#back to the scribbly scratchy style we go | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

7-wonders · 6 years ago

Text

From the Desk Of...

Summary: The mandatory class you’re forced to take this semester is enough to make you consider dropping out of college. The only thing that makes it bearable is your teacher: Professor Duncan Shepherd. He’s smart, handsome, witty, and, not to mention, twenty years your senior.

Word Count: 5500 (I am so sorry)

A/N: So I’m totally going to hell for this. Cannot believe my longest oneshot on here is now an older!professor!Duncan fic. You’ll recognize the first part of this from a blurb I wrote a couple of weeks ago. Anyways, warnings for age gap, questionable place to have sex, sex, student-teacher relationship, mentions of cum, daddy kink, yeah that’s it.

Political science was not something that interested you at all, nor was it something that was even remotely related to your major. Your college made it a requirement that students take at least one class not related to their major, and unfortunately for you, the only class that fit your schedule this semester was American Politics. And boy, is it a boring class. You could be learning something that you actually care about, furthering your education and gaining new skills to use in your intended career. Instead, you’re stuck sitting in a classroom for fifty minutes a day, three days a week, being forced to learn about the Framers and how it relates to politics today. The only thing that makes the class bearable is him.

Professor Duncan Shepherd is incredibly smart, enigmatic, witty, and not to mention extremely attractive. He’s tall, with a pair of piercing blue eyes that easily pin you to your seat whenever he glances your way. Sometimes you have to physically hold yourself back from running your hands through his perfectly-styled chestnut hair, and you’ve spent countless hours imagining how his salt and pepper beard would feel against your inner thighs. How cliche, right? You have a crush on your professor. Your older professor, at that.

Yes, you had Googled him, but that was before your first class with him! Who doesn’t look up their professors on the internet to make sure they’ve got good reviews? Instead of finding out on Rate My Professor that he graded really harshly or enjoyed debates about the Constitution (or whatever the fuck political science professors get excited about), you learned that the 40-year-old perpetual bachelor had taken a job teaching college students as a part of his plea deal after some scandal that had happened when you were a kid. Apparently he really enjoyed it, and left Washington’s inner circle to teach full-time.

Mr. Shepherd, in addition to being one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen, is also a damn good teacher. He was passionate, and believed that his students’ ideas were valid and just as good as his. Although the subject of political science didn’t interest you, the debates that you could hold with Mr. Shepherd about any political subject are some of the highlights of your week. You still can’t look at him for too long without turning red and having to look away, but you’re working on it. It’s only been a month, and hopefully soon you’ll be over this childish crush.

As you make your way to Mr. Shepherd’s office, you keep repeating over and over again in your head that you’re “over this little crush.” It’s not like you had wanted to be alone with him in his office, but the current essay you’re working on is kicking your ass. With the due date looming closer everyday, you decided it’s time to finally swallow your nerves and ask for help from your professor.

“Mr. Shepherd?” You ask, slipping in past his slightly-open office door. His office is exactly how you thought it would be: classy, scholarly, and organized. He looks up from his computer, and your heart skips a beat at the thick black frames perched on his strong nose.

“(Y/N), come in. Close the door behind you, please.” He smiles at you, and you have to bite back the urge to run out the way that you came in.

“Oh-uh, okay.” You stutter, lightly closing the door.

“We can keep it open if you’d like, I just prefer to have it closed when I’m meeting with students.” Duncan chuckles. You don’t notice the way that he bites his lip when he sees your face going bright red, or how his eyes linger on the swell of your ass when you go to close the door.

“No, that’s fine!” You gratefully sit in the chair opposite his desk, thankful to not be supporting yourself on your shaky legs. Unizpping your backpack, you busy yourself with grabbing your laptop so you don’t have to look him in the eye.

How disgusting, Duncan chides himself when he can’t stop staring at you. Having a crush on your student? Of all the creepy things you’ve done, this has to top the list. She’s twenty years younger than you! She could be your daughter!

He tries to reason with himself, but the thought of the age gap only makes his attraction for you grow. Duncan can already feel himself swelling inside his slacks, and he grits his teeth and tries to think about the weather instead.

“So, you had mentioned in your email that you’re having a little trouble with writing your midterm paper?” He clears his throat, taking his glasses off so he can better see your (beautiful) face.

“Yeah, I just-I have my thesis statement, but that’s basically the only thing I have. I have no clue what sources to use to support it.”

Duncan nods, relieved that this is something he can use to distract himself. Gesturing for you to put the laptop on his desk, you both fall into the complexities of writing a good essay. Even after he helps you find sources that would fit well with your paper, you don’t leave. Instead the conversation shifts, easily changing from schoolwork to news from today.

You’re very smart, Duncan notices. He’s known that you’re smart; your tests and papers have proved as much. But the way that you talk, your ideas and viewpoints, rival the intelligence of many of his colleagues and friends. Soon enough, two hours have passed since you first set foot into his office. The sky has long-since darkened, and neither of you realize how late it is until Duncan glances at the clock.

“I apologize, (Y/N). I kept you here far later than you had probably intended to be here.” You smile bashfully, looking down at your hands, and Duncan’s own heart skips a beat at the sight.

“Oh that’s fine, Mr. Shepherd. If I hadn’t been here, I’m sure I would have just been back at my dorm.”

“Please, call me Duncan.” Your eyes widen, and you look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Funny, I specifically remember you telling everybody that you were only to be called ‘Mr. Shepherd’ and nothing else.”

Duncan has a split-second to decide on what to say and do. He could lie, tell you that he only lets students who actually put an effort into his class call him Duncan. Or he could tell you the truth, that he likes you (but just conveniently leave out the part where it’s more than platonic). He makes his decision, and sends out a prayer to whatever’s out there that it’s the right one.

“That’s true, I did say that. But you, (Y/N), can call me Duncan.” A deep blush paints your cheeks, and Duncan has to bite back a groan at the angelic sight.

“O-okay…Duncan.”

“My name’s never sounded as nice as it does coming out of your mouth.” The words slip past Duncan’s inner filter before he can even think, and his heart sinks when you gasp. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Is that what you like? You like it when I say your name, Duncan?” Duncan’s eyes are the size of saucers, and they darken a shade as he stares at you. It doesn’t help that you look so goddamn innocent, looking up at him through your lashes and just barely holding back a smile.

The next few moments pass by in a blur. You stare each other down, both silently asking the other if they’re feeling the same feelings. Suddenly, Duncan surges over the desk and grabs your face in his large hands. If you thought that the kisses you’ve had before were good, the one that you’re currently sharing with Duncan cannot even compare. He’s extremely skilled, his tongue working your mouth open and exploring every inch of you. You can’t help but to groan loudly, finally getting to tangle your hands in his beautiful hair.

When you both realize the taboo of your actions, a teacher kissing his much-younger student and vice versa, you spring apart.

“Oh my god, we shouldn’t have done that! I’m so sorry!” You apologize profusely, lips swollen and face flustered. Duncan only smirks at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What, you didn’t want that?”

“No, I did, but it’s so wrong! I just-I need to go.” Duncan didn’t think it was possible for you to blush more, but your face gets redder in embarrassment as you start throwing your things in your bag. Yanking a spare sheet of paper out, you scribble something on it and fold it up before throwing it on his desk. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Shepherd.” You squeak, slamming the door behind you.

Duncan sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he thinks about what just happened. He almost starts to regret making a move on you until he picks up the paper you had thrown on his desk. A grin spreads across his face when he realizes what you wrote down: your phone number.

Stupid. What a stupid, stupid, stupid move move on your part. Not only did you kiss your much-older professor and run away right after, but you also decided to leave your phone number on his desk! Who does that? You do, apparently, but that’s not the point right now. The fact that you feel sad when you periodically check your phone through the rest of the night, only to see no notifications from Mr. Shepherd--no, Duncan--mildly sickens you. You’re really that cliche girl who gets a crush on her teacher now. What makes you think that he even wants a college student? You’re sure that there’s plenty of beautiful men and women his own age who throw themselves at him. Tossing and turning all night, you can still feel his scratchy beard and full lips against your own.

The next day, you’re considering just skipping Duncan’s class. It’s a Friday, after all, and you’ve been really good at making an effort to show up to classes this semester instead of skipping. Skipping one day of class surely wouldn’t hurt your grade, but it would also just prove that you really are a coward who couldn’t handle having shared a kiss with an older man. So, no matter how much you’re dreading the next hour, you still get ready and trudge towards Political Science.

It’s a small miracle that Duncan’s talking to another student when you slink through the door, making it impossible for him to try and talk to you. You take your seat in the middle of the room, immediately opening up your laptop and making it look like you’re busy with some sort of work. You’re actually not, the Buzzfeed quizzes on your screen acting as a dead giveaway, but you’ll do anything right now to avoid having to look into his eyes. Even though you’re not looking at him, you can still feel the exact moment that his eyes lock onto you. Your shoulders stiffen when that familiar electric feeling courses through your body, the source of it all able to pick you apart and put you back together with a simple glance. Thankfully, class starts before he has a chance to approach you, forcing Duncan to stand at the front of the room and give his lecture.

The lecture today is actually mildly interesting, and the class passes by quickly. You’re not quite sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but you decide you’ll figure it out once you get out of class without having to interact with Duncan. Throwing your coat on, you slide your backpack over your shoulders and keep your head down while you power towards the door.

“(Y/N).” A commanding voice has you stopping in your tracks right before you can reach the door. Your classmates file around you, obviously miffed that you’re blocking the exit. Turning around slowly, you force a smile on your face and head to the teacher’s desk.

“Yes, Mr. Shepherd?” You ask quietly, picking at your nail instead of looking up at him.

“I know we ran out of time yesterday before you finished requiring my help on your paper,” you’re mildly confused for a moment before you hear the coughing of a student standing behind you who also has a question, “so if you’re available today and you still have some questions, you’re more than welcome to stop by my office after four. Alright?”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Mr. Shepherd.” You look up at him, automatically blushing when your eyes meet his, before hurrying out the door.

Although you’re tempted to lurk around campus, it’s only two o’clock. If you do decide to take Duncan up on his offer, you want to at least get ready and wear something that isn’t a baggy college sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. Sitting on your bed at home, you stare at the wall while you think about what just happened.

Surely Duncan’s offer to ‘help you with your paper’ meant that he didn’t regret the events that happened last night, right? Unless...maybe he did regret it. Maybe he wants to speak to you and let you know that he’ll be failing you due to what occurred in his office. What if he reports you to the Dean for coming onto him like that? You were the one who teased him, after all, calling him by his first name and asking him what he ‘liked.’ The idea of getting in trouble for one stupid lapse in judgement makes your palms extremely sweaty and your chest tighten. The ever-increasing speed of your thoughts is interrupted by your phone chiming next to you.

‘I really do hope you take me up on my offer. I look forward to seeing you. -D’

You gasp in excitement, falling back on your bed and re-reading the text since your brain doesn’t want to believe that this is actually happening. There’s no doubt in your mind now that Duncan wanted last night just as much as you did, and if the same trains of thought apply tonight, you’re both expecting the same things. Opening up the middle drawer of your dresser and pushing past all of the t-shirts you sleep in, your hands drift over the silky materials at the bottom.

The lingerie had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. You had originally gone to Victoria’s Secret intending to just get some new panties (because who can pass up their semi-annual sale?), and had come across a pretty pink babydoll piece that had accidentally been placed with the wrong items. Something stopped you when you went to toss it to the side, making you pause and feel the fabric between your fingers. You had never owned a set of lingerie before; any of the boys you had even managed to make it to second base with, which is very few, cared less about what you were wearing and more about what was under your clothes. Still, the idea of lingerie intrigues you. Even if you don’t have a man to wear it for, just the thought of wearing such risque undergarments under your clothes while going about your regular day sounds exciting. Plus, sometimes a girl likes to feel sexy for herself.

In the end, you had bought three different sets: a sheer bra and panty set, the pink babydoll piece (which you wore to bed when you needed some self-esteem and self-love), and a lacy teddy. Although all of the pieces are different, they all make you feel sexy, powerful, and confident. But, that was always when you were wearing it just for you. No man had ever seen you in lingerie (jesus, had it really been that long since you got laid?), and the confidence that you normally feel in lingerie starts to be replaced with some doubt. Would Duncan like the lingerie or would he think it’s cheap; like some little girl trying to play dress-up?

You grab the bra and panties before you can change your mind, slipping them on and staring at yourself in the mirror to make sure you’ve got it on right. While you want to look nice for Duncan, you don’t want to look too nice. After a few minutes in front of your closet, you decide on a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt, a comfy cardigan completing the look. You’re not too pleased with your final outfit, but you know that if you don’t leave now, you’re never leaving.

“Now or never.” You mutter, swiping some chapstick on your lips and fixing your hair before walking out the door.

You deliberately wait to enter Duncan’s office until 4:05. Not too late, but also not early or on-time. Knocking politely, you wait a moment before opening his door.

“Mr. Shepherd?” You’re a little nervous that he’ll already have a student in here, but you only see him. Those glasses that somehow manage to make Duncan look even more distinguished are perched on his nose while he types away on his computer. Once you call his name he stands, closing the computer and placing his glasses on top.

“(Y/N), come in please.” You don’t need him to tell you to close the door this time, but he still walks out from behind his desk. “I’m glad that you decided to meet me.”

“Sorry if I was...uh, awkward...in class today.” You apologize sheepishly.

“That’s alright, I figured that’s how it would be. You did leave here very abruptly yesterday.”

When the blush spreads from your cheeks to your neck, Duncan can’t help but to smile. It’s endearing to him how utterly flustered you get when in his presence, all of your stuttering and blushing only making him want to take you in his arms and never let you go.

“Sorry about that.” You repeat.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, you did nothing wrong.” He chuckles. “Listen, before we do anything besides standing here and talking, I want to make sure that you are comfortable with this.”

“Yeah, I’m comfortable.” You nod your head jerkily, and Duncan frowns slightly.

“That was one of the most unconvincing answers I’ve heard in a while.” He teases you, if only to watch you flush and dip your head. “(Y/N), do you want this as much as I do?”

“I do want...whatever this is gonna be.” You still won’t look Duncan in the eyes for too long, so he takes your chin and lifts your head so you have no choice but to look at him.

“Why are you hiding from me, then?”

You shrug, but he can see that his touch has an immediate effect on you. Your eyes are dilated and your lips part to let shaky breaths out. You’re drawn in, subconsciously tilting your head to try and feel his touch on your cheek. Duncan can tell just how inexperienced you are. If you have had sex, it’s likely been with boys your own age, ones who only know how to fuck in missionary and cum within minutes. He doubts a boy has even made you cum before, which is a true shame. Duncan Shepherd, however, is not a boy.

He’s a man.

A man who can tell just how desperate you are to let go of control. A man who can tell that you want an older, more experienced man to teach you and guide you. A man who knows you want to be taken care of, and who wants to take care of you. A man who can help bring you intense pleasure, the likes of which you’ve never felt before.

Your bodies are drawn closer together while you look up at him with wide eyes, unintentionally batting your eyelashes towards him. The innocence that radiates off of you is enough to make Duncan already hard at the thought of all of the possibilities. He wants nothing more than to rip your clothes off and mark all up and down your body. He wants you on your knees, pretty mouth wide open while he paints your face with his seed. He wants to fuck you anywhere and everywhere, and to let everyone know that you’re his.

“Don’t be shy.” He whispers, leaning his face closer to yours.

This kiss is just as good, if not better than the one that you shared yesterday. Duncan pushes you against the door, tongue running against your bottom lip while you tangle your hands in his hair. He smirks against your lips when the stubble of his beard rubs against your cheek and makes you whine out. His hands are all over you, leaving trails of fire in their wake before they settle on your hips. Eventually you pull away for air, biting your lip when you see Duncan’s swollen lips.

“We should probably lock the door.”

You mutter, breathing deeply in an attempt to stop your head from spinning. Duncan nods, running his hand through his hair while he reaches around you to lock the door. The only window in his office is one that overlooks the science building, and the blinds on that have been closed since before you arrived. Duncan grabbing your hand pulls you out of your thoughts, as well as straight into his chest. Your hands fly up, landing against his solid muscle. When you look up at him, he’s staring at you with a look you’ve never seen someone have towards you--it’s more than attraction, and while there’s definitely lust, you can feel a softer emotion there too. His lips claim yours again for a moment, Duncan barely pulling back so he can speak.

“Jump.” He commands, large hands cupping your ass.

It’s impossible for you to ignore his request, and you wrap your legs around his waist while you take the lead and kiss him again. He walks towards what you’re assuming is his desk, not even needing to open his eyes to know where he’s going. His hair’s incredibly soft, you muse when you find your hands tangled in his locks once again. Duncan takes your distraction as an opportunity to seize control again, squeezing your ass harshly. When your mouth opens in a gasp he slips his tongue inside, expertly curling it around yours. He removes one of his hands from around you to sweep the papers off of his desk, leaving you momentarily impressed at his strength.

Once Duncan sets you down on the desk he pulls away, making you pout exaggeratedly. You slip your fingers into the top of his slacks, using his belt to pull him towards you. When your hands start to undo the buttons on his shirt, he gently takes your hands in his.

“What?” You ask, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“This is all about you. Let me take care of you, (Y/N).”

Duncan’s own hands find the hem of your shirt, gently pulling on it while he waits for your signal. The second you nod he’s pulling it over your head, a low groan forcing its way out of his throat at the sight. He’s entirely too eager when he unbuttons your jeans to pull them off of your legs, making you giggle. Duncan’s eyes rake over your body, and he takes a step back just so he can fully take in the sight.

“Matching bra and panties? You little minx! Did you do this for me, (Y/N)?”

“Do you like it?” Duncan can see how desperate you are for his approval, which makes his knees weak. He can’t help but to give you an approving kiss, nodding.

“Of course I do, princess.” He’s not really sure where the pet name comes from, but the moan you make after he calls you by it is all he needs to know. “You know I’m gonna have to take this pretty set off, though.”

“Do it, please.” You say softly in his ear, looping your arms around his neck.

Duncan easily unclasps your bra, removing your hands from him so that it can slide off of your arms. Once bare, you’re suddenly self-conscious: what if he doesn’t like what’s under the wrapping? When you try to slyly cross your arms over your chest, he catches on immediately.

“Don’t hide yourself from me.” His hands, which you’re quickly becoming infatuated with, gently pry your arms away from your chest. His intense gaze has you turning red again, but the open-mouthed kisses he starts laying on your neck and trailing down towards your chest erase any thoughts of self-consciousness from your mind.

“Duncan, I-” A broken moan cuts off what you were trying to say when he lightly bites down on the skin above your collarbone, sucking until he’s satisfied with the quickly-forming bruise.

He continues leaving bruises down your body, fingers tweaking and teasing your nipples. Your head is thrown back towards the ceiling while your hands grip the edge of his desk, hips bucking up while you attempt to gain some sort of friction. Duncan smirks against the swell of your breasts when he notices your impatience, lithe fingers ghosting against the top of your panties while he surges back up to kiss you. You lift yourself off of the desk for a moment, allowing Duncan to hook his fingers into your waistband and drag the fabric off of your body. Even though you’re completely exposed now, the hungry way he looks at you makes it impossible for you to feel shy.

“You’re beautiful, (Y/N).” He says, placing both hands on his thighs while he looks at you earnestly. You’re almost taken aback at the compliment; you’ve been called things like cute, hot, and pretty before, but never beautiful. A goofy smile pops onto your face, making Duncan chuckle softly. “You are.”

You didn’t need the reassurement, but it certainly doesn’t hurt to continuously be called beautiful by the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. You watch with rapt attention as Duncan sinks to his knees in front of you, using the hands on your thighs to spread your legs apart for him. He licks his lips when he sees your glistening cunt, once again looking up at you to make sure you’re okay with what he’s going to do. His head delves between your thighs when you let him know it’s okay, and you can’t help but to toss your head back when his lips attach around your clit.

You cry out, toes curling at the electricity sending shockwaves through your body immediately. When you manage to focus long enough to glance down, Duncan’s staring up at you intently, watching your facial expressions while he goes down on you. You’ve never even had anyone go down on you, much less a man as experienced as Duncan. His tongue curls around your bud while he alternates between sucking and drawing shapes. When Duncan’s fingers slip into your already soaking pussy, you have to throw a hand over your mouth to stifle the yell of his name. Stars explode across your vision as Duncan bites down on your clit, sending you hurtling off the edge and into your orgasm. You chant his name like a prayer, toes curling while you shake around him.

Duncan has to hold you up when you come down from your high, eyes unfocused and breathing erratically. He coos in your ear the entire time, telling you how you’re such a good girl for him and how you taste so sweet. You’ve barely recovered from the intensity of your orgasm before you’re reaching for his belt, leaning up to kiss the taste of yourself off of his mouth.

“You sure you can handle it?” Duncan looks at you in concern. One orgasm and you already look utterly fucked out which, while it’s certainly a pretty sight, he doesn’t want you to overdo it.

“Please Duncan, I need you inside me.” You whimper, fingers shaking too much to properly unbuckle his belt.

Duncan’s hands cover yours while he removes his belt for you, easily sliding his slacks down his legs and unbuttoning his shirt. He’s painfully hard against his briefs, and precum has caused a small spot to form on the front of them. You don’t even realize your hand darts out to grip his erection until Duncan hisses from the squeeze you give it. When he finally frees his cock, you stare in awe. Although not the longest you’ve ever seen, he’s incredibly thick, and the prominent vein on the side makes your mouth water.

“Are you ready?” Duncan asks. You nod, and huff out a groan when he still doesn’t move.

“Yes, I’m ready.” He’s satisfied at your answer, and kisses you deeply before pulling away.

Duncan pulls you to the very edge of the desk, placing one hand on your hip while he gives his cock a couple of quick strokes. He lines himself up with your entrance before pushing in slowly. You groan as he goes as slow as he possibly can, but you can tell it’s taking all that he has to keep from slamming himself into you. When he finally bottoms out, the unfamiliar fullness of it all has you sobbing. Tears run down your face, and Duncan looks bewildered for a moment. Until he hears your moans mixed in, he thought he had hurt you. The self-satisfactory smirk that appears on his face upon knowing that he’s made you feel something you’ve never felt before is stifled as he bites his lip, pulling you against his chest and whispering in your ear.

“You’re doing so good, baby girl. Don’t worry, I’ll be right here. I won’t move until you’re absolutely ready.” It doesn’t take too long for your sobs to quiet to soft whimpers, and for you to pull your head away from his chest and nod.

“Move, please.” You request.

Duncan doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling all the way out before thrusting right back in. You’re tight, tighter than he’s experienced in a long while, and he can already feel the familiar tendrils of an orgasm starting to form. Although the pace he sets is fast, his thrusts are still gentle while he makes sure that your needs are being met too. Your mouth is open as moans try to form, but you’re so out of breath that they only come out as gasps. No words are spoken for a few minutes, the office being filled instead with the sound of skin slapping against skin and various noises of pleasure. The rhythm of Duncan’s thrusts is starting to become erratic as he nears his orgasm, and he can tell by the way that you’re clenching around him that you’re close, too.

“Please Daddy, I’m so close!” You both still after the words slip out of your mouth, eyes flying open as you stare at Duncan. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where-”

You’re cut off by Duncan slamming back into you, the words filling him with a newfound vigor.

“Are you gonna cum for Daddy?” He growls, hair flopping in front of his eyes.

You can only nod, your moan stifled when Duncan holds his fingers up to your mouth and forces them in. You suck on them eagerly, eyelids fluttering while you groan around his thick digits. He pulls them out of your mouth and pressing them harshly against your clit. The tears have started up again by now as the overstimulation starts to set in, and Duncan periodically licks them off of your face.

“Cum around Daddy’s cock, won’t you baby girl?” Duncan pleads.

The words send you over the edge for the second time, and your nails rake down Duncan’s back as you attempt to grasp onto anything to help ground you. You’re still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm, not even registering as Duncan pulls out of you and gently slides you off of the desk and onto your knees. It’s only when you feel the head of his cock against your lips that you look up at him, obediently opening your mouth for him. Duncan comes with a low groan, jerking himself off into your mouth. His salty cum fills your mouth, and there’s so much that a little bit manages to dribble onto your chin. You swallow anyways, wiping your hand across your mouth to collect anything else that dripped out.

Duncan falls onto the floor next to you, pulling you into his arms. Your naked bodies are both slick with sweat, and the cool air coming from the vents is a welcome relief. When your breathing’s normalized finally, Duncan grips your chin and has you look up at him. You smile tiredly, enjoying how dark his blue eyes have gotten.

“What do you say?” He asks you.

“...Thank you, Daddy.”

Tag List: @sebastianshoe @queencocoakimmie @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @let-me-try-mom @sammythankyou @pastel-cloudz @nana15774 @divinelangdon@lichellaw @sammythankyou @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58@dandycandy75 @alexcornerblog @everything-is-awesomesauce @khaleesimel@sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @langdonslove @heda-mikaelson @readsalot73@jimmlangdon @lvngdvns @wroteclassicaly @ccodyfern @venusxxlangdon @heylolitahey13 @langdonsdemon @divinelangdon @rocketgirl2410 @duncan-sojourn @michaelsapostle

#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd smut #Older!Duncan #Duncan Shepherd imagine #Duncan Shepherd imagines #hoc #house of cards #Michael langdon #Michael Langdon imagine

421 notes · View notes

of-thoughts-and-phobias · 5 years ago

Text

Rooftop Ghosts: Part 2

Part 1:

Sean yelled down a taxi, the wheels skimming across the pavement toward him.

"Good morning sir, where'dya need to go?" The driver's monotonous voice greeted him as he entered.

"Uhh, East Street please."

He sighed and gestured to the door.

The cabman didn't try to prompt Sean in conversation, which was fine by him. So they drove in silence.

Sean had looked up various clothing stores that might have stuff that he'd need. What he'd need, he didn't know yet. Something ordinary enough so people wouldn't notice him but something that preferably wouldn't be able to catch on fire.

A short ride later, Sean paid the cabman and bid him goodbye. He nodded his head slightly and took off.

He pulled out his phone and looked for the clothing shops he had marked. There wasn't much that would fit his requirements. Mainly just fashion outlets with a few stray antique stores and costume shops in between. Not much to work with but this was only one part of town.

He fixated on a very worn out looking building, appropriately called the Boss. Sean figured that'd be a good place to start.

He was wrong, but now he knew where to get suits for a fairly reasonable price.

He went on from there, crisscrossing the streets and gazing through store windows, trying to find a suitable outfit.

Finally, Sean stumbled onto a lovely, rustic looking building with large windows and very comfortable looking and sturdy clothes draped on the mannequins.

As he entered, he got blasted by a strong overly sweet perfume smell. There were colorful lights all over the place that effectively made the otherwise gloomy room dance with life. Every wall was covered in different kinds of clothing.

"Can I help you sir?" a woman at the register poked her head out from behind a clothing rack.

"Um, yeah," he shuffled for his phone. "Do you have anything kind of like this?"

He pulled up a picture that he had scribbled earlier.

She came over to see it.

"Hmm maybe. Why, convention in town or somethin?"

"Y-yes," he lied, "my friends and I are going as superheroes."

"Nice. Yeah I think we might have something, follow me."

She gestured him to the back of the store where a few different styles of jackets were hanging.

"Anything in particular?" She asked.

"I'm kinda liking this one," he pointed to a bright red bomber jacket hanging on the bottom rack.

"But do you have it in other colors? This one seems a little… loud."

"No. Unfortunately that's our last one."

"Alright."

Well, there goes inconspicuous, he supposed. But if the shoe fits. Or in this case, the jacket.

"I'll take it."

"Alrighty! Right this way, sir."

A few minutes later left Sean walking out holding a bag with a ridiculously red jacket inside and looking for the next item on his list.

If he was going to do this, people couldn't see his face. He needed a mask. Unfortunately, the Halloween sales around town had already ended so that wouldn't do and his phone was about to die so he didn't want to risk ordering one online.

He kept going while he pondered the thought. A few kids ran in front of him, carrying along a very tired looking mom out of a store.

Then it hit him.

Gapkids.

They have that kind of thing right? He spun on his heel and went in to find out.

This time there was a tired looking kid at the checkout who was scrolling through his phone. Sean cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Hm?"

"Hi um, do you guys still have any Halloween stuff left?" Sean plastered on his biggest, politest smile.

"I dunno, check over there," he shrugged, going back to his phone.

"Thanks,"

He went to the clearance section, which was stuffed with old kids clothes and cheap costumes.

He dug around in the costume bin until he pulled out a bright blue mask. The material was cheap and the strap looked like it was about to break but this was only going to be a temporary fix.

"Anything else we can do for you today?" The kid asked when Sean came back up.

"Nope! Thank you so much!"

He rung him up.

"Whatever."

Sean exited the store and looked the mask over again.

Adrenaline and a newfound excitement rushed through him as he waded through the crowd all around him. Without a second thought, he ducked into a gap between two buildings, nicely tucked away from view.

Making sure he wasn't seen, Sean eagerly snatched the jacket from the bag along with the mask and put them on. The coat was comfy, if a bit gaudy, and the hood covered a fair portion of his face. And with the mask on, half of his face was covered.

"No one will know man," he assured himself.

His phone started ringing.

Robin? He picked up.

"Yeah?"

"Hey man," Robin sighed, "there's been a delay, it's gonna be a few more hours."

He leaned against the wall.

"Ouch. Any reason why?"

"Yeah, something about the pilot or something. So we're sitting here waiting for a new one."

"That sucks,"

"Yep. Well, I'll call you before we take off, I’ve got an appointment with trash TV right about now."

"Ahaha! Stay safe man."

"Will do. See ya, Sean."

"Bye," *beep!*

That was odd, but he'd had weirder things happen on planes.

Okay Sean, you got this.

He pocketed his phone and peeked out at the street. People bustling around on their phones, holding bags of goods and groceries. The midday rush had only just started. Nobody would be paying attention!

He took a deep breath and cleared his head, focusing on a rooftop across the street. He imagined himself on top of it, he willed himself to be. Deep breaths, now. His heartbeat hammered the insides of his skull. His blood pulled him towards the building. He closed his eyes and commanded his body to move. Shocks and pins stabbed all over his body and when his eyes opened up, he had a clear view of the sky.

"Haha!" He breathed out, looking over the edge onto the street.

"I did it! Hahaha!"

He tried again, aiming for a taller building a few blocks away. A prickling sensation crawled up his arms as he again pushed himself to glitch.

Again, Sean opened his eyes and found himself somewhere entirely new.

"Yes!" He cheered. "WOO!"

He continued hopping from rooftop to rooftop, getting more confident with each bound. And he just kept going, across roads and countrysides until he was well past Brighton.

His knees were wobbly as he'd burned through all of his energy. He sat down and gulped in the fresh air. It tasted urban, like gasoline trying to hide behind a mask of coffee and tobacco. Completely different from Sean's neighborhood.

Then it hit him.

"Where am I?"

He twisted around, taking in his surroundings.

A. He had landed on top of a building. A flat house or a dormitory by the looks of it. Grimy gravel covered in trash and cigarette buds at his feet and a broken view of the sky above him.

B. He was definitely in another city, every building was unfamiliar. The air was different and it seemed more alive than Brighton.

And C. He wasn't alone up here.

There was a person sitting across from him, leaning against the railing and holding their head in their hands. They hadn't seemed to notice him. They were shaking violently, as if they'd been hurt.

Oh, um, he wasn't sure what to do. He should back up and leave before they saw him. He couldn't help them anyway.

"Hey," he said instead.

They stopped shaking.

"What," came a soft, scratchy voice.

He stepped closer.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure-"

"I said I'm fine!" They snapped before he could finish.

"Woah, okay. 'M sorry,"

For a moment, the only sounds were the cars driving below.

"Hey, um," he spoke up again, quieter.

"This is gonna sound weird but, um, where are we?"

The distressed person looked up, obviously confused.

"Ex-excuse me?"

"Yeah. Where are we?" He tried again "Kind of lost track of time and just ended up here.

They sniffled, calming down a bit.

"Thornton Heath, man, you okay?"

"Yeah I'm just… Wait, did you say.." he lumbered over to the edge, overlooking the town.

"That's in Croydon, right? Are you saying we're in Croydon?"

"..Yeah?"

Oh man, he really got off track, didn't he.

"Huh, overshot that one."

He stumbled a bit, his knees growing tired from running.

"Hey, mind if I join you?"

They thought for a moment, still not sure what was happening.

Then they sighed and took a swig from a bottle next to them.

"Go ahead."

"Thanks," he crumbled onto the rocky floor.

They sat in silence together, which left Sean feeling antsy. It was too quiet.

"So," he tried, "what brings you up here?"

They shrugged.

"I dunno. I needed to leave, I guess."

"Leave from where?"

Sean knew he shouldn't have asked, especially when they tensed up like a coil.

"I'm sorry," he snapped back, "I shouldn't ask-"

"It's fine man," they stopped him. "Everything's fine. Just happened at the worst possible time and I need to do something but I don't know what to do and I-I-"

Something in them broke, sending them into tears. They rested their head harshly on his shoulder, soaking it instantly.

"I- I don't know what to do"

In this moment, neither did Sean. He didn't really know how to deal with this sort of thing. Cautiously, he reached a hand over and slowly brought them into an awkward hug.

"I don't think anyone does," he kept his voice quiet.

"That's what makes things interesting."

They held onto him as if they were afraid he was going to disappear.

"Hey. It's going to be alright."

That didn't seem to help. They were still heaving and wheezing.

"Hey man, what's going on?" He tried instead.

They let go, sniveling.

"It hurts. It hurts to do anything anymore. It hurts seeing my friends so happy when I'm stuck in the sides like someone at a movie! I can't remember why I moved away, I miss my bed. I can't I- I"

They arched over, dry heaving.

"Woah, woah! Calm down!"

"I'm sorry," the person choked out.

"Crying to a complete stranger, that's a new low."

"There's nothing wrong with crying for help, I don't think I'm the right person to go to but that's just about the smartest thing you can do."

They looked up at him, their eyes puffy and Illuminated by the street lights.

"Keeping all of that junk to yourself is like, um, keeping your milk even though it's sour?"

"Heheh," they smiled softly "that makes a weird amount of sense. But what do I do?"

"Find someone who will listen," he helped them up to their feet. "Two heads are better than one and all that."

They stood there for a bit, both not sure what to say next. The person looked like they were about to start crying again, but they seemed more sure of themselves. It was gonna be alright.

They rushed him into a vice-like hug, nearly crushing the wind out of him.

"Thanks."

"Ow! Hahh, you're welcome, I guess."

They started heading towards the stairwell door, only turning around once.

"Y'know," they said, propping the door open "I feel like I know you from somewhere. Ha-have we met before?"

Sean looked down and saw their Booper Dooper sweater lit up in the road's light. He smiled.

"You know what? I think you have."

He didn't even wait for them to turn back around for the green sparks to start flaring up. He beamed and gave them a wave goodbye.

It was quite a beautiful sight. A bright light show right on their apartment. And within a moment, the weirdo on the roof disappeared like a ghost.

They stood there in astonishment and confusion.

"What just happened?"

The jump back took longer than he anticipated.

The sun had set almost entirely by the time he saw his complex. He sat down on top of the next door building and checked his phone.

"Hey man, where are you?" He sent

A few seconds passed before the message indicator bubbled up.

"Almost there, just down the road"

And yep, there it was. There came a cab which turned the corner and stopped in front of the building next to him.

Panic rose in Sean as he sent a text saying to come on up.

He had a clear shot of his room, one last hop. And with a last jolt of determination, he clipped through the walls and landed on his bed.

Without a second thought, Sean peeled off the mask and the jacket, shoving them under his bed.

Taking one final look around his place, Sean sat and waited for the door to knock.

@septilover3 @obsidiancreates @cookiethedevil @caori-azarath @reverseblackholeofwords @fairyofsomething

Likes are nice but reblogs help a lot.

Ask to be tagged

29 notes · View notes

365daysofsasuhina · 5 years ago

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Ninety-Three: Painting ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Every time he goes to that little cafe, Sasuke can’t help but look around for the mysterious painter.

Well...she’s not quite so mysterious now. After all, he knows her name, and had gotten to talk to her a bit when he and Itachi stumbled across her at the art show. It was nice to finally see what she’d been so fervently scribbling when they both were in the cafe at the same time. Even if it was also rather embarrassing to see himself as a subject of a painting...and even worse, Itachi actually bought it.

Upon his return home, he even texted Sasuke a picture of it hanging on his wall. To which Sasuke replied with several threats insisting he take it down before someone sees it.

...he hasn’t gotten a reply.

And of course, Itachi had ever so subtly gotten the younger pair to exchange numbers. But Sasuke hasn’t texted Hinata yet. Mostly because...he has no idea what he’d say. It’s not like they’re friends or anything. She’s a street artist who painted him once. They only talked for a few minutes at the art show she was in. What’s he supposed to offer to her based on so little?

She hasn’t texted him yet, either. Maybe she really didn’t want his number...after all, she’d clearly been caught off guard at being found by her unknowing subject. Add in Itachi’s insistence on buying it, and...maybe she was offended, or mad...but felt like she couldn’t say no.

...he hopes she wasn’t angry. Maybe just...surprised. Apparently Itachi had given her more than she asked for, after all…

...maybe she’s embarrassed.

But, whatever she is, Sasuke has no idea. All he knows is that their conversation under contacts is still empty, and neither of them seems to have any idea (or want) to break the silence.

All this he contemplates as he spaces out in line, waiting to get his favorite cup of black coffee. For once, he didn’t bring his laptop - no work to bring with him to work on and procrastinate by browsing online.

...maybe he’d been secretly hoping to run into her. Not that he has any idea what he’d say if he did. Theirs has just been such a funny little story, he was a little sad when it supposedly ended. Maybe she’s done coming to the cafe, moving on to a new venue and new subjects.

...why does that make him feel bummed out?

Getting his order, he retreats to his typical corner, sipping his coffee and staring boredly out the window. Well...she’s not here. Maybe he’ll go run some errands, or even see if Naruto’s up to anything. He’s not had a decent dose of socializing in a while, and his introversion needs a break every so often so he doesn’t forget what it is to be human.

Browsing social media idly on his phone, he glances up every time the bell over the door tolls. But each look sees him disappointed as it isn’t her. After half an hour of nothing, he sighs and gives up, pocketing his mobile and deciding to just...go for a walk.

Nothing better to do.

It’s still early Fall, the breeze a bit chilly but easily quelled with a heavy sweatshirt. This part of town has a decent amount of trees scattered around, blowing leaves of every warm shade across the sidewalks. Though more of a Summer guy himself, Sasuke can still appreciate the atmosphere of the season.

...maybe that’s what’s keeping Hinata out of the cafe. Surely all the colors and whatnot are giving her plenty of things to draw. He certainly wouldn’t blame her - it might not be the flowers and green of Summer, but surely it catches someone’s eye enough to maybe buy and support some of her work.

Twenty minutes pass in a mindless blur, Sasuke just strolling along whatever street strikes his fancy. It’s been a while since he’s been this far out on foot...and he tries not to drive when he can help it. Partly to save gas money, partly to be environmentally conscious...and mostly because he’d just rather be home.

Rounding a corner, he pauses as a faint...something reaches his ear. It sounds like music? Pinpointing the direction, he does his best to follow it, and eventually comes upon a street musician outside a small row of shops. No one he recognizes, they sit and play a guitar on a raised flower bed in the middle of the pedestrian-only street. Accompanying their playing they sing a few lyrics, a foot tapping in time to the music.

Watching, Sasuke can’t help a slowly-growing grin. He’s not a musician himself, never having tried (and having no motivation to), but his brother’s passion for it still rubs off on him a bit: he’s not an artist, but he’s a happy patron of it.

Every so often, people dare to scurry up and drop a tip in the open guitar case at his feet, earning a smile and a thankful nod with each note or clink or change. Taking out his wallet, Sasuke drops a ten dollar bill among the rest before retaking a place to watch.

“...Sasuke?”

Startling as his name is called, Sasuke glances around as a song ends, the small crowd clapping politely. A few feet over, seated on a bench with her sketchpad, is Hinata. “...hey!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Was going for a walk and heard the music...you?”

“Same, honestly. Was trying to find something to sketch.”

Glancing to her paper, he asks, “...you mind?”

In answer, she tilts it toward him. A scratchy but recognizable portrait of the musician is coming together under her hand. “I’ve only been here for about twenty minutes...I hope he stays long enough I can finish the sketch.”

“Could always ask him if he has plans to come back so you can keep going.”

“Mm...true.” Readjusting her work, she gets back to it as her model starts up another song.

Torn between curiosity and not wanting to be nosy, Sasuke only glances over every so often to catch a glimpse as she draws. Though she comes off as rather reserved, her strokes are anything but: sweeping, bold things that capture her subject in a grandiose style he wouldn’t have guessed to be hers if he didn’t see her do it himself. Swept up in it, he eventually just watches without pause, eyes following her movements as she slowly puts together her subject.

After another thirty minutes, the artist announces he has to pack it up, thanking the crowd for their generosity. By then, Hinata’s sketch is basically done: a likeness that Sasuke recognizes as very similar in its design to the one she did of him.

As the people break up and scatter, Hinata shyly approaches the guitarist, Sasuke hanging back as not to interrupt. Instead, he watches as she shows the man her work, which gets him to brighten and smile.

...for some reason, a slight damper weighs on Sasuke at the sight.

They talk for a minute more, the man nodding before moving to collect his tip and put away his instrument. Hinata in turn closes her sketchbook, retreating back to Sasuke. “He said he’ll be back on Wednesday, so I should be able to catch him.”

“That’s great. Think you’ll be able to finish it then?”

“Well, I usually just get the basic concept down with the s-subject, and then I fill in the blanks afterward from my imagination. It helps sort of...deviate it from reality a little bit. So it doesn’t feel too much like a...copy? More like a reference.”

“...I’ll pretend I understand that.”

That earns a laugh. “If I wanted to just copy what I was seeing, I might as well just take a photo, right? But I like to add my own style to what I draw. I get the skeleton in the sketch and cleaned up lines, and then I let my interpretation take over.”

Sasuke gives a slow nod. “...makes sense.”

“Do you…?”

“Hm?”

“Well, I was just curious if you do anything...creative,” Hinata offers, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “Music, or...writing, maybe?”

“Me? Nah...my brother got all the creativity. I got all the logic. Not that he isn’t smart - he’s a genius. But I’ve never really found a creative outlet that I felt actually...fit me.”

Her head tilts, considering him for a moment. “I think...you might like p-photography.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a rather...technical artform. There’s rules you can follow, like how to proportion a shot to be the most pleasing to the eye. And all sorts of things you can focus on. Some people do portraits, or landscapes...or micro photography: really close ups of small things to see all the details!”

Sasuke blinks owlishly. He’s...never considered that before. “...maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“I’d love to see if you do!”

“So...do you have more paintings?”

“Oh...lots,” she admits, laughing sheepishly. “I sell a few online, but...m-most just sit in my studio and collect dust…”

“Itachi contact you at all about some buyers?”

“Not yet, but it hasn’t been very long. Besides, he was already m-more than generous. I’m not about to hold him to it.”

“Well, knowing him, he’ll come through. He’s just a busy guy. But uh…” Sasuke idly itches his neck. “...I’d like to see more of your stuff sometime. If I could.”

“Oh! Um...sure!” Her expression turns sheepish again. “Let me just, um...tidy up before then. I tend to let things get a bit...messy. But I can text you sometime once things aren’t so...chaotic.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay! Um...it was nice seeing you again, Sasuke. Guess we just keep bumping into each other, huh?”

“Yeah. Kinda nice.”

“Mhm!” After a brief, growingly-awkward pause, she then offers, “I...better get home, though.”

“Same here. Have, uh...a nice evening.”

“You too!” She takes off down the street, and he finds himself a bit thankful it’s not the way he’s going. Nothing more embarrassing than saying goodbye and then having to walk together after…

Still, Sasuke finds his spirits a bit lightened from earlier. Well...maybe now he’ll finally get that text. Until then...he’ll just have to be patient.

.oOo.

(This is a sequel to day 85!) Now THIS is a throwback xD But given the prompt, I couldn't NOT do a follow up to day 85. Which I've wanted to, I just...didn't have a good prompt / reminder until now lol I like to think Hinata's a creative type. Sasuke...maybe not so much xD I like having him be a musician sometimes, but being Mr. Logical also suits him, so it just varies from time to time. I actually do have him do some photography in a piece or two - I agree with Hinata, it fits well x3 Anyway I reallllly need to get to bed, so...that's all for now! Thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

16 notes · View notes

sonicrainicorn · 6 years ago

Text

Made of Love, Chapter 16

<< Previous|Next >>

Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: W͏̤ę̫̙̥̜̹̘͔l͉̳̪͕̥̭c̘̰̟o̙͉͕̰m͏̼̪̥͈͔̦ͅe̞̼͍͡ ͉̦͔͉̤t̵̺̗̹o ̹̻̝͚̞̠͉t̩he ͏͚̜̤p͕a͉̝n̡͚̯i̮̪̟c̭̟̘ ҉̯̤̼̥̥r̫͓͙̼o̲̮̤̜̝͉̼om͇͍̗.

TW: Cursing, stabbing

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Virgil slept well passed one o’clock. In his defense, he needed the rest. Also, he hated mornings. He still felt tired when he woke up, but at least it was at a level he could manage. He stared up at the ceiling for several minutes before deciding to get out of bed. He trudged down the hall to see three faces he knew well. It was odd how quickly he had gotten used to living in a house with four other dorks.

Roman and Thomas sat on the floor at the coffee table playing some sort of card game. Maybe it was Speed. Virgil was too sleepy to pay attention to it. Logan was sitting with his legs crossed on the couch, scribbling into the notebook on his lap. Patton was most likely outside. The TV played mindless background noise.

Virgil plopped onto the armchair without a word. No one paid him any mind. It was nice; things felt normal. As if this was just a regular day with friends. If your friends happened to consist of two people who are sometimes one person, a ninety-four-year-old child, and a photographer who is way too into fantasy, that is. So, maybe Virgil wouldn’t say that “regular” fit in with this group in particular.

“Dammit,” Roman’s complaint was almost covered by Thomas’s cheer. When Virgil looked, he saw Thomas with an empty hand and Roman holding onto one card.

“You were pretty close that time,” Thomas teased. He pushed himself off the floor to wander over to the kitchen.

Roman frowned and started gathering all the cards into a single deck. “I’m going to call bullshit because Speed has been around since the 40s at least, and you’ve had the advantage of being around at that time.”

“Hey, just because I’m old doesn’t mean you can use it to justify your crummy gameplay.”

Virgil snorted. “He’s got you there.”

Roman threw a card at him. “No one asked you.”

Virgil retaliated by keeping the card.

Thomas came back in with a bowl of grapes and took a seat beside Logan to stay out of the rather immature fight going on. Virgil stretched to keep the card out of Roman's reach and kept going farther the closer he got to it. As long as Thomas didn't have to deal with it, he was fine. He munched on grapes as he watched the scene unfold. They were like two school children whose whole relationship was based on bullying each other. It often led to random entertaining moments such as this.

He glanced over to Logan and almost choked on a grape. “Holy cow.” He set the bowl down on the coffee table while placing a hand over his mouth. “How long have you been able to draw?” He had always been under the impression that Logan used his notebook to write in, not create literal works of art.

Logan stopped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pressed the notebook to his chest to hide the pages from view.

Roman snatched the card from Virgil’s hand and placed it in the deck. They stuck their tongue out at each other.

“Let me see it.” Thomas moved to sit on his legs and face Logan. He held out his hands expectantly.

“I think not.”

“Oh, c’mon. Please?” He gave his best pout and puppy eyes.

Logan wasn’t phased. “No.”

Thomas huffed and slouched his shoulders. “That always works on Virgil.”

“What?” Virgil stopped messing with Roman to pay attention to the separate conversation going on.

“Oh, nothing.” Thomas gave him a charming smile.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Thomas just wishes to see things that are none of his business.”

“It’s not gonna hurt anyone if you let me take a little peek.” He crossed his arms. “What’s so wrong about knowing how to draw?”

“That isn’t the issue.”

“Aw, you’re embarrassed,” Roman commented without even needing to look up.

Despite his scowl, Logan’s cheeks turned a soft pink color. “I am not. I just don’t see the point on how this is so interesting.”

“If you don’t see the point then why not let me take a gander at it?” Thomas blinked innocently at him.

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? I’m just -- here.” He handed the notebook over. “I don’t know where you learned to be so stubborn.”

“Gee, I wonder.” He began to look through it. And he may or may not have held it out a bit so Roman and Virgil could peek over his shoulders to see. “It’s not like Picani practically raised me or any -- oh my God. These are the prettiest things I’ve ever seen in my life. How long were you planning to keep this a secret?”

"I have no idea what you mean."

Every page Thomas flipped to had a beautifully inked drawing. A realistic yet scratchy style that seemed very unique to Logan. There were many different subjects. Some inanimate, some real. Even a few that extended across two pages. They were very detailed and intricate for something done in a few days. So far, Thomas’s favorite had to be the one with the little fluffy bird. He knew for a fact Patton had a part to play in that. That man had a scary good way with handling animals.

“Is that Kilgarah?” Virgil pointed at the page with a roughly sketched dragon. A sly smile spread across his lips. “I thought you weren’t interested in Merlin.”

“I never explicitly said that.” Logan crossed his arms as his face turned a brighter pink.

“Well, it looks great.” Roman grinned. “You should do little Aithusa next.”

“I’m just -- I’m really blown away by this.” Thomas couldn’t stop gazing at every illustration in amazement. “How did you manage to trace all your lines so well?”

“I didn’t.”

Thomas lifted his gaze up to Logan. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I didn’t trace anything.”

He gaped at him for a moment. “Shut up. You had to have traced this.” His wonder only grew when Logan continued to deny it. “No freaking way. You free-handed all of these? In pen?” That sounded impossible to Thomas. Free-handing in pencil seemed a little more believable since there was a chance to erase mistakes, but there weren’t any second chances with pen.

Logan didn’t seem to understand Thomas’s astonishment. “Is that difficult?”

Too many words tried to get out of Thomas’s mouth at once. How in the hell did Logan not see anything impossible about that? “Uh, yeah it’s difficult. It’s really difficult. Have you ever even tried to use a pencil first?”

“I’ve never drawn with a pencil before.”

Thomas almost choked on air. “You’re over seven hundred years old and you’ve never drawn with a pencil before?”

“You’re seven hundred years old?” Virgil and Roman asked over each other, though Roman’s came out sounding similar to a screech.

Logan sent a glare Thomas’s way, who in turn raised the notebook to hide his mouth from view. “Yes, I am,” Logan continued. “But that’s hardly relevant to this discussion. And, Thomas, if you must know, pencils as you know them are a fairly modern invention. It was common to use ink."

"What'd you do before ink?" Thomas lowered the notebook a bit. He knew for a fact that ink would have been impossible for Logan to come by during his childhood.

"I, uh, I would burn shapes into wood." He traced a shape in the air with his finger as if to demonstrate. "Fallen wood, mind you. Patton might have killed me if I burned anything into a tree."

"Okay, that's great, but can we please go back to the part where you're seven hundred?" Roman asked. "I think I still need to wrap my head around it."

"You told them without me?" Patton complained as he stepped into the living room with a pout. "I wanted to be there for it."

"I didn't tell them. Thomas blurted it out."

Thomas chuckled nervously, raising the notebook back again. "Sorry."

Patton slipped into a smile and stepped forward to ruffle Thomas's hair. "Don't worry about it, son. Sometimes that just happens."

"I'm not your son," he mumbled under his breath.

"What year were you both born?" Virgil decided to ask.

Patton shrugged while Logan answered, "No idea. I had it narrowed down to some time in the fourteenth century, but I'm unsure of any exact years or dates."

"I was born in the winter," Patton added. "But I don't really know how to translate the date into something that makes sense for a modern, human calendar."

"What is it in a past, non-human calendar?" Roman questioned.

"Treto cheizmon tin pepti daméra naká punpó mjeslino."

Instinctively, the other three turned to Logan for a translation. "I have no idea how that would translate, either," he admitted. "It's not exactly a numerical date. It’s just kind of a statement."

“Alright. Well now that I know how old you are, I have at least a hundred questions I would love for you to answer.”

As Roman buzzed along with questions, Virgil pulled Thomas away for a private conversation. He made sure to lower his voice before speaking, “Did you tell them?”

“Oh, uh,” Thomas messed with the pages in Logan’s notebook, “I was kind of working up the courage?”

“I was knocked out for almost six hours.”

“Okay, so I might have forgotten about it a little.” He cringed a bit. “I just don’t know how to say it.”

Virgil sighed. “I don’t wanna put you on a time limit, kid, but maybe you should tell them sooner rather than later. Like today.”

Thomas continued to fidget with the pages. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Fine.”

He blinked in surprise as if he didn’t expect that to work. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it right now.” He walked over to the other three without another moment’s hesitation. “Alright guys, I hate to interrupt the twenty questions, but I have something really important to say.” He waited until he had their attention before continuing. “Last night I had someone tell me where Altair is. And this morning, Thomas and I double-checked with Joan and Talyn to see if it was reliable.”

“And?” Patton pried, clearly eager to hear some good news.

“It’s highly likely that it is.”

And then Patton lit up. He smiled so wide that literal sunshine seemed dull in comparison. It made Virgil feel ten times lighter and caused a little smile of his own to come out. “That’s amazing. We’re so close to fixing all of this.”

“There’s still the issue on what we’re going to do,” Logan pointed out. He seemed to be going over several different scenarios in his head already.

“You have us,” Thomas said.

Logan paused. “I certainly hope by ‘us’ you mean Roman and Virgil, and not that you’re implying you’ll be coming along.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Thomas poured all his attention into the notebook in his hands. "I figured I could help in order to make up for mistakes one might have made prior.”

A grimace flicked across both Logan’s and Patton’s faces as if a foul memory flashed in their minds for a second. “That isn’t the exact issue,” Logan continued. “You’re still a child. You have very little experience in fighting.”

“Logan’s right,” Patton added. “This could be very dangerous. I wouldn’t even want Roman and Virgil to get involved, but I don’t really think we have much of a choice. We don’t exactly have anyone else to ask.”

"But I can help."

"Maybe you should listen to them," Virgil muttered. He ignored Thomas's shocked expression to continue, "it would be a lot safer if you stayed here." The Theorist’s words were loud and clear: something would happen to Thomas if he went. And Virgil couldn’t allow that.

Thomas frowned down at the notebook. It took all of Virgil’s willpower to not take back anything upon seeing that expression.

“Why not give him a chance?” Roman spoke up. “Who knows? We might need an extra pair of hands.”

Neither Patton nor Logan seemed all that convinced, to which Virgil let out a silent breath of relief for. As long as one of them didn’t change their mind then everything would be good. It was almost as if they shared the same brain; if one of them thought differently, then the other could be swayed to think the same way.

“I promise I won’t get in the way this time. Please.” Thomas gave them a genuine plea.

Virgil glanced nervously over to Patton and Logan. He couldn’t say any more about this. It would be their decision in the end. He knew, if he wanted, he could tell them about the possibility of Thomas getting hurt if he went. But he was pretty sure he’d seen enough movies and read enough novels to know that telling someone the future was a surefire way to make it come true.

“It’s still dangerous,” Patton said. “At least Roman and Virgil know how to use weapons and are capable of defending themselves. But you…” He trailed off.

“I can’t just stay back and watch --” Virgil caught sight of Logan’s reaction to that. A spark of recognition. Words that were familiar and held a specific weight -- “at least give me a second chance. Some way to show you that I can do this. Please. I know I can do this if you just let me.”

“I don’t --”

“Okay,” Logan cut off in a steady voice.

“What?” Patton and Virgil stared at him in disbelief.

“Really?” Thomas beamed. “Oh, thank you so much, Logan.” He rushed over to give him a hug.

Virgil didn’t know how he could have interjected without sounding like an asshole. He didn’t want Thomas to come along for fear of something terrible happening, but he couldn’t downright say that. Maybe he should have said something when he had the chance.

“Uh, you sure about this, Lo?” Patton wrung his hands. It seemed Virgil wasn’t the only one nervous about it.

“Just trust me on this one.”

And that’s all it took for Thomas to tag along.

They elected to go the next night in order to be better prepared. And boy, oh boy, if that wasn’t agonizing for Virgil. Every second that ticked by felt like hell. He didn’t know what to do. At this point, it wasn’t avoidable. He just had to keep an extra eye on Thomas throughout this whole excursion. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.

The building, as it turned out, used to be an old shopping place. It had a vast parking lot full of litter and faded paint. The big, blocky letters that were once attached to the front were long gone and were instead replaced by faded outlines. Who knew how long this one had been abandoned for. Virgil didn’t even recognize the name.

Unfortunately, the inside was no better. Trash covered much of the floor. Some displays and shelves were still left untouched -- somehow managing to make things that much more creepy. An old, musty smell wafted in from all corners of the building. It was kind of disgusting.

“It’s so creepy,” Thomas commented as he huddled into his jacket. He stayed near Roman, as he was the closest person with a light source. “Did it have to be another abandoned place? It couldn’t have been like a park or something?”

Virgil felt that on a spiritual level. But this place didn’t seem as death-trappy as the manufacturing plant. It actually seemed like they had a chance at escaping this without dying.

“Calm down, Virgil Jr., I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Roman teased.

Thomas grumbled but his words couldn’t be made out clearly.

“Both of you -- be quiet,” Logan snapped. “We’re here for a reason and it isn’t going to help if you keep blabbering.”

They muttered apologies.

“I could always add a little extra light, Lo,” Patton whispered. If Virgil wasn’t so close he might not have heard it.

“Now is not the time, Patton.”

Patton frowned and fell out of step.

Interesting.

The group continued to wander around in near silence. Virgil and Logan kept at the front with their lights. No one had any idea of where to start. There wasn’t any evidence of anyone being here at all. But, as Virgil has learned the hard way, looks could be deceiving. Every turn caused more uneasiness to grow within the group. They had to find someone -- anyone. They couldn’t have made this trip for no reason.

And yet the deeper they got, with no sign of anyone appearing, a sick feeling began to swirl in Virgil’s stomach. Something was off. He couldn’t tell what, but it was something. It didn’t have anything to do with the building, either. No. This was… this was like dread. A deeply-rooted dread that might as well have always been with him. But he didn’t know what could be causing it. Maybe he was being paranoid.

“What the hell?”

A deep chill rooted Virgil to the spot. He could barely manage to turn enough to see Roman, who was looking off toward the side at something. Except nothing was there. Just a makeshift aisle with nothing in between. Nothing at the end. Nothing that should have caused that tone in his voice. And yet it somehow managed to make Virgil feel more uneasy.

“Roman?” Thomas tugged on Roman’s sleeve to grab his attention.

But Roman didn’t pay him any mind. He continued to stare in confusion and horror. “M-Mother? How are -- how did --?”

“What’s happening?” Thomas turned to Logan and Patton for an answer.

Logan frowned a bit. “Roman,” he walked over to him, “if you’re seeing something, it’s not there. There isn’t anyone here but the five of us.”

Thomas lifted his hand and waved it in front of his eyes. There wasn’t a reaction. “I don’t think that’s a good sign.” He gave Logan a worried glance.

“Neither do I.” Logan’s frown deepened.

Virgil wanted to ask if they had any ideas, but the words never got to take form. Patton’s frantic voice sounded before he could even open his mouth.

“Logan?!”

Immediately, Logan returned to his side. “Patton?” He grabbed his outstretched hand. “What’s wrong? Are you seeing something?”

“There’s -- I -- I can’t tell.” He put his other hand over Logan’s. “Too many things are happening. I don’t -- I don’t know what’s real. I can’t tell. Logan,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “why are you leaving?”

Logan stared at him in bewilderment. “I’m not. Patton, I’m right here.”

“Come back. Please. You can’t leave. You can’t…”

“Patton. Patton, I’m not going anywhere.” He shook his shoulder. “Patton.” But he didn’t get a response.

“I think he’s gone, too,” Virgil murmured.

Logan sighed and faced the other two. “I don’t have an answer to what’s going on, but just know that whatever you see -- if you start to see it -- is not real. No one is here but us.”

“What should we do?” Thomas hovered at Virgil’s side.

For once, Virgil could see right through Logan. He didn’t know. He was just as lost as them. “Until we figure out what’s causing this we can’t exactly do anything. So before we even think about fixing it we have to find --” He cut himself off with a sharp gasp. The phone in his hand clattered to the floor. “You.” He took a tiny step back, wide eyes never leaving the empty spot between Virgil and Thomas. “No. No, you’re not real.” He turned away from whatever he was seeing.

Uh oh.

“Shut up. You’re not real.” He covered his ears. “I’m not there. I’m -- I -- you can’t be here.”

Virgil had an awful feeling that the battle was being lost. “Logan, don’t believe it. You’re right -- it’s not there. You’re here with us.”

“You can’t stay. You have to leave.” Virgil couldn’t tell if he was talking to his hallucination or not. “You can’t stay.”

“Logan?” Thomas called in concern.

He didn’t get a response.

“What are we supposed to do?” He turned to Virgil. “Why is this happening to them? What are they seeing?”

“I, I don’t know.” He truly didn’t. “But we can’t fall into it. We have to figure out what’s going on.” He put his hands on Thomas’s shoulders, careful to mind his phone. “Focus on right here and now, okay? We’re the only two left.” That wasn’t stressful or anything.

“Okay.”

Virgil could tell he was frightened. Hell, he was too. The people around them were falling prey to hallucinations and so far there didn’t seem to be any coming back from it. Or any avoiding it for that matter. There was no telling what they were seeing or why, but it was clear that they weren’t seeing the same thing. Perhaps they saw something specific to them.

And then Thomas’s attention drifted away for a moment.

“Kid.” Virgil found himself squeezing his shoulder. “Did you just see something?”

“N-no.” Despite this, his eyes flicked away. As if to make sure something was still there.

“If I find out you’re lying to me I’m not going to be very happy.” Probably not the best thing to say to a child you’ve yelled at before about such an issue, but he couldn’t help it. He was trying his best to maintain some semblance of control.

“He’s not real. I know he isn’t.”

Virgil watched as Thomas tried to peer around him to see something. Someone. Only to return back to ignoring it with a more panicked expression.

Getting desperate, Virgil grabbed Thomas’s face with one hand and forced him to look him in the eyes. “Focus on me. There’s only five of us in this room, alright? No one else is here. And right now, you’re talking to me. I’m right here. I’m real and I’m in front of you. Whoever you think you see isn’t really there.”

“Y-yeah, okay.” He nodded as best as he could with Virgil holding onto his face. But with a gasp and wide eyes, he tore himself away. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Virgil furrowed his brows. “Thomas?”

“You can’t tell anyone. I never should have said anything. Please don’t tell anyone.” He continued to beg to someone that wasn’t really there.

Fuck. Okay, this wasn’t good. This was the exact opposite of good. What the hell was Virgil supposed to do now? He tried to grab everyone’s attention -- just one more time -- but no one responded to him. It’s like he wasn’t even there at all.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Step one: don’t freak out. Well, don’t freak out any more than he already was. Step two: find what’s causing this. As long as Virgil wasn’t seeing anything then he was the only one who could find the source. It could be anything -- anyone. He didn’t know shit about magic. But he had a feeling he’d know it when he’d see it.

If he could see it.

Oh, God, what if he couldn’t see it? What if he walked right past it? What if it was invisible? What if it could only be seen by someone with magic? Or, worse yet, what if it was a curse? How would he reverse it? Curses never came with clear instructions!

A chill crawled down his back -- almost like an icy finger running down his spine. It forced him to shudder. The space around him started to dim. As if a shadow had been thrown over the surrounding area to the point where he couldn’t see anyone else. Not even his light illuminated anything.

Alright, this was not helping his situation. What the fuck.

He tried to keep his breathing under control. That was the one thing he had control over. He could manage that, at least. He could focus on that. Just breathe. Breathing is good. In. Hold it. Out. In. Hold it. Out. In -- hold on a minute.

Out in the shadows, something started to move. Someone? They took a step forward. Virgil took one back. The process repeated until a full person could be seen. And… they looked a lot like Virgil. An uncanny resemblance -- a copy. Except this version of Virgil had dark shadows under his eyes. His clothing lacked any sort of color and he looked downright unimpressed.

“It’s funny,” he spoke, but his voice didn’t sound all that human. It carried Virgil’s cadence but with layers in lower octaves, “that this is the one thing you fear the most.” He motioned to himself. “You’re nothing impressive. Nothing about you is threatening. Your friends are a lot more interesting, I think.” He looked out into the shadows as if he could see where everyone was exactly.

Virgil let out a silent breath. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Here was this doppelganger talking to him as if he already knew what was going on. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or confused. Yet he somehow felt both.

The doppelganger continued. “There are so many regrets. It’s almost palpable. Things they wished they could have said, things they wished they didn’t say. There’s so much of it. And it’s honestly ridiculous. Is this how people live their lives? With constant regrets? There’s so much of it in here. Far too many lifetimes.”

What…?

“It doesn’t make any differences to me, though. Whether it’s the childhood Thomas lost, or the family Logan ran away from, it’s all the same.” His eyes turned over to Virgil. “It makes them miserable. I don’t think they like being reminded of it all, and yet it’s funny to watch them squirm.”

Virgil’s fear flew right out the window. This thing was messing with everyone. He spoke about them like they were new toys. “What are you doing to them?” He broke free of his instincts and stepped up to his clone.

He continued to get that unimpressed look. “Do you mind putting that thing away?” He pushed the phone down with a finger. “I’m not exactly partial to the light. And I don’t think you want to anger me.”

Virgil glared at him but did as he asked. As he shoved it into his pocket, it came into contact with something. A pen. He slipped it out without a second thought.

The other Virgil raised a brow.

“What?” He twirled it around his fingers. “It’s just a pen.” He clicked it and the ballpoint tip poked out. He suppressed a smirk. “Am I allowed to have this out or are you not partial to these, either?” He clicked it again to continue twirling it.

The other Virgil scowled. “I could care less.”

“Great.”

“What is it with humans and the need to be insufferable?” He began to pace around Virgil. “You’re all like flies. There are other things that are stronger and better than you, yet you are always everywhere no matter how those things try to get rid of you. Yet in the blink of an eye, you’re gone. And you leave new flies in your place.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “What are you?”

The other Virgil paused for a moment. “There are many names for someone like me. Many have called me a demon, others only think I’m a shadow. I believe you would have known me,” he appeared to think about it, “as the boogeyman.”

Virgil tried to ignore how the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He had no reason to doubt his clone wasn’t telling the truth.

Other Virgil stood right in front of him again. His eyes gazed over every aspect of Virgil’s person. It made him feel oddly exposed. “Why you?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Virgil shot back without thinking.

“I’m well aware.” He eyed Virgil once more, then sneered.

Wow, rude. “Alright, I don’t really care about you or what you think of my kind, but I would like it if you fucked off.”

He quirked a brow. Some semblance of interest crossed his features. “What’s making you so bold?” He took a step toward Virgil. “You’re the timid one. You second guess all your moves and think long before you act.”

Virgil stopped messing with the pen. “Well, for one, you’re wearing my face. So I’ve already lost all respect for you. And you’re messing with my friends. No amount of fear is going to stop me from saving them.”

The other Virgil didn’t respond. He simply stared. Like a cat that observes a moving toy before deciding to pounce.

“Why is it not affecting me?” Virgil had to keep the conversation moving. “If you find me so boring why let me be free from it?”

“How do you know that you are?” A smirk slid across his lips. “What makes you so certain that this is even happening at all?” He walked passed Virgil. “You can’t possibly believe that out of everyone, you were the sole person to be unaffected --” Virgil’s stomach did a flip -- “there's two powerful Magi, another one that can barely hold that title, and a human that’s just better than you in general.”

Alright, this dude was getting the name Anxiety for being an asshole. Also for being scarily accurate to Virgil’s own thoughts.

“If they couldn’t avoid it, how could you? There’s nothing special about you.” Virgil shifted to look at him. “You’re just a human -- and not even a good one. You fail at everything you try to do, and you think you have the ability to save someone? Don’t you think that if it was that easy Logan and Patton would have done it by now?” Anxiety looked Virgil right in the eye. He didn’t seem as intimidating before as he did now. “But they haven’t. So suddenly you think you can do things that not even magical creatures can do.”

“Someone has to,” Virgil mumbled.

Anxiety laughed. A sharp sound that echoed off nonexistent walls. “And that someone is you? Just look at you.” He threw a hand out to emphasize Virgil’s appearance. “Is this what a hero looks like?”

Virgil sunk into his hoodie. It felt too big now. None of his clothes fit right. He was standing out against the shadows. There were eyes looking at him -- judging him. He couldn’t make himself any smaller.

“And look at them.” Anxiety turned around and swept a hand out. As he did so, the shadows seeped away to reveal Virgil’s friends. They looked even more distressed than the last time he saw them. Anxiety glanced back at him. “Think you can fix this? Can you change anything about this at all?”

He…

“Can you?” Anxiety's voice boomed. His eyes changed -- shadows started to creep into them until they were filled with pitch black. In an almost immediate reaction, the others cried out in various levels of distress. They lowered themselves to the floor with a different reaction to what they saw. Thomas curled in on himself, breath hitching. Roman stayed surprisingly still and silent. Patton’s hands flew to cover his mouth. Logan’s hands curled in his hair with his eyes shut tight.

“Stop it.” It came out at a whisper. “Stop.” He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t look anymore. “Just -- just stop. Why are you doing this?”

Anxiety’s eyes returned to normal. “You think you five were my first choice? I have better things to do with my time than mess around here, but a contract is a contract and I am bound to complete it. No one is happy with this, trust me.” He put his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Contract?” Virgil furrowed his brows. “What contract? For who?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Virgil ignored how cold his limbs got. This wasn’t ideal. A literal boogeyman had them all trapped because someone wanted him to. What was the right way to go about this?

“But you -- why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

Anxiety rolled his eyes. “You’re afraid of everything. So why are you here? With them.” He motioned to the others. “I know for a fact that you would rather have your old life back. Even if it meant you never got to meet Thomas. So why do you continue to come back to them?”

“I have to --”

“You have to? You don’t have to do anything. You could very well go on your own way and they wouldn’t do a thing to stop you.” He started walking toward the others. “Is it because you’re scared of them? Of what they can do?” He put his hands on Patton and Logan’s heads. They shuddered in response. “Ooh, if you only knew the secrets they have buried -- you’d be terrified. Would you like to learn some?”

Virgil couldn’t open his mouth.

“Do you want to know how many people Patton has killed? What about what Logan had to do to survive?” Another smirk began to crawl onto his face. “I could tell you all of their darkest fears -- every one of their secrets. I know how much you hate those.” He moved over to Thomas. “What about this one? The little boy who’s still scared of the dark. And we don’t even have time to unpack the mess of that one.” He pointed to Roman. “What do you think? Just because I’m forced to be here doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”

How in the hell was he supposed to respond to that? His friends’ secrets were theirs to keep. If they wanted to say it in their own time then they would. There was no way in hell he’d make that mistake again.

Anxiety crossed his arms. “There’s no way you can lie to me, Virgil. I’m inside your head -- I’m in theirs too. I could tell you what each of them is seeing if you wanted. It’s some juicy stuff if you ask me.”

“I don’t want to know. Keep it to yourself.”

Anxiety gave a mock pout. “Aw, you’re hurting my feelings.” He fell back into his unamused glare. “Face it, Virgil, you don’t want to know because you’re scared of what will happen if you find out. You’d rather be ignorant to their crimes and go on believing that they’re all innocent little angels. Well, they’re not as innocent as they seem.” He moved around Thomas. “You have a right to fear them.” He began walking back over to Virgil.

Virgil held his ground. He couldn’t let himself fall for any of his tricks.

“Do you want to know why Patton and Logan won’t talk about their human friend? What was his name…?” He paused to think about it. “Remy. That’s what they called him, at least. There’s a very good reason they wouldn’t want you to know.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?” Anxiety looked personally offended. “You have a right to know. Why would a close friend of theirs suddenly fall off the face of the Earth?” He shrugged. “Personally, I don’t know why Magi like them would even entertain the idea of befriending humans. Seems like tedious work. Especially when they die.” He sucked air through his teeth. “It must hurt even more when it’s your own fault.”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Anxiety continued on anyway. “He was their best friend for such a long time. Right up until the end. Unfortunately, he met that end a little sooner than he should have. He was right around your age actually.” He tapped Virgil’s chest with a finger. “Just something to consider.”

“Do you have a point?” He needed to act like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t cause millions of questions to stir in his brain or cause his hands to feel clammy.

“Oh, yes, the point.” He smirked. “The reason they wouldn’t want you to know. Well, it’s simple really.” He shrugged again as if the answer should have been obvious. “It’s all their fault. Why would they want you to know about them getting their best friend killed? It’s frowned upon to kill your pets, you know.”

Virgil frowned. “You’re lying to me.”

“Me? Lie?” He put a hand to his chest in offense. “I just told you that I’m inside their heads. I can see everything that they do. And I’m telling you, with full honesty, that Remy is their biggest regret. Emile Picani regrets killing his friend, Remy Magada.”

“You -- I can’t -- no.” Virgil spun around so he wouldn’t have to see him. “I don’t believe you. Picani wouldn’t -- he isn’t capable of that.”

Anxiety appeared in front of him. “What makes you so sure? You barely know him. He’s lived a long life. There’s a lot you don’t know about him -- a lot he wouldn’t want you to know.”

Virgil couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t. He had to turn around again.

“Are you honestly willing to rescue someone who will end up leaving you for dead? He’ll do the same thing to you that he did to Remy. And then he’ll do it to Roman. Do you want to risk that?”

He didn’t want to risk anything.

“Might as well leave now. Running away is what you do best, isn’t it?”

Of course, it was. That’s all he ever did. Maybe it was what he should do now. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t someone who could come to the rescue. He was just a coward. He couldn't do anything. He never should have even come. Why did he think he had a chance? He didn't have any helpful qualities. He should leave -- he had to leave. There was nothing for him here.

He took a step, ready to run away with his tail between his legs, but he noticed something. Thomas. He sat curled in a ball with tears streaming down his face.

What the hell was he doing?

Virgil blinked a few times, his mind clearing of the weird fog it found itself in. The voices stopped. Everything urging him to leave -- everything saying he couldn’t do it -- was gone. Those weren’t his own thoughts. He closed his fist around the pen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What?” Anxiety almost sounded angered.

Virgil turned to face Anxiety, determination set in place. “I’m not leaving. Nothing you say will get me to run away.”

Anxiety scowled. “So what? You’re going to be the hero now? You? Do you honestly think you’re capable of that? Do you think they’ll think of you like one?”

“It doesn’t matter what they think. It matters what I think. And I think I’ve entertained you for too long.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” Anxiety’s voice warped further. The angrier he got, the more twisted it became. “You’re just a human! How are you able to ignore me?”

Virgil clicked his pen. This time, a dagger filled his hand. “Because I know when the voices in my head are wrong.” He lurched forward and thrust his dagger into Anxiety’s stomach. “Plus, I kinda hate myself. So maybe using my face wasn’t the best idea.”

He yanked it out.

(Next)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #stabbing tw #platonic prinxiety #logicality #coinverse #this is the longest chapter #like wow

3 notes · View notes

subasekabang · 6 years ago

Text

The World Ended With You, Chapter 3

Author: Mizuki

Rating: T

Word Count: 1287 of 8736

Pairings/Characters: Neku Sakuraba, Shiki Misaki, Eri, Yoshiya Kiryu, Daisukenojo Bito, Raimu Bito, Sanae Hanekoma

Warnings: Light Gore

Summary: Shibuya, a once lively city, now stained with the blood of the unfit. A young orphan, Neku Sakuraba, is left alone to fend for himself. Due to the circumstances, he is forced to join a survivor group. If he has any will or hopes to survive, he needs to learn to trust and cooperate with others. Otherwise, he will be at the mercy of hell's demons.

Chapter 3 Shiki pulled up to what looked like a prison, large gates with barbed wire, and everything. After pulling into the gate, leaning out the window, she pressed a button on an intercom. The button lets out a short ‘beep’ before Shiki spoke. “It’s me, Shiki.” A scratchy electric voice responded. “Glad to have you back Shiki, you know the drill right?” “Um, pull into the garage and report to Rhyme for inventory, right?” “Perfect, Any first aid needed?” “Yes, actually…” “What happened?” “Eri got bit and we found a survivor…” “ A survivor? Well done, Shiki! Alright, we’ll have Beat meet you in the garage.” The intercom let out a long buzz before the gate squeaked open, Shiki pulled into a garage after a right turn. As she parked the car, two people walked up to the car. One, a young looking girl waiting there with a clipboard. The other, a polar opposite of the girl with visible muscles and much taller. “Welcome back Shiki.” The girl greeted back, smiling. Slamming the car door behind her, Shiki opened the passenger door beside her. “I got this.” The muscular guy broke in before picking up Eri bridal style and carried her off. Shiki watched as Eri was carried off through an open door frame. “So anyway, what’d you guys get?” The girl readied her clipboard and pen. “Well, other than the survivor; we got some food and some water.” “Nice! How much?” “9 cans of food...and...like, 5 bottles of water…Oh! We found a radio too...” “What!? Seriously!? That’s great! I’ll be sure to tell Mr.H right away.” “Sounds good.” Shiki’s words were enthusiastic, yet her voice trembled with every syllable. I stopped listening to the conversation at this point, my mind drifted off to how I was going to escape this hell. Right now, my line of logic is; when my ankle heals, I take back my gun and make my break in the middle of the night. But how long is it going to take till I’m healed and what about the barbed wire fence? From the looks of it, I’m guessing it’s probably electric, so cutting it is out of the question. Maybe there's a hole in the fence? Maybe I should- “Are you gonna get out of the car?” My train of thought was interrupted by the black-haired girl. “Can you walk?” “Yes.” I responded sharply “I can walk just fine.” I was wrong. The second I tried to step out of the car, a searing pain jolted up my leg. “Ugh!” I gritted in pain. “Ohmygod, here, let me help you-” “I don’t need your damn help!” I hissed.I limped to the door, she followed behind. Once I got to the door, I gazed at a wide-open room filled with board games, tables, and mini white tents. Looking to the left, I could see a sort of loft, it seemed to lead to what kind of looked like prison cells. “Ah, you must be the new recruit!” A mature voice spoke, I looked to the source. Before me, was a man somewhere in his 20’s or 30’s with stubble on his chin and a messy, lazily buttoned satin shirt, shaggy black hair, and a pair of sunglasses resting low on his nose. “Sure is, are there any medical tents open?” “I think Beat’s still helping Eri. I can help the survivor.” “Is Eri…?” Shiki’s voice suddenly became brittle as she pressed her hand clutched into her chest. “Not sure.” The man said flatly, Shiki’s eyes widened slightly before looking down. “I- I'm sorry Shi-” “It’s fine...I’ll...I’ll be in my room if you need me…” Her words came out rushed before she speed walked to the loft. The man let out a sigh. “Come on now, let’s get you fixed up.” The man led me to one of the tents, inside was a chair and an examination table as well as some medical supplies. I sat on the table while the man pulled up the chair. “Can you take off your shoe for me?” He asked, rummaging around with his medical supplies. “Oh, uh yeah.” I did as he asked. “Alright, now let’s get introductions out of the way. I’m Sanae Hanekoma, call me whatever you want. What’s your name?” He questioned pulling the chair to the table, clipboard and pen in hand. “Neku, Neku Sakuraba.” “Alright Neku, how old are you?” “Fifteen.” “What blood type are you?” “Type O.” “Alright, alright.” He wrote while I spoke. “Birthday?” “Um...September 1st?” “Okaaaay…Any allergies or pre-existing conditions?” “Um….” “PTSD? I assume because...” “Yeah…” “Alright.” He scribbled on the clipboard. “Now, let’s check out that ankle.” He lifted my foot to examine it. It was actually pretty bad, it looked pretty swollen. “Well, it’s not too bad, just try to stay off it. I’ll get you some bandages and I’ll see if we have any crutches around here.” Sanae got up and left the tent. I sat there, sitting on my hands and thinking over the past interactions and the future. “Looks like I’m gonna be stuck here for a while, great.” I thought to myself. “But, I guess it wouldn’t totally suck. At least I’ll have a roof over my head and some food on the table. Not to mention they probably have showers here, a shower sounds amazing right now. Maybe those two girls basically kidnaping me wasn't such a bad thing after all.” My mind started to drift to the girls. “Shiki seemed really upset, I mean she’s totally justified. Eri might, well...you know. If I had friends; I would totally empathize with her. I wonder what they see in each other. Eri is super bossy and demanding and Shiki is a push-over. Maybe it's some weird friend dynamic that makes them attracted to each other? Opposites attract after all, right? Or is that just something people say to justify being with someone who you have nothing in common with? Probably the latter.” “I’m back.” Sanae announced as he entered the tent, bandages and crutches in hand. “Alright, let’s get you patched up.” He said, pulling the chair up again. He wrapped the bandage around my ankle, covering up the small blemish. “Alright, you should be good to go. Anyway, I gotta go help Beat with Eri. Your room is one-nine-oh-three, and as a heads up, you have a roommate. He’s a bit of a...should I say…’special case’? He might seem a little weird but I’m sure he’ll warm up to you.” Sanae fumbled with some equipment before packing it up into a small bag. “But introduce yourself to some people here and I’ll have Rhyme give you a proper tour in the near future. Anyway, I’ll off, see you around.” He finished before hurrying off in another direction. I grabbed the crutches and made my way to room 1903. Once I got there, I knocked on the metal door, No response. “Did he not hear me?” I thought to myself before knocking a bit harder, again no response. I pushed open the door, it creaked at this. When I walked in, surprisingly, there was someone there. He was sitting on the bed, his lavender eyes staring blankly at the wall. “Oh, sorry, I thought you weren't here.” I said closing the door behind me, no response. “Um, I’m Neku, what’s your name?” No response. “Hello? Anyone in there? Are you deaf?” I asked impatiently, no response. He didn’t react to a word I said, All he did was blankly stare at the wall. Ashy blond hair draped over his hunched shoulders, wrapped in a white blanket, staring at the wall with petrified eyes. No words, nothing.

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #World Ends With You #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #TWEWY Bang 2018

3 notes · View notes

childesballs · 8 years ago

Text

Rosewood Anemones Chapter 2

Word Count: 2560

Notes: Sadly, this may be the last chapter for a while because life.

Ao3 Link

Flipping through every pocket of his satchel, triple checking that he had everything, Sorey finally turned to Alisha poised behind the oak desk.

“You really don’t mind running things solo?” He asked.

“Not at all. Besides, you’re going for a business meeting. Not a date.” She smiled.

“Oh man. Rose’s got you on that too?” Sorey’s shoulders slumped along with his head. Alisha giggling behind her hand only worsened his slump.

“I know. He’s just a customer, but you never know where things will go.”

Finally righting himself, he once again checked his bag. He’d done countless meetings like this yet he somehow always forgot something. One last glance around the shop, and he said his goodbyes and made his way outside.

He lazily spun as he walked, enjoying the warm sunlight from a cloudless sky. Excitement ran through him. Work had kept him from leisurely strolling through the trees Elysia was built around. Never did a day pass where he didn’t marvel at how Elysia had started as a mountain top town and spread into the forest, yet hardly removed a tree. In his twenty three years, he’d never seen one removed, only continual building around them.

Opposite the tree line gave way to the original Elysia, and there sat mostly homes of the elders, but between them, next to a shallow natural pond, was a larger hut that had been renovated into a library.

Sorey crossed through the doorway as easily as he would his own home. Natalie, the librarian and owner of the building since pre-renovation, greeted him as usual, and questioned what reading he’d be hunting down. His head shake earned a questioning hum and a head tilt. He glanced around the tables on other side of her desk. He earned an understanding hum once she followed his eyes to a head of silver.

With only an exchange of knowing glances, he left Natalie to her business. As relaxed as usual, Sorey pulled out the chair across from Mikleo and sat down like he would for any other meeting. Everything was second nature at this point, save for the oddly heavy beating of his heart. He brushed it aside as just a result of finding this particular customer attractive, but Sorey had never been the type to go after someone on looks alone.

“Good morning.” Mikleo had closed his book and looked up with a warm smile all in one motion.

“Morning.” Sorey replied before digging through his bag for both a notebook and a smaller sketchbook than his usual. As he set things on the table, he noticed the stack of books beside Mikleo.

“Age of Darkness, huh?”

“It’s really fascinating to see how humanity shifted from coexisting seamlessly to all these divides appearing seemingly out of nowhere.”

“I always get goosebumps reading about things that happened.” Sorey shivered at the thoughts alone.

“I get that. Bad times all around, but the art that was produced is still stunning.” Mikleo shifted backwards into his chair, arms coming to rest on the table.

“Craft workers had a huge movement too. That’s actually where a lot of coffin making techniques still used today originate.” Sorey hadn’t thought until the words left his mouth. Part of him expected Mikleo to shrink back, even though that’s what they were here to talk about.

“To last that long, those must be seriously solid techniques.” Mikleo held a hand to his chin, talking more to himself than Sorey.

“With how rampant diseases were, craftsmen had to find quick and cheap methods they could reproduce easily. Designs became simple and less meaningful, more focused on a solid structure, but the general population preferred it.”

“Makes sense. Why get all detailed with something that gets buried?”

“It’s why I couldn’t specialize in them; it may be an outdated belief, but I still think that both what someone is buried in and with affects their afterlife.”

“Definitely outdated. Old and uncool,” Mikleo smirked “but it’s why I came to you.” His head lowered, eyes falling with it. “So… how do we start this? Can’t say I’ve ever ordered something like this before.” He stammered.

“Well, we got Rosewood being your preference, so next would be figuring out design elements, and anything symbolic you want to include.”

“There’s so many styles though… of course I love Avarost and the like used in the Lefay Shrine…” Mikleo’s ramblings went on nearly non-stop, Sorey nodding and humming as he took notes and narrowed down the specifics of what he liked, all to keep him talking so Sorey could eventually find the patterns that Mikleo likely wasn’t aware of.

All of Sorey’s years doing custom work and he’d learned that people always had penchants and patterns in what they liked, yet most people never noticed. So he’d do this; get them just talking and extrapolate those patterns. As Sorey flipped a page, Mikleo stopped abruptly.

“You… You’ve been taking that many notes?”

“Sorry. Should I have asked first?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just… not used to people following along… with everything.” His stunned eyes fell onto Sorey’s notebook, catching all the margin notes. Sorey scribbled a few last notes before pulling over his sketchbook. He went into his bag, looking for one thing that was not there. He had checked his bag three times, and what had he forgotten? A ruler. His audible groan met a raised eyebrow. He hesitated to admit the situation. He’d have accepted the blush spreading over his cheeks as his only response, but then Mikleo laughed, and Sorey’s earrings clinked as he snapped around with an irritated groan.

Before Sorey could say a word, a gold accented green ruler was being offered to him.

“I’m not an artist, but I’ve grown used to carrying the oddest things around for people.” Mikleo explain as he released the ruler into Sorey’s grasp.

Sorey knew he would zone out if he let himself focus solely on sketching, so he started rambling his thought process. He glanced up occasionally to make sure he hadn’t lost Mikleo, who held his chin the entire time. Violet eyes followed each line Sorey made; every so often his head would lift for a question or comment, but he mostly remained silent.

Sorey had lost track of time when he sat back, pencil rolling across the table. Spanning numerous pages were drawings small and large of coffin after coffin from every angle, and all sorts of design possibilities. Mikleo spent some minutes examining each one, picking and pulling what he liked from each one, ultimately ending in Sorey offering to spend a day or two creating more detailed sketches and pulling everything together.

With that conversation at a close, they slid out of their seats, Mikleo re-shelving the books he’d taken, before they exited the building. Passing through the doorway, Sorey turned towards Mikleo.

“I was gonna get lunch at Mason’s, if you want to join.” Sorey’s nervousness showed.

“Ah, sorry. I’ve got plans with my sister.”

“Nothing to apologize for. But um… if you wanted to swing by the shop for progress updates.” Sorey rubbed his neck.

“I’ll think about it.” Mikleo said coldly as he retrieved his phone and fingers danced over the keyboard. Sorey shrank back, feeling he’d crossed a boundary. The only words left between them was a single question of if Sorey needed anything else for the project. He shook his head and received a stiff ‘goodbye’ before Mikleo took his leave.

Sorey sighed before heading back down the hill, checking his messages from Alisha that she’d closed up the shop and gone out to lunch. Part of him wanted to keep rambling about historical ages and everything that went with them, while his artist side itched to carve a relief of nothing but Temperance of Avarost designs.

Throughout the whole walk back to his shop, Sorey’s hands stayed behind his head as he contemplated what designs he wanted to work with for the coffin. He’d have to dig out his book on the Lefay shrine. Or maybe he’d do an entire portrait of that shrine before ever touching the coffin. He tussled his hair; he had too many ideas and he couldn’t pick even two or three.

Loud groaning vibrating against his closed lips, he unlocked the shop and pushed through with his shoulder. Crossing the sunlit room, he passed into the back room after tossing his bag under the desk. Flipping a couple switches brought soft light to the entire shop.

The backroom hadn’t been given near the care of the front. Originally, it was nothing more than storage. Sorey had gone through the trouble of tearing up carpeted floors in favor of tile. Though he’d never done anything about the stark white walls, over time he had covered them with various history posters and his own art inspirations. He’d gotten a large cube table that sat centered and acted as his main work area. Dotted around the room were various bits of wood, paint, and unorthodox carving tools. A back closet kept his table top lathe until he needed it.

He shuffled over to the cabinets that he’d installed himself specifically for food and drink storage. The amount of times he’d spent an entire night in this room were uncountable. Despite his large tea stash, nothing jumped out, so he blindly grabbed. Taking the tea pot from the sink below, he filled it and then set it on a heat element that most certainly wasn’t made for boiling water, but it worked just as well.

While he waited, he moved to a stack of books sitting on a corner of the table. None of them the one he wanted, but he pulled out one on the Age of Darkness and the Age of Calamity. Crude, rough, scratchy designs sprang up from those eras, yet they oddly mixed with the smooth and flowy designs of the Temperance of Avarost.

Allowing himself just a few loose sketches was enough for the water to boil. His mind still buzzed with the things he’d come up with; papers with notes and doodles and everything that was the visual of his creative process sprawled across the table.

“Sorey?” A voice said. He hadn’t heard the bells.

“Back here.” He hollered before making a mental note to check the bells later.

“I shouldn’t be surprised— oh what’s this?” Alisha paused as her eyes traveled around the table.

“Huh? What is it?” Sorey cocked his head as he poured a second glass before burying himself back in his work.

“Mmmh, quite the sudden dive into Temperance of Avarost? What happened to the Era of Asgard?”.

“You know I jump around.”

“Surely this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain man would it?” Sorey instantly went as red as his tea kettle.

“W-what are you getting at?” He scratched his jaw, jinging an earring. Only now had Sorey directly met her gaze.

“Hmmm, only that Rose may be correct about you having a crush.” She held a trembling finger to her lip, faint red eyes turned upwards as she spoke,

“Gah, c’mon! I know you two got together after what? A week? It takes more than that for me.”

She laughed weakly, the sound ringing wrongly in Sorey’s ears.

“As they say, ‘one can’t control matters of the heart.’” Her voice dipped. Too low. She pulled a chair over to sit next to him, taking the cup he’d set for her. Everything was wrong, and Sorey had finally stopped debating whether he’d pretend not to see it.

“What’s wrong?” Her head snapped away, silence ringing.

“I wanted Rose to be here, but… I received some news…” She couldn’t look anywhere near Sorey.

“Alisha, what happened?” Sorey steeled himself, bracing for any and everything.

“Boris… he…” she shuddered, “he’s gone Sorey…” He nearly fell off his stool. Goosebumps raised across every inch of him, chest beginning to heave. Finally Alisha meet his headlight gaze, and seeing how much effort she was using to hold herself together, Sorey slid off his chair and wrapped his arms around her. Instantly she clung to him, tears bursting as she sobbed into his chest.

They knew any day could be this one, yet neither could have prepared for it. Military duty came with tragedy looming within every second. Still holding Alisha, Sorey managed to pull his phone out and call Rose, who could do a much better job of calming Alisha down than he could. Rose had never met either Strelka brother; both having joined the military straight out of high school. For Sorey and Alisha though, Sergei and Boris had been their best friends since elementary.

Alisha hadn’t been able to say anything to Rose, who started freaking out the moment she heard sniffles. Sorey took to stroking her hair as he mustered up the strength to speak. His words broke too many times to count, but he strung together enough fragments to communicate that he wanted her to come to them when she could. Not even five minutes after their call ended, she was there.

Rose had pulled up another stool beside Alisha, and in a matter of minutes, had Alisha haphazardly laying across her and Sorey’s laps. Keeping her arms securely locked around Alisha, Rose turned up to Sorey.

“How’re you holding up?”

“It hurts… but I’ll manage. It’s her I’m worried about.” Sorey gazed at the sleep talking Alisha.

“Yeah. I hope I can actually help her through this.” Rose’s grip on Alisha’s shoulder tightened.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever seen her sleep on.”

She smiled, melancholy in her eyes as she twirled blonde hair. Rose spent a few moments staring down an Alisha, tucking loose strands behind her ear.

“We should probably get her home.” Sorey suggested. Rose nodded before gently shaking Alisha’s shoulder. Through her sleepy stupor, she’d forgotten what had happened, and hyperfocused on why she’d fallen asleep in Aroundight Woods. Sorey convinced her to not worry about that and they headed home, Sorey leaving all but his keys and phone there.

Half way home, Alisha trembled, a hand coming over her mouth. She’d woken up enough to remember, and everything hit her again. Sorey took her free hand and gave her every assurance he could think of. It took Sorey holding her hand, and Rose her shoulders to get her home, but once they did, she collapsed into bed, coiling around Rose like a snake. Sorey left with a small smile before retreating to his own room.

There, he checked his phone for the first time in hours to see a message from Sergei asking if they could talk. Sorey agreed to the phone call, and did his best to stuff everything down as he heard the details, and heard how broken Sergei was, yet putting on that practiced facade. Though Sorey was certain his squeaks and sniffles broke his own facade.

Routine border patrol, something as common and everyday as eating for them, yet this one day, Boris’ squad found mines strategically placed to create a landslide that buried every one of them.

Sorey remained on the phone well into the night, until he hadn’t a shred of doubt that Sergei was okay. Once Sorey’s head hit the pillow, he was out, not realizing just how exhausted his body had become.

#tales of zestiria #fanfiction

13 notes · View notes