistency and commitment tendency. I mean you’ve got four or five of these elementary psychological tendencies combining to create this man with a hammer syndrome.

Once you realize that you can’t really buy your thinking down. Partly you can, but largely you can’t in this world. You’ve learned a lesson that’s very useful in life. George Bernard Shaw said, and a character say in The Doctor’s Dilemma, “In the last analysis, every profession is a conspiracy against the laity.” But he didn’t have it quite right because it’s not so much conspiracy as it is a subconscious, psychological tendency.

The guy tells you what is good for him, and he doesn’t recognize that he’s doing anything wrong any more than that doctor did when he was pulling out all those normal gallbladders. He believed that his own idea structures will cure cancer, and he believed that the demons that he’s the guardian against are the biggest demons and the most important ones. And in fact, they may be very small demons compared to the demons that you face. So you’re getting your advice in this world from your paid advisor with this huge load of ghastly bias. And woe to you!

And only two ways to handle it. You can hire your advisor and then just apply a windage factor like I used to do when I was a rifle shooter. I’d just adjust for so many miles an hour wind. Or you can learn the basic elements of your advisor’s trade. You don’t have to learn very much, by the way, because if you learn just a little and you can make him explain why he’s right. And those two tendencies will take part of the warp out of the thinking you’ve tried to hire down.

By and large, it works terribly. I have never seen a management consultant’s report in my long life that didn’t end with the following paragraph: “What this situation really needs is more management consulting.” Never once! I always turn to the last page. Of course, Berkshire Hathaway doesn’t hire them, so … I only do this in sort of a lawyer-istic basis. Sometimes I’m in a nonprofit where some idiot hires one.

17. Bias from the non-mathematical nature of the human brain in its natural state as it deals with probabilities employing crude heuristics and is often mislead by mere contrast. The tendency to overweigh conveniently available information and other psychological rooted mis-thinking tendencies on this list when the brain should be using the simple probability mathematics of Fermat and Pascal, applied to all reasonably attainable and correctly weighted items of information that are of value in predicting outcomes. The right way to think is the way Zeckhauser plays Bridge. It’s just that simple.

And your brain doesn’t naturally know how to think the way Zeckhauser knows to play Bridge. Now you notice I put in that availability thing, and there I’m mimicking some very eminent psychologists … Tversky, who raised the idea of availability to a whole heuristic of misjudgment.

You know, they are very substantially right. Ask the Coca-Cola company, which has raised availability to a secular religion, if availability changes behavior. You’ll drink a hell of a lot more Coke if it’s always available. Availability does change behavior and cognition.

Nonetheless, even though I recognize that and applaud Tversky, Kahneman, I don’t like it for my personal system except as part of a greater subsystem, which is you gotta think the way Zeckhauser plays Bridge. It isn’t just the lack of availability that distorts your judgment. All the things on this list distort judgment. And I wanna train myself to mentally run down the list instead of just jumping on availability. So that’s why I state it the way I do.

In a sense, these psychological tendencies make things unavailable ’cause if you quickly jump to one thing and then because you’ve jumped to it, the consistency and commitment tendency makes you lock in, boom, it’s there. Number one.

Or if something is very vivid, which I’m going to come to next, that will really pound in. And the reason that the thing that really matters is now unavailable and what’s extra vivid wins is … the extra vividness creates the unavailability. So I think it’s much better to have a whole list of things that cause you to be less like Zeckhauser than it is just to jump on one factor.

Here, I think we should discuss John Gutfreund. This is a very interesting human example, which will be taught in every decent professional school for at least a full generation. Gutfreund has a trusted employee, and it comes to light not through confession but by accident that the trusted employee has lied like hell to the government and manipulated the accounting system and was really the equivalent to forgery. The man immediately says, “I’ve never done it before. I’ll never do it again. It was an isolated example.” Of course, it was obvious that he was trying to help the government as well as himself ’cause he thought the government had been dumb enough to pass a rule that he’d spoken against. And after all, if a government’s not gonna pay attention to a bond trader at Salomon, what kind of a government can it be?

At any rate, and this guy has been part of a little clique that has made way over a billion dollars for Salomon in the very recent past, and it’s a little handful of people. So there are a lot of psychological forces at work. You know the guy’s wife, he’s right in front of you, and there’s human sympathy, and he’s sort of asking for your help, which is the form which encourages reciprocation, and there are all these psychological tendencies are working. Plus the fact he’s part of a group that has made a lot of money for you.

At any rate, Gutfreund does not cashier the man, and of course, he had done it before, and he did do it again. Well now you look as though you almost wanted him to do it again or God knows what you look like, but it isn’t good. And that simple decision destroyed John Gutfreund.

It’s so easy to do. Now let’s think it through like the Bridge player, like Zeckhauser. You find an isolated example of a little old lady in the See’s candy company, one of our subsidiaries, getting into the till, and what does she say? “I never did it before. I’ll never do it again. This is gonna ruin my life. Please help me.” And you know her children and her friends, and she’s been around 30 years and standing behind the candy counter with swollen ankles. In your old age, isn’t that glorious a life? And you’re rich and powerful and there she is. “I never did it before, and I will never do it again.”

Well, how likely is it that she never did it before? If you’re gonna catch ten embezzlements a year, what are the chances that any one of them, applying what Tversky and Kahneman called baseline information, will be somebody who only did it this once? And the people who have done it before and are gonna do it again, what are they all gonna say?

Well in the history of the See’s candy company, they always say, “I never did it before, and I’m never gonna do it again.” And we cashier them. It would be evil not to because terribly behavior spreads. … You let that stuff … you’ve got social proof, you’ve got incentive caused bias, you got a whole lotta psychological factors that will cause the evil behavior to spread, and pretty soon the whole damn … your place is rotten, the civilization is rotten. It’s not the right way to behave, and …

I will admit that I have … when I knew the wife and children, I have paid severance pay when I fire somebody, for taking a mistress on a extended foreign trip. It’s not the adultery I mind. It’s embezzlement. But there, I wouldn’t do it where Gutfreund did it, where they’d been cheating somebody else on my behalf. There I think you have to cashier, but if they’re just stealing from you and you get rid of them, I don’t think you need the last ounce of vengeance. In fact, I don’t think you need any vengeance. I don’t think vengeance is much good.

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