#i’ve been getting into sculptures lately

[deadsetobsessions]

Woo! I’ve finally got time to write! Had to go to a wedding, suffered through eight whole hours of pure disorganized mess, and got mad about it. Emphasis on the disorganized part. So, I bring you: party planner!Danny Phantom.

——

If anyone was to see him now, they’d definitely think that it was odd that Danny was the one in the party planning field. They wouldn’t be surprised if it was Jazz, but Danny ‘wing it’ Fenton planning things? Never.

But here he was, clipboard in hand and checking off hors d’œuvres from the list.

“Anton, could you do a check of the sound system? Make sure everything’s working?”

“Got it.”

Danny lifted the buffet table, laden with heavy food, and used a bit of his ghostly strength to move it over.

“Perfect.”

He double checked the seating chart, and readjusted the miniature ice sculpture centerpieces he made for the party.

Wayne Manor was all lit up and perfectly dusted. Danny ran through his mental checklist. Tabled? Check. Dance floor clean and scuff free? Check. DJ booth and open bar running without issues? Check. Live band setting up with back up instruments and strings? Check. Decorations on point? Oh, he’ll have to get the team to readjust those.

Time to check-

“Danny! How’s it going?” Bruce Wayne beamed and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Danny smiled politely. “Mr. Wayne. Everything is going smoothly. Would you like to check the food the chefs have made?”

“Sure, sure! I definitely need to eat before I drink, haha!”

“That’s a good idea! Good thing you’re about to try a bunch of food.” Danny matched the billionaire’s energy. He’s going to get paid so good.

“So, Danny, are you going to college?”

Danny passed him a small sampler. “Ah, I can’t. Some stuff happened in high school and I don’t really have the grades or the money to.”

Plus, his credentials were in another plane of existence and he hadn’t figured out how to transfer those records yet.

“You could still attend college, I’m sure! Your parents might be able to help pay?” Bruce nommed on the food. He gave a thumbs up.

Danny sighed. “It’s not always an option. Plus, my parents are dead.”

In this universe. His own? Alive and kicking GIW ass.

“Oh, I see-”

“Father.”

“Woah!” Danny blinked, looking down at the baby Wayne the popped up next to his father’s elbow.

“Damian! What’s wrong, kiddo?”

Damian shot his father a flat glare and dragged the laughing billionaire away.

Danny snorted and returned to his tasks. He has to check the speeches and the lighting. Hm… he doesn’t have time to adjust everything how he wants it.

Good thing he knew a guy that could stop time.

“Hey, Clockwork?”

——

“Father, I understand your inclination towards adopting poor black haired and blue eyed orphans, but I would like to remind you that I have far too many siblings to be adding yet another bumbling buffoon.”

“I was not considering that, Damian.”

Damian let go of his wrist with a grimace. “Denial is not becoming of a Wayne, Father.”

“Yeah, B. I could see you grab the adoption papers from all the way over here.” Tim adjusted his tie. “Anyways, Dick is on his way. He’s running a little late because of some stuff in Blüdhaven.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

——

“Batman.”

“Oracle.”

“Look at the footage of Wayne manor.” Oracle pulled up the video surveillance scattered through out the manor. Specifically, the ones of the west ballroom. Daniel Fenton stood in his spot, looking down at his clipboard but a second later, he's moved three inches to the left and the decorations had subtly been moved more aesthetic spots. "I think Danny might be a meta. We'll have to look into him."

Batman stood up, allowing the fondness he had for Danny as Bruce Wayne drain away. This is a potential threat, and Batman will treat him like one. (Danny will remember this.)

"Contact Flash. I need him to scan for any temporal disturbance."

"Understood."

——

"Brucie!" A socialite squealed as she came to bestow hugs upon a long suffering Bruce. "My god, this place is gorgeous! You must give me your planner's number. I could absolutely use some fresh eyes for the Annual Spring Party."

"Awe, Janine! I gotta keep some of the good things to myself!" Bruce whined, inwardly smirking as he saw his kids mock-gagging behind the lady's back. "What if your party's cooler than mine? What should I do then? You're already so gorgeous! Why, is that a Birkin?"

Janine lit up and all but forgot about getting Danny's contact information. Bruce patted his own back for a job well done, even if he had to listen to Janine's itemized list of random luxury goods she had to buy before being offered a bag.

He's a Wayne. The Gotham Hermes wished they could partner with the Waynes. Plus, he's pretty sure he's got at least three of those bags somewhere in the manor to bait out Selina.

Catching Danny sliding in between the servers and going towards the kitchen, Bruce quickly excused himself with a disarming himbo grin.

Time to subtly grill the kid.

——

"Hey, Timmy?"

"Hello, Dick," Tim smiled elegantly at the couple who's companies he was about to bring six feet underground and excused himself. "What's up?"

"Have you noticed that the ice sculptures haven't melted at all?"

Tim blinked, eyes sliding over to a harried Danny being followed by Bruce on a mission. Oof.

"Freeze?" He asked mildly, face innocent of any nefarious thoughts.

"That's what I'm thinking." Dick smiled sunnily, throwing an arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Heard the guy's living out near Crime Alley. We should get Jay to check it out." Tim pretended to laugh, grinning as his brains made plans for a stakeout.

"Heard, my ass. You totally stalked him, didn't you?"

"Got proof?"

Dick snorted, removing his arm. "Nope. I'll let Jay know. You should probably help Danny out, though, he looks like he's about to lose his temper."

"Bruce is at it again." Tim sighed. "Yeah, okay."

[yukioos]

TWO OF HEARTS

SUMMARY: ashley graham x reader x leon kennedy // leon and ashley try to gain your love in spain through various acts.

WARNINGS: not proofread, mentions of ashley’s kidnapping (not by reader or leon), jealousy, reader’s really unaware of how they’ve fallen head both like her, ashley and leon don’t really like each other

AUTHORS NOTE: sorry i’ve been so inactive! i’ve been drowning in homework lately, but i had no homework today so i decided to write! i’ll try to be more active in the future, but anyway, here’s my first leon/ashley writing! send asks if you want some more content about either one of them :3 this is 0.6k words, but not really a full on oneshot?? just ideas

when you and leon get sent by the president to rescue his daughter from a village in spain, your friend decides it’s the perfect time to get closer to you. although the mission is supposed to be all serious, considering you’re dealing with the president’s daughter, he can’t help but notice you’re oblivious to his advances and compliments.

unfortunately, as he attempts to get to know you better, you keep the objective in your head: find and save ashley. of course, it’s always good to stay focused on the task, but he wishes you’d have more fun at the time.

another thing that would be a pain in his ass at times was ashley. for some reason, she’s taken a liking to you as well and trails behind you like a lost puppy. she’s always complimenting you, whether it’s about your skills or your outfit, or how you can lift something heavier than two times her weight.

all those words from her make leon’s blood boil. he has a job to do, but she isn’t making it any easier.

however, he can’t blame her for finding herself attracted to you. you’re everything anyone could ever want, the most perfect thing, sculptured by god himself.

leon tries to gain your attention by laying his hand on your waist or hip, occasionally rubbing the space with his thumb. of course, he likes to protect you because it makes him feel masculine, and he can be depended on. sometimes he tells little jokes just to see your eyes squint, especially in a high-stress situation. he places his jacket over your shoulder when he sees a single hair on your arm perk up, or goosebumps form on your arms or legs. he always feels a surge of pride flow through him once he sees his dark brown coat on your body.

ashley, however, isn’t too fond of leon’s actions. she’s thankful he’s taking part in saving her, but prefers to be a few steps behind you instead. she’s always chatting your ear off and smiling at you sweetly, using her manners whenever you do something kind for her (leon tells her that you’re just doing your job, and she always rolls her eyes when he makes that comment). she always blushes and giggles when you gently place a hand on her back, guiding her where she needs to be, like a schoolgirl talking to her crush on the phone. being kidnapped by a cult was traumatizing, but she hated the thought of returning to her father and never seeing you again, supposing you’d be busy on other important missions. maybe she’ll ask her father to invite you over for dinner so she can properly thank you.

the unspoken rivalry between the blondes grows far too strong, one will grin as the other crosses their arms or scoffs when they’re not feeling noticed by you. they’ll both be shoulder-to-shoulder with you, ashley’s head tilting as she looks deep into your eyes, trying to flirt with you. meanwhile, leon will stay silent and tell you what the next task should be, all with a large arm around your waist.

you’ll compliment ashley on her adorable skirt, asking her where she got it, and she’ll respond with a cheery smile on her face. within a second, she’ll send a smirk towards leon, and his expression hardens as he glares at her.

your obliviousness frustrates them both, even telling you they love you or want to be more than friends would only be a compliment towards you! you’d take it as they see you as an important person in their life, or they want to be best friends. the blonde finds humor in the other’s frustrations, feeling closer to you once the other fails to tell you how they’ve fallen head over heels for you.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 1

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just recently moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Your art is finally put on display at a local gallery, and Klaus has a vested interest in it.

Warnings: Klaus Being Klaus, No Personal Space, Alcohol, Flirting, Almost Kisses, Art Interpretation, Dark Themes

Word Count: 1.2k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Your first art show in New Orleans isn’t nearly as extravagant as you thought it would be, despite the small jazz band in the corner and the free champagne being served at the door. The jubilant music seems to fade off into the distance as you stand just a few feet away from one of your pieces, silently stalking the patrons as they walk by and observe it, muttering amongst themselves. You try to hone in on what they’re saying about your work, about how it makes them feel, or if they’ve caught onto any messages you’ve hidden in your mixed medium on canvas. So far it’s just been a mixture of silence and solitary comments like “interesting” or “hmm” as the glass of champagne warms to room temperature in your hand.

“Which one’s yours?” A man’s eloquent voice pulls you from your anxious thoughts, forcing you to look over at his delicately handsome face as he walks toward you with a confidence that could rival royalty.

“Huh?” You take a sip of your lukewarm champagne in order to gain some liquid courage to engage with this gorgeous man who seemed to appear out of thin air.

“I’d recognize that look anywhere,” he starts, touching one of the sculptures he clearly wasn’t supposed to. “Will they like it? Will they understand it? But most importantly, will they buy it?”

“That obvious, huh?” You take another sip, letting the bubbles take their time to crinkle your nose as the rest of the carbonation slowly fizzles out.

“Painfully, I’m afraid.” That smirk of his warms into a coy smile as he takes a step toward you, his own glass of champagne nearly empty. “Yours isn’t the landscape with the sailboat, no… those waters look far too calm for you.” He stands next to you and continues to guess, letting his fresh clean scent surround you as hints of a bergamont settle into the air. “Not the still life either, you don’t strike me as someone who focuses on something as mundane as coffee and beignets.” He pauses and looks at you briefly, taking in your features. “No, a work of art from your hands has to contain something different, something much… darker.”

“And what makes you think that?” You chide in return, enjoying this little game he’s created for himself. “Maybe I love coffee and beignets.”

“Well, darling, who doesn’t? But that’s not why you became an artist, now is it?” He raises his eyebrows, giving you a chance to notice the hints of green and gold in his blue eyes.

He was good, you’ll give him that.

“My money’s on the portrait of the faceless woman drenched in blood.” His tone drops to the level of darkness he previously described as he steps behind you, his voice like butter as it melts down each vertebrae of your spine. “It’s beautiful, really; the way you captured the themes of the tortured and macabre while still maintaining an intimate beauty of the feminine experience. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

His change in tambre and location freezes you in place, forcing you to look at your own painting through his eyes as he hovers behind you, making you shiver with the anticipation of his intentions. The fact that you’ve allowed him to get this close so fast makes you wrestle with the idea that you may already desire this stranger based on nothing more than the words he’s chosen to speak with that velvety voice of his. Are you that subject to flattery? That desperate for validation? Longing that deeply for some level of intimate connection? Perhaps you are...

After what seems like an eternity of moral gymnastics, you no longer resist the temptation to turn toward him as he guesses correctly, noting the triumphant look on his face as your lips linger mere inches away from his. You barely notice the still breath that remains inside your lungs, expanding your rib cage for far too long as you stare at his plump lips, taking heed of the single droplet of champagne that rests on them.

“And what makes you such an expert on the feminine experience?” You manage to ask as he allows you to stare at him a little bit longer before answering your question.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m merely a curious third party who’s invested in the local artists that my charitable donations help support.” He confesses with a step back.

“You’re a benefactor?” You don’t mean to sound so judgmental, but he doesn’t exactly look like most of the ancient relics who usually pour money into the city. If you’re being honest, he looks more like one of the musicians you’d find on the street corner playing a cover of ‘Wonderwall’ on guitar for tips.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, love, we come in all shapes and sizes.” He laughs, looking you up and down while the shock of his financial status slowly begins to wear off. “Now, tell me, was I right? Is that your painting?”

“Maybe.” You cross her arms over your chest, trying your best to resist his evident charms. “But you already knew that, being a benefactor and all; that’s cheating.”

“Cheating is such a harsh word. I merely used my astute powers of observation to put two and two together.” He casually places his hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze in order to keep you near. “Surely, you can’t fault me for that.”

“I suppose not.” Your heart races at his sudden touch, the gleam in his eyes barely hiding the raging fire behind them. He’s going to be trouble, you can already tell. “Do you flirt like this with every new artist you meet?”

“Just the morbidly disturbed ones that I find deeply enchanting.” His strange compliment is oddly personal, hinting that he might know a little bit more about you than he’s currently letting on.

“You think I’m morbidly disturbed?”

He gives you a knowing look.

“Oh, it’s all over the canvas, love. It doesn’t take an expert to notice the hurried brush strokes in the busy background, the aggression with which you plastered the feminist news clippings together contrasted against the time you took to purposefully pour the viscous, slow drip of blood on it until it’s nearly spilling onto the floor.” He closes the gap between you, his hand now in your hair.

You swallow hard as he fishes around in your psyche for an accurate interpretation of your work, his proximity nearly turning your insides to quicksand as his cologne dizzies you on the spot. Good god, he’s beautiful.

“You know there are other ways of releasing all that pent up rage and aggression… all that passion.” He leans in so that his lips ghost over your cheek as it blushes against his stubble. “Although they aren’t quite as lucrative as this.”

“And what would those be?” You ask coyly, eagerly daring him to show you.

But instead of going in further for a demonstration, he leans back with a satisfied grin, as if he’s already gotten everything he wants from you at that moment. He grabs a pen from a nearby table and takes your hand, writing his phone number on your palm. “Find me when you feel like it gets to be too much, when all those emotions make you feel as if you’re absolutely about to burst.”

[sarahisslytherin]

•❣•୨୧ 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 - 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙞𝙞𝙞 ୨୧•❣•

benedict bridgerton x princess!reader

summary: your father has arranged for you to wed a prince, so you meet benedict for a late night rendezvous to tell him your affair is doomed. however, the night takes a different turn.

contains: angst, a heavy makeout sesh and mentions of sex.

a/n: part three of the series! this one's a tad bit spicy babes! PART I, PART II

word count: 1k

You secure your hood over your intricate curls before stepping out of the carriage. The alleyway is scarcely lit by the lamps lining the street. The heels of your boots clack slightly against the slick cobblestone, a bit of rain still lingering. You haven’t seen Benedict since that night in the garden, and you haven’t been able to bring yourself to write him back. Poem after poem has stacked upon your vanity, and with them have fallen Benedict’s hopes of seeing you again. That was until the last letter you received from him with little more than an address and a plea that you meet him there at the stroke of midnight. So here you are.

You knock on the door, looking over your shoulder to make sure the carriage is gone and that you haven’t been followed. The door is swiftly opened, and you make such haste entering that you don’t get a good look as Benedict until he closes the door behind you. His eyes look tired, bags beneath them and a sad twinkle about them. 

“I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.” he sighs, and the disappointment in his voice breaks your heart. “I’ve brought you to my art studio. I know it’s dangerous bringing you into town but I couldn’t think of anywhere else and I had- I had to see you.”

You remain silent, glancing at your surroundings. There is little light in the salon but it was enough to illuminate Benedict’s half-done sketches and paintings of you. Marble sculptures line the walls as well as scattered books and brushes. The place is full of everything that makes him who he is; the man you cannot and do not wish to stop loving.

“Benedict, it’s not what it seems.” you turn and assure him as you remove your hood. His eyes light up at the sight of you, not unlike the first night his gaze met yours across the crowded ballroom.

“Is it not?” he asks bitterly. “Because it seems that you’ve grown weary of me and my affections. It feels like a knife in my chest, like you’re slipping through my fingers like sand.” 

You shake your head, your brows furrowing as tears begin to gather in your eyes at his words. You cup his face gently in your hands as you speak. “Benedict, you could not be farther from the truth. You have occupied my thoughts from the moment I met you - no - saw you! I am aware that of late I have failed to return your letters and affection, but it is not out of cruelty or dwindling interest. It is my father, he has arranged a meeting with a prince. If it goes well, I am to marry him. That is why I haven’t been able to face you. You must believe me!”

Benedict’s face has fallen slack with shock. His hands come up to take your own. For a moment he doesn’t speak, only presses kisses to your hands, the hands he so desperately wishes to comb through his hair, to hold as you sway to music, to slip a wedding ring on. 

“So you still love me?” he asks with a whimper, and you don’t know how to express your reply other than with a quick nod and a passionate kiss. Suddenly Benedict’s hands are in your hair, then roaming across your back before finally settling on your waist. He carefully pushes you against the wall, caging you with his arms, exposed from his rolled up sleeves.

“I shall take that as a yes.” he smiles between labored breaths. You thought you’d never see that smile again. 

“Take me instead.” you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

Benedict freezes, his hold growing tense. “My love, you are royal. I cannot compromise you.”

“I am already being forced to wed someone who I do not love; is this pleasure to be deprived from me as well, Benedict?” You give him a look brimming with love and lust and unbridled passion. Benedict has never been one for taboos or conservatism, and he wastes no time discarding his initial hesitation as he nearly smashes his lips against yours, this time with renewed fervor. 

“I love you.” he grunts as he lifts you and you wrap your legs around his slender torso, his arms winding around you. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Dawn breaks through the window pane, casting your bodies in hues of orange and gold. Your eyes peel open, squinting as you notice Benedict at his canvas. A smile forms on your face as you prop your head up on your elbow, your body and disheveled curls splayed out on the hardwood floor, covered in only a thin sheet. “Adding another piece to your collection?” you inquire teasingly.

Benedict laughs. “I couldn’t waste the opportunity to sketch a nude portrait of the princess herself.” You smirk at him and sit up properly. 

“I must go before my father thinks to call on me,” you sigh as you stand and begin to dress. “There is to be a ball tonight, at the palace.”

“I know.” Benedict says. “My family received invitations.”

“Oh.” you nod. “I see.”

Silence hangs heavily in the atmosphere until you speak again. “The prince will be there. He will most likely ask me to dance. Perhaps you should not go.”

Benedict shakes his head. “I am a grown man, love. I am perfectly capable of watching from the sidelines as the woman I love dances in another’s embrace.”

You tilt your head and cross your arms at him accusingly. He lets out a bitter laugh and comes up to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and watching the view out the window from over your shoulder. He presses a chaste kiss to your neck. “Does your heart belong to me, Princess?”

You nod, letting your head fall against his as you do. “It does.”

“Well then,” he smiles as he twirls you around to face him. “I will attend the ball, if only to see you. I shall not plague myself with worry.”

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @holdthegirrrl @enchantedbytomandhenry @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @dd122004dd @marvelspogue @emotionsmgcbabe @pIk-18 @larueluvr

[sashaasreads]

Love n' London

Harry Styles x Fem Reader

A/N Apologies for the delay! I’ve been busy, but I’m finally getting to upload again. Still no smut—I’m working on finding the right approach to write it without it feeling awkward. Thanks for your patience!

_______________________________________

Y/n grew up dreaming of living in London. Ever since she was a child, the city had fascinated her its vibrant art scene, the music, the historic architecture, and the countless little cafes. So, after graduating from art school, she packed her things and moved to the city, full of ambition and excitement.

She found a job as a curator’s assistant in a small gallery in Soho. It was the perfect job, really she spent her days surrounded by paintings and sculptures, getting to know local artists, and learning how to put together exhibitions. It wasn’t glamorous, but Lena loved it.

One grey October afternoon, y/n was at her usual spot in the gallery. She had just finished adjusting a painting, making sure it was perfectly aligned, when the bell over the door chimed, signaling a visitor. She glanced up to see a figure in the doorway, his frame silhouetted against the dim light outside. He was tall, with a tousled head of curls peeking out from under a beanie, a coat draped over his shoulders.

As he stepped inside, Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. The face beneath those curls was unmistakable Harry Styles, the singer she had admired for years. She had seen him in interviews, photos, and music videos, but nothing compared to seeing him in person.

Harry caught her looking and gave a small, shy smile. She blushed, quickly looking away, pretending to adjust her clipboard. But Harry approached her, offering a charming, friendly "Hello."

Y/n stammered out a greeting, her cheeks flushed as she tried to act calm. "Can I help you with something?"

“Actually,” he said with a little laugh, “I’m here to see some art, but I’d love a guide if you’re available.”

It turned out Harry was in town with a few days off between tour stops and had been wandering through London, exploring its art scene. Y/n walked him through the gallery, explaining each piece. She was passionate about her work, and he seemed genuinely interested, asking her thoughtful questions. They talked about art, music, and their favorite places in London.

After their tour, Harry surprised her by inviting her to a late lunch at a small café nearby. Still in shock, she accepted, and they spent the afternoon laughing and talking as though they’d known each other for years. Y/n found herself opening up to him in a way she rarely did, talking about her dreams, her childhood, and the strange mix of fear and excitement she felt about living in London.

Over the next few weeks, they continued to meet. Harry would drop by the gallery whenever he was free, sometimes bringing coffee or flowers. They would spend hours talking, sharing stories, and discovering new corners of the city together. Y/n soon realized that Harry, for all his fame and glamour, was remarkably down to earth. He seemed genuinely fascinated by her, by her art, by her life. And she, in turn, found herself falling deeper each day.

One crisp evening in November, after a quiet dinner in a little Italian restaurant tucked away in a side street, they found themselves walking along the Thames. The lights of London sparkled on the water, casting soft, dancing reflections. They walked in comfortable silence, fingers occasionally brushing against each other’s.

Harry stopped, turning to face her. His green eyes held a softness that took her breath away.

“y/n ,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This might sound crazy, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Y/n felt her heart pounding. She wanted to say something, but words seemed too small to capture what she felt. So she simply reached out, taking his hand in hers, and they stood there, the world fading away around them.

As the weeks turned into months, Harry’s tours took him to different cities, but he and y/n stayed in touch, talking late into the night, sharing stories, and sending each other songs and sketches. The distance was hard, but their bond only seemed to grow stronger with time.

Whenever he was back in London, they would pick up right where they left off. They explored every hidden gem in the city together, from art galleries and vintage bookstores to secret gardens and rooftop views. Harry introduced her to his world, taking her backstage at his concerts, letting her experience the thrill and energy of his performances. y/n introduced him to hers, taking him to underground art shows and showing him her latest work.

Their love story was a quiet, steady thing, like the pulse of the city itself. They were each other’s inspiration. Y/n's paintings became infused with new colors and emotions, and Harry’s songs took on a deeper, more soulful tone. She was his muse, and he was hers.

One rainy evening, a few years after they’d first met, Harry surprised her with a visit to the gallery. He was holding an umbrella and looked every bit as dashing as the day she’d first seen him. She was setting up a new exhibit and hadn’t expected him to come. But there he was, standing there with that familiar smile, his eyes shining.

“Harry!” She ran over, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, his voice warm and full of excitement. He led her outside and down the street, and before she knew it, they were at a small, empty theater. Inside, a grand piano stood on the dimly lit stage.

He sat down at the piano, motioning for her to sit beside him. Then, he began to play. It was a song she’d never heard before, gentle, heartfelt, each note weaving a story of love, devotion, and all the golden moments they’d shared.

When he finished, he looked at her, his face softened with vulnerability. “I wrote this for you, y/n. You’ve changed my life in ways I can’t put into words.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she took his hand, squeezing it. They didn’t need to say anything; the silence between them spoke louder than words ever could.

That night, in that quiet, empty theater, with only the faint glow of city lights around them, they knew they had found something rare, something lasting. The kind of love that was more than a moment it was a lifetime, etched in songs and sketches, laughter and quiet glances, memories, and dreams.

In each other, they had found a piece of themselves they never knew was missing a love that was as deep as the city they both called home.

[jerzwriter]

a little jealous - Tobias x Casey HC

It took me three years to tell the story of how my messy kids finally got together. By the time they did, they were so in love with a solid foundation of friendship beneath them. The honeymoon period was intense; however, nothing is perfect, and transitioning from friends to so much more comes with its challenges. So, I decided it was time to finally write those stories, too. The first story was Money, Money, and this is the second. I have one, possibly two, more remaining.

Book: Open Heart (Late Book 2 Timeline) Pairing: Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Featuring: Sienna Trinh, Terrance Mendoza, minor OCs Rating: Teen Words: 3,700 Summary: Newly together, Tobias and Casey are as happy as can be. But when Tobias's past keeps interrupting their present, Casey begins to struggle. Tobias thinks a little jealousy is cute at first, but as time goes on, both of them are having difficulty dealing with the situation. He can't change his past, so how do they get past it?

Tobias x Casey Masterlist Open Heart Masterlist Full Masterlist

“Tobias? Tobias, is that you?”

Effortlessly commanding attention was Tobias’s specialty, and he seemed to do it wherever he went. Tonight, as he sauntered through a posh Boston club tonight, a place to see and be seen, it was clear that he was in his element. His hand-fitted designer suit and contrasting silk shirt - unbuttoned just enough to tease at the sculpted masterpiece that lay underneath - could have been fresh off of any runway. With his enchanting smile firmly in place and his crystal blue eyes surveying the crowd, it was no wonder so many felt their attention turning his way.

In the not-too-distant past, he would have been glowing. Reveling in the attention, he would have been assessing each admirer to select his desired target for the night. There is no way he would have missed the raven-haired beauty now pushing her way through the crowd of revelers to be by his side; by now, he would have been determining how long it would take to get her out of that emerald green and gold dress that left little to the imagination. It wouldn’t have taken him long. But times had changed, and Tobias had only one objective this evening: joining his beautiful girlfriend at the table he reserved on the other side of the room.

But what he easily overlooked was impossible for Casey to miss. Her eyes followed the tall, slender beauty rushing to reach the man Casey now claimed as her own. The woman’s long, voluminous curls fell over her bare shoulders, stopping just before her décolletage. The way her copper skin glowed under the pulsating lights was downright ethereal. Casey was more than well aware of her boyfriend’s reputation, and she knew several of the beauties that made up the story of his colorful past, but this one, she was exquisite. A Praxiteles sculpture come to life that could rival any of the goddesses the master had created. Tobias may have been oblivious to her, but Casey was painfully aware.

“Tobias!” The woman yelled, pulling him into an entirely too close embrace the moment he spun around. Snagged only yards away from the table where Casey sat.

 “Mia,” he smiled pleasantly. “How are you? It’s been a long time!”

“Far too long,” she purred, her manicured hand resting on his arm as her eyes trailed over him. “You look delicious as always! How have you been?”

“Looking good yourself,” he grinned. “I’ve been good. Better than good, actually.”

“Really?” Mia winked. “I hope your next words will be because you ran into me.” Her smile was so inviting that it was impossible to misinterpret its intention.  

“Oh,” Tobias replied, quickly jerking backward. “Uh.. actually... I’m here with someone tonight.”

Casey remained seated at the table, her face bereft of any emotion. She credited the vodka and tonic she brought to her lips for that. Now, if it would just help her stop scolding herself for the jealousy that was burning to the surface inside her.

Let it go, Casey. She told herself. His past is his past; besides, you should be used to this by now.

She rose to her feet and closed the short distance between them, looping her arm into Tobias’s the second she reached his side.

“You’re finally here,” Casey gushed, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek. “I was getting lonely waiting for you.” She was quite capable of making her intentions clear as well.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Our favorite patient got out of surgery just as I was leaving the hospital, and I wanted to check in on him before I left.”

“Probably for the best,” Casey agreed.

“Your patient?” The woman asked. “Are you co-workers?”

“Yes,” Casey smiled, turning to the woman who had made Tobias her prey. “We work together at Edenbrook.”

“Well, it goes beyond that,” Tobias added. “Casey, allow me to introduce you to Mia. Mia, this is my girlfriend, Casey.”

Mia. Casey didn’t recall that name among his list of paramours, and she noted that he failed to mention his relationship to her, but that was probably for the best. She extended her hand as shock and disappointment registered on Mia’s face.

“Mia, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“Oh, same,” she stammered. “Uhm, girlfriend...huh?” Her eyes met Tobias’s with a flash of anger. “I thought you didn’t do that sort of thing.”

“I didn’t,” he shrugged. “But now, I do.”

“Hmm. This should make for an interesting social experiment,” she taunted. With a glance at Casey, she shot a curt smile. “Well, good luck to you.” And with a wink at Tobias, she was gone.

Casey made her way back to the banquette, and Tobias slid in beside her, hoping that exchange wouldn’t dampen the evening. He draped his arm around Casey’s shoulders; his fingers toyed with the thin strap of rhinestones that held up her pale blue dress in place. Now, he was determining how long it would be before the beautiful frock would litter his bedroom floor... some things never changed. But this time, he didn’t want her out of it too soon; he wanted to have fun with her, show her off to the world. Ravishing her back at his place could wait just a little bit.

“Have I told you how irresistible you look tonight,” he growled into her ear, sending shivers down Casey’s spine.

That voice.

She wondered if he knew how quickly it rendered her speechless, how it made her question the necessity of every article of clothing on her body. When he began to trace little circles on her skin, the memory of the bronze goddess was pushed out of Casey’s head for good, or at least for now.

“Oh, uhm... no,” Casey replied. With a lustful little grin on her lips, she wrapped her arms around his neck and spoke into his ear. “You haven’t, but I’d love for you to tell me more.”

~~~~~

This wasn’t the first time they bumped into one of his former lovers. Nor was it the second or even the third. Casey had lost count and was beginning to wonder if they’d need to move out of Boston to go an entire day without running into someone.

There was the effusive pharmaceutical representative who just happened to stop by his office the day Casey was meeting Tobias for lunch. Her sultry laughter echoed down the hall as Casey approached, and she’d never forget the way the smile fell from the voluptuous brunette’s ruby-red lips when Tobias stood to greet her with a kiss, quickly introducing her as his girlfriend.

“Another ex-girlfriend?” she asked, purposely keeping her voice jovial, though it didn’t match the feelings welling inside.

“I wouldn’t exactly call her a girlfriend,” Tobias chuckled.

“Another ex-fuck buddy?” She asked, this time her intonation was more terse.

“She and I just... wait,” Tobias stopped. With a smug grin, he pulled Casey close. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, baby?”

Her eyes fell to the floor, he body betraying her as her cheeks turned bright pink. She felt foolish. She knew it was stupid and didn’t know how to answer. Tobias noticed her discomfort and was eager to pull her out of it; he gently touched her chin, tilting her face in his direction.

“Case, please tell me you’re not really jealous—because as adorable as you look all pink and perturbed, you know you’re the only person in the world I want, right?”

“Pink and perturbed?” She blurted in an attempt to deflect from the topic. “What’s that, the name of some cheezy porno?”

“No,” he laughed, kissing her gently to ward off any further embarrassment. “It’s not. So, where am I treating my gorgeous girlfriend to lunch? I told you, you pick this time.”  

Casey pushed her feelings away as they walked down the hospital hallway, arm in arm. They were together at long last and deliriously happy. The man adored her, so why was she letting this bother her? It seemed each time she felt she was getting past it, someone else would pop up: the adorable young woman with green eyes and a reddish-brown bob who squealed when she spotted Tobias in Whole Foods. The blonde with the bouncy ponytail they came across while jogging in the Seaport. The smoky-eyed bartender who served them drinks at his co-worker’s wedding.

Each time, it ended the same way: Casey became sullen, Tobias went out of his way to assure her, and she promised herself she’d let it go... until it happened again.

“It has to end sometime, right?” She said, shoving a spoonful of Haagen-Dasz Belgian double chocolate ice cream into her mouth. “At some point, I will have to have run into everyone he’s ever slept with, and this will end, right?”

Sienna looked up from the book she was reading on the other side of the couch. “I don’t know. I don’t know what his number is, but even if it's in the hundreds, the truth is you’ll eventually stop running into them if you’re planning on being with him a long time, never mind if I use the other F word.”

“The other F word?” Casey asked.

“Forever,” Sienna winked. She reached over and took her friend’s hand. “Casey, you knew his reputation... and you still fell in love with him. This isn’t like you. You’ve never judged anyone for their sexual choices, and you’ve always been so confident. Unless you suspect any of these women are potentially current lovers, and I doubt that’s the case, why is this bothering you so much?"

Casey tossed the empty container of ice cream and her spoon onto the coffee table, the spoon hitting it with a loud clang. “That’s the thing!” Casey spat. “I don't know. It is in the past, and this is unlike me... I hate that I feel this way, but I feel helpless to control it. I think I’m over it, then another would-be-fucking-model appears all but oozing with desire for another go-round, and I feel like shit all over again."

“How does Tobias react when these things happen?” Sienna asked.

“Tobias isn’t the problem. Yeah, sometimes he’s a little flirtatious, but he’d be a little flirtatious talking to a doorknob. That’s just who he is. I’m not threatened by that.”

“Do you feel threatened at all?”

“I don’t know,” Casey sighed, her shoulders falling as she exhaled. “But I hate feeling this way.”

“Have you told Tobias about this?”

“No,” she insisted. “And I don’t plan on. It’s stupid, and I don’t want to look like a jealous little twit.”

“But if you’re in a relationship, you need to be honest. He should know how this makes you feel. Promise you’ll think about it?”

Casey agreed and hugged her friend. Mumbling something about not having any more ice cream under her breath as she shuffled off to bed.

~~~~~

The following morning, Tobias picked Casey up as planned. Handing her a single long-stemmed rose when she opened the door.

“For me?” she smiled bashfully.

“Who else?” he grinned, his face lit up the way it always did when she appeared, and as their lips came together in a slow, passionate kiss, all felt right with the world.  

“So, where are you taking me?” Casey asked.

“The Mission. It’s just a hole-in-the-wall bar near Kenmore, but they have the most incredible Sunday brunch. Trust me, you’re going to love it!”

“By Kenmore? Is anyone joining us?”

“Terrance will be there,” he replied. “A few other co-workers, too. It’s the kind of place where people just show up, and you never know who will join you. But that works great for me.”

“It does?” She asked as they reached the car. “Why?”

Gently pushing her against the passenger door, Tobias brushed the hair from her face and brought their lips to hers once more. He pulled away with that glow and smile firmly in place.

“Why? Because it took us long enough to get here. Now that you’re mine, I want to show you off to the whole world. Can you blame me?”

“Nah,” Casey blushed, straightening the lapels on his jacket. “I supposed I can’t.”

They were seated at the bar, and Casey had to admit Tobias was right. Her eggs benedict were near perfection, and Tobias’s Belgian waffles weren’t too shabby either. She wished she knew Terrance and the other Kenmore friends a little bit better, because she would have happily swiped some of their food, too. The atmosphere was loud and boisterous; it reminded her of a more polished Donahue’s, and sitting there with Tobias at her side, Casey couldn't have been more content.

“How are your eggs benedict?” Terrance asked. “I’ve never had them here.”

Casey looked up, her eyes wide. This was her chance! “They’re wonderful! And, if you’re willing to part with a piece of your French toast, I’ll gladly trade you for some of mine.”

A smile spread on Terrance’s face as he broke off a piece of his French toast, silently putting it on Casey’s plate. He looked at Tobias, nodding with approval. “I like her! A woman who knows what she wants and makes sure it happens!"

“Hey!” Casey playfully interrupted. “I gave you something in return. I was nice about it!”

“Exactly!” Terrance replied, his eyes shutting tight as he bit into the eggs benedict. “God, they’re delicious!” He said before returning to his original point, "And that’s why I like you.”

“Yeah,” Tobias beamed, pulling Casey closer to him. “Well, I like her a whole lot more.”

“Agh!” Melissa, a chestnut-haired nurse around Tobias’s age, gagged. “You two are too sweet! Who the hell is this man, and what did he do with our Tobias?”

“Yeah,” Terrance laughed. “You have to understand, Tobias marching into being a happily monogamous man has been a huge shock for us. You must be one hell of a woman.”

“I assure you, she is,” Tobias grinned.

“She has to be!” Melissa laughed as she animatedly counted the people around them. “You’ve dated at least a half-dozen people here... that I know of... many have tried and failed to get to your position, Casey,” she smiled and raised her mimosa. “Hats off to you.”

Casey smiled politely. She knew they meant no harm, but now all she could do was look around the room and wonder who it was. Which of these women had felt his hands on their bodies and knew how intoxicating it felt when he focused all his attention on them, no matter how long it lasted? How many had slept on the mattress she now spent most nights on, waking up under his covers, blissful in his arms, before playfully stumbling to the shower for another round that they’d never forget?  

She ordered another drink and did her best to remain cordial, but her mood shifted, and while the others may have been oblivious, Tobias noticed. He asked her if she was all right when they returned to his car. Once again, she insisted everything was fine. But the ride was marred with an unusual silence that no amount of music could erase. After parking the car, they walked to his house when a pretty young woman walking a Shih Tzu smiled his way.

“Morning, Tobias,” she smiled, nodding at Casey.

“Hey, Mary! Good seeing you,” he replied. "You too, Shotzie!"

They had barely taken a few steps away when Casey asked. “So, did you fuck her, too?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Casey replied with a frown.

Tobias took a deep breath of the warm summer air and exhaled slowly. “I know I have a reputation, Casey... but I didn’t sleep with everyone we bump into.”

“Really?” She replied, dropping her hand from his as they reached his door. “Because sometimes it sure feels that way.”

Tobias lingered by the doorway as Casey stepped inside, tossing her purse on a side table before plopping down on his couch. Her expression was a complex mix of self-reproach, frustration with him, and reluctant acceptance. Tobias’s face transformed rapidly, moving from shock to annoyance and finally to determination in mere seconds. He locked the door, and the sound of his keys clattering against the marble table echoed through the room.

“All right, this can’t continue. Casey, we need to talk.”

She sat on the edge of the couch, nervously twisting a strand of her hair. She loved him, and he was right—they did need to talk. But those were the four most dreaded words in the English language, and right now, she felt like their first conflict was all her fault. Tears welled in her eyes when Tobias knelt before her, his eyes full of concern and love.

“Casey, what’s bothering you? When you started acting a little jealous here and there, I honestly thought it was endearing. Maybe it’s stupid, but I’ve never meant that much to anyone before, and it was nice to feel like I mattered enough for jealousy to be a real thing... but now I can see it’s not cute. It’s making you feel uneasy, and it’s making me feel like you don’t trust me, and none of this is good. So, how do we get past it?”

“Tobias, I know you have a past; we both do, even if yours is a little more colorful than mine. It never bothered me, but lately, I feel like we'll need to leave the state if I want to go a day without running into one of your former lovers, and it’s harder than I expected it to be. Especially when it’s obvious that they would love another chance at you.”

“Hon,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You know you have nothing to worry about, right? No one is a threat to you.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his. “I know that, and I trust you, but seeing these women all the time... and they’re all so beautiful, so perfect... and sometimes all I can think of is that there is no way I can be enough for you. I wonder how long it will be before you think so, too, and it hurts. I know it’s irrational, and it’s not fair to you. You’ve done nothing to make me feel this way. It’s only me feeling like I’m... inadequate, and I’m mad at myself for even feeling this way.”

“Your feelings are never irrational, Case. They’re real and valid. You’re also the only thing that matters to me, so what can I do to help you feel more secure?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like I can’t compete with them.”

“You’re right... because there is no competition, and if there were trust, you’d win.”

She looked at him, and the sincerity and concern in his eyes warmed her heart but also filled her with guilt. Tears welled up as she lowered her head.

“I don’t know. I guess I need reassurance sometimes, but I hate asking for it. I’m usually so much more confident than this, and I don’t want to seem needy.”

“You’re not needy. You’re human,” Tobias said softly. “Plus, you’ve dealt with so much in this past year. You have no idea how much you amaze me. You're so strong, and I hate to see you doubt yourself, especially if it’s on my account.”

“No, Tobias,” she interrupted. This is a me problem—one hundred percent a me problem."

“Well, maybe, but that doesn't mean I'm not here for you. I love you, and I chose you. My past is just that – the past. You are my present, and I hope you’ll be my future, too.”

He let out a soft chuckle, and Casey looked at him with questioning eyes. “What?”

“If it makes you feel any better, sometimes I could use some reassurance, too.”

“You?” She astounded. “You’re the most confident person I know. You feel insecure? When?”

“Hey, it happens,” he smiled, sitting next to her and taking her in his arms. “I’m nearly forty, and yeah, I’ve had a lot of... flings... in my life, but love... the real deal? This is brand new to me. You know it scared the hell out of me at first, and even though it doesn’t anymore.... sometimes I have to wonder if I’m doing it right.”

“Oh, honey. You’re doing it so right. You’re so good to me, and I feel so loved.”

“And do I measure up?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Casey pulled back, her brows knit together.

“Measure up? To who?”

“Look, I don’t care how many people you slept with before me. You’re with me now, and I’m not worried about that. But you had something with others that I never had... you had love. And because you have this big heart, most of the people you loved are still in your life.”

“Tobias, they may be in my life, and yeah, I suppose I still love them... but not in that way any longer... not in the way that I love you.”

“I know that,” he smiled. “Rationally, I know that. But this love thing... it’s something that I’ve only shared with you, and, now and then, a little bit of self-doubt creeps in, and... when that happens, I could use reassurance, too.”

“I... I never would have thought... you don’t have to worry about that, Tobias. You're the love of my life, and I want this to last forever."

“I do, too," He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “So why don’t we talk to each other when we’re feeling a little off? We’re a team now, remember? We can work through anything as a team."

Casey nodded, feeling the weight lifting from her shoulders. “Yes, we can. And I promise to talk to you instead of letting things eat at me in the future.”

“That’s all I ask,” he replied, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “We’ve got a great thing, kid. We’ll get through this; I know we will.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling nothing but warmth in his embrace. “So, what’s your opinion on this love thing?” she asked with a little grin.

“Heh,” he chuckled. “It’s wild... a bit of a rollercoaster ride, but honestly, it’s the best thrill of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“It is like a rollercoaster,” she agreed. “But you know what my favorite part of rollercoasters is? The way we hold on tight and don’t let go.”

A bright grin spread across his face, and he held Casey as close as he could. “Trust me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I will never, ever let go.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[duskandcobalt]

Everywhere, Everything: Chapter Four

Chapter Summary: Azriel meets Elain’s new boyfriend at Nyx’s birthday party. Graysen has some questions about Elain’s “friend.”

Word Count: 4.4K

Missed the first three chapters? You can find the Masterlist for this fic here 🥰

A/N: chapter four already!! Thank you to everyone that’s read this fic and commented or interacted in anyway! I’ve had the loveliest messages come through and it’s been such a joy to chat with you guys about this. I’m a little extra nervous to post this chapter, please keep in mind that this is a bit of a slow burn and we must suffer a little before we get our reward. Alternate title is “Graysen Slander (Azriel’s version)”

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

Flying back home to Velaris had caused Elain a level of anxiety that had previously been unknown to her.

There used to be a time where she enjoyed seeing her city from the birds-eye-view of an airplane window. She loved to look down and admire the twinkling lights on either side of the sprawling river that split her hometown in half. She liked to scan the buildings as they came into view and point out each place that held a space of her heart because of the special memories attached.

There was her elementary school, the movie theater parking lot where she had her first kiss, and her favourite library. There was the ice-cream shop located a few blocks from their childhood home that she and her sisters would sneak out to at all hours of the night for their cookie dough fix, not bothering to change out of their robes and slippers. She’d look out for the small park where she and Nesta spent their Saturday’s sprawled in the grass, reading books and gossiping. Her heart ached as she spotted the rose and sculpture garden she and Azriel liked to stroll through early on Sunday mornings, hot cups of coffee warming their hands as they walked and talked, Azriel leaning in close to tell Elain that the roses there had nothing on the ones that she grew in her garden.

She hadn’t bothered to point any of those places out to Graysen as their flight had made its descent. Hadn't really felt the need or desire to share those parts of herself with him. She’d just sat quietly, staring straight at her own reflection in the little screen in front of her as she took deep breaths to try and ease the rapid beating of her heart.

Her anxiety had calmed a little once they’d landed and disembarked, emerging from their gate to Nyx’s loud squeal of her name which brought her back to reality just in time for her to drop her bags and catch his tiny body as he ran towards her at full speed and flung himself into her outstretched arms. 

“Hi, baby!” She’d hugged him tight, overwhelmed by just how much she’d missed him.

“Hi, Lain!” Nyx giggled, his little face tucked tight against her neck.

She hadn’t questioned the nickname, one her nephew had never called her before, because she had been too distracted breathing in the scent of his hair - the scent of the same watermelon shampoo that her mother had used during bath time when she and her sisters were kids. It was comforting and familiar and exactly what she needed to push past the worry that had rendered her useless for the past few hours.. 

The initial introductions had gone as well as she could’ve hoped.

Graysen had defaulted back to the easy charm that he’d used back in the day to talk Elain into a drink and it seemed to work on Feyre and Rhys well enough that the drive back to their house and the late dinner that followed were easy and painless. The only hiccup was that Nyx refused to even greet Graysen and had thrown him the most menacing looks he could muster up each time Graysen so much as attempted to hold Elain’s hand. 

“He’s jealous,” Feyre had laughed nervously, embarrassed by her son’s behavior after he’d insisted on sitting next to Elain at dinner. “He’s always been a little territorial when it comes to her and since he hasn’t seen her in a few months…” 

Graysen had laughed it off but Elain had caught the annoyance in his demeanor at the idea of having to share her. Even if the person he was sharing her with was just her soon-to-be five year old nephew. 

Elain’s anxiety returned in full force the next afternoon when guests began to arrive for Nyx’s party. No amount of rearranging balloons or organising the treat station could keep her attention off the front door each and every time it opened. It was only a matter of time before he showed up and the wait was torture. In the years she’d known Azriel, he’d never once missed an important event when it came to his friends and there was no way he’d start now. 

“So…” Nesta appeared next to her suddenly, head cocked to the side as she leant against the table and watched in amusement as Elain straightened the goodie bags for the seventh or eighth time that hour. “Graysen seems nice.” 

“Yeah,” Elain nodded, not bothering to look up from the little cellophane bags full of treats that she’d been busying herself with for the last ten minutes. She didn’t need to look at Nesta to know her true feelings. She could hear it in her voice. “He’s great.” 

“He’s very… passionate.” Her sister studied her nails as she fought to hold back the teasing smile that played on her lips.  “About work. And golf. And work. And his car… Did I mention his work? Because he certainly did.” 

“Okay, okay.” Elain groaned, casting a fleeting glance across the room where Graysen was still chatting to Rhysand. 

She sent a thank you to the universe that Feyre had married a man that had the talent and patience to talk to absolutely anyone. She couldn’t say the same for Cassian, who had quickly maneuvered out of that conversation and over to the backyard to terrorize the kids, instead. 

“He just loves his job,” Elain shrugged, finally turning to face her sister. 

Nesta raised a perfectly manicured brow, fixing Elain with a pointed look. “You mean he loves money.” 

There was a reason Elain had never introduced a boy to her family and the reason was standing directly in front of her, all perfectly coiffed hair and dangerous eyes. Feyre could find a way to see the good in anyone and the boys would say they were okay with whoever Elain dated as long as she was happy. But Nesta - Nesta had always had a knack for seeing straight through any of Elain’s lies and she’d never been afraid to call her out when necessary. It was a quality Elain had come to appreciate from time to time but she didn’t appreciate it today.

“I mean… he does work in finance.” 

“Elain.” Another pointed look was thrown in her direction.

“Nesta.” 

“He looks like he pays more for a haircut than I do.” 

“Nesta!” Elain hit her sister on the arm, unable to stifle the laugh that bubbled to the surface. She knew exactly how much Graysen paid for his hair cuts and Nesta was right. “He’s nice.”

“You know who’s nicer...” Nesta said it under her breath but Elain heard her loud and clear. 

“Stop,” Elain lowered her voice. “Please. You promised.”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell the boys and I haven’t,” she replied without missing a beat. “I never promised we wouldn’t talk about it at all.” 

“Nesta, please. I can’t talk about this now.”

What Elain really wanted to say was that she couldn’t talk about this ever, but she knew that would only result in more back and forth and right now all she wanted was for this conversation to be over.

“He’s miserable, El.” Nesta lowered her voice to match Elain’s. “He’s very good at acting like he’s fine but he’s not. You just left and I know you’ve cut him off completely since and -”

“I haven’t spoken to anyone, really. It’s not like I’ve only stopped talking to hi-” Elain abruptly stopped speaking, standing up straight and plastering a smile on her face just as she spotted Graysen beginning to make his way towards them.

He didn’t have a chance to say anything, had only just managed to sling an arm around Elain’s waist when the front door swung open and Shadow came flying through. She was nothing but a black blur, ducking and dodging around furniture as she ran straight through to the kitchen. She paused in front of Rhys for a quick hello before she made a beeline towards where Elain stood with Nesta and Graysen by the dining room table. 

Her long tail wagged furiously, whipping against the wooden leg of the table. Shadow was seemingly unbothered, too busy flailing around happily between Nesta’s legs before she finally came to a stop in front of Elain. Her long snout nuzzled into Elain’s open palm and her lean body leant heavily against her thighs.

Much like Nyx, Shadow paid Graysen little to no attention other than to sniff  in his direction just once which Elain thought quite strange given that Shadow loved meeting new people and she’d famously always favored the company of men. 

“Hi, Shadow girl!” Elain cooed, crouching down to properly greet the dog that had come to feel like her own over the years. She’d gone with Azriel the day he’d picked her up and brought her home, had even helped name her. “Look how gray you’ve gotten!”

“She’ll be nine next week.”

The timber of his voice hit her at the exact same time as the familiar scent of his cedar cologne and Elain was suddenly grateful that she was already on the ground because if she’d been standing, she was sure her knees would’ve given out completely.

Elain swallowed her nerves, raising her eyes from Shadow’s sweet salt and pepper face to look up at Azriel only to find that every bit of his attention was focused solely on her.

“Hi, Lain.”

There were a couple beats of silence before Elain got a hold of herself and stood up. She stepped forward and before she could stop herself, she raised onto the very tips of her toes and wound her arms around his neck. Azriel’s arms wrapped around her waist in turn, tentatively at first before she felt his fingers flex against the middle of her back as he relaxed, readjusting his grip to pull her tight against his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Probably because it had been at one point in time.

“Hi, Az.” She whispered into his neck, breathing in the divine scent of him. The scent of home.

“Hey, Azriel!” Nesta said loudly from behind them, effectively breaking the trance that Elain had unwittingly found herself in. 

She let go of Azriel quickly and took a large step back, bumping into the dining table, as Nesta took her place in his arms. 

She was only just aware of Graysen staring at her in her peripheral, his hand once again heavy against her hip.

“Were you planning on introducing me?” He asked her as Azriel and Nesta separated and Azriel turned to face them again. Elain hadn’t noticed that she’d been staring dumbly straight ahead - directly at Azriel’s chest. 

He was wearing an oatmeal coloured fisherman’s sweater that she’d told him she loved on him more than a few times and a small, stupid part of her wondered if she crossed his mind when he slipped it on this morning.

“Oh, yes!” She shook her head, laughing nervously. “Um, Az… this is Graysen, my uh…”

“Boyfriend.” Graysen finished the sentence for her, extending his hand towards Azriel. “And you are…”

“This is Azriel. My…. Azriel.” Elain stuttered as she watched the two men shake hands.

She allowed herself the tiniest shake of her head to ease the frustration she felt towards herself. She sounded like an absolute idiot.

“I think I’ve missed something,” Graysen looked between Elain and Azriel, eyebrows lifting slightly. “How do you know each other?

“We’re good friends.” Azriel answered at the same time Elain said “He’s Rhys’ best friend.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. 

She couldn’t possibly have handled that any worse.

“So you’re Rhys’ friend or Elain’s friend?” Graysen asked, the slightest hint of a frown forming on his lips. 

Any hope that Elain had of him dropping this topic evaporated in front of her eyes.

“We’re all friends. We met through Rhys when he started dating Feyre and we all spent basically all our time together.” She answered quickly, briefly meeting Azriel’s eyes.

Another mistake. 

All she saw was hurt. No one else would’ve noticed because the emotion was there and gone in a flash but Elain saw past the mask. She saw the hurt she’d caused him. Hurt at being reduced to a friend of a friend, as if he wasn’t so much more to her. As if they hadn’t spent years of their lives seeing each other almost every day. Trading secrets. Letting each other see parts of themselves they’d never allowed anyone else to see.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Azriel smiled politely, redirecting his attention to Graysen. “I’m gonna go find the birthday boy but I’ll talk to you guys later, I’m sure.”

He didn’t look at her again before he walked away, Shadow obediently following right behind him. Even Nesta quickly excused herself so she didn’t have to be around to witness the uncomfortable tension that had settled heavily between Elain and Graysen..

She had absolutely no idea what had come over her. She thought she’d been somewhat prepared to see him again but nothing could’ve prepared her for the reality of him standing in front of her. Smiling at her. The feel of his arms around her - strong and sure and familiar. Nothing could have prepared her for seeing him walk away from her, disappointment lingering behind his eyes. She’d done that to him and she hated herself for it.

She silently cursed herself for ever thinking that bringing Graysen back here would be a good idea. Mere minutes had passed and she’d already fucked up. She had no idea how the hell she was supposed to make it through this day, let alone survive an entire weekend of this.

“What the hell was that?” Graysen muttered as Elain turned in his arms, once again plastering on a smile in a last ditch effort to rectify the mess she’d just made of that introduction.

“Nothing,” She shook her head, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “That was nothing.”

… 

When Azriel walked into Rhys and Feyre’s house earlier and caught a glimpse of Elain for the first time in four months, she was wearing another one of those dresses that threatened to send him to his knees. 

He loved each and every one of her dresses but the one she wore today was a pale blue with delicate straps that tied at her shoulders and draped elegantly over her frame in a way that just about teased at each dip and curve concealed by the lightweight, silky material. It was perfectly demure for a children’s birthday party but something about that dress on her was downright sinful. 

Maybe if the circumstances were different, he’d be able to steal a glance every now and then and attempt to carry on with his life, but the circumstances were not different and Azriel was cursed to get through this afternoon looking at Elain in that dress with some other guy’s arm around her waist. 

He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. Even if he had no right to think of her in that way. Not when she’d made it abundantly clear not once but twice now, that she didn’t want him like that. Still, he couldn’t help that the memory of her kneeling on his bed and tracing a path across his hips with that pretty mouth of hers came rushing back to the forefront of his mind in the ten or so seconds that she’d been on her knees in front of him, patting his dog and looking up at him with those big, brown eyes. 

Any satisfaction that he’d gotten from that memory or simply from seeing her and having her in his arms again, disappeared the second she stepped back and he’d been introduced to her boyfriend.

He knew there was something off with the way they interacted within the first few minutes of watching them together that afternoon. Azriel knew that the smiles she gave him weren’t genuine because they never quite reached her eyes. Elain evaded Graysen’s touch, swiveling out of his grasp each and every time he went to put his hand on her hip, ducking her head so the kiss he intended to give her landed on her forehead instead of her lips. 

He wondered how no one else seemed to notice it when he could see it so clearly. He was in tune with her every emotion, knew her better than he knew the back of his own hand. He’d had time to hone that skill and right now, the piece of his brain that was dedicated solely to her was screaming that something wasn’t right. 

Azriel hated the way she acted around him. Hated the way Graysen acted towards her. Actually, Azriel just outright despised Graysen.

He’d come into this day wanting the best. He genuinely wanted to see Elain happy even if the notion of her being with anyone else made his chest constrict in a way that couldn’t possibly be healthy. But he knew she wasn’t happy and one handshake was all it took for Azriel to know exactly what kind of guy Graysen was.

His grip had been firm but his hands bore no evidence of ever doing anything more difficult than swinging a heavy golf club. Graysen had a smile befitting of a politician’s son - charming but edged with insincerity, like he’d do or say whatever was necessary to get what he wanted. He carried himself with the ease of someone that had had things handed to him on a silver platter for his whole life and there was a certain arrogance to him that had Azriel wondering what Elain could possibly see in him. He knew her well enough to know that it wouldn’t have been the expensive clothing or the twenty thousand dollar watch on his wrist that had piqued her interest just like he knew that the glittering diamond tennis bracelet circling her wrist was for Graysen’s benefit and not hers.

He’d endeavored to try and find out if the guy had any redeeming qualities at all to help Azriel come to terms with them being together but he’d been stopped every time he’d tried to approach Graysen.

Azriel almost found it amusing the way Elain had been running what could be considered award winning interference between himself and her boyfriend all day, somehow managing to keep them well away from each other in and amongst entertaining her nephew and his flock of tiny friends. But now that all Nyx’s friends and their parents had gone home and the sun was beginning to set, there was very little Elain could do to keep them from speaking. 

Graysen had started the conversation as they sat on the couch next to each other, just behind where Elain was sitting on the floor helping Nyx unwrap the copious amounts of presents he’d received today. Graysen asked Azriel about how he had met Rhys and Azriel explained that they’d met when they were kids and Rhys’ family had all but adopted him as one of their own. The topic had turned to Velaris and Azriel had sat through mind-numbing comments about how the river looked nicer in pictures, how things closed too early, and how there was no real potential for growth. 

He’d just nodded and shrugged wherever he thought appropriate and he’d failed to get more than a sentence in but then Cassian had asked if Azriel was still planning on staying at their place after dinner with everyone the next night and when Azriel had answered that he would as long as he managed to finish the ring he’d been working on, Graysen had suddenly had a lot of questions. 

“So you set up a little stall at what? … Weekend farmers markets? Sell jewelry to old ladies and teenage girls?”  Graysen asked after Azriel patiently explained exactly why he was making jewelry. “And you make money from that?”

Azriel noticed the way Elain stiffened at the condescending tone of Graysen’s voice. The snide way he laughed as he reduced Azriel’s work to the equivalent of a children’s roadside lemonade stand. She set down the toy she’d been unboxing for Nyx and swiveled around to face them.

“He’s not making jewelry with dollar store plastic beads, Gray.” It was maybe the most fed up Azriel had ever heard her sound. He’d always known her to stay quiet and avoid confrontation. He didn’t even need one hand to count all the times he’d seen her snap and each of those times had been at Feyre or Nesta so he didn’t really count them. “It’s his business and he’s done really well.”

“It’s fine, Lain.” Azriel said softly, his heart swelling in his chest at the way she defended him even if he was unbothered by Graysen’s comments. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before from his own father or brothers. He continued to speak, confidently taking Graysen’s questions in stride in a way that Elain hadn’t quite been able to.“I actually work in data security but I make jewelry in my spare time and sell custom pieces online. Although, I did have some pretty successful mornings at farmer’s markets when I was just starting out and -”

“I thought you didn’t like being called that.” Graysen interrupted him, calculating eyes shifting from Azriel to Elain.

“What?” Elain asked, eyebrows furrowed in a way that Azriel would’ve found endearing in any other circumstance.

“He calls you ‘Lain.’” Graysen replied. “You told me you hated when I called you that.”

“I just prefer ‘El,’” She shrugged, picking at the sleeve of the cream cardigan she’d thrown on over her dress. “And he isn’t the only one. Nyx has called me that all day today, as well.” 

Azriel stayed silent. He knew exactly where Nyx had picked that nickname up from but he wasn’t about to expose himself for cornering his friend’s kid into multiple conversations with the secret agenda of trying to siphon information about what Nyx’s Auntie was up to these days. 

Graysen huffed, crossing his arms like an overgrown child as he sat back. He’d dropped his line of inquisition for now but Azriel had a feeling that wasn’t the last Elain would hear of this topic and the thought made him sick.

He’d been carefully watching all afternoon - noticing the way Graysen spoke about Elain and the possessive way he touched her as if she was something to have or to own. It had turned his stomach, memories of the way he’d seen his father treat his mother seeping into his mind despite his best efforts to keep them at bay.

Azriel paid extra attention to him now, picking up the way Graysen acted towards Elain as he continued to answer questions about his jewelry. He cringed at the scowl that found a home on Graysen’s lips each time her attention was pulled away from him and the way that scowl only deepened at each passing remark that hinted that maybe Azriel and Elain had, in fact, been closer than what she might’ve alluded to earlier. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what she’d told Graysen about him. He had a feeling she hadn’t told him much at all. But he saw the wheels turning in Graysen’s head when Azriel’s craft came up again and Azriel explained exactly what type of jewelry he made and Graysen’s eyes had drifted to the chain that had faithfully stayed clasped around Elain’s neck year after year. 

His suspicions were confirmed an hour or so later when Azriel rounded a corner, making his way towards the powder room at the foot of the stairs only to stop halfway there when he was distracted by a pair of low voices coming from Rhysand’s office across the hallway. 

It was just a simple hushed whisper but his ears perked up at the voice he’d come to find grating over this very long, very tortuous day. 

He could hear his mother’s voice in his head telling him that it wasn’t polite to eavesdrop, that nothing good every came from it, but he couldn’t help himself as he stood there - still as night, locking in on the hushed conversation and blocking out the raucous laughter coming from the kitchen. 

“You know what I find most interesting about all of this?” Azriel heard Graysen ask. “In four months, I’ve heard about your sisters and their husbands but you haven’t even mentioned his name once.”

“He’s just a friend,” Elain answered quietly. “I swear.”

“Right,” Graysen scoffed. “And I suppose he’s the friend that gave you that necklace?”

Azriel swallowed,  his eyes pinching closed at the animosity - the clear jealousy - that laced Graysen’s question. He could hear the malice in the way he spat out the word ‘friend’. He could only imagine the way he’d be glaring at the little gold oval that Azriel knew Elain would be clutching in between her thumb and index finger.

Graysen had asked her about the necklace, that thin gold chain Azriel had gifted her all those years ago that sat faithfully around her neck every day since. It was his only sign, as delusional as it might’ve made him, that she still thought of him. After everything that had happened the year prior, Elain still wore that small, handmade pendant and even if they didn’t speak, even if his messages had gone unanswered… Maybe her continuing to wear that necklace meant that she didn’t completely despise him. 

Azriel kept moving, not allowing himself to so much as breathe until he was safely behind the closed door of the powder room. He had wanted to keep listening but he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t think he could stand to hear her answers to Graysen’s questions. Didn’t want to know if she’d attempt to explain to Graysen whatever this thing was between them or if she’d continue to insist that he was nothing more than a friend. 

But Azriel wanted an answer. He deserved an answer. He just didn’t want to get it by eavesdropping on a conversation he wasn’t a part of. He needed to hear it directly from her. He needed to talk to her.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - Of hair and shadows

“Ding!”

“Mmmmphfthphf?”

That brilliant one-liner uttered, Hero threw a tired glance at the text that has startled them awake, groaned, then buried their face into the pillow. They stayed a moment like that, letting their tired brain register what they had seen, then gasped and took a second look at the phone. It was really that late. To be fair, it had been a very long time since their last day off. Yawning, they slowly went to the door and stopped on the threshold.

The living room was an absolute mess. Everything was covered with sawdust. On a carpet, in the middle of a wood shaving nest, a dark silhouette was carving what had been a broken table leg, so focused on their task they hadn't noticed them. Hero crossed their arms, staring silently. For a moment, they wondered how Villain could have done that without any noisy tool, then shrugged this off. They were getting used to this. They were more concerned about the implication that their roommate had been awake all night.

Their stomach churned a little with guilt. In a wild turning of events, it had turned out that insisting on learning about Villain and Superhero's traumatic backstory had not, in fact, made things easier at all. Who could have predicted that, except anybody with a brain?

For a moment, they considered leaving them alone, but decided against it. The text had been from the agency, and Hero knew how careful they had to be with the deadlines.

They cleared their throat:

“Hey.”

“Greetings, nemesis.”

Villain glanced at them and added:

“Disheveled nemesis.”

Hero frowned in return, but it wasn't the time to bicker.

“Look, I’m sorry to ask you that,” they said, “but the agency is updating your file. I need to take your picture.”

Villain shrugged, leaning again on their work:

“Do what you must.”

Hero bit their tongue and added as gently as they could:

“I need you out of your shadow. And you need to stop doing... whatever you’re doing for a couple of minutes.”

They waited for the answer, looking anywhere but at their interlocutor. They hated they had to ask them such a thing.

Their roommate groaned.

“May I remind you that I’m the one supposed to torture you? My nemesis you might be, but you should be the glowing light contrasting my sinful shadow, not a thorn in my side. Your excessive love for paperwork will be the end of us all.”

Hero nervously crossed their arms, looking for a comforting answer, but there was nothing good to say back. They pulled out their phone with an apologizing glance:

“Come on, it will take a minute. Put yourself against the wall. I take the picture, then I won’t bother you anymore.”

After some more protesting, Villain stood and went to the other side of the room. The shadow over their face melted, leaving their sulking in plain sight. They stared back at Hero, who had their phone raised, but didn't move. They were pondering. In fact, they pondered for so long Villain shifted uncomfortably.

“Are my smoldering orbs startling you?” they inquired.

“Your?”

“My smoldering emerald orbs that seem to gaze deep into your very soul ? Or my perfectly sculptured cheekbones that give me a melancholic, though refined appearance?”

“Oh, no. I’ve seen your file, I know you look like a starving cat who’s been mildly inconvenienced. But I didn’t realize you had-”

“What?”

“How long your hair was.”

Villain looked at them with sudden, horrified comprehension. All embarrassment had disappeared from Hero’s face. In fact, it was replaced by a near maniacal glee.

“Oh no. You cannot mean-”

But their roommate was so excited they were rocking on their heels, their eyes glowing:

“Look, all I’m saying is that I’ve got a free afternoon for once-”

“You dare-”

“That I’ve got all the hair products in the world-”

“That I’ll give you, it’s an invasion-”

“They need to be taken care of.”

“You mean you need to play with them.”

“Same thing. Please?”

“But I’m brooding!”

“And I’m braiding.”

Villain looked at Hero with their jointed hands and their awkward grin, and groaned:

“You really are my nemesis. Fine.”

Hero beamed at them and took the photo. By the time Villain followed them in front of the dressing table, the shadow was back on their face. After a while, they sighed and accepted to show the back of their head. Grinning all they could, Hero gently let their fingers glide on the offered strands. Their roommate had beautiful hair, straight, shiny, and of course, raven-black. It also had all the knots in the world.

“The situation is dire. Pass me the spray.”

“You have more of them than a witch has bottles. I’m afraid you need to be more specific.”

“The green one.”

Villain handed it to them by the tip of their fingers. Hero took it, used it generously, then grabbed a brush. This was wonderful, but not as enjoyable as they thought it would be. Under the hair, the skinny shoulders were as tense as ever. No matter how soft they tried to be, Villain never relaxed a bit. Hero bit their lip, wondering how guilty they had to feel for that.

“Can I ask a question?” they said after a while. “Why do you cover yourself with your shadow all the time?”

“Because I’m dark and brooding and tormented.”

“Doesn’t that get exhausting, using your power constantly?”

Villain shrugged.

“At first it was. As the darkness grew in my heart, so did my shadow. Also I had a growing spur when I was fifteen. That helped.”

“I see.”

“Covering myself might seem impressive to you, it is but a little feat to me. I could plunge whole streets in the dark, should I wish so. No light could pierce through.”

“I know. You are incredibly powerful,” Hero smiled. “For a Twinkies thief.”

“You are never going to live that down, are you?”

“Nope.”

Hero took several strands and began to braid them.

“What I meant was why?”

“I don’t see how that might preoccupy you.”

Hero keep their eyes on what they were doing, but their voice shivered slightly when they said:

“Maybe it’s none of my business, but sometimes I worry it’s because you never feel safe, even here. It must be exhausting, never lowering your guard.”

“How can I, when I live with my dreaded foe?”

The hands in Villain’s hair froze.

“Do you really dread me?”

Villain had their usual booming, contemptuous laugh, the one that the neighbors hated.

“I’m your nemesis. It will be a sad day when I fear you.”

“Good,” whispered Hero.

Leaving the braid, their right hand rubbed their neck:

“I’m working for Superhero, it’s true, and uh...all of this...the situation is...complex? I had no idea what happened between you two-”

“I'm aware-”

“But now I know and things are going to get more complicated, but I’m- All I want to say is- ugh, I’m so not good at this-”

“On that, we agree.”

Hero took a deep breath:

“Look, I’m nothing compared to Superhero. I don’t think I can do much. But I will do it. To keep you safe. I know that’s just words-”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

Green eyes emerged from Villain’s shadow to meet Hero’s gaze on the mirror:

“You’re a dreadful liar. I know when you lie.”

“Well…”

“For example, when you said that today was a holiday you’ve taken long ago, you couldn’t look at me.”

“Ah. Yes. I’m sorry. I just- I wanted to spend the day with you to make sure that-”

“-that I was unharmed so we could keep our endless dueling, for such is the destiny of nemeses.”

“Err, sure. Something like that. We...we’re good then?”

“No, I’m very evil. But I think we’ve understood each other.”

*

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

A couple random examples from the internet, artists in the 1800s were going crazy with it istg

1800s:

Renaissance:

I have trouble visualizing how clothes would fold when I’m drawing and then I see marble sculptures from the renaissance onward and am like “I’m gonna fucking cry”

[arminarlertdefender]

toph headcanon:

In the episode, “the library” toph is trying to save the rest of the gaang while the library was sinking. While this was was happening she didn’t realize appa was being captured because she didn’t know how to sandbend. It’s hard to feel vibrations in the earth while on sand so she was unaware of this until it was too late. When aang found out, he went off on toph and blamed her and let his anger get the best of him.

In the last episode “Sozin’s comet: part one” the gaang is at the beach and is having fun making sand sculptures. Toph tells aang “I’ve been working my sand bending.” AND SHES PRACTICING BECAUSE SHE FEELS GUILTY ABOUT LOSING APPA. ITS NOT YOUR FAULT TOPH 🙏

[jeannereames]

In "Dancing With The Lion", you seem to say that Alexander was not handsome. But when I searched about Alexander's appearance on Google, I found that almost everywhere he was described as a handsome man. He was even called extremely handsome in a couple of articles. I have seen the copy of Alexander's bust originally made by Lysippus. It's said that Lysippus made the bust during Alexander's lifetime & Alexander looked like that. The bust doesn't look bad. Why do you then think that Alexander wasn't good looking enough? By the way, I loved the guy who seemed to represent Alexander on the cover page of "Dancing With The Lion". Alexander might very well look like that :-)

First, a comment on my description and why I made it, then some background on the history.

What Hephaistion thinks to himself is actually, “Only a flatterer would call him handsome.” He doesn’t say he’s ugly or plain. He’s just normal looking. I made that choice partly for historical reasons, but also because I wanted to humanize him. Same reason I gave him acne. 😉 I don’t see him as unattractive, I just don’t see him as especially handsome. (A link to the novels, for anybody looking, with the new covers.)

I would caution about taking seriously much that you find via a Google search. It’s kinda a dumpster fire, honestly, unless you know exactly what you’re looking for.* Always check who wrote an article. How did they learn the information they relate? That’s part of why I cite things here, even if I don’t load y’all up with citations the way I would in a scholarly article. But I want readers to be able to chase down references for themselves, even as, in our post-expert era, I also want readers to trust that I know where to look in the first place—what’s reliable.

Although it’s now 30+ years old, probably the best book on Alexander’s appearance is Andrew Stewart’s Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics (1993). I know it’s expensive (LOTS and lots of picture plates inside), but because it’s been out a minute, you can probably find it used, or in a library.

So, let’s look at the history. There are several things going on here:

The ancient Greeks conflated wealth, class, intelligence, and beauty with heroic status. So Achilles is beautiful but Thersites is malformed and ugly. This motif rolled over onto historical individuals, and the Greeks purposely practiced “idealizing” in their sculpture, especially of anybody presented as heroic. There’s quite a lot written on Greek idealizing, but again, beware a simple Google search; I just tried to find something useful and gave up by the time I was on page 6; the best thing was an article in the NYT, behind a paywall. I’d suggest grabbing an art history textbook, especially a specialized one, like Shiela Dillon’s.

The Alexander head on the Akropolis (which was used to find the model for the cover of Becoming) is a perfect example of Classical-era idealization. We’d call it Photoshopped. 😉 Yes, it’s recognizably Alexander, but his face is made to match the canon of Greek ephebic beauty. (The publisher liked it. ha)

Add to this the divinization of Alexander and its impact on his sculptures across time. See Stewart mentioned above for a great description of how his Successors molded his image for their own purposes. Generally speaking, his hair gets longer and flowier, his eyes get larger, and his face get softened until he looks feminized. The sculpture below, from the Capitoline Museum, is a great example. It’s Alexander as Helios (the sun god), a Roman copy of a Hellenistic original, and that original is speculatively dated to sometime in the late 200s or early 100s BCE, based on style.

We in the modern world are inclined to these same assumptions. We got it from them! I’ve noticed that most sketches (especially AI pictures) of Alexander on the internet turn him pretty. One (below, yes with 6 fingers) has him looking suspiciously like Henry Cavill! LOL

There have been some better attempts to use AI to render him, based on ancient statuary, but most use statues I’m less fond of. Yet the one that uses the Azara Herm is, I think, pretty close. I agree with Stewart that the Azara Herm is as near to a likeness as is out there; see Stewart’s discussion as to why. I believe it’s the bust you’re referring to in the ask. Below with link to Royalty Now, who made it. I want to be sure she gets credit. I bought myself a copy of this one. She did two reconstructions, but I don’t care for the other because of the statue used. Royalty Now may have airbrushed him a bit (he lacks scars, for instance—highly unlikely in a soldier), but at least in basic facial structure, it’s good. Note the long face. If a long face with sharper features is more accepted today—largely thanks to what photographs well—the Greek ideal was a rounder face, like the Akropolis head above.

So the real Alexander wasn’t an ugly man, no, but if you passed him on the street, you probably wouldn’t stop and stare. Unless he wanted you to. It was his CHARISMA that people noted, not his physical appearance.

That, I also tried to note in the novels. At one point, Aristotle remarks to himself that Hephaistion might have the looks, but Alexander would always be the one to draw eyes. 😊

------------------------------------------

* For instance, my educational website on Hephaistion appears pages and pages and pages down from the top on Google … even though it’s written by one of the two leading world experts on him (Sabine Müller is the other). Ergo, you have to wade through a lot of stuff put out by sites that know how to rank themselves higher before you get to the actual specialist. Once upon a time, btw, it popped up higher, but pay-to-play has changed search engines.

[aisleyxshaw]

Still shaky and vulnerable after her release from the hospital, Aisley tried to get her shopping done as fast as she could. She wanted to get home, away from the crowds of locals and tourists present to celebrate the summer festival. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been released until late afternoon, so she’d be stuck until after sunset. She would never escape the chaos.

A shiver ran through Aisley, and she paused, her eyes going wide as she made a slow turn to try and pinpoint what set off her senses. Something cold and dark and . . . unnatural seemed to be circling around town. Then came a flicker at the corner of her eye and she spun but found nothing there.

Then she felt a soft touch on her arm – soft, cold, and . . . oily. She went to pull away but suddenly found herself enveloped in smoke, the very touch a burning cold that poured into her, drowning any scream she might have made. Although she tried to fight it, block it, her shields and control had been damaged by the magical explosion at Jesse’s place. The damage – not having enough time to heal as yet – made her vulnerable to the unnatural creature flooding her mind.

No!

The creature inside her stretched, reveling in the feel of skin, bone, and muscle as it moved. “Such a lovely, lovely form,” her voice murmured. Aisley shoved at it, but only seemed to nudge it, and its laugh had a cold note of amusement. “Well, little toy, aren’t you the strong one? I can’t put you to sleep and you can’t force me out. Though . . .” It held up her hand and smiled as little sparks of green flickered over her fingers. “A green witch, and such a deep connection to nature. You should be able to fight me, little toy. What weakened you so?”

She felt it starting to comb through her memories, and panic gave her enough strength to push it away, feeling her eyes change, before slamming the door shut. No, you won’t use my mind against me! Or against them!

Again that cold laugh. “Oh, little toy. You should have gone to sleep, but I suppose it will be amusing to let you watch.” Her hands lifted again, and it used them to feel her skin – running her own hands along her arms and shoulders, down over her breasts to her waist and hips before another long stretch. “I believe we need another outfit, little toy, but then we’ll go see what fun we can find, hmm? You might actually regain enough strength to fight me before sunrise, and I want to enjoy myself first.” It gave a soft, wicked laugh. “Who knows, little toy, perhaps you might like it?”

Her insistent Never! simply got a mocking laugh even though she could feel her eyes change again.

It took advantage of the screaming and the fear to simply steal the dress of its choice and stripped down in the alley to change clothes. Aisley would have blushed if she’d still been in control. The demon didn’t care. “Much more comfortable,” it decided with an approving nod. While the dress wouldn’t have been Aisley’s first choice, the demon certainly seemed to approve of the fluidity and sense of movement. Plus, the draped elements gave it a sculptural and elegant look. “See, little toy, this is the kind of thing you should be wearing. You certainly have the figure and height for it.” With a slanted neckline, single shoulder, ruched detailing, and asymmetrical hemline, it showed off more skin than Aisley preferred – at least in town.

“Now, let’s go find some chaos, shall we, little toy?”

It didn’t take long to find a place to its liking, and Aisley could only bite back a mental groan as she realized where they were headed. She tried again to shake it loose, to break free, only to be slapped back.

“Not until I’ve had a little fun!”

The snarl hurt, and Aisley could only curl in and continue to nurture the small fire of her magic against a chance to break free when the demon within got distracted from keeping her locked away. If she watched for her moments, the fighting kept causing her eyes to change and that would hopefully give warning to whoever the demon might be playing with.

Strolling into Jukebox Junction, the creature using her body as its current costume smiled at the chaos breaking loose around them. It sidestepped a set of fighting patrons and wandered behind the bar to grab a bottle. “Whiskey,” it smiled. “Excellent idea.” Pulling itself up on the bar, it stretched out her bare legs and crossed them at the ankle. Then it took off the lid and took a long pull from the bottle before deciding to watch the show as people fought and broke anything they could lift.

Someone came running in and Aisley could only watch as the demon turned towards them with a beguiling smile. “Hello, love, come to watch the show?” it asked, leaning back against the wall.

[claypigeonpottery]

top five forms of art you would love to hear an expert ramble about?

oooo good question. (but honestly these are in no particular order)

1. stone carving, I’ve been admiring stone sculptures a lot lately and it’s so hard to imagine carving that way. I did a course in stone carving and enjoyed it but my work was very very rough lol

2. origami. the super intense complicated origami blows my mind

3. oil painting. I’ve tried it a couple times and I don’t have the patience for it, but I love the effects people can get

4. glass blowing. I fell in love with a glassblower’s work recently. I’ll see if I can remember his name. 😅

5. welding! something my spouse has done, that fascinates me, but despite having seen some welding it just puzzles me for some reason

but I love hearing experts ramble about every subject tbh, art or not. it’s amazing to me to be able to learn from strangers who just want to share their knowledge, and sometimes on subjects that I didn’t even know existed lol

[soulofapatrick]

Picture Perfect - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel is helping your dad refurbish your house, getting to your room and Joel knocks over a box with a bunch of private stuff and a picture of him shirtless on top 

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: smut oral f!receiving; age gap (reader is 23 and Joel is 41)

Notes: dedicated to @chaotic-mystery for introducing me to the dbf!Joel genre 

Y/N’s POV

I should’t be watching Joel, in my room, sweat glistening on his tanned skin in the summer heat. He’s currently shirtless, muscular arms flexing with every movement as he wields his tools, chest sculptured yet so soft at the same time. He moves so fluidly and with confidence, every movement deliberate and precise like it’s all second nature to him. I have known this man for years, having become my dad’s best friend not long after we moved to Austin, Texas and dad joined Joel’s construction company. 

Dad and Joel grew so close it wasn’t a surprise when he became a fixture at our table, coming over for dinner once a week with Tommy - his cheeky and flirty younger brother - in tow. I remember admiring Joel’s larger than life attitude, booming laughter that would fill up the room and a sense of humour that would have dad reprimanding him despite how all of us were trying not to laugh. 

As I grew older I couldn’t help it but began to notice things about Joel that I hadn’t before and he quickly became the object of all my late night needs, no one else attractive enough to really capture my attention. I know how dirty and wrong it is, to fall for my dad’s best friend as he’s old enough to be my own dad but the way his muscles rippled under his shirt when he worked or how his shirt clanged to his skin when he got all hot and sweaty from the summer heat… a girl had needs and Joel is a perfect specimen. I had tried to push the thought away for months, thinking it was a silly crush but then I started to notice more and more. 

The way Joel would look at me across the table, deep honey eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than he should, feeling a spark of electricity shoot through me. He’s been making more excuses to come over more often and help Dad with the renovations until Dad just hired him and Tommy. He’s invited me to dinner at his a few times and I’ve declined, worried if we start something we won’t be able to stop. That playful smirk and the gentle touches as he passes me, body brushing against mine and leaving me breathless, making my resolve slip further and further away. 

That’s why I’m currently watching him, leaning in my doorway with two glasses of ice coffee in my hands and unable to speak or tear my eyes from him as he’s beautiful. He’s wiping the sweat from him forehead with the back of his hand and I notice the silver slivers of scars decorating his strong arms from all the construction work. He’s told me stories of how he got some of them before. He’s suddenly moving, rising to his feet and it’s like the world slows when his elbow catches a small shoebox and the contents scatter across the floor. The coffees are placed on the nearest surface before I’m scrambling forwards to gather the contents before Joel can take a good look at any of them but Joel’s already there. He’s grabbing the one thing I didn’t want him to see: a photo of him. 

He’s rising again, turning to me with an eyebrow raised and an amused expression on that godly face. Those honey eyes twinkle mischievously and the corners of his lips quirk into a playful smirk until he sees the horrified look on my own face. His gaze softens a little and there’s something else there - a hint of desire as he takes a step closer to me with the picture still in his hand. The intensity of his gaze has my heart trying to skip a few beats and my cheeks flush with heat as there’s no way I can talk my way out of this one. He knows exactly what it is and what was in that box along with the picture. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here sweet girl.” Joel’s speaking, voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. There’s a playful edge to it, something else to it, something that makes my heart soar with hope that he might feel the exact same way as I do. 

I go to speak, come up with a witty response but it dies on my tongue when Joel takes another step forwards until my back hits the wall and he’s crowding around me, hands resting on either side of my head. His breath ghosts over my face, hot and heavy, and the smell of the sweat on his skin mixed with the scent of his aftershave and musky cologne makes me weak at the knees and wet between the legs. The smirk on his face lets me know he hears the soft whimper that leaves my lips as I try my very hardest to keep my hands to myself as Tommy is still working in the next room. The sound of him hammering and sawing making me oh so aware of how close Joel is right now. What would Tommy say if he saw us like this? 

Joel’s eyes are dark and intense when he looks at me, lips curving up into a bigger smirk as he asks, voice low and teasing, “So, what do you have to say for yourself? What would you daddy think of his little girl getting off to an image of his best friend, hmmm?” 

“W-what do you mean?” I choke out, voice barely above a whisper and not very confident as desire and nervousness washes over me when I look up at him. 

He’s leaning in even closer, breath hot against my ear, “You know what I mean,” He growls, lips brushing against my skin and sending shivers down my spine, “That picture in the box. You get off to it, don’t you?” 

My heart races even faster with anticipation, knowing what’s coming next, one of his large and calloused hands moving to cup my jaw and draw me into the kiss. It’s desperate and needy, hands finding his shoulders and grasping onto hi tightly while one plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck. I can feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, the muscles in his back rippling as he pulls me closer, both hands moving to my hips and gripping them firmly as he presses his body against mine. The kiss is electric and intense, shivers rolling down my spine and I can feel a heartbeat but I’m not sure if it’s Joel’s or mine, my body responding to every touch. 

His tongue slips past my lips when I let out a gasp, a small sound echoing his low moan when I tug at his loose curls, needing him closer and needing more of him. The kiss turns more passionate and all-consuming, fuelled by months of pent up desires. The intensity is building between us and I want more, I need more, whining when he has to pull away so we can gasp for air. His hands slide from my hips and down my thighs to the edge of my skirt, the rough pads tracing lightly up the insides of my thigh as he moves his lips to my neck. My body is on fire, his breath hot against my neck and fingers moving achingly slowly to where I want them. I’m tilting my head back and spreading my legs further to give him more access and he takes advantage of the opportunity. His fingers hook my panties to the side to slide one teasingly through my folds while his other trails kisses down my neck and collarbone, each touch igniting a deep and primal desire that is almost overwhelming. 

“J-Joel, please.” I’m gasping out, the rough pad of his fingers making a singular quick and tight circle over my sensitive clit. He’s smirking into the skin of my neck, one hand slamming over my mouth as I cry out when he pushes in a finger to the knuckle without a warning. He curls it, hitting that sweet spot immediately and I’m moaning around his palm, hips rolling down when he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second one as that coil begins to tighten in my gut. 

“You gotta be quiet sweet girl.” He coos in my ear before pulling back so he can watch the way his fingers disappear into me and how much my legs are shaking as I can barely believe that this is actually happening. Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend, is looking at me with that same desire and want as he sinks to his knees. I keen at the sudden emptiness, having to cover my own mouth when he sucks those fingers clean and letting out a low sound, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, “Patience darlin’.” He’s smirking again, one hand holding my hips against the wall as they buck into the air, searching for needed friction. 

“Joooelll!” I’m whining, curling my hands in his hair and pulling and he’s chuckling, a deep rumble in his chest as he complies, hooking a leg over my shoulder. I groan in frustration when he blows cold air onto my wet heat, a moan slipping from his lips when I tug on his hair again before he’s licked a bold strip between my folds, sending a jolt through me. As soon as he starts he doesn���t let up, tongue delving into my fluttering core as far as it can go before moving on to swirl around my clit and sucking hard before going back to thrusting his tongue and it makes me see stars. My legs are shaking at I get closer and closer to euphoria, my hips grinding down on his face and his nose bumping my clit just right. His name is falling from my lips like a whispered prayer and his hands are on my ass, nails digging half moons and keeping his face pressed between my legs as the elastic band snaps and I’m seeing white. I can’t tell if I’m crying out, my whole body convulsing at the power of the orgasms, Joel’s large hands the only thing holding me up as he keeps going. He helps me ride out my bliss, not stopping until he’s swallowed up every last drop and fuck he looks so dirty when he pulls back. 

Joel’s honey are almost black, pupils blown out and his chest is heaving. His face and beard glistening with my juices and his weathered cheeks are flushed red but despite it all there is a warmth and openness to his expression that has me breathless. It’s as if he’s wanting me to understand that this is more than a one time thing, he wants it to be more than that and fuck, so do I. He’s helping me get my panties and skirt back into position when the door flies open and I’m shrieking. 

“James is back with dinner!” Tommy rushes out, finally taking in the scene he walked into and his russet eyes widen. Eyes flickering from where I’m leaning against the wall, chest heaving to where Joel is still on his knees with my slick still covering his face as if he’s unashamed of what just happened between us. I expect Tommy to turn and run to tell Dad but instead a cheeky smirk forms on his lips as his eyes brighten, “Didn’t know you were so-”

“Shut up Tommy,” Joel speaks, voice playful yet firm as he pulls himself to his feet and wiping his face on his discarded shirt, “Tell James we’ll be down in a second.” Tommy chuckles, throws a wink in our direction before bounding out the room and shutting the door behind him. My cheeks are burning and I can barely look at Joel when he turns back to me. 

“Hey doll,” He’s hooking a finger under my chin, tilting my head up to meet his soft gaze. The look in his eyes is intense and serious, making my stomach flutter with nerves, especially when he speaks, voice low and husky again, “I want more sweet girl, I really do.  But right now your dad’s waiting for us. We can talk about this tomorrow, yeah?” 

I’m nodding, heart racing with anticipation for tomorrow and worry about how am I going to be able to face my dad downstairs? Joel was between my legs only minutes ago and now we have to go have a friendly meal like nothing happened? Joel’s silencing my thoughts when his lips meet mine in a sweet and tender kiss that speaks volumes of his affection for me. It’s a kiss that promises more to come but also reassures me that he really does care for me deeply. 

As he pulls away, his hand lingering on the small of my back, and I can't help but lean into him. It's as if we're in our own little world, and nothing else matters. Tomorrow can wait; for now, we have each other, and that's all we need until he’s reluctantly breaking the moment but stepping back and pulling on his shirt. 

“Come on, your dad awaits sweet girl.” 

----------------

The Last of Us Masterlist

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[startanewdream]

(found this lying on my tumblr drafts; have no idea what month those prompts for Jily Microfics were — and frankly I'm embarrassed to even tag them, at this point)

#22 - Album and #25 - Photograph (I'm cheating, I know)

It was the first morning back; over the sound of people chatting in the Great Hall and Sirius’ barking laugh as he commented on some dirty joke with Peter, James heard Evans’ happy voice.

“That’s Firenze,” she was telling Mary. The foreign word sounded exquisite in her voice; it made wings flutter inside him, even though James had promised himself he would get over Lily Evans. “And this was in Pisa. The Leaning Tower was incredible, I cannot believe there is no magic sustaining it still.”

“Pisa?” In front of James, Remus turned to the girls. “Have you been to Italy this summer?”

Evans nodded, excited. It did seem as if she had enjoyed the summer, James thought; her skin was shining, not tanned but with freckles, and her hair had some faded strands, almost blond. If he was not over his feelings for Evans, James would say she had come back from summer vacation more gorgeous than ever; due to his new life philosophies, he thought the summer had done her good in a healthy way.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” Remus said.

Evans giggled. “To Rome, I guess. Here,” and she handed Remus the mini-album she had been showing to Mary. “Don’t mind me, but I took some nice pictures.”

James glanced at her. “Can I see it too?” He asked before he could control himself.

Remus had the album opened in front of him, so James could look at it anyway; Evans seemed to be realising the same thing — she threw him a funny look — but all she said was, “The photos don’t move.”

“And?”

Evans looked as if she wanted to say something, but she shrugged and nodded towards the album, then turned to Mary.

James leaned on the table to watch as Remus turned the pages. The photographs were nice indeed, showing old Renaissance cities, Classic buildings he had only heard of, and paintings and sculptures that did not move, but captivated his gaze all the same, entranced by the way the artist had made his art look so alive.

"These are amazing," he breathed, and he didn't think anyone had heard, until Evans sighed, approvingly. James fought back a blush, leaning down, and it didn't help that Remus had paused at a page that showed Evans in front of a large painting with a naked woman.

A red-haired naked woman.

"That's The Birth of Venus, by Botticelli," Evans explained helpfully. "Venus was—"

"The Goddess of Love," completed James, raising his eyes to meet Evans' green ones. His heart skipped a beat that had nothing to do with any foreign goddess. "Love and beauty."

"Yes." She placed a strand of her hair behind her ear; her cheeks were pink. "It was a marvelous painting."

He was about to ask her, rather abruptly, if she couldn't show more about Muggle's paintings, when Remus turned to the next page; and then Evans' face was positively red as she grabbed her album suddenly—but not before James glanced at the last photo. There was a guy sharing ice cream with Evans.

"That's all," she said, fidgeting with her hands, and ignoring how her friend Mary was giggling now. "Nice trip. You should go some time."

James forced himself to smile. "Sure."

"Should we get ice cream too?" Mary asked, not hiding her mirth.

Evans rolled her eyes. "It's called gelato." She stood up. "Let's go, we will be late for class."

They departed; Remus watched them go for a moment before turning to James.

"Are you ok?"

James blinked away the images that had formed in his mind, where, instead of that Italian guy who he had barely glanced at—but now assumed the shape and face of an unpleasant handsome guy with an annoying nice accent—he was sharing gelato with Evans in front of The Birth of Venus.

"Yes," he lied.