#xan draws a smile!!

[wyxan]

The lovely @drgrlfriend commissioned me to draw a scene from Barton’s Halfway House for Ex-Brainwashed Assassins for the amazing, talented, and wonderful person that is @kangofu-cb. To go with your Bucky piece 💜

Isn’t it amazing what a couple of years and falling in love will do to you.

Thank you for telling me about the charity you donated to @drgrlfriend!! 💜

[sovonight]

,

[stellas-starry-sillies13]

YAYAYAYAYAYAYA MATCHUPSSS

I'm a girl and I'm looking for a pjsk matchup!

my personality?? um, god I'm an annoying motherfucker. when I find someone who's willing to listen, I will yap for hours about my interests. I have hpd, bpd(?), and adhd which is super duper fun totally 😐 but I think I'm funny maybe idk? I'm really insecure and I like actually can't find anything good about myself 😓 maybe I'm a fast learner? I'm sort of a nerd like, I'm in accelerated math 🤓

things I'm most sensitive to? idk what this means but ig I hate bugs and clowns and vomit and that shit. also when my s/o isn't giving me attention I would literally start screaming crying shaking.

my number one talent is simping. 💀 I have a shrine for 2 different people and when I have a crush on someone they're all I talk about 😭

my hobbies are drawing, writing, playing pjsk, and screaming lyrics of songs I like really loudly. I've also been getting back into dance lately that's pretty sigma. age range is 13-15 and there are no characters i don't want to be matched up with

what i want in an s/o? think of seo changbin from skz 🤩 jkjk (only slightly) i want a s/o thats nice to me, is at least slightly taller than me, (5'4), is funny, has decent fashion sense, and a real nice voice (but I suppose that's all the pjsk boys..)

what i don't want in an s/o is as I stated earlier, someone who doesn't give me attention, someone who puts me down, someone who brushes off my interests, and someone with a bad hairstyle /hj

yeah ty!! if this ask gets sent into the void I WILL cry!!!

' . < Project sekai matchup No. 1~! > . '

A/N: omg you do good in math??? You sound like a good s/o already. Girl if you like think think im sure you can find good stuff abt you. Liiiike you have a nice humor you made me crack a smile several times while reading this. Also idk youre just a fun person. ADHD? I xan relate. Its not confirmed but i probably do have it. Liek seriously whenever im doing my my math i just randomly start daydreaming and my mom always has to snap me back to reality. Thankfully she finds it funny lol and doesnt scold me for it. Also we're the same height so yay. Also same age range. We kin eachother fr.

Anyway! For the grand reveal, I match you up with....

` . < Rui~! > . '

A/N: Im sorry when you said you want someone who shows you attention i immediately thought of rui.

He will listen to every single detail of your rambles about your interests

Honestly finds it adorable

As someone who also rambles a lot about his own interests, he can relate

He understands that you have hpd and will give you all the attention in the world if you so desire

I like to think he will be very physically affectionate. With this mam, how could you NOT get all the attention in the world??

Finds your 'annoying' personality endearing

Sometimes just watches you draw over your shoulder without saying a word and then you just turn around and see him there and be like 'wth did you come from??'

Asks you to draw him

Loves to just watch you and observe you dance. Might even ask for you to teach him on of your dances. (Idr if it its canon that wxs dances but they prolly do, so)

Def teaches you one of the dances he performs

Im not sure if he has a decent fashion sense.. Idk depends ony our perspective

His voice though? Its the definition of nice. Like out of all the boys his is gentle and smooth. Sounds nice to me

[wonwussy]

hey for the truth or dare things what about a dare (with vernon if applicable)

also hihi ily my sunshine ♡♡♡♡ if you call yourself a storm cloud then you're the eye of the storm ♡♡♡

XAN BEAN ilysm you should know you are very dear to me

Okay so the dare is: “lick a trail from each of my nipples to my belly button… go slow”

Let’s have some fun!

————————————————(I’m on mobile, so no fancy divider)————————————————————

Vernon X gn!reader

Slight smutty/suggestive/fluff

SHORT DRABBLE

***

You lick your lips as you look down at Vernon below you, shifting slightly as you sit on his thighs. He was naked from the waist up, and your fingers are trailing over his skin. “Do you have any idea how pretty you are?” You ask, reaching up to brush some of his silver-purple hair out of his eyes. “Especially with this hair.”

He smiles shyly and shakes his head, resting his hands on your hips. “Not as pretty as you are,” he returns, leaning up to press his lips to yours in a quick kiss.

You smile when he lays back down, shaking your head a little. “That’s an argument that will just keep us going in circles,” you joke. You smooth your hands down his chest, your eyes following your hands, and shift back a little on his legs. “I’ll just use my energy to appreciate you instead,” you add softly. You lean over him and kiss his chest lightly.

He draws in a slow breath as he feels your lips on his skin, kissing across his chest to the other side. He bites his lip as he looks down at you and sees you looking up at him with a smile. One hand runs through your hair, as his other finds the sheet below him to grip as he feels your tongue on him. “Fuck,” he mutters.

You circle one nipple with his tongue, slowly trailing it over to his other. You don’t say anything as you continue to move your tongue over his body, shimmying down his legs a little. You pause when you reach his belly button, pressing a kiss just above it, before moving your tongue around it.

Vernon can’t help the laugh that escapes him at the feel of it, causing you to sit up with an amused look. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m ticklish,” he says with another laugh.

“See! This is why sexy is hard!” You joke as you join in his laughter. You move back up so you can lay next to him, both of you laughing as you tickle his sides gently. “Though, I think I much prefer this anyway. Laughter and cuddles.”

[missedstations]

"no one wants to be rough anymore" - Xan Forest Phillips

you haven’t had a salient thought since seeing the film, which still plays inside you on a loop. a valley splits open revealing mirroring paths. a lake like glass. there’s no need to name it. you are terrified that the men will hurt you and you are terrified they won’t be bothered. Jack is bathing in the river with his back to you because you love watching him turn to face you. the smile he holds out to you is the same one you attempt to bridle. when you are you, some things will align. denim hangs off your body with a certain correctness. those who don’t know you may see you as more adjacent to violence. the slurs that apply to you aggregate and split. the scene where the man wearing plaid strikes the man in a denim shirt, drawing blood before they embrace bore no distinction in your mind at sixteen when you got snowed into your car with your crush, who you asked to hit you as hard as he could. he refused your request, so you never asked for a kiss. sequence is crucial. no one will touch you like a man if you aren’t one. despite whatever work you’ve done on yourself since, the mountain air tastes like an ocean of river stones, gossamer, some frivolous instinct shifting into weather. it’s too much to ask to become what you have seen.

[caffeiiine]

no need to answer this ask soda, esp if you have a backlog you feel like you need to get to. just want to send this in for some form of comfort (also because im late to seeing ur last post and i wanna help somehow)

but i hope u start feeling better soon <3 it gets hard and i get that, but i believe in you, and i believe it'll get better for you. just gotta get through this rough patch, is all. you got this !! <3 and even if it doesn't immediately get better, go by baby steps! those are wonderful!! getting somewhere slowly is better than nothing, no matter how slow the "slowly" is, its progress to you and thats all that matters <3

if that doesnt help, imagine akutagawa doing a really silly dance. the silliest dance you could ever think of. the worm, even. hes flopping around on the floor like a fish...

i bet i got you giggling :3 <3<3<3<3

eusgsh what if i almost cried xan, what then, stop being so nice [huggibg you so hard bc when i first read it, it did make me feel a bit better <3] and you’re right i’ll try to take things more slowly than i have been 🎉

love ya /p🫶🎉

+ i smiled very stupidly at the akitahawa thing and kept thinking of that throughout the day and had to draw it once i got home

^ he’s making an attempt

[strawberrygiorno]

[Text ID:

Image 1:

Lae'zel: I abandoned my prince for you - and for a path of our making, away from the Astral.

Lae'zel: And yet I breathe all the more free. Little is lost, so much is gained.

Lae'zel: Last night will be forever branded into my memory -

Lae'zel: but now I must think of future days.

Lae'zel: I am forever marked by Vlaakith. The Undying Queen's knights will chase me across Faerûn 'til I draw my final breath.

Lae'zel: Our lives will be coloured by blood-red and death-black. Are you ready for the battles to come?

Karlach: Lae'zel. My engine... it's... it's finally burning me through.

Lae'zel: Kaincha! No. Your journey does not end here.

Lae'zel: You are the saviour of the Sword Coast. You are the murderer of death itself. You are the source of my joy.

Lae'zel: You will not die today.

Lae'zel: We are returning to Avernus. You will be well, and I will be by your side. Together, we will face the Hells, and Vlaakith besides, should she pursue us there. And we will thrive.

Karlach: If you really mean it, I'll go back with you.

Lae'zel: Your sense is intact. Good. Let us go - before it's too late.

Image 2:

Lae'zel: That's my strapping girl. Burning hot - but not too hot, praise Withers.

Lae'zel: It's incredible, isn't it? To be anywhere but sizzling in the hottest of Hells.

Lae'zel: I've slaughtered more fiends in the last month than I thought swarmed the whole of Avernus.

Lae'zel: And still you best me at every turn. I could build a fortress the size of Castle Susurrus with all the horns you've ripped from rampaging orthons.

Lae'zel: It's time - you deserve your freedom from the fires. I can't believe it's almost in reach.

*You think back on the cambion you slayed a tenday ago. It carried a map with directions and blueprints for Zariel's own, private forge.*

*The current plan: sneak in, grab a smith, and force him to repair or replace your heart so you can live outside Avernus.*

Karlach: Fuck yeah. Next stop, Zariel's forge. Final stop, Faerûn.

Lae'zel: Dear Karlach. I thought slicing through the wings of a pit fiend would by the pinnacle of my month.

Lae'zel: But seeing you here tonight, your eyes so bright, your smile so wide - nothing could bring me more joy than that.

Lae'zel: My story is yours now, Karlach. It may never be written in the githyanki slates, but it will be legendary all the same.

Karlach: Is our little hatchling Xan secure in his portable hole?

Lae'zel: Xan is safe - don't you worry that horned head of yours.

Lae'zel: Besides, if anyone so much as looked at him funny, I know you'd turn them to bloodchunks.

Lae'zel: Something in his eyes tells me he'll take after you more than me. A hellshunter with a graceful soul and a burning heart.

End ID]

Karlach origin with romanced Lae'zel epilogue dialogues

this ship is so rewarding honestly

Lae'zel is so hot for Karlach

also "our little hatchling Xan"

is the sweetest things ever

[megmess]

no one wants to be rough anymore

you haven’t had a salient thought since seeing the film, which still plays inside you on a loop. a valley splits open revealing mirroring paths. a lake like glass. there’s no need to name it. you are terrified that the men will hurt you and you are terrified they won’t be bothered. Jack is bathing in the river with his back to you because you love watching him turn to face you. the smile he holds out to you is the same one you attempt to bridle. when you are you, some things will align. denim hangs off your body with a certain correctness. those who don’t know you may see you as more adjacent to violence. the slurs that apply to you aggregate and split. the scene where the man wearing plaid strikes the man in a denim shirt, drawing blood before they embrace bore no distinction in your mind at sixteen when you got snowed into your car with your crush, who you asked to hit you as hard as he could. he refused your request, so you never asked for a kiss. sequence is crucial. no one will touch you like a man if you aren’t one. despite whatever work you’ve done on yourself since, the mountain air tastes like an ocean of river stones, gossamer, some frivolous instinct shifting into weather. it’s too much to ask to become what you have seen.

Xan Forest Phillips

[seekingstars]

no one wants to be rough anymore - Xan Forest Phillips

you haven’t had a salient thought since seeing the film, which still plays inside you on a loop. a valley splits open revealing mirroring paths. a lake like glass. there’s no need to name it. you are terrified that the men will hurt you and you are terrified they won’t be bothered. Jack is bathing in the river with his back to you because you love watching him turn to face you. the smile he holds out to you is the same one you attempt to bridle. when you are you, some things will align. denim hangs off your body with a certain correctness. those who don’t know you may see you as more adjacent to violence. the slurs that apply to you aggregate and split. the scene where the man wearing plaid strikes the man in a denim shirt, drawing blood before they embrace bore no distinction in your mind at sixteen when you got snowed into your car with your crush, who you asked to hit you as hard as he could. he refused your request, so you never asked for a kiss. sequence is crucial. no one will touch you like a man if you aren’t one. despite whatever work you’ve done on yourself since, the mountain air tastes like an ocean of river stones, gossamer, some frivolous instinct shifting into weather. it’s too much to ask to become what you have seen.

[starlit-xamners]

When your cryptid boyfriend gets up in the middle of the night for a snack

[inhernature]

no one wants to be rough anymore

Xan Forest Phillips

you haven’t had a salient thought since seeing the film, which still plays inside you on a loop. a valley splits open revealing mirroring paths. a lake like glass. there’s no need to name it. you are terrified that the men will hurt you and you are terrified they won’t be bothered. Jack is bathing in the river with his back to you because you love watching him turn to face you. the smile he holds out to you is the same one you attempt to bridle. when you are you, some things will align. denim hangs off your body with a certain correctness. those who don’t know you may see you as more adjacent to violence. the slurs that apply to you aggregate and split. the scene where the man wearing plaid strikes the man in a denim shirt, drawing blood before they embrace bore no distinction in your mind at sixteen when you got snowed into your car with your crush, who you asked to hit you as hard as he could. he refused your request, so you never asked for a kiss. sequence is crucial. no one will touch you like a man if you aren’t one. despite whatever work you’ve done on yourself since, the mountain air tastes like an ocean of river stones, gossamer, some frivolous instinct shifting into weather. it’s too much to ask to become what you have seen.

Xan Forest Phillips from no one wants to be rough anymore

[sovonight]

I LOVE the way you draw Xan and Radri together. You make the interactions look so natural and sweet, it always makes me smile to see them.

If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any advice on how to draw character interactions (romantic or otherwise) to make them feel more real?

Hope you're having a wonderful day!

awww thank you so much!!

the thing i consider most for each interaction is, what are they feeling/thinking in this moment? and how does that inform how they're positioned together?

for romantic interactions, i go down my checklist:

place them close to each other (or make them visibly want to be closer to each other)

hands are there to hold the other person, or are posed to convey a desire to hold the other person

their poses should betray/display the above desires to be closer; let them subconsciously turn towards each other, be drawn to each other

if they're comfortable with each other, let them put weight on each other. as in: let them lean against each other, rest their head upon the other's shoulder, let them sprawl over the other person, have them really commit in a hug by fully leaning into it

and i approach that differently depending on the scenario, like:

this sleepy embrace: i actually started with this pose, but it felt a little stiff and distant to me. i wanted them to let their weight rest on each other more, to have them look comfortable and relaxed and asleep together. i let radri turn more towards xan, relaxed the hand on her stomach, and let her legs fall more naturally to the right, to again curve her more towards xan. for xan, i let him hold her with both arms, so that it looks like he'd pulled her closer to him--or pulled himself closer to her

this farewell: i let them stand very close to each other, and it's obvious that that tiny distance between them is the only thing atton can think about. his hand is on cela's cheek, but i kept it more of a light and tentative touch, like he thinks he's undeserving of it. cela's hand is on his forearm, conveying that she's open to this contact, but also kind of pulling it away--her expression says there's more important things to worry about in the moment

this tender gaze: actually kind of a good one to compare to the farewell above. there's a similar tiny distance between them, but it can clearly be bridged in the next second. xan's leaning in towards radri, and the way that he's placed his hand by her cheek is familiar, as though he might pull her into a kiss. radri is fully locked into this embrace with the way her hands are overlapped (!) at the back of his waist, with no intention of letting go. xan's other hand is on radri's waist, and the line of radri's back subtly implies that she's been pulled in (or perhaps that she pulled herself closer, by her arms around his waist)

[teonys-jf]

do you have some dumb shalashska sibling stories? or like funny moments of them

so, funny thing, i’ve switched stuff around!

now it’s toby, xander {xavier}, and terra are all siblings and cousins to ein {zack’s side} and technically jay {aphmau} but the gats wanted to keep in touch with sylvanna so they spent more time together :) also, terra is the half-sister to toby and xander, terra’s mom is in her first marriage with the boy’s dad and it’s his second marriage

but i’m sure i’ve got some family stories :)

so toby is the oldest, xander is the middle, and terra is the youngest

xander hated growing up in public school with the “oh you’re toby’s brother? how funny is that!” stuff and was obviously uncomfortable and wanting out of the situation

terra loved it, though, and would take pride in it and always make ‘my brothers gonna beat you up’ jokes and already be on good terms with teachers

xander was the closest in age with ein, so they spent the most time together

at one of the family get-togethers, they decided to pour milk down the toilet and not flush. they were like 5 or 6 and came back giggling, and after their grandmother found out what they’d done, they got in trouble {ein got in more trouble than xander because zack and elizabeth were not made to be parents}

terra was close with jay, they constantly had sleepovers in middle school despite their schools being hours apart

when jay was homeschooled terra would try and keep them up to date with what was going on in her school, leading to the misconception of school even more than if it was just anime since terra loved making up stories and forgot to say which were made up

sylvanna was happy that her little girl wasn’t going to be lonely during homeschool and would thank jacob and kristine, who waved it off and said they were glad terra had someone with enough energy to keep up with her

toby would try and help ein once he was old enough to see what’s going on, but ein had already shut himself off from the world. instead, toby kept in contact with him over the years through online games and they loved playing tf2 together

when xander and jay were little, they got on each other’s nerves and would ‘play fight’ as sylvanna called it, but xan’s father would call it wrestling. eventually when they lost their first teeth on separate occasions they had to stop

neither of the kids remember this, just that they lost their teeth while family was over

sylvanna told this story to eric and that’s how jay found out about it, who immediately called terra and told her about it {didn’t have xander’s phone number}

terra loved to be outside in summer all of the time, mostly during sunny days. she would get toby and xander outside too, but terra would forget about sunscreen and get burned

xander used to torture her when she got sunburned, but stopped when he was a tween

toby would usually be the responsible one and bring out water/snacks for all of them, their parents would either read outside as the kids had fun or sing/dance inside

xander was the one who gave terra her tattoo idea, toby took all of them to the parlor when it was getting done. terra doesn’t have great pain tolerance, and her brothers ran in as she waved them off going “everything’s good, just a baby” and wiped a tear away

toby tipped the guy directly for an apology, they laughed and said it was okay and that if it was their family, they would’ve done the same thing

terra understood where ein was on being the half sibling and would try to cheer him up when they were little by making drawings of the gats, marin-filla, and filla family

he forgot that it’s in a box in storage, but remembers her smile and gets happy

they also connect over their half-aquatic sides and always worked together on ocean-themed coloring books

terra was ecstatic to learn that her and jay were going to be roommates in college, and gave a lot of ideas for them to hang out and watch netflix and pizza parlors

jay is allergic to pepperoni, so they’re mostly stuck with cheese, but terra doesn’t mind

there was a running joke between the two that terra would put a slice of pepperoni on what food was hers

jay met, and found out about, ein through toby. after she agreed to be the carrier for aaron and lily’s baby, since her second pregnancy would put her in danger, aaron mentioned toby who introduced the hald-siblings

jay was pissed that sylvanna didn’t tell her about ein and elizabeth, as sylvanna explained everything from her side jay asked what terra saw and got that side and put everything together

jay and ein don’t treat each other as siblings, more like strangers on decent enough terms

jay would be more likely to ask terra or toby to look after levin, malachi, and gabriel if zoey is out of commission

i should probably mention all of the schools everyone went to oopsies

terra, toby, and xander went to falcon high, decent public school

jay went to phoenix drop highschool, fluctuating private school

ein went to scale high, bad public school

jay, xander, and terra went to falcon claw university while toby went into military service and met aaron, ein did online college

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 10

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, grief, loss and some second base action.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who reads, re-reads, points out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

May the flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary - Xan Oku

Chapter 10

Your eyes fly open - heart pounding, mouth dry- as the nighttime movie that played behind your eyelids finishes abruptly. Hugging your arms around yourself, you try to steady the impact of that injection of adrenaline into your veins, drawing deep breaths into your lungs as you gaze into the oil slick of darkness surrounding you. The sounds of day are yet to kick into being as your phone screen illuminates 03:02 - the trains not yet pulling out of their sidings, sirens still silenced for the most part. The night air is just punctuated by the rhythmic pitter patter of rain upon the roof and the sweetest little snores still rising steadily from your…

Your boss.

For fucks sake.

Once could be called a mistake, even if it was a twelve year long one. But back doing this shit again? Sheer fucking stupidity. Your head drops into your hands as a stab of pain cuts through your gut. What the fuck do you do now? Marcus so honestly put his heart on a platter for you last night- could you be the cold hearted, callous bitch that throws it back in his face? All of your body fizzes with fear - your muscles twitching with the cortisol so rather than irritate him with your fidgeting, you slide out of his bed.

Bare soles on the night-cooled wooden floors help to ground your flighty soul as you walk around the unfamiliar apartment. Whilst the exterior dampness can only come as far as pretty patterns on the window pane, the chill causes tiny pinprick goosebumps to stand proud against your skin. You finally settle cross-legged on the floor by the French doors leading out to the balcony, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass - mentally cheering on your favourites as they glide towards the inky pools gathering beneath them.

With your mind so lost in your new-found sport, you aren’t entirely aware of the arrival of a warm, breathing blanket that curls itself around your body languidly before you are tightly encircled by long limbs and gentle nuzzling into the side of your neck, “What’s up, honey?”

A small, precious kiss is pressed into your temple before the sleep-thick murmur continues in your ear, “Thought you’d left. So happy to find you here.”

Leaning back into his broad chest, you allow the expanse of his form that is wrapped around you to consume your body whole, “Bad dream. Couldn’t get back to sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

“‘M sorry,” Marcus slides you slightly to his left so he can search your face for the answers that you are so incredibly reluctant to give, “Your heart is racing - do you want to talk or just have things that will make you feel better?”

Initially, you don’t feel able to catch his gaze, having thought about breaking his heart only minutes prior to his soothing arrival but when you do, everything hits you like a ton of bricks. The deep pillow creases of his cheek, sweetly mussed up hair and the earthy hues of his questioning eyes make your fist fly to cover your eyes as your tears echo the deluge of rain.

He doesn’t speak. Just holds you close. Cradling you in his arms as your body shakes into his. Marcus allows you to sit with your pain awhile - not pressuring you to speak or offering any empty platitudes to solve it- allowing the hurricane of grief to rip through you, all the while tethering you to the ground.

As the tears exhaust themselves, Marcus leaves and your eyes dance in panic at the loss of his soothing touch. The relief of hearing his kettle start to boil and then the gentle roar of taps filling a tub, stretch a ghostly pair of arms back around you, soothing the ache beneath your ribs. A hand reaches down to you offering a way out - gently hoisting you back onto your feet.

“C’mere sweetheart,” Marcus pulls you back into his chest, pressing a line of kisses along your hairline, “I’ve made you a cup of camomile tea and run you a bath.”

He makes to leave you but your haunted eyes and tight grip upon his wrist beg him to stay, “Honey, I don’t want to overstep the mark here. I’m sorry that I asked you to stay. Overwhelming you like this, isn’t fair of me.”

Trying to eloquently respond to him comes out with just a snotty sad gasp so you vehemently shake your head tugging his hand towards the bathroom. Once inside the metro tiled space - pausing between heaving breaths - you manage to squeak out in your juddery voice, “Please stay with me.”

“Please don’t feel guilty - this is just shit I need to work through,” you mumble as you fiddle with the hem of Marcus’ t-shirt, feeling his skin twitch as you accidentally make contact, “I’m sorry that it’s having a knock on effect for you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he leans in to sweetly kiss your forehead, “I’ll turn around while you get in but I promise not to leave.”

“I don’t care if you see me naked - it’s just a body,” you mutter slightly confused by this sentiment when he’d been stroking your breasts earlier. As you start peeling off the t-shirt you’d borrowed from him, Marcus swings to face the bathroom door quickly.

“No,” the sharpness of Marcus’ response steals the air from your lungs momentarily - you stand in front of him like a rabbit caught in headlights, “I’m sorry, sweetheart - didn’t mean to be so forceful. No - it’s not just a body. It is your body and I wanna enjoy it properly when you’re not so upset. It would be taking advantage.”

Slowly lowering yourself into the delicious expanse of Marcus’ bath, you allow the warmth to soak into your aching bones. The water cocoons and hugs every inch of you as you permit it to unknit every knot of tension within your body.

“You can turn around now.”

A kind smile plays upon the deep creases set by Marcus’ eyes, “Tilt your head back.”

Reaching behind you, he turns on the shower attachment - the water bursting forth in a perfect summer rain across the skin of the bath water. Like a parent with a child, he checks the temperature until it reaches a soothing heat and runs it over your hair, soaking every last strand, washing away the mix of salt from anxious sweat and tears. Dropping the shower head in the bath, he then grabs a generous squirt of shampoo in his hands, lathering it into your scalp, massaging until you feel like a gelatinous blob under his skilful touch.

After rinsing every last bubble and sud from your hair, Marcus then squeezes out some conditioner - the bottle releasing the most indecent sound that has you both giggling like small children. Having coated his digits well, he starts to run his fingers through your hair - combing every strand with his hands, ensuring there isn’t a single knot to be found. A gentle finger beneath your chin tells you to tip your head back again as the shower rinses the excess away.

Settling back on the plush bath mat, Marcus passes you your tea silently and you just sit. Sit there in companionable silence - without an ounce of awkwardness- just both sipping tea as your body gradually accepts its need to sleep again.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready,” Marcus gazes softly after your disappearing form as you spin into your bedroom to get dressed for work. It takes every bit of gentlemanly restraint that he possesses not to follow you, run his hands over your silken skin and get a hit of your delicious taste. Instead he re-settles his mind by looking around your flat having finally been allowed a peek inside your inner sanctum.

He doesn’t quite know what he expects to see but it certainly isn’t this. It feels an odd mix in there- piles of cushions and blankets but no photos. No pictures decorating the place yet multiple empty frames propped against walls, waiting for their stories to be told. Your home isn’t really a home at all - it is just a roof over your head with nests for you to curl into exhaustedly.

“Have you been here long?” he asks quizzically, spying the battered moving boxes that have obviously been rummaged through for a missing necessary nick-nack or two but never having been fully unpacked. Marcus runs his hand over the coarse, corrugated cardboard and light spattering of dust coating them, wondering what secrets you wish to keep hidden in there and if you will ever open fully to him, to allow him to lighten your load.

“Almost two years,” he hears you muffledly answer through the jumper you pull over your head as you momentarily reappear in the doorway of your bedroom - a vision of radiantly soft curves- just knickers and a mess of limbs arguing with the item of clothing, before your breasts get hidden under the striped knitwear.

As much as Marcus tries to stop himself, his body takes the required steps forward so that his fingers can be satiated with the warmth of your skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet - the heat of his breath just dusts the shell of your ear as he inhales the scent of his shampoo in your hair.

“Look at you,” he murmurs - shaking his head in disbelief as he grabs your wrists and pulls you into him, “Beautiful.”

Using the back of his hand to release the hair caught in the collar of your jumper, Marcus takes a moment to drink in all your features. The flecks of gold in your eyes, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the streaks of wisdom in your hair - how were you, the beauty that you are, interested in him?

And then you’re kissing him. Your mouth open, soft lips inviting him into your inner sanctum. He feels your fingertips stroking into the nape of his neck, your nails scratching into the hair that twists and curls there. Shivers of pleasure run down Marcus’ spine, making him pull you closer as your touch sparks life across his body. Your gentle push causes Marcus to startle - to stumble backwards, falling back onto the sofa, sending cushions scuttling across the floor.

Feeling his jaw tic as you clamber into a kneeling position above him, Marcus tries to steady his breath by focussing on the small details of you. The darker spots of pigmentation where the sun has permanently kissed your skin. The divots of your collarbones just peeking above your sweater. The small reminder of a childhood misadventure just above your right eyebrow.

Nope. This is not working. God, I want her.

“Lower those goddamn hips,” he growls, “Sit down.”

“I can’t,” he hears you whimper, eyes shut tight, “I’ll make a mess of your trousers.”

Marcus groans as he considers the sweetness that is encased by those bright pink, lace edged panties - still not quite believing that it is him who has had this effect on you. When you grab his hands that have been stroking little circles by your knees and pull them to your ass, the heat in him rises as he squeezes and needles the delicious flesh beneath.

“This is gonna be hard having you work so close,” as soon as he hears the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. The little twitch between your eyebrows. The tremble of your bottom lip. The slight shift back of your weight upon his lap. Marcus catches them all.

“I’m sorry. Nush, I shouldn’t have…”

As your weight rocks back away from him, leaving his body quickly cooling with your absence, the air is punctuated with your muttering of one word over and over. Each utterance a bullet coated in guilt hitting him sharply.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Scrunching his eyes tight shut, he rocks forward, head in hands. Should he come after you? Should he leave? Fuck, Pike.

Hearing the creak of your bedroom door, Marcus lifts his head in your direction - his eyes throwing a million apologies to you, “Nush, I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing that I’d ever want to do.”

He watches as you walk across the floor - smaller shuffling steps rather than your usual confident stomp, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy and your breathing a little jagged - and feels like he’s just crushed a butterfly in his hands when all he was trying to do was appreciate its beauty. Water starts to pool in the corners of his eyes as he blinks hard to warn them off - after all, he didn’t need to give you any other reason to walk away from him. A small grateful smile creeps across his face when you settle between his knees, resting your arms across his lap - your tear-streaked face looking up at him.

“I’m frightened,” he hears you whisper, “Repeating past mistakes is sheer fucking stupidity.”

Marcus freezes, the blood in his veins turning to ice as he awaits your verdict.

“I can’t do that again. You cannot become another Jasper to me. The relationship that never was with all the hiding.”

“I don’t want us to hide,” he hears his voice betraying him as fear courses through his synapses, his hands aching to touch you. Hold you.

Please don’t let me lose her.

Please don’t let this be it.

“Can I touch you?” Marcus quietly, carefully checks before daring to reach out. He watches as a cloud of confusion washes across your face at his request.

“Of course you can. What? Hang on, did you think,” you pause, brow furrowed, “Did you think I want to stop whatever this turns out to be?”

With his shoulders slightly hunched, one hand reaching behind to rub the base of his neck, Marcus nods, “Yeah, a bit. I…”

“I don’t wanna fuck this up, Nush,” he reaches forward to stroke your wrist.

“Me neither, but we will,” your words take a moment to register with him, “We have both experienced so much - good and bad - that we will put our proverbial foot in it with each other.

“But, I hope that in time, with our collective pasts and the streaks of grey in our hair, we may also slowly learn how to communicate and say when things are a bit shit for us and why. Why my instinct is to run screaming from things and why you think everyone you love is going to leave.”

Marcus curls forward so he can rest his forehead against yours before placing a small kiss there, “Now you’re really gonna have to be two minutes if we’re gonna get to work on time. I’m just gonna shut my eyes until you’re dressed so I’m not tempted to make us late.”

“You think that’ll work?”

Chuckling at the wink you throw at him over your shoulder, Marcus starts to allow that tiny ray of hope he’s been burying for years to shine again.

✪✪✪✪✪

As Marcus opens the door for you, an overwhelming wave assaults your senses. Noises from tapping keyboards, phones ringing and computers blaring, the overwhelming scents of fatty, sugary yet discarded breakfasts and coffee hits hard but it’s the tiny, surreptitious stroke at the base of your spine gives you the kick you need to go in and start your day. A steaming coffee is thrust towards Marcus behind you and some case files are handed to you by a smiling Andy, “Morning Sir, morning Nush. What time did you manage to get cleared up?”

“Between the two of us, it didn’t take too long,” you grin at the PA before looking over your shoulder to find Marcus smiling at you, “Think I was asleep by eleven.”

“Snoring away,” Marcus barely audibly whispers, making your eyes widen.

“Ready for the meeting at nine o’clock, Sir? I have everything set up in the conference room, ready to go…” Andy sweeps Marcus away from you as you head over to your desk, spying the hot cup of Java awaiting your arrival.

New piles of paperwork seem to litter your desk, replacing the ones you’d tried so hard to clear on Friday afternoon. Office life. That it is a life is a bit of a lie, as every soul within your office space looks like it is in some stage of decomposition. Kiri appears to be in need of another weekend to get over the two days of rest just gone, Dian is yawning into her coffee and as for Harper, well, there’s a part of you that doesn’t quite believe she’s fully human with the way she’s already ploughing through her work.

When 9am finally rolls around, it feels more like two in the afternoon. Marcus sticks his head out of the door to call everyone into the meeting and is met by several groans from the team as they reluctantly shake themselves from their chairs and drag their Monday fatigued bones towards the conference room. At the oval, walnut table, you sit sandwiched between Dian and Kiri, directly opposite Andy in a hopefully not too obvious ploy to not be too close to Marcus.

“Good morning everyone, I’d ask you if you’d all had a good weekend but I think we spent enough time together to know that we all did,” a chuckle rises from your office mates as Marcus welcomes everyone, “I wanted to have a catch up this morning as the Soutine that Agent Pierce and I checked in Lyon, has come back as a definite fake. The verdict was reached late Friday afternoon and the French authorities are currently trying to trace its origins.

“We also received word this morning that a Modigliani has turned up in Sotheby’s - they have their own art fraud team but hopefully we will get a look in soon. Agent Pierce, I know I haven’t asked you to prep but could you explain to the team what the issues are around his work?”

“Sotheby’s?” you question, staring straight at Marcus and entirely ignoring his request, “I can get in there now as my best mate works in the fraud team.”

“Hephzibah?” Andy catches your eye, “Didn’t realise she’d transferred over from Scotland Yard.”

“More money,” you shrug as Andy presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“No, Agent Pierce, I’d like us to hang back for now,” Marcus responds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “If you could give us some of your insight about Modigliani’s pieces, please?”

Slightly taken aback by Marcus’ firmness, you take a moment before responding, “Modigliani’s back catalogue is a fucking mess as he used to give out sketches like a fortune teller.

“Jean Cocteau said that he was drawn by Modigliani roughly fifty times but he only ever owned one picture. Prices have skyrocketed over the past decade with one going for $170.4 million dollars so he’s very much a member of the $100 million club along with Warhol, Picasso et al but not quite at their ethereal prices.

“One of the main things about Modigliani is that the love of the man is not easily separated from his art. Over the years, he has been painted as somewhat Byronesque in his exploits by salacious biographies and films - very much sex and drugs and rock n roll. A bohemian who lived in Montparnasse and Montmartre at the Fin de Siecle - he was known by all the artists who lived there at the time - Picasso even said he was the only man in Paris who knew how to dress.

“To be honest, whilst he was hot - soulful dark eyes, ebony, wavy hair and a beautiful bone structure with an extraordinary amount of intelligence and eloquence-”

“Ah, so you have a type?” Harper mutters into her notes.

Your cheeks flush and eyes dart around the room, hoping that Marcus didn’t hear that as you desperately try to summon a consummate professional performance for the others, “-It is hugely difficult to separate the man from the myth but the main issue due to his profligacy with his art, unlike the other greats who get over $100 million for their work, Modigliani’s work is often questioned. You could easily find a Modigliani in an attic with a letter attached from the man himself and people would still raise an eyebrow at it.

“So, um, the main thing according to all the auction houses is that unless it is in the catalogue curated by Ceroni, it ain’t a Modigliani. This is problematic in itself as that was published in 1958 and even some of the pieces on his list are questionable. People have ended up in prison over their dubious dealings with Modigliani’s back catalogue as you can see in the case of Parisot.

“So if a piece comes to auction that isn’t on the list, they’re damned if it is a Modigliani, and damned if it isn’t?” Dian questions you.

“Pretty much. And he worked at a time when a lot of advances and changes happened in artist’s products. In the first half of the twentieth century, both the production of paint and paper changed massively as everything was slowly more industrialised and made more stable. By industrialising these things, it made the equipment cheaper quicker as more could use it rather than being made Etsy-style in tiny batches that were way beyond the means of most artists.

“Normally, with older pieces we can look at how the artists use paints and the type of paints they use but with more modern artists everything becomes a bit murkier as it is harder to date. And I will stop there before I piss off Harper by rabbiting on too much more.”

Even Harper has the decency to smirk at your comment before returning to her notes. Marcus’s gaze has softened again as you finish speaking, “ Thanks, Agent Pierce. Perhaps we could hear from you now Agent Gleason and Youngerson?”

Harper raises her eyebrows in Marcus’ direction before starting, “So, Agent Youngerson and I have been looking at various right wing groups currently active across the world and what their links are to the art world. The main ones who have thrown up scents for us to chase are The Old School Society, Hydra and The Order.”

Dian looks up from her pad of extensive notes, “Yeah, we've been tracing money routes with those three and when looking at the main donors to these groups, they’ve all had dealings with art galleries and auction houses recently. So we’re now looking into each donor carefully and may need to do some in the field meetings with them as prospective buyers - so my darling work wife, Nush, we may need notes unless you fancy being our cover girl?” she comically winks at you. Making a little heart with your index finger and thumb, you send an equally cheesy wink and click of the tongue back at her.

Marcus huffs a chuckle out at the two of you before turning his attention to Kiritopa, “How have you been getting on with your catalogue of fakes relating to this case?”

“Yeah, alright - slow going collecting all the data as it seems some auction houses are reluctant to reveal how many fakes pass through their doors,” Kiri frowns before glugging some more coffee.

“It’s understandable, they don’t want their reputations dashed. Doesn’t make our work any easier though. Agent Morrison - if you can show me what you’ve compiled so far that’d be great,” Marcus gives the agent a small, sincere smile before turning to address the room again, “Right, I have a meeting this afternoon that’ll keep me out of the office for the rest of the day so I’ll leave you all to get on. Have a great day everyone.”

✪✪✪✪✪

You:

Hey sexy lady, I hear you’ve got a tasty little number at S’s - can I take a look?

Hephzi:

Off the books? Course you can. Change into civvies and I’ll get you in this afternoon.

You:

You’re a fucking ⭐️. I’ll make it worth your while

Hephzi:

Do you mean cake and coffee? Because if you do, I’m fucking yours.

You:

Urm obviously! See you around two?

A small knock on your desk makes you put down your phone and you look up into Marcus’ face, “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Yes, Sir,” as you push your chair away from your desk, you throw your mobile in your desk drawer and follow him into his office.

His desk is immaculately tidy and warm to the touch with its honey and caramel tones washing back and forth in undulating waves as if across a beach. There’s not a hint of Marcus in his office yet - no personal treasures - it stands in stark contrast to the warmth of the man you’re getting to know.

“I just wanted to check you were ok. I heard what Harper said,” he reaches out to straighten the ribbing at the bottom of your jumper, his thumb stroking your tummy lightly.

“She’s not wrong,” you grin lopsidedly at him as you step in closer, placing your hands on either side of his face, “Dark soulful eyes, beautifully high cheekbones, delightfully luscious lips that are perfect for kissing - hard not to fancy Modigliani, really.”

“You’re mean,” Marcus squeezes your hip as he shakes his head, “When would you like to speak to the others? I think being up front with them will help us in the long run.”

You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back slightly, your face illuminated by your smile, “Maybe we can have our first date and then think about the long run?”

When you see the flinch from Marcus, a pang of guilt echoes through your gut as you recall your earlier conversation, “I think you’re right- once we’re truly confident we know where this is headed, we should speak up. I am not going to lose my job or risk my reputation for you… but I also already know that I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Me neither,” his hand reaches out for you, fingers entangling, thumbs stroking - eyes crinkling as they meet yours, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“Well, I was a bit distracted when I got dressed this morning - there was this really hot guy in my flat…”

“Uh huh, tell me about him,” Marcus slowly drawls, looking down at you amusedly.

“Oh you don’t want to know, Sir. Wouldn’t let me get dressed. Just kept groping me.”

“How... inappropriate of him.”

“Yeah - so I was almost late to work because of him wanting his wicked way with me and accidentally ended up putting on two different shoes.” Marcus steps away from you and having looked down, notices the one extremely dark navy and one black ballet pump with a gently shaking chest as he tries to swallow his chuckle.

“Going home to change? Your mind really must have been elsewhere,” you nod at him -slightly embarrassed by your initial genuine mistake that has now become a cover story. His gaze intensifies as he cups your face, his eyes focussing on your lips, “I’m sorry honey, I don’t think I’ll have time to drop you there and back before my meeting - will you be ok?”

“Of course, Marcus - I’ve worked here for years,” you tease him, feeling awkward as fuck when the half truth you are spinning for your boss feels awkward and bitter in your mouth.

But his kiss doesn’t. Marcus quickly closes the gap between the two of you, leaning towards you - his head tilted, lips soft and welcoming with their desire for you utterly apparent. Deepening the kiss, his mouth gently opening, tongue searching as his hands drop from your face to your waist, you find yourself forgetting to worry that anyone could walk in. Forgetting the regret of lying to him. What had you even been talking about? Should you be doing this? Fuck it. You pull him the final distance so that no air could pass between you - just you and Marcus refusing to pause for breath until your lungs run out of air.

Pulling back to gaze at him with lust blown pupils, wanting him so much more, you eventually find the energy to push away from him. Swiping at your lips with your thumb in case anyone spots the remnants of this moment as you walk towards the door on brand new baby deer legs.

“Hey Nush,” you swing back to look at Marcus, still standing, equally dumbstruck as you, before he winks with a cheeky grin, “Nice shoes.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Gripping the cardboard carrier that holds two steaming cups of black coffee in your left hand, you ring the bell to the magnificent Bloomsbury building that has sold multiple pieces of multi-million pound art. The Georgian façade is impressive in its structure and beautifully kept without a sign of peeling paint, decrying its almost 250 year history - a far cry from the shatterproof glass and steel at HQ. Hephzi opens the door to you with a wide grin upon her face, “Bang on time, missus - I swear the only way to get you places quickly, is with the promise of fine art to get you salivating!”

You can’t really respond eloquently to her as you are absorbed into the cool of the elegant building. Whilst kept modern and minimalistic, the space has retained some of its more charming period features - the cornicing and ceiling roses are still firmly in place despite the stark white of the walls. Oh, the pieces that have passed through this space! The very thought makes you tingle all over through excitement.

Currently bedecking the walls are a collection of women artists about to go up for auction the next day. To you, there was no true money in those frames - just a conversation between you, the spectator and the artist about their emotions in picture form. A discussion that spanned centuries as you follow Hephzi’s soft footsteps through the gallery, enjoying every single one from a still life of flowers surrounded by butterflies and other insects by Rachel Ruysch to one of the copies of Blinding by Tracy Emin - the upside down nude female form shaped in neon pink tubes. The artists speak through ages, through the art upon the wall, in the language of your soul.

Marcus would love it here. Oh to bring him and enjoy it together, walking through the space, hand in hand. My head on his shoulder...

“...Hello? Earth to Nushka? Ah, welcome back,” Hephzibah is shaking her head at you, “You’re here on work experience if anyone asks, yes?”

“Yup,” still only half listening to your friend, you begrudgingly continue on to her workspace in the fraud and forgeries department, reluctantly walking away from the art you long to submerge yourself in.

“Right, hand over the coffee and cake- I take payment in advance, Madam,” Hephzi demands, hand outstretched, “So tell me about the new job. What’s your new boss like?”

“Marcus is nice,” you quietly offer into the rim of your coffee.

“First names already?” Hephzibah’s eyes are round with surprise, “And you mention him before the job… Who even are you? What have you done with the real Nush? Oh! Oh Nush, do you like him?”

You stand there blinking hard, feeling an absolute idiot for being so awkward in front of the person you call your best friend. A small, barely perceivable nod through the steam of your coffee has the arms of your best friend wrapped around you, “Nush, tell me more - has anything happened? Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I think so. Made a curry last night for the team at his flat, and ended up staying the night - nothing happ.. Well, we didn’t have sex but I think he likes me,” you nervously chatter at her before drawing a deep breath, “He’s pretty fucking amazing. Seems to be genuinely a nice guy - just straight talking, gentle, kind and holy shit is he good looking! His kisses and touches just turn me into fucking jelly.”

“Better than Jas?”

Your heart thuds in your chest so hard that there is a point where you fully expect it to wrench open your rib cage and run across the floor. You stare wide-eyed, your mouth open

“What?”

Hephzi steps forward, her gaze gentle as she places her hand on your arm, “You weren’t quite as good at hiding it as you thought you were. It was pretty obvious you were together and loved each other very dearly - I just knew that if I ever brought it up that you would run a mile.

“I tried telling you that I knew before. It was after he died and I wanted you to know that I knew it wasn’t just the death of a co-worker. Not that there’s ever any just in those situations for us either but I knew. When I asked about meeting someone the other day, it was more of me just trying to figure out if you were ready to date again.”

With that, the floodgates open and the grief flows you like a river, eroding your defences away. Hephzi holds you as you utterly soak through her expensive blouse, “I wanted to tell you so many times but I was terrified of what you’d think of me.”

“What I’d think of you - are you fucking kidding me, you absolute idiot?” she tucks your tear drenched hair behind your ears, “I’ve held your hair back in pub toilets as you’ve thrown up from too much alcohol and gotten you out of so many other scrapes but that, a relationship with a man from work is what you think I’d judge you for? Nah, that's not how any of this works, mate. Firstly, you can’t help who you fall in love with and secondly, where else are you ever going to meet someone when all you do is work?”

“N...N...Need a tissue. You made me get all snotty,” you tearfully stammer, all blotchy-face and tear streaked.

Hephzi can’t help but laugh at you blaming her for your tears. As she grabs a tissue, she also grabs the cake and the serviettes from the bag, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up - cake and a masterpiece.”

Following her into the studio beside her office, there it is. A supposedly lost version of Modigliani’s Nu Couché sur le Côté Gauche - her sheer sensuality rolling off her in waves. The way that she gazes out of the piece beguilingly, inviting you to join her on the bed, the sheets ruffled and rolling beneath her delicious curves.

Hephzi laughs at your reaction to the piece, “She’s hot isn’t she?”

“Yep - I’d definitely do her. I’d like to say that it is her almond eyes enticing me but really, it’s that entirely biteable bum,” you say before biting into the pastel de nata.

“Agreed - although for me, it’s her back and her thighs. They are edible - as you rightly say,” she says into her coffee.

“How’s the provenance?”

Hepzhi pulls a face as she turns back to you, “Traceable, but this one isn’t in Ceroni.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts entirely. Look, love, I can’t let you touch it but feel free to take photos, measurements etc. As soon as my own tests come back, I promise you’ll know before the guys upstairs do,” Hephzibah asserts before sitting back on the desk in the room, “Just remember, you’re here on work experience.”

You throw a thank you over your shoulder at the rapidly retreating figure of Hepzi as you set to work. Using a Canon with a macro lens, you instantly photograph the major features and then take several overlapping pictures so that you can look close up on your computer at work. Whilst not quite a microscope, it would have to do given the circumstances. You trusted Hephzi’s sample taking but it was good to see it in person, even if Marcus had asked you to hold fire.

Whilst you were taking measurements of various points and aspects of the picture, you realised there were multiple footsteps coming up the corridor. Hephzi, obviously heard them gaining on the studio too and rejoined you, to back the story of work experience rather than letting her old friend backstage for some covert readings. She threw her notebook at you with a pencil to have the pretence of you taking notes as she worked.

“Well, Hephzibah, that is the first time I’ve ever seen you entrust your beloved notebook with anyone other than yourself. You have never even shown me the secrets you record there, and I am the person paying your salary,” a truly plummy voice cut through the room, “Whoever this work experience girl is, we will have to see about hiring her if you trust her this much.”

Hephzibah plasters a smile onto her features, “Sir, she is the best I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Such a keen eye.”

Refusing to turn around, you carry on making notes in Hephzi’s journal, attempting to concentrate on the words written in front of you, instead of the intrusion.

“So what d’ya think? On first impressions, is it real?”

Shit.

That voice.

Stepping up in response, Hephzibah firmly states, “Sir, I am terribly sorry but I am not currently at liberty to be able to fully disclose that info…”

“Oh no, it is quite alright, Hephzibah - this gentleman is Marcus Pike. He is currently fronting an investigation into white terrorism and art forgeries with 5 Eyes. One of your old lot, you know,” Hephzibah’s boss winks as if he was letting her in on the national secrecy act.

“Marcus Pike?” Hephzi shoots you a surreptitious look before the smile is back, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Shame we haven’t crossed paths before now.”

Marcus offers his hand in greeting to Hephzibah, “I hope we can put that right in the future. I was wondering if we could hear from your work experience person. I am always open to fresh eyes.”

Dread courses through your veins as you turn towards Marcus, not wanting to look him in the face, “It would be remiss of me to make a declaration without reading through and tracking back the provenance as well as undertaking the necessary infrared and paint samples.”

“Sensible,” Marcus nods, his face not betraying a single emotion.

Your face creases at his lack of response, something that Hephzi’s boss picks up on, “Are you alright, dear? You don’t look terribly well.”

“Sudden headache, sir. I should probably get going for today anyway,” you virtually throw Hephzi’s notebook at her before grabbing your bag, “Thank you for today, I will be in touch, Hephzibah.”

Running out of the building as fast as your feet and lungs can carry you, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Sir Agent Marcus Pike:

Hey,

We need to talk. My office at 5?

You:

...

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @day-off-inkyoto @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @lawfulgranola @agirllovespancakes @theravenreads @lv7867 @ezrasbirdie @songsformonkeys

[ofvixensandwolves]

“He’s doing alright. Tired mostly. Tries to keep his usual chipper spirit, which can be rather grating in here… They don’t bother him much.” He glances down at the floor. No, the guards don’t want him. Their hungry gazes are on Xan. He’s always been the target. The older Dagon is just collateral damage in the pursuit to break the knight. But Xan prefers it that way. Better he bear the physical scars than his father. He still hasn’t shown her, not even told her the extent of the horrors.

He feels the warmth of her hand and closes his eyes. Relief from the cold. The closest thing he’s felt to a kind touch in what feels like ages. He feels like he’s aging an eternity with every passing a second in here. Every minute feels like ten. “They put him in here to draw me in and now he may never get out. If I could just-” Her hand covers his and he looks at them. The guards won’t allow it for very long, so he basks in the moment while he has it. He chuckles mirthlessly to himself, smiles at her. “You are the softest thing I’ve felt in days.”

❛ ❛ and how is he ? ❜ ❜ on cue her own gaze shifts to the dagon patriarch ... considering the calibre of prisoners down here, these were two people who did not belong. a wave of sadness washed over her, of helplessness. if that's how she felt, she could only imagine how they felt --- could only imagine what they're going through, and that thought alone makes her blood boil.

immortal shook her head softly as she listened to him, a silent response ... a knight when they had met, could she see him as a blacksmith like his father's wishes ? perhaps, but he had too much honor within to be anything other than the weidler of duty that he was --- and now he, they, were being punished for him not turning a blind eye. without direction mele brings her hand to the decaying metal bars, just above his to feel his warmth ... a warmth she missed terribly. ❛ ❛ you cannot blame yourself for this. ❜ ❜ her brows creased together as she responded, not wanting him to put that on his shoulders, even if he already did. ❛ ❛ powers outside your control were at play. ❜ ❜ mele was careful in her words, ears everywhere. she shifted her hand downward to hold his, a gentleness in the curve of her lips and the colour of her eye. ❛ ❛ neither of you deserve this. ❜ ❜

[kyofsonder]

Xander Irving, write, clock, dirt

Thank you for the ask, & for the prompt! Tumblr got mad at my formatting & ruined this post, but that's why I write my replies in docs first. So I can recover from site issues!

Here's the scene itself, under this cut.

Some days, Oscar finds it comforting to hear their voices. He’ll answer back, or be lulled to sleep by Xander’s singing. Laugh at Izzy’s jokes, have Echo read the novel for their book report aloud to him. Lean on them when the rest of the world is silent. Remind himself that even after losing his parents’ voices, even after being surrendered to the Temple Guides, he isn’t alone.

Today isn’t one of those days. His headphones have been clumsily shoved in his hastily closed desk drawer. His book report novel is hidden under a pile of other books. He’s left plenty of signs. Even if he hadn’t, the huge “don’t bother me, Xan” scrawled on his open notebook is a pretty decisive indicator. He’d noticed the feeling of his consciousness fading just in time, apparently, and his biggest priority had been to write a no-talking note. 

Considering it’s only been a day since they’d returned to the Temple dorms… Xander sighs and swivels in his chair, turning to the clock above the bed. 9:32 at night. So it had taken him a whole 12 hours to finally get Oscar to go back into their headspace and rest. 12 hours and he doesn’t even want any words of assurance before they both go to bed. Xan opens his mouth, then stops himself. What do you say to a little brother who doesn’t want your help? How do you help him, when he’s struggling? 

He settles for taking a walk to the dorm cafeteria. It’s closed by this hour, but the vending machines are always available to the older kids as long as they have change to spare. He brushes his hands through his hair as the machine warms up a styrofoam cup of tea, stopping short when he realizes he doesn’t have his usual ponytail. Right. Oscar keeps his hair shorter than Xander’s headspace self. That’s not something he usually forgets, but right now he’s distracted. 

As soon as his tea is ready, Xan leaves the cafeteria and walks out to the playground. Oscar had watched some younger kids drawing animals in the dirt with a stick earlier, and Xan had tried to insist it was endearing. The creativity of children, to communicate without either Fated voices or the hand signs they’re still fumbling to learn. Oscar had rolled his eyes, but everyone had felt the way he’d wished things were that simple. Agreeing to communicate with others. No voices needed. No Fate deciding things for him. 

Xander grabs one of the drawing sticks left behind by those other kids. Alright. If Oscar really doesn’t want his brother to speak, he’ll have to get creative. He drags the stick across the ground deliberately but lazily, slowly making his own work of art as he sips his tea to keep warm. Oscar’s short hair on one figure. His ponytail on another. Izzy’s little pigtails. Echo’s braid. Just enough detail in these little stick people to tell them apart. Just enough closeness between each one to tell that they’re a group. Together. 

“You’re really cheesy, you know that?” the voice doesn’t have any sound to it, speaking directly in their headspace, but Oscar’s tone is clear. Xan smiles into his tea and shrugs. Maybe he can’t make up for what they’ve missed out on this last month, but he can at least give Oscar a better night. He can at least be there for his family. 

* * * *

Motivated by This Ask: 574 words

Written Due to Asks: 12,822 words