#//-yes its a sketch com-

[viciousbite]

An Unfinished Experiment (Backstory Art.)

Artist: Doctor_Vigne

[boarloved-art]

i hope wangxian had a good valentines day........................them and only them...........

[shotmrmiller]

shit! but! imagine going out or just going to the bookstore, suddenly you bump into this big guy who was to busy looking through sketch books, knock you down “sorry lassie, didn’t se ya” and WHOOPS THE WORD IS SUDDENLY SO COLORFUL! it’s a meet cute, identical to some cliche rom com, but damn it feels great, you’re a bit about skeptical about meeting you soulmate, but you’re in your 20s there plenty of time, and this you meet Johnny! Suddenly the plans for they day are canceled, you spend the rest of day in the pub - he asks you about yourself, beaming with some awestruck look on his face, listening to every word you say. You learn that he’s in his 30s, currently on vacatio n visiting a mate, loves drawing, doesn’t love dog, hiscurrents rents a pace in Glasgow, but his (large) family lives Kilmarnock, apparently his “ma”s going to be so happy that you two have met, a bit shyly admits that his waited for this day for as long as he can remember. And it feels good, Johnny is charming and funny, even his bloody Mohawk can be tolerated by his accent, which makes you feel all hot not just in your cheeks. And maybe you sting to much at the pub, or its the magic of soulmate or whatever but the very first night with you soulmate is spent moaning his name as breeds you like his life depends on it. Only to all of euphoria to be crush at the sunlight of the morning when you spot a SAS tatto in his arm and you supposed true love broadly stating that he recently have been promoted to captain, acting really surprised why you reacting this way, he’s protecting you! it’s a good thing! look, Bonnie, he’s doing this for you! imagine how proud your kids are gonna be when they are going to tell their class that their deddy is a hero! not like the British army has ever done smt bad! you’re irrational! come on, don’t start screaming! you’ll need this energy to peck you staff to his home🥰

- 🪆

lmaoooo

god the "come on, aye? stop yer screamin!" is sending me. like he's genuinely confused, like oi? is it a spider? why ye lookin' at me like tha'?

where you goin'? what's the rush? want me to take ye?

just utterly oblivious cuz he's head over heels and you're literally just screaming bloody murder and chucking shoes at him n shit.

[thegildedbee]

Sherlock Fic Recs: Christmas Edition {2023}

❄️ Gather ~ ☃️ ☃️ ☃️ ~ 'round and 🎉 make 🎷merry🍹, all ye fic-loving fandom elves -- 'tis the season to shine a spotlight🕯️on Sherlockian Christmas fics!!! Here are some of my favorites -- I tried to pick ones that I haven't seen mentioned in recent lists that have been in my tumblr stream. Whether they're new to you, or just a reminder to re-visit faves, enjoy!!! ❄️ [In order of the year they were published.] ........................................................... 1. I'm Not His Date [2014] by objetpetita [ 17,029 words / T ] :: It all starts in a Boston coffee shop, where English professor Sherlock Holmes upends a visiting John Watson in a clever and fun "meet cute" (or "meet irritating-pompous-insufferable") in a whirlwind of Sherlockian proportions, and we're off to the races. There is a snowfight on the Common, Death Driving Miss Daisy: Lacan and Popular Culture, a Harry & Clara Christmas Eve wedding, witches, and a very boozy department party. It's as adorable as my favorite Christmas rom-com film, The Holiday. And it starts off with a corker of a first sentence: "It was morning, it was zero bloody degrees, everything around him was unfamiliar and American and cold, and John Watson was right on that inhuman precipice between still drunk and terribly hung over."

2. 5,687 (Approximately) [2015] by prettysailorsoldier [ 6,771 words / T ] :: Just a few years post-uni, Sherlock is enduring the agonies of a long-distance relationship with his boyfriend, who is on deployment in Afghanistan. During those times when John's on leave, the last people Sherlock wants to see are the idiots at the Met, so they've never caught sight of John and think he is a figment of Sherlock's imagination -- especially since he can't get home that Christmas. The set-up is sketched out with delightful fic flair, and the ending is not only sweet, but satisfyingly punitive [ c/o a very bamf John ]. The text messaging is some of my favorite writing in the Sherlock fandom -- their relationship in all of its multi-dimensionality comes through beautifully.

3. The 12 Truths of Christmas [2016] by @breath4soul [ 3,321 words / T ] :: This is a fic that has at its core the surfacing of unspoken emotional attraction betweenJohn and Sherlock via a very fun concept: “In place of some appalling or imbecilic gift inflicted upon me in the name of tradition on Christmas day, I propose that you provide me with one previously unknown fact about you for each day leading up to Christmas. 12 in total, John.” #9 has all the feels, and is a tour de force -- every time I re-read it it makes me break out in a smile, even though I know what's coming. Sherlock breaks out somewhat more: "Sherlock feels a flood of heat in several places at once. He stands up quickly and walks to his violin. He plays wild, erratic snaps of quick-paced music." The author has a whimsical and entirely understandable note to add: "You may fall in love with John reading this - I did." 4. The Romance Was There [2017] by @apliddell [ 4,011 words / G ] :: The author deserves an award for this being one of the best uses of Harry Watson in a fic, and of HW by Sherlock in a fic :-) 221B has never been cozier, Sherlock has never been more winsome, and John is a species type model of John in all of his clueless Johnness. The narrative dances along and sparkles and shines as seduction evolves, and Sherlock's rogueish charm is on full display. There's a poignant and endearing confessional letter, plus there's a Sherlock/Jeremy Brett reference that is absolute perfection in serving its role in helping the narrative quickstep the night away. 5. The Man in Aisle Ten [2020] by @blogstandbygo [ 1395 words / G ] :: Sherlock has several mysteries to unravel in the midst of Harrod's on Christmas Eve: what is the perfect gift for John? why is he having so much trouble identifying the perfect gift for John? and, incidentally, along the way to solving those, a local one. Luckily, Sherlock has Moira, master department store sleuth, to lead him to the solution. This fic is a small, perfect gift -- rather like the story's denouement --and is as witty as all of SBG's fics are. This is a veritable Peppermint Schnapps Hot Chocolate of a fic, warm, rich, sweet, delicious, tingly, and you'll find you reach the last bit much too fast, immediately requiring a refill. [ And there's a splendid podfic by @podfixx ! ]

..........................

*fic repost recruits, perhaps??? ❤️ @totallysilvergirl, @7-percent, @discordantwords, @helloliriels, @elwinglyre, @mydogwatson

[transfemme-shelterdog]

I was wondering if the archive could have a section for bands/projects with specifically intersex members? Intersex musicians are a very overlooked group in general and as an intersex metalhead I think it would be cool for them to get more visibility!

If yes, then I've got two submissions off the bat to pad out the category:

Dool - the singer Raven van Dorst is intersex + nonbinary and made an entire album about their experiences/grappling with their identity, called The Shape Of Fluidity (2024). Dool's entire catalog isn't Just Metal, they have a lot of psychedelic/gothic rock tracks (and I keep seeing people debate their "true" overall genre which is kinda funny considering that The Shape Of Fluidity album has the tagline "May all those who wander gather under the fluid flag of DOOL!") but Here Now, There Then (2017) and Sketches Of Summerland (The Rock Hard EP) are gothic metal (and I would argue a few of their tracks are more psychedelic metal than psychedelic rock)

"loudersound dot com/features/how-dool-are-challenging-gender-norms-with-the-shape-of-fluidity" (<- general content warning/cw for the reclaimed h-slur and for awkward use of it in the first paragraph by the article writer)

"dool dot bandcamp dot com"

Human Abyss - the lead signer, Lynn, is intersex and made an entire album about their personal experiences/trauma and how intersex people have been medicalized throughout history. This is cathartic for me, but REALLY HEAVY CONTENT WARNING for intersex people going in because it doesn't pull its punches. Medicalization and medical trauma, surgery, and more are described in the lyrics and also mentioned in the info/promo/reviews of the album (John Money is discussed for example). It's intended to hit perisex listeners with the realities that intersex people face like a train, and to be brutally cathartic for the singer+others. Human Abyss is self-described as "Blackened Death Metal".

(I wanted to note that like Raven, Lynn also seems to use singular they/them from what I could see on the band's instagram (humanabyss_official) and Lynn's personal account (inter_core). But HA is in Germany and there are some awkward DE->ENG translations on their socials, so if I'm wrong and Lynn has said something else, someone please correct me! I'm not quite sure if they identity as anything beyond intersex/"inter" though.)

"abmn dot noblogs dot org/human-abyss-death-obsessed/" (<- this is where the CWs come into effect. As well as the social accounts if anyone visits those)

"humanabyss dot bandcamp dot com/music"

Thank you so much for running the archive regardless! It really warms my heart to be able to find queer musicians in a genre that I've sometimes felt really alone and isolated in growing up <3 💛💜💛

I've considered adding a section for intersex bands/projects. Problem I ran into is that a few intersex people I've talked to don't like the fact that "I" is lumped in with LGBTQA+ as being intersex is neither a gender nor a sexuality, so they often felt like it didn't really "belong" under the queer umbrella. So I didn't bother adding a section to save upsetting individuals unintentionally.

So not really sure how to approach this as I doubt I'll make people happy no matter if I add intersex people to the archive or not.

[leapofthekoi]

IT'S THAT TIME AGAIN!

...Where I start trying to get comms going! Hello! I'm currently working towards going on a trip to Japan with my buddies and I thought I'd offer comms again (and yes its the same advertising images as last time because I've been working on full body refs and not headshots lately. :')). Pricing is going to be 30 USD for a headshot sketch and 40 USD if you want a flowercrown symbolism traditional sketch (I can choose the flowers or you can! I have an extensive list). Adding on 20 USD for either if you want digital colors. I AM open to full or half body drawings! Please DM to discuss price on those. Backgrounds will be the basic ones here and are free with a colored image of any kind! I generally pick that out based on "the vibes" but you're welcome to tell me an idea of what you'd like there. I can be contacted either on this blog or via discord (darth_shimo_the_smol)

My only rules are no mecha and anthros. Vague animals features are fine though! All characters MUST have visual references. I will not draw based on descriptions, though I may ask for personality or story information as well just to get a feel for things! (And because I adore hearing about people's characters!) :) Feel free to reblog this if not comming as well, or make a donation through my ko-fi page as well on the sideline!

Thank you! And may you have a great day!

[thunderrrat]

Pinning some things you should know before interacting here!

Dont overstep bounderies, I will block you if you do, be nice

About using my art:

-edits, Sharing my art?

Yes, they are always welcome and id enjoy seeing them, just credit me somewhere where its visible if my art is posted or used anywhere, profile picture etc, if you do edit, dont do anything offensive or use my art in offensive posts and make sure to tag me id love to watch it! ^^

-what if i want to ask for a comission? Or art requests?

Please be polite, and respectful, I will block anyone who makes uncomfortable requests or oversteps bounderies, my com sheets here

COMISSION SHEET HAS TO BE UPDATED IM ADDING HEADSHOTS FOR 10 EUROS/ETC, WICH MEANS THE SKETCH/LINEART COMISSIONS WILL BECOME 15 EUROS!!! THE REST REMAIN UNCHANGED, BUT ILL KEEP YALL UPDATED JUST KEEP IN MIND!!

-art collabs?

Id love that ! But once again, i have a right to refuse if requests are weird!

getting inspired? Or just make fanart in general

Thats alright with me and id really love it, i like seeing fanarts or seeing people be inspired by my art, please just credit me!

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary425

11/22-23/24

friday-saturday

beep beep beep,

i forgot, last night, to write about the movies i watched, i was so tired.

the first was another carl theodor dreyer film, michael. i found it good, obviously not as special as what he would go on to do in passion of joan of arc, however you see flashes of that in his closeups of people though none of the montage work really appears, it's fine though, it's interesting to see dreyer progress in from michael to passion, and michael is also a rather special film in its own right (as is man of the house), it's a gentle sort of tragedy, it's not so painful as others, actually as i think of it now, the master painter carl zeit, who loves michael, creates a final masterpiece, an old man on some rocks, i believe it is another painting but i don't know which, and it's this image of total loss, feeling abandoned by the world, and still, expressing himself in such a way, he continuously gives and gives to his beloved, who is instead in love with this woman. michael at one point is asked by carl to paint her eyes as he can't do it right, he holds no love for her, what comes from his brush is a lifeless thing, and when michael does it, we actually do see a brief spot of montage, so forgive me i was mistaken, rapidly cut together shots of her face and eyes, brief but shocking and beautiful, it conveys that sense of affection as well as the transformation the beloved takes on as you gaze upon them, or as they move, the way they transform your insides, your responses to them. anyhow, he falls in love with her, she is a destitute russian countess, he wastes carl's funds, sells off a painting carl must buy back and give back to michael, a huge portrait of michael titled "the victor" where he stands nude and tall, a giant painting, all of this, carl does not curse michael for, he only gives, always giving to him, even as he travels towards death, lonely, his sketches of algiers absconded with by michael quietly, he claims, i forget...i gave them to him as a gift, yes, a gift. and michael is struck with grief but with his love at his side, they seem genuinely in love, in the film (i cannot say for the book this story is adapted from), she isn't really some sort of wicked woman getting this man to manipulate another, she is in need, michael desperately wants to help her, this is all he has. parallel to this, there is a man who keeps his wife miserable and with her secret lover, friend to her husband, upon the husband's finding out, he kills the secret lover/his friend in a duel, rather interesting to see their loveless relationship which only brings grief to that woman, and the unrequited love of carl for michael, where he lets carl go, a true love left to travel where it pleases. it's a beautiful thing, ultimately.

another strange thing about this, is i watched it on youtube, and they had chosen some chopin best of i think, to play, overlaid with a vinyl crackling that was really painful for me to listen to honestly, so i switched the sound off and at first played the film with some satie behind it, and the 3 gymnopedies worked great behind it, though i think those are such great pieces of music they will work with anything. eventually though, after i made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (i eat like a child sometimes...), i switched to recordings of scriabin by vladimir sofronitsky, and by the end of the film, this was playing:

which made it, maybe more than it earns with its images alone (truly i am unsure, this is not a condemnation of the images or to say they may not be worth what i felt, but with the music tethered, it is impossible to part them), really powerful. of course it would be, this is i think one of the greatest recordings of music i've heard, it's really incredible. it all felt perfect, it matched the images or i made the images match it perfectly.

after that, a rather strange thing happened, the film ended, i looked at discord, an acquaintance posted (i think) a compilation of roland kayn's work, and that was uploaded by the account of my dead friend dom, so with these odd and heavy feelings of watching this kind man give to others (or one others but the gesture took on this feeling of broadness, a general kindness behind an icy demeanor), i was reminded of the gentle kindness of my friend dom, and so overwhelmed i began crying, and listened to absent friend by bark psychosis, and then i started talking about him, which always feels odd, it's a cruelty people with dead people in their lives are afforded i suppose, to stick that cross in the ground wherever the hills rise and time conspires to make these gone people appear in our memories. i felt bad, to do it, shortly after doing it, but she was very nice, she seemed sorry or, not sorry, it's just what else do you say to people sad about things like that, she was very kind, or is.

here are a couple screenshots:

i rather like the one where we see them looking at the nude statue over their shoulders, he looks at her, she at him, the thing in the middle, it says so much, it's arranged in a really surreal way too i feel.

the next film was beloved enemy by alan clarke, which was great as always, dull though, a powerful dull, i guess more a throb than a dull thing, the film throbs along as slimy business men talk to soviet emissaries about selling tires and lasers, the fall of the soviet way of living, austerity, the collapse of socialist dreams, the kiln that reality was tempered in i suppose, on display. given that, it isn't so emotional, in fact, every character being a repugnant worm really, you're just left with the fact that the world really is moved by such calculated means. it's an ugly film, and it's maybe clarke's weakest i've seen, still great though.

after that was another film which i would describe as throbbing and procedural as well, and also full of repugnance, but the characters so silent, outside of delivering and receiving orders, lapses in the ability to remain at any kind of remove, and so on, it's not so ugly, in fact it's shot beautifully and strangely, this was alan clarke's contact. a really great film about british military men disturbing north ireland, getting shot at sometimes, killing poor people who are poorly equipped, aimlessly wandering in the dark and day, in lovely green hills, all led by an unnamed man played by sean chapman who is a really unsung talent in clarke's work and this film really shows how incredible an actor he is, that it's mostly in the body, in fact, the flatness of his voice when he speaks, the quietness of it until it can't be quiet any longer (when he must shout at the boys (yes, they all seem like boys, so young the other men in his... i dunno what they call it, is it a platoon? the little army cluster they operate in)), i say gentle quite a bit i guess, but his voice is gentle and scarcely emotes, it feels restrained, with so much intent, nothing leaks through, only in his eyes staring blankly, that he's so spaced out he sees through earth and into outerspace, empty of thought, only possessed by void, after one of his men dies to a landmine, and all he says of it is, get back to cover, what the fuck are you doing, when the others run and express fear and then talking to another captain or something, no morbid talk, keep them occupied, and back at their weird prison-base thing, he died, part of the job, what you sign up for, after this, it seems like he really would like to die. i keep thinking of the final little bit of the film, a long feeling sequence because of how tense it is (the film is so tense generally, it feels painful, really like too much always), where he seems to be praying he's come across a carbomb, he opens both doors, so slowly, painfully slow, and then turns the car on, nothing happens, he begins kicking the car, he emotes, it's only this pained howl, that's how it is in my head, i think he's saying fuck. then they move on, the platoon (i suppose), and then one of the other boys is blown up by a landmine.

it's not really interested in you caring deeply for these men, they're this strange and aimless limb of state violence, instead it's this strange thing, their bodies, they're so totally possessed, so totally used, there's some other portion of their life, all that this can be expressed in is silence, inaction, tiredness, and death, wanting to die, that's where their grasp of life has been pushed out to, this is the tragic feeling, not that they're really good people put in bad circumstance, just that by the functioning of the state and disciplinary apparatuses, they hardly are anymore, they are bodies of the state's will, their feeling of what the fuck are we doing here, why these people, it's only at the backs of their heads. the end of the film is the captain staring into space, his hands over his face, reduced to all he had any grasp on, a fearful animal.

it's hard to express how much it continues to make me feel, seeing him try to die like that, seeing anyone try to die via military procedure, it's so odd, it feels ahead of every other film like this, because it doesn't give you much character, it gives you these hints, nothing to love, just hints of these people craving violence because it means something other than more green, more walking, more sleeping in a ditch, and thus that cruelty is harnessed by the state to make them better at killing, better at capturing, less kind to whoever they come across, a machine which produces startling images to make people fall into line as much as a group of mercenaries sent to kill random people who went from being farmers to men who pick up guns to defend themselves.

anyhow, i must shower now. today, i woke up late-ish, 11:30, am very hungry, i have drawn a little, i wonder though if i've chosen bad colors for shadows maybe. maybe i should ask my girlfriend, she knows this kind of thing well, as she is an artist. she gave me the advice, somewhat recently, basic color theory tip is cold light, warm shadows, warm light, cold shadows. i think, right? anyhow, i am trying to keep to that, i just worry i leave things too translucent, too low of an opacity as i build things out and i get something that looks more like dirt than shadow.

well, i've been sort of up to that all day, i also cooked, did some cleaning up too, i like cleaned some disgusting black matter from the drain in the bathroom sink, i've now done my nightly work out (as opposed to the daily workout done briefly after waking up (ideally at least (sometimes, it takes some time to get there (i always do, however (not to brag))))), and i've also done some reading.

the reading today has been the first chapter of flannery o'connor's the violent bear it away.

here are some quotes i rather liked:

"(...) while he thrashed out his peace with the lord, and when he returned, bedraggled, and hungry, he would look the way the boy thought a prophet ought to look. he would look as if he had been wrestling a wildcat, as if his head were still full of the visions he had seen in his eyes, wheels of light and strange beasts with giant wings of fire and four heads turned to the four points of the universe. these were the times that tarwater knew that when he was called, he would say, "here i am lord, ready!" at other times when there was no fire in his uncle's eye and he spoke only of the sweat and stink of the cr"oss, of being born again to die, and of spending eternity eating the bread of life, the boy would let his mind wander off to other subjects."

"he was a bull-like old man with a short head set directly into his shoulders and silver protruding eyes that looked like two fish straining to get out of a net of red threads."

"don't wait," old tarwater had said. "listen. if it ain't feasible to use the box when the time comes, if you can't lift it or whatever, just get me in the hole but i want it deep. i want it ten foot, not just eight, ten. you can roll me to it if nothing else. i'll roll. get two boards and set them down the steps and start me rolling and dig where i stop and don't let me roll over into it until it's deep enough. prop me with some bricks so i won't roll into it and don't let the dogs nudge me over the edge before it's finished. you better pen up the dogs."

"the dead don't bother with particulars" the boy interrupted. the old man grabbed the front of his overalls and pulled him up against the side of the box and glared into his pale face. "the world was made for the dead. think of all the dead there are," he said, and then as if he had conceived the answer for all the insolence in the world, he said, "there's a million times more dead than living and the dead are dead a million times longer than the living are alive," and he released him with a laugh."

"a slow warm rising resentment that this freedom had to be connected with jesus and that jesus had to be the lord."

"in the darkest most private part of his soul, hanging upsidedown like a sleeping bat, was the certain, undeniable knowledge that he was not hungry for the bread of life. had the bush flamed for moses, the sun stood still for joshua, the lions turned aside before daniel only to prophesy the bread of life? he felt a terrible disappointment in that conclusion, a dread that it was true. the old man had said that as soon as he died, he would hasten to the banks of the lake of galilee to eat the loaves and fishes the lord had multiplied. "forever?" the horrified boy asked "forever," the old man said." "the boy sensed that this was the heart of his great uncle's madness, this hunger, and what he was secretly afraid of was that it might be passed down, might be hidden in the blood and might strike some day in him and then he would be torn by hunger like the old man, the bottom split out of his stomach so that nothing would heal or fill it but the bread of life. he tried when possible to pass over these thoughts, to keep his vision located on an even level, to see no more than what was in front of his face and to let his eyes stop at the surface of that. it was as if he were afraid that if he let his eye rest for an instant longer than was neeeded to place something -- a spade, a hoe, the mule's hind quarters before his plow, the red furrow under him -- that the thing would suddenly stand before hi, strange and terrifying, demanding that he name it and name it justly and be judged for the name he gave it. he did all he could to avoid this threatened intimacy of creation. when the lord's call came, he wished it to be a voice from out of a clear and empty sky, the trumpet of the lord god almighty, untouched by any fleshly hand or breath. he expected to see wheels of fire in the eyes of unearthly beasts. he had expected this to happen as soon as his great-uncle died. he turned his mind off this quickly and went to get a shovel."

"the boy's heart was beating so fast he was afraid it was going to gallop out of his chest and disappear forever."

"he'll never be baptized--just as a matter of principle, nothing else. as a gesture of human dignity, he will never be baptized."

"well now, the stranger said, don't you think any cross you set up in the year 1952 would be rotted out by the year the day of judgement comes in? rotted to as much dust as his ashes if you reduced him to ashes? and lemme ask you this: what's god going to do with sailors drowned at sea that the fish have et and the fish that et them et by other fish and they et by yet others? and what about people that get burned up naturally in house fires? burnt up one way or another or lost in machines until they're pulp? and all those sojers blasted to nothing? what about all those that there's nothing left of to burn or bury?"

"a burning arm slid down tarwater's throat as if the devil were already reaching inside him to finger his soul. he squinted at the angry sun creeping behind the topmost fringe of trees."

there's some more but maybe this is excessive, still a good exercise i think, writing the words out, feeling their mechanics and relation between each word as you type them back out. a good meditation.

i think in the quotes the pulse of the book becomes evident, this odd obsession with the second coming, the end times, the tension of the boy with not wanting eternity, but wanting the end. there is some other quote i am remembering now, the old man, he comes to learn not to hate the world which will be enwreathed in destruction but to hate the destruction which will come, that it must at all, i suppose. the boy it seems, has not learned this. the old man, his great uncle, stood in the city aiming to be a prophet, screaming about the end, he had a vision, or was touched, a finger of the sun burned him, i wonder if this is what is coming for the boy. i wonder what lopes towards the boy in fact. he is an odd character, the 'stranger' in one of the quotes, that is a voice in his head, leading him, in argument with... well not with faith, not supporting the devil, but this other vision of god perhaps, a more violent thing, less sentiment, less kindness, a world of cruel pains, the stranger in him reveals everything wrapped in rot to the boy, even the old man. it feels truthful to me, but that is how i am, and i wonder, are these poorly thought out ends, is this a freakish way of justifying oneself, the boy cannot bury the great uncle, he sets their two story shack ablaze after a man came to finish the job for him. of course, as flannery o'connor tends towards, the story contains some points about race as well, the boy seems racist, i imagine all the whites in the story will be, it's something she always aims to point at, to express as one of the miseries of the world, it's interesting how she handles it, that she couldn't not feel those ways herself while still trying to examine it and reckon with it as an abominable part of the world we are in.

the fear of eternity really fascinates me, he wants god to raze life almost, destroy everything so there is naught, the torture of his life, the boy only 14, feeling it so gravely. at times i still feel so tortured! we all do, there is a seduction in apocalypse, especially the christian apocalypse, the monsters, the four heads pointed at the corners of the universe, totality witnessed and wadded up and thrown out, it leaves me drooling, in some way, it's an erotic nightmare, to be congealed with everyone between two walls of blank night closing in, a meatgrinder returning us to ylem (those corpses who cannot be burned or buried).

reading her always brings me to highschool, exposed to her and cormac mccarthy, both were revelations of some kind. she is more of one than he i figure, a good man is hard to find shocked me in a really insane way. she is a special writer.

after this book i think i must return to genet. our lady of the flowers... finally...

i've cut my hair a little more, i think even if it's a little too high up now, the bangs are at least more even, this should make them sit more normally and make me not putz around with them so much. such an irritating thing.

reading o'connor, as well, i kept seeing in my head a vision of a church, the wood of the gothic flourishes a red, something vibrant almost, only revealed in the light, the laminate separating from the wood, and its grain felt even as you only stare, a wall rotting too, white walls, reeds all yellowed, a world turning in silence, the interior again, that closeup of something floral, the weight of prayer, all the knowing that goes into prayer, what is behind you haunts only, all accrued, forever, always, perhaps that is the boy's fear, sin behind you, nothing will raze it, you can only experience the terror of being forgiven and with no counter-gift you live a new life of freedom via debt.

here is something off a compilation i was listening to today, while playing a word game on nyt's game thingy + reading:

this feels fitting as well:

i think this is all today, i've continued the drawing, i redid some of the sleeve, i also had to redo the hand a bit and now it looks more... well the hand is now more detailed less sketchy so that gives me more solid ground to work with, i think. the new sleeve makes shading a little easier i think.

just did a little more to make it not look like her arm is broken. #swag.

i also plucked my eyebrows... hopefully that makes me look more feminine, or at least makes me feel not so disgusted by myself! i wonder if tomorrow i'll wake up and shower and totally hate how all this stuff frames my face or something. we will see. life is an experiment or maybe a rehearsal, like that country teasers song says.

one last song before sleep:

and,

so, or,

so,

and:

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

This is the attempt at coloring it, its a giant meh. I may rework it but you were curious so...

Im so happy you like the sketch thank you!! I'm also glad you like my side views heh, they are my favorite for teeth and noses and stuff. Yes Comet is so sad. I like to think Com could hardly hold it together he was so worried, he might wake up stressed out of his mind. With Sideswipe and Sunny and now Dropmix as a threat its a little much. (the dudes a gladiator though so he isn't just gonna break out and start crying like he would have when he was a kid, if someone walked in late late at night they may catch him on the brink though.)

As a detail you may wanna use, I think his hip was dislocated and he crappily snapped it back in, so a fracture is what I'm going with.

I have no real plans for sunny in this, just the sad feelings :D

You promised you'd always come back.

@quibble-auk

[talimlbcnart]

Fiquei muito feliz em conhecer seu trabalho e saber que temos outros brasileiros (já que a maioria que encontrei que falavam português eram de Portugal), eu amei muito sua arte e forma de construir a narrativa, mal posso esperar para o próximo capítulo de Miraculous Bnha.

Mas eu queria te perguntar, como você cria as comics, pois eu tenho planejamento de uma, mas é minha primeira vez, e bem... é melhor pedir dicas para quem está mais acostumado com isso. Pode responder em inglês se preferir.

Aww, thank you <3. (Eu vou responder em Inglês já que a maioria dos meus seguidores não falam Português).

To be fair, I don't know if you meant to ask like how I come up with ideas or how I draw the panels for the comics and such. So I'll try to answer both.

Coming up with Ideas:

Usually when I start a comic I think about it for some time, I come up with some scenes I'm my head first (and the basic "lore" for it if its an AU) and just have fun imagining different scenarios. Most of the time I take inspiration from other people's ideas or even my everyday experiences.

When its a long comic tho (SuAU, RoommatesAU, etc.) I prefer to write it on my phone. The dialog, describe the scene. It's not always that I can sit down and draw it, so I prefer to write it so I don't forget my ideas.

Drawing:

This is the most fun but also difficult part. My best advice is: have fun with it.

Try diferent angles, use as much reference as you want, take inspiration from other artists's comics and styles.

You don't have to make it perfect on the first try, that's why we make sketches. Sometimes I sketch 6 pages in a row and keep all of it, sometimes I change 70% of it. I love sketching, its a fun and quick way to put your ideas in the paper without having to worry if looks good or not.

When doing panels, pay close attention to what yours caracthers are doing. If they are waving in a panels the next one they should be in the middle putting their hand down. This helps the reader to not get lost on what is happening.

That's why I don't like to re-use panels, I feel like it takes the reader out of the story and make them remember "oh yeah, this is just a drawing."

Immersive Scene:

Another thing I love to do is incorporate simple day to day behaviors in the caracthers. I like to imagine my comics as just a bunch of screenshots. The action is happening and you're trying to take pictures of it. Think about how you and the people around you would act if put in the scenarios the caracther's you're drawing are.

Exemple: Two caracthers are having a conversation and one isn't paying attention. How do I show that to the reader? Maybe they have their head resting on their hand, looking away from the caracther who's speaking. Maybe they are playing with something or checking their phone.

Another thing I try to pay attention to is the background. Are the surroundings important to the story?

If yes, try to draw some background so the readers know where the caracthers are. Is it night or day? Are they inside or outside?

First Exemple: my roommates au comic, I wanted to introduce the audience to their apartment, so I'm made sure the FIRST panel was focused more on the background. Then some simpler panels after and the last one was to show their kitchen (that was covered in the first panel).

Second Exemple: My valentines day comic, I wanted to show that it was cold and they were outside but I didn't want to disctract people from Deku's face expressions and the fact that Shouto's jacket was too big for him. So I'm put light blue and white on the background and a bunch of snowflakes on top of everything else. It showed they were outside, it's was cold, and Deku's was tiny compared to his friend. I didn't have to draw an entire street for that, heck I didn't even draw panels on that one.

Painting:

Colors can add so much to your story. And it doesn't have to be lots of it either. Sometimes sticking with just one pallet can work to your advantage. It saves time and helps to convey the feeling you're going for.

It's a sad scene? Desaturated colors, mostly blues and purples.

A happy scene? Light yellows, greens and whites.

A warm, cozy scene? Light reds, yellows and oranges.

Watching some videos on color theory might help too, especially when doing shadows and stuff.

Anyway this is all I can think of. I hope it helped. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask, I'd love to answer them.

[10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat]

What I See

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN Medic Reader 

Premise: My musings here resulted in this. You're a medic in the 501st who works closely with Kix. At first you think the crush you have on him is one-sided, until one day you look through his sketchbook and are surprised by a portrait he drew.  

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: G

Other notes: gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like clones 

AO3

--

Being an army medic had its ups and downs, its slower periods and bursts of intense stressful activity. You wouldn’t trade it for anything though. The pay was better than what you earned as a civilian medical worker, your patients were much more agreeable (even though there was the occasional trooper who insisted he was fighting fit when he was still far from being so) and your coworkers were professional and easy to get along with. One coworker in particular was your favorite, and you looked forward to the shifts you shared with him.

When you first met Kix, you admired him for the love and care he showed his fellow clones and commanding officers. The two of you quickly developed a rapport; he always laughed at the bad jokes you made, and you liked to challenge him to competitions to see who could restock supply shelves in the med bay the fastest … he always won, but every time you’d stick your tongue out at him and say “I’ll get you next time!” and he would only respond with a knowing smirk.

During down time, when there were no patients and paperwork was handled, Kix would sit at his desk with a leather-bound book and a pencil. It was an odd at first, seeing the rich brown leather and sheets of paper in an austerely sterile all-white setting filled with holopads and technology, but it also looked right in his hands. Without meaning to, you’d sometimes watch as he focused intensely on whatever he was scribbling into the book, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

“Jesse teases me and tells me I should just take pictures,” he explained one day as he showed you some drawings in his book, “but I find this relaxing.” He flipped to a sketch of a grassy plain with mountains in the background. You marveled at the details: the colors and shading on the mountains looked like sunlight glistening off their stony faces, the grass looked so realistically textured you thought it would feel like the real thing if you touched it, and he even added some wildflowers as well.

After seeing the meticulous designs he shaved into his hair, it was no surprise that Kix was an artist.

“Looks like it could be a picture,” you commented.

“Fives said something similar once, when we were down on Felucia he caught me drawing this-“ he flipped through the book to show you a drawing of a wide-trunked tree with large drooping leaves. “I just draw what I see,” he added with a shrug.

“You’re really talented though, the best I can draw is a stick figure.”

Kix cracked a small smile. “That was once the best I could do too,” he said.

The way his lips curved in his smile, the way his eyes shone as he looked at you - in that moment you realized just how beautiful he was. Sure, he was good-looking – all the clones were – but he stood out to you.

There was no use denying it, you had a crush on him.

Before there was a chance for your thoughts to betray you in any way, Kix���s comm beeped. “Duty calls,” he said, closing his sketchbook and stashing it in a drawer under his desk. He then stood up and made his way to his station, and you followed suit. Whatever was about to come into the med bay, it would keep you busy enough to distract yourself … so you hoped.

It had to be strictly professional between yourself and Kix, you reminded yourself as the first wave of injured troopers came into the medbay. Besides, given how quickly he could turn on a heel from artist to medic like that demonstrated how dedicated he was to his work, you knew he would never let anything get in the way of his duty.

--

Four rotations went by. Kix went on a mission with the rest of Torrent Company, leaving you to manage the med bay on your own during your shift. It was more of the same, really … but you thought about him more than you would care to admit. Of course, you always thought about him when he went on missions, you told yourself. Everyone worried about their coworkers, right? Especially if there was a chance they might not come back?

He always came back, you told yourself. This time wouldn’t be any different.

Only it was both more of the same and different. You were working on paperwork when the med bay doors suddenly flew open, and troopers began pouring in. As soon as you commed some off-duty medics to report to the med bay, you manned the triage station so you could tend to the more critically injured troopers first. It was hectic, a flurry of stressful activity, making sure everyone who needed a bed had one and every wound and scrape was patched up. It wasn’t until everything quieted down that you found Kix in one of the beds.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw him. He was asleep, undressed from the waist up with bandages and bacta patches affixed to spots on his shoulder and the side of his head, and his lower half covered with a blanket. Nodes attached to pulse points on his inner arm connected to a machine by his bed that recorded his vital signs, and everything looked normal at first glance. His chart reported a direct blaster hit to his shoulder and a graze on his head, with an expectation of a full recovery, signed off by one of the medics you called in to help. You owed that medic big time, you thought.

A glance at the nearest chronometer revealed that your shift ended three hours ago, but you couldn’t leave. You didn’t want to leave. So you grabbed a chair and pulled it over to Kix’s bed so you could sit by him. Someone had to keep an eye on him after all. It was professional courtesy, you told yourself, that was all. Besides, even though your body ached and felt heavy with exhaustion, your mind was too active and on edge for sleep.

On the floor by his bed were his things: his armor, neatly stacked and organized, next to his medical pack. Inside his pack you found his sketchbook, and you figured you could pass the time by looking at his drawings again. You found the sketch of the plain and the mountain again and took a few more minutes to admire the detail. Then the tree on Felucia, and then a tooka cat, and when you turned the page you nearly dropped the book in surprise.

Kix had drawn you. In the picture you looked off in the distance, chin propped up on your hand. The detail was incredible: the shape of your nose, your mouth, your eyebrows, all rendered with magnificent accuracy. You wondered if he drew it from memory, or used a picture as a reference, or sketched you one day on duty when you weren’t paying attention.

It had to be a picture, you decided. What you saw before you … it was an idealized version of yourself. Better-looking than anything you ever saw in the mirror.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, you heard a weak drowsy voice calling your name. You looked up and saw that Kix had woken up, his head turned towards you and his half-lidded eyes meeting yours.

“Oh- you’re awake!” you stammered, your cheeks flushing with heat as you slammed the sketchbook shut. You sprang to your feet and came to his bedside – to tend to him as a medical professional, you reminded yourself.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“My job,” you answered plainly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” he answered glibly. “But I meant, what are you doing with that?” he nodded his head best he could and glanced to the sketchbook that was still in your hand.

“Oh-“ You froze for a second. “I- sorry, I just really like your ….” Your sentence trailed off as you saw apprehension flash across his face.

“It’s fine,” Kix murmured as he averted his gaze away from you.

“I … I saw you drew me.”

“Yeah … drew that when I was away … was missing you.”

Oh. Maybe he was crushing on you too … the idea was equal parts exciting and scary.

“Missed you too,” you returned, reaching down to give his wrist a gentle squeeze. “And it’s a really good drawing of me too. Did you use a picture for reference or something?”

“Memory,” Kix said plainly.

“Wow …” You opened up the sketchbook again to your drawing and gave it another lookover. “And you made me look better than I actually do.”

“No. I told you before, I draw what I see.”

Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and you looked up to meet Kix’s gaze again. Tired as he was, he looked at you with a soft admiration, as if he was appreciating a fine work of art standing directly in front of him. Your mind was both full and blank at the same time, feeling flattered and treasured but at the same time unsure of how to respond to him.

“I … I’ve been putting off telling you how I feel about you,” he continued, “because –“

“Your duty comes first, I understand,” you cut him off as you sat down on the edge of the bed, turning your torso to better face him and setting the sketchbook down by his head.  

“No, not that. Well, it has to, but – but that doesn’t mean I can’t want more out of life.” Kix paused. He raised his hand and reached it towards you. You responded by raising up your own hand, taking his in yours, and holding it in your lap. Your other hand came to rest on his wrist. He was so warm under your touch, soft and solid and steady. You knew that you would eventually have to let go, but you didn’t want to.

“My favorite part of the day is when I get to see you, whether it’s here or in passing somewhere on the ship,” he continued, “and on the battlefield after I got shot, as I was lying there, all I could think about was how I might never see you again.”

“Kix, I-“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted you. “Except, if- if after the war’s over you wanted to give it a shot? You and me?”

“Yes.” The words immediately fell from your lips as your mouth widened into a smile. You didn’t even have to think about it, and the potential consequences that the higher-ups in the GAR might inflict upon the both of you for even entertaining the idea didn’t matter. It just felt right, the idea of you and him. You couldn’t begin to explain it.

Kix returned your smile. You raised his hand to your mouth and softly kissed the back of it before lowering it back down to your lap. Before you could disentangle your hands from his, he returned that gesture as well, pulling your hand that was intertwined with his to his mouth and pressing little kisses into your knuckles. The feeling of his lips on your hand sent pleasant little tingles through your skin.

“Let’s talk about it some more after you’ve recovered,” you suggested.

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed absentmindedly. He shifted slightly in bed but suddenly stopped and froze in place, his face twisting into a pained grimace and a hiss escaping through his teeth.

“You okay?” You asked, pulling your hand back to you and scanning his body for any other signs of distress.

“Yeah, just hurts is all.”

“Let me get you some painkillers.”

“No need, I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Kix, I insist.” You told him in the sternest voice you could muster.

“I have the right to refuse treatment, especially if the treatment is better spent on my brothers who are in worse shape than I am.”

He was right, he did have the right to refuse treatment. But you couldn’t bear the idea of him being in pain.

“Okay … how about a sleeping aid then? Or some water? Can I get you anything?”

“If you want to do something for me, go get some rest. I’ll still be here when you report for your next shift.”

“Ugh, fine. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Ah come on, you know you love me.” Kix said teasingly, punctuating his statement with a smirk and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Giving him a small laugh and a half-hearted eye roll, you pushed yourself up onto your feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Before you turned to leave, you took his hand in yours again, and took a moment to gaze in his eyes. It took everything in you to not immediately start imagining a life with him after the war. There wasn’t even any guarantee there was going to be a life after the war – the cruiser you were on might be destroyed tomorrow by the Separatists for all you knew – but the idea still filled you with hope and joy. Something to look forward to with him. Something else to fight for.

[anne-white-star]

Brian may x reader : finding real love

Notes: reader is a dress maker for people of high status in London she even makes dresses for queen Victoria herself. one day brian may and his fiance come in to get her a dress for a upcoming ball. Unfortanetly brian isnt in a very loving relationship with his soon to be wife for she's very controling and some times straight up mean and abusive. They are in an aranged mariage. Reader and brian fall in love.       

(Late) Victorian au (1880s no exact year). Catherine Green is a random name i chose for the wife. I hope you guys enjoy reading.

Warnings : a bit of angst abuse

Words : 2829

Late victorian era, London

In the center of London was a small shop but not just any shop, it was a dress shop called y/l/n Splendour Dress and co.

It wasn't a verry big establisment but it was really special, for even queen victoria herself had comissioned dresses here, only the people of high sosity could afort these dresses.

A carriage pulled up infront of the shop, a few seconds later the bell went of to sigal someone has entered, a man and a woman walked in.

The man was pretty tall and had dark curly hair he also wore a suit (he doesn't wear a hat) the man was very handsome. The woman had blond hair and wore a elegant hat her green eyes were fierce and angry while the man his eyes were hazel and kind.

A woman came from the back about (your age) and stood behind the counter "good afternoon sir and madam how can i help you?"

"I would Like to comission a dress for my fiance"

"Alright any thing spesific, a tea gown, an walking suit, or a day dress

The woman cut her off with an angry tone "no nothing like that im here to comission a ball gown"

"Now calm down Catherine, im verry sorry about that"

"Oh don't worry its alright sir"

"May Brian may and Catherine Green"

"Ah alright mr may and missed Green" please do follow me so that i can sketch some ideas out and so that we could chose the fabric"

"Lead the way madam"

They came across an other woman in the hall "Oh Alice could you perhaps boil some water so that we can have some tea?"

"Yes of course y/n it be ready in a few"

"Thank you after you are done you can take a break" they walked further and came to a room "please do sit down , first we can chose the fabric then we can sketch a design"

"I want my dress to be red and black they are my favorite colors" she smirked

"My darling are you sure of that i mean its a ball after al you it would be beter if - " Brian was caught of

"No absolutly not i want my dress to be red and black" she folded her arms

"Alright darling as you wish"

"I want the black fabric to be made of embroyderd silk and the red fabric made of cotton."

"With or without a train madam"

"Without"

"alright, anything els?"

"Yes i want black lace on the sleeves and red little bows made of silk there as wel"

"Alright madam, is it good that we decide up on a design of the dress now?"

"Yes go ahead"

"About the bodice and the sleeves what lengt would you like them?"

"Im sorry to interupt but here is the tea"

"Ah thank you Alice, you may go take a break now" Alice walked out the room again and closed the door "where were we? Ah yes the bodice and sleeves"

"I want the sleeves at elbow lenght and the bodice low so that it shows off my figure"

"Ah Alright, what about the skirt?"

"I want the under skirt to be a flounced underskirt and the under side of the dress to be made of the red fabric with silk ribons, at the front of the dress i want black lace going down. And the over skirt i want that to be the same fabric as the bodice."

"Alright madam" y/n looked at the sketch in front of her "is this what you have in mind?"

"Yes a hundred precent "

"Alright madam i wil ask my employees to look for the fabrics we would need"

Mr may who had been listening and drinking his tea the whole time spoke up "how long will it take to make?"

About 3 months sir if everything goes as planned"

"Wonderfull you hear that darling"

"Oh yes fantastic, make sure the dress is done by then because in 3 months there will be a ball at Buckingham palace and i want to look absolutly perfect"

"Yes of course miss we will try to get it finished by then"

"Good, thil next time" Catherine stood up And walked out the room

Brian did as well and held out his hand to y/n "Thank you so mutch for your time miss y/n, please you must excuse my fiance for being so rude"

"Its alright mr may no problem at al, tell me is your relationship a aranged one?"

"Unfortanetly yes, within a year we are to get Married unless i find somone i love"

"I hope you find the right person mr may"

"I hope so to, again thank you very mutch" he grabed y/n her hand and kissed it

"My plesure mr may, i hope you have a wonderfull afternoon"

"May we meet again" he smiled and

walked out the room

*little time skip*

Y/n was looking For the fabrics she Would need " Um Alice do you have any idea where the black embroyderd silk is?"

"Yes its on the top shelf next to the purple silks "

"Thanks, oh could you grab te maroon/red coton and a flounced underskirt/petticoat as wel"

"Yeah sure who is this oder for?"

"For miss Catherine Green"

"Oh i reconise her she has come in a few times to comission dresses her sizes are noted in our book, she's truly terrible she had 3 husbands already and now she's going to get Married to that poor sir may"

"Yeah i don't think they are a good couple eiter, both are from high socity what is sir may his feeld?"

"Hes an astrophysicist of the royal court of queen victoria"

"Oh wow so hes one of the highest in that feeld how extraordinary"

"Hes smart and not looking bad eiter"

"Yeah , i really feel sorry for him.... we need to get started the dress needs to be done in 3 months"

"Are you going to the ball to y/n?"

"I don't know i mean"

"You are also of high status because you make dresses for her royal highness, you deserve to go"

"You think so?"

"I know so, but first lets get started with making misses Green her dress first"

"Alright"

*time skip to 3 months later because im lazy*

The day for the fitting came y/n and Alice hoped everything went as planned.

"Good morning sir may and miss Green"

"Good morning miss y/l/n" he took her hand and kissed it

Miss green sighed "Is my dress ready?"

"Yes its ready please do follow me to the fitting room"

"I know where it is"

"Alright miss, i'll be there in a minute"

Mr may stood next to y/n "Im so sorry about the way she acts i talked with her about it but she won't lissen"

"Its fine mr may"

"Please call me Brian its my name after all"

"Alright wel then you can call me y/n.... tell me do you love her?"

"Who? Catherine? If i could be honest with you y/n then no absolutly not"

"Are you considering breaking off the arrangement?"

"If i find the right person then yes of course"

"I really hope you do you deserve better brian"

"Thanks you y/n"

"Y/n?" Came the voice of Alice

"Yes comming!, follow me brian" both of them walked in to the fitting room "miss Green how does it fit?"

"I want the corset to be tighter"

Y/n walked behind the curtains"Are you sure miss it already looks tight enough"

"No i want it tighter"

"As you wish miss" y/n undid the lace of the corset and tugged as hard as she could "i hope this is better"

"Perfect now is Brian here?"

"Yes"

"Good, oh Brian dear what do you think" Catherine stept from behind the curtain snowing her ball gown

"what do you think?"

"I think it fits you perfectly dear"

"I take it" she went back behind the curtain to get changed again

"How mutch does it cost?"

"About a 150 pounds"

Brian grabed his wallet and drew the right amount "here you go"

"Thank you" y/n stuffed the money in her apron.

"Will you also go to the ball?"

"I would love to but unfortanetly i have work there are many dresses that have to be made"

"I can take over for you with Mary, y/n" said Alice as she was sewing some beads on to a evening coat

"Alright i will try and see, when is it?"

"About 2 weeks from now"

"I will try to make it" she smiled softly

Brian grabed her hand softly and kissed it "thill then my lady"

"Thill then"

*skip to the day of the ball*

"Have you decided what to wear?"

"No, i simply din't have the time to make anything" she sat down and sadly siged

"Oh cheer up, wait i remember something, we have some dresses that wern't colected mabey there is something in there for you"

"oh yeah thats true lets look" she stood up And walked in to the far back where a closet stood with the said dresses, she opend it up And looked at them , "i don't remember making these"

"I think your parents had been working on these last year they are pretty mutch still up to date"

"For who were these?"

"If i remember corectly these were ment for a baroness, but she and her

husband got killed before they could collect them"

"These are absolutly wonderfull "

"It should be about your size lets fit them"

So y/n did that and grabed al the dresses and tried them on, everything was exactly her size

She decided to go with dress number (insert number here) "i see that some things got lose we still have time"

Yes we do now come on we need to prepare"

About a few hours later the dress has been looked at, Alice had put y/n her hair up in a fancy evening style and added some hair accessoires.

"so how do i look?"

"Like a real princes oh before you forget these come with the dress" she held out a box y/n opend it inside were a pair of earings a necklace and tiara and a fancy hand fan

"Oh these are wonderfull" she put the necklace around her neck and put the earings in

"These were also met for the baroness" Alice placed the tiara on her head "you have to leave now a carriage is waiting"

"Alright, are you sure you can manage?"

"Don't worry to mutch it be alright me and Mary can manage just fine

"Alright" y/n put her evening coat on and picked up the train of her dress "its going to be late"

"I know dear now go and have a lovely evening"

"I will thank you for the help"y/n walked out of the back door trought the garden out of the gate, she climed in the cariage and sat down. The cariage went on its way to the palace. About 30 minuts later she arived and stept out die left her coat in the carriage. Y/n walked inside the palace up to the grand staircase to the ball room.

Music could already be heared when she walked up the staircase and once she arived the music was mutch louder.

Once y/n stept in to the ballroom a lot of people looked at her wondering who this beautyfull woman was dressed in fine fabrics and jewels.

"Miss y/l/n is that you oh how wonderfull to see you here you look extraordinary"

Y/n turned around at the mention of her name "sir Mercury its so great to see you, wearing my wonderfull suit i see" she smiled

"Oh yes its absolutly wonderfull my dear " he kissed her on the cheek "tell me why are you here?"

"Wel sir may had invited me to come along"

"Ah i see, if i remember corectly he was talking with sir taylor near the table overthere"

"Thank you"

"I have to go now my dear sir deacon needs my assistance"

Y/n smiled at him and walked to the table where sir may was indeed talking to sir taylor. Next to sir may stood miss Green, the was clinging to his arm. He looked a bit anoyed. "Sir may"

brian turned around "ah miss y/l/n so great to see you" he shook off Catherine and walked to her and softly grabed her hand "sir taylor this is y/n y/l/n the seamstress, she makes fabouls dresses, coats, shoes and suits"

"Nice to meet you miss" he said in a flirting tone, sir taylor grabed her gloved hand and put a kiss on it

"Like wise sir taylor" she smiled softly and put her hand to the side. Y/n could feel somone glaring at her when she turned around and came face to face with Catherine. " Is everything alright miss Green? "

"Yes everything is perfectly fine miss y/l/n" she said with an snarky tone.

Y/n looked down at the ground, sir taylor ofered her his hand "would you like to dance miss"

She looked up "Of course" she grabed his hand and they both walked on to the ball room floor

"You know i don't like her either"

"Who?"

"Miss green, sir may deserves better" said Roger while they both danced across the floor.

"Yes he does, they arnt the perfect fit for echoter Brian deserves somone who's kind"

"Someone like you"

"Why me?"

"The way you carry yourself very eligant yet kind and soft spoken, he really deserves you miss y/l/n". As the dance ended they both bowed to echoter and walked to the side where Brian stood alone drinking his wine

"Brian, you should dance with miss y/l/n I bet she will Enjoy your company while i go looking For my fiance"

"Alright Roger thank you," Brian held his arm out "care to dance?"

"Yes of course" she smiled and they both walked on to the ball room floor again. When they were done with the dance they walked to the doors "brian can we please go outside for a bit i need to talk to you"

"Yes of course" they walked in to the garden and dat down on a bench

"Look its probably not my place but you really should break of the arrangement Brian"

"Why?"

"She really doesn't deserve you brian she doesn't love you she will make you feel misereble"

"You are right but i can't break it off unles i found somone ells"

"Wel i know somone who would love you for ever and always"

"Who would that be?" He looked at her with a questionble look on his face

"What about me? Do you think we would be a good fit?"

"Perhaps if its really what you want"

"Im asking you brian, its important that you find somone who will help with continuing the family line"

"Yeah you are right" he sighed and put his face in his hands, his shoulders started to shake as he softly cried while you sat beside him

"Brian i really want to help you trough this"

"Y/n Im torn between an arrangement and real love" he looked up at her while the tears runed down his cheeks.

She softly whiped the tears away with her gloved hand and then placed it on his cheek "you have two choices Brian follow your heart"

"I choose real love" he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips "i love you y/n y/l/n"

"BRIAN WHAT IS THIS!!??" They both turned around to an angry Catherine running at them, they both stood up And Brian stood in between y/n and Catherine.

"Im breaking off the arrangement"

"You can't do that you have no right"

"I do because i am the hire of the family titel and you are not this is oficialy over"

She looked from Brian to y/n " You did this you took him from me!"

"No she din't i simply took love instead of money thats all"

"You know what i never ever wanted to be yours Anyway you are not good enough for me i don't know what my father saw in you" she walked away with a big huff

"Im so sorry about that"

"Its alright im not blaming you"

"I ment what i said, i really love you" he huged her close and gave her a kiss on the forehead

"I love you to"

They both went back inside to tell sir Mercury, taylor and deacon the good news about their arangement

Brian and y/n found love in eatch other and lived a long and happy life together

The end

I hope you guys enjoyed reading please let me know what you think 😊 I put a lot of time and efort in to this plus a lot of late nights so please concider rebloging if you like the story

Have a Nice day everyone♥️

Greatings from Anne

[ironhusband]

James Rhodes Headcanons

Rhodey is a lightweight drinker. He might not have been one in college, when he had time to go to parties and drink every weekend, but he certainly became one after enlisting. His job entailed lots of long nights and years away from home and alcohol, so Rhodey only ever got to drink when he got leave. Two beers in and he has a headache, he’s giggly and ready to sky dive off a plane. Tony absolutely takes advantage of it, which is why Rhodey always needs a little persuation before drinking with him.

Rhodey is also very affectionate when he’s drunk. He’d drape himself all over you like a cat and start saying things he secretly thinks. Small little compliments like how Tony had expressive eyes or how Sam had a pretty smile.

Ever since he was little, Rhodey loved superheroes. He liked fictional ones, like Superman, and real ones, like Captain America. He also loved flying. Which is why Rhodey wanted to be a pilot growing up, and then why he loved being War Machine so much. His superhero obsession is also why he absolutely thought way too much about why Steve should’ve jumped from the plane.

Rhodey is a master at board games. Jeanette, who is a very sore loser, hates him for it, but Tony is delighted by finally finding a worthy opponent. He changes his mind after a few years, when he still hasn’t beat Rhodey at any game. Rhodey is so good at it, that he finds obscure board games online and orders them, and once he even made his own board game (he’s not so good at that). 

Rhodey has different nickname for every environment. With his family its Jimmy, with his ROTC and Air-Force friends its Jim or Rhodes, and with Tony (and SI) its Rhodey (and a myriad of other nicknames, of course). But if anyone calls him James, under anything less than professional, he’d never talk to that person again. 

Rhodey’s hobby is designing planes. Sometimes he does it absentmindedly, just sketching, his fingers used to the shape, but sometimes he designs it seriously. He makes every kind of plane: fighter jets, passenger planes, crop duster planes, etc. He doesn’t really show it to anyone, besides his family, Pepper and maybe Tony, but he was delighted when Lila has taken the same interest and he could teach her his knowledge. 

Pepper and him bond over a shared interests in drawing. Sure, Rhodey draws sketches and Pepper paints abstract drawings, but it’s a common ground they both have and they like sharing resources and inspiration pictures.

Rhodey knew he was gay since he was a kid. He didn’t much mind it at first, thinking it didn’t matter anyway because his career was the most important thing. As Rhodey grew up and enlisted, it became harder to ignore crushes or just indulge fantasies no strings attached. So he started to convince himself he didn’t have a crush, and even if he did, he couldn’t be in a relationship. Eventually, Rhodey repressed all his loves and crushes and convinced himself a relationship with him was unattainable. 

Rhodey keeps all of his old letters from when he first went to tours, and from years after of course. He reads them when he needs a little pick me up. Not to mention he likes to pull sections of the letters and read them to his family and Tony, just to embarrass them. 

Rhodey is very much a  Philadelphian mama’s boy. He loathes all the army food and loves all his mama’s dishes. He loves his hometown and the neighbourhood he grew up in. The things that calms him the most are his mama’s hugs and gentle soothing words. Rhodey loves traveling, has longed to do it growing up, but Philly is the one place that feels like home.

Rhodey knows how to braid braids and paint nail polish. He grew up with a younger sister, and has a niece, so of course he’d know. Lila doesn’t really like nail polish, but she loves how much time and care Rhodey puts into braiding her hair. Tony is the opposite; nothing much to braid really, but he loves it when Rhodey paints his nails. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Rhodey loved ferrets as a kid. Yes, you heard that right. It’s a very popular pet in Pennsylvania, and everyone wanted one when he was a kid. It sort of caught onto him.  He changed his mind pretty quickly, when Tony bought him a ferret on his birthday, and the pet immediately bit him. Now, all he wants is a fish. Fish are low maintenance and they won’t hurt you. 

Rhodey loves a uniform. He fell in love with it in choir, when he felt like dressing like everyone else made him fit in. He felt like he finally had friends when he dressed in the same clothes in them. Like he had people who understood him. Not to mention, it saved Rhodey from his terrible sense of fashion (”no, Rhodey, give up, just wear a t-shirt and jeans please.”). He feels the same way when he wears his dress blues, when he gained ranks, felt like he had people with him and people like him. War Machine is also a uniform of sorts. But this time, it reminds him that he’s a superhero, that he’s special and that Tony has his back. 

Rhodey would never admit it but he loves cheesy rom-coms. His sister used to have a phase of watching them, but while she grew out of it, Rhodey found he missed the habit of sitting on the sofa and being filled with hope. He knows they’re stupid. He knows there’s no way his best friend could love him back. It’s his guilty pleasure, alright? 

Rhodey doesn’t follow any sports, except the MIT football team and tennis. The first one because it’s his and Tony’s tradition, and because Lila wanted to join the girl’s football team, and the second one because… Rhodey likes the uniform, and the colors, and the hypnotising movements of the ball, and the quietness of the crowd. His whole life is filled with chaos, and it’s just calming to him. Relaxing. Also, you can’t go wrong polo shirts. 

Rhodey is so smart. Like blow-away-your-teachers, win-every-science-fair, person-in-the-yearbook-most-likely-to-win-a-noble-prize smart. He’s a prodigy child in MIT at 16. Tony thought Rhodey was the first genius close to his age, when they saw each other in MIT. Rhodey knows he’s not a genius. But that doesn’t mean he can’t hack over Tony’s codes sometimes to mess with JARVIS. It doesn’t mean he isn’t astonishingly smart. 

Rhodey is a tech genius, but he doesn’t trust tech like at all. Between a choice of a GPS and a map, he’d choose a map. He prefers to count on himself. He knows the dangers of technology and what people would do for money. 

Rhodey volunteers at soup kitchens. He’s sort of a regular in one, every time when he comes back from leave, he visits it.  Everyone there knows his name, and they laugh at his stories. Rhodey doesn’t tell anyone. Well, maybe Tony knows, because he keeps donating money to the soup kitchen. 

Sam and Rhodey are really good friends. They don’t really agree on much but they don’t mind. It’s nice to keep each other on their toes. Rhodey and Sam regularly roast Steve and Tony too. They have a running gag of making up random Air-Force Things™️ to confuse their army and civilian friends.

[vesperstalksclones]

What will you do after Mandalore?

Rated teen

Ingredients: kissy kissy, pining, angst, oogling, heavy petting, Rex likes using the F word a lot and thinks plenty about his tool

Sketch by @i-got-no-bones

He spotted her across the sky plaza that they had commandeered as a landing platform. Arms crossed, feet spread, back arched into her posture; every inch of her shining with pride as she watched her men tend to their business. 

Rex was content to merely stand and observe for a moment. Ahsoka Tano had disappeared over a year ago, radio silent. Furious and hurting, no doubt, after the Jedi council, men and women she had called family, had handed her over to the republic judiciary system to be tried on circumstantial evidence for a crime she didn't commit. Her name had been cleared and the culprit caught, but when the council invited her back sheepishly, after her humiliating excommunication, she graciously told them to shit in their hat, turned heel and walked away. He respected her for that, also envied her the freedom to be able to do so. If he stuck his birds to the GAR and turned his back, his parting gift would, at best, be a blaster shot to the shebs. Property didn't get to make choices like that.

He could have tracked her down, but she hadn't left him so much as a scribble in parting. He had not taken it well. First came panic - she was alone, who would have her back? Then anger - the 501st and Torrent squadron weren't good enough to stay for? Fuck her!!! The pain of abandonment - didn't the years fighting side by side mean anything, the men who had died protecting her life? Blind fury at the council that had driven her away - he had demolished several training druids to cope with that. Jealousy; that perhaps she had retreated somewhere… to someone… someone male... to lick her wounds and seek comfort. Like that litte Bonterri fuck stick. 

"No, old man, you turned yourself pretty inside out over Ahsoka's nonexistent good bye", Rex mused, a wry smile spreading over his lips. After about four weeks of stewing in his own volatile pit of self-pity and rage, during a particularly long night of insomnia spiced with bourbon whiskey, he realized why he was so angry. Fuck the Jedi, they didn't return the loyalty she had always offered. Fuck the GAR. They would carry on fighting and killing and invading and dying with or without her. 

Rex had realized, in those oppressive pre-dawn hours, that he agonized because she had left him. They had been companions for more than three years! She had grown from a bratty youngling, to a capable warrior, to a leader almost without match. They loved her, the 501st. Torrent, the battering ram of the esteemed legion, especially worshipped her. If General Skywalker was the spearpoint of the forces, the Troopers were the rigid staff,, and Ahsoka was the sinews and lead and nails that held the two together. They had adopted her as their blood sister, named her Vod'ika, and taught her their words. The squadron had cracked a little from their loss. The center of the chasm had been their CO. Rex was drowning in despair when he had heard his own voice quietly wimper… 

"Why did you leave me?"

It hurt, to hear it out loud. It made the pain more real somehow. He had curled inward  on himself, hating that he desperately needed his friend to help him cope, and yet she was the one he was mourning. 

By the time he had crawled from his bunk, all vestiges of anger had burned away. Left behind was only depression, and empty bitterness. Everything became harder after that. Skywalker also suffered her loss, and he and Rex began to severely grate on each other's nerves. Rex flung himself into work and training for the distraction, earning a multitude of grumbles from his Vod as he expected them to keep up his grueling pace. 

And then… Skywalker commed him. The General spoke as nonchalantly as if he was discussing the soy loaf at dinner. There was a mission to be had, to Mandalore. Bo Katan Kryze was in need of assistance, unseating the Sith lord Maul who had claimed the planet for his own. She would be meeting them in roughly 72 hours, with her comrade at arms. A certain Lady Tano. 

Rex had leapt from his desk, pacing a circle for nearly an hour. Skywalker said that they would accompany her, Rex in command of as many men as she needed. His stomach was clawing inside him like a trapped loth cat, with anticipation, excitement, and anxiety. 

He needed to tell his boys. Her boys. Their girl was coming home. He had stood there smiling like an idiot, loving the feel of those words in his weary brain. 

He called Torrent to attention in their barracks, briefly explaining the mission. They were going to fight for their father's home. Serve the warrior people that had created all that the Vode held dear. He could see the energy beginning to rise from them, the promise of a fight that really did belong to them in some way.

 He savored a pause, keeping her his precious secret for a second longer, before he flung her name to his troops like fresh meat to hungry dogs. The resulting roar was deafening, with a string of particularly loud expletives from Jesse, who had become his de-facto Captain, as Rex had taken on the Command of the 501st in purpose if not in official name. It warmed his tired heart to the core.

 Excusing himself he strode away to his quarters. The energy that the mere mention of her name generated had put the spring back in his strut. He didn't sleep that night either, for the boyish excitement inside.

By the following evening, several hundred men were sporting orange blazes on their helmets, and the indoctrinated eye would recognize the white jagged stripes that swept down over their visors. The men had shined every inch of their armor, oiled and cleaned every gun, sharpened every blade. He allowed them to fight it out for their spots at review. A few black eyes were given over the choicest front row positions.

Then came the day of her arrival . General skywalker commed him for assembly. The men jogged to the meeting point, a large liaison space on the 3rd level. He had counted the length of his breaths carefully, willing himself to be calm and composed, as if this was really any other inspection. He was screaming inside. He felt like his stomach was trying to fall out of his ass.

The door chimed and slid open. And there she was. But she wasn't the girl he remembered. She seemed to have grown over the past year. Taller yes, he noted the distinct curve taking shape in her Montrails. Not just vertical growth either; she had expanded in all directions. Her hips were no longer angular, but smoothly bowed outward. Her waist tapered in and climbed upward to... what used to be pert little breasts - polite things that barely moved when she vaulted across the training mats. Now… well… they weren't polite anymore. In her absence Little'un had become a woman. How the hell did all this happen in a year?

 He called the men to attention, unable to suppress the absolute shit eating grin of joy that had plastered itself there. She had traded the skirts and tights of her padawan youth for the dignified garb of a warrior. Smart armored combat boots covered tight breeches, and disappeared under a slim fitting, high collared shirt which proved both modest and profoundly flattering at the same time. Having discarded her Akul tooth headdress when she left the temple, Ahsoka now wore a variety of tiara that looked like hand hammered durasteel. Numerous arm bands and leg holsters carried her various kit. Best of all, he noticed, she had outfitted herself almost entirely in the cobalt blue of the 501st. 

Ahsoka stepped towards him. Hesitantly, uncertain of her place in the scheme of things, her eyes searching his face for a cue. He was positively giddy at her approach, glad that his full body armour could dampen the sight of the tremors that ran through him. 

"Beautiful, fierce, brave girl… don't look at me like that. You'll always belong with us" he didn't say the words, they shone from his eyes. Her gaze landed on the helmet clutched in his hand, and he was certain they moistened as the orange and white design drove its message home. They were hers and she was theirs.

Moments later, things got complicated, as they were wont to do when Skywalker was involved. He had loaded about three thousand odd men on to another venator. Anakin had named him official CO of the 501st (could've done that a fucking year ago) and they left with their Lady. A jedi no longer, now only a civilian advisor. Whatever, she was still their angel.

Now, about 48 hours later, they had Maul's forces on the run, and had taken a few hours to regroup, gather sit-reps, and organize the city wide hunt for the criminal. His duties were tended for the moment so Rex had gone on the search, hungry to see her face again. He spied her by the transports, wearing her pride of possession, as she watched her Vod do what they did best. 

He jogged across the pavement and slowed to a swaggering stroll as he neared her. She beamed at him, blue eyes reflecting the city lights. 

"All right there, Lil?"

"Rex, this has gone off smoother than I had hoped. The citizens are disgusted, but at least things didn't de-evolve in to violence."

Gah, her voice! It was like a cool breeze on a shitty hot day.

She retreated a little way between the LAATs

and retrieved a canteen of water, drinking deeply. He took the opportunity to appreciate what nature had wrought upon the Togrutan. 

He couldn't pretend to be an expert on her race's anatomy, but he could definitely see that the physical changes in her had stopped being about adding physical size, and began to be about physical allure. The hard muscles of her youthful form had gained some softness via artistically placed plump cushions. Her rump… hips… bosom. Her face had exchanged youthful roundness for a pointed chin and angled jaw, and instead focused the fullness in to her plum colored lips. 

It wasn't until after the initial excitement of the reunion when they were en route to Mandalore that he could privately reflect upon her changes. As she bent over to adjust her boot straps he was certain the thirty or so Vod in the room must have heard his cock slam against his cod piece as he reacted to the sight of her peach shaped rear offered up like a feast before him. Since that moment he had remained at nothing less than half mast, his member ready and waiting for the off chance that he might need it, while his brain begged it to behave itself and not act a fool.. 

How the hell had he come to this? His sweet friend had become a veritable sex pot, her body shedding the trappings of youth and preparing her to recieve a male. The notion that had began to grow in his mind that night in his lonely bed so many months ago, had born fruit and ripened in that moment. 

He Loved her and not as a lad should love his dear friend.. He had pined away for months, struggling to function through the void created by her absence. Moments of privacy had tormented him either with loneliness for her presence or aching for her touch. Often his mind wandered too far in her direction and he was forced to take matters in to his own hands… well hand…. And release brought guilt as well as relief. 

When he closed the gap between them she offered the drink, and he happily chugged some just to taste her on the rim. He was so desperate, he thought. So fucking pathetic, but he couldn't help himself… and frankly didn't want to. As he regarded her, Ahsoka fidgeted nervously and her face fell, a mask of anxiety appearing. He knit his brow at the change, capping the canteen and setting it aside.

"Rex… I'm sorry."

He frowned. This was happening now, she was ready to explain to him her actions. In the middle of a mission. Fucking hell. He continued to watch her, his face calm and professional.

"Im sorry I didn't say goodbye. It was a shitty thing to do to you. It was cowardly and I was wrong, and I've regretted it every single day." Her sapphire gems stared in to his amber ones, searching them for his reply.

Rex sighed heavily. He had a few things to tell her, and he'd be damned if she was going to run away this time before he heard each and every one of them clearly. 

"Ahsoka…" he reached for her, and with only a little hesitation she snaked her arms around his waist and leaned against his armored chest. Resting her cheek near his pauldron.  He wrapped her up in his embrace and stole a moment to sniff deeply of her scent. Spice, and something herbal - like tea. Leather. And her own subtle musk, which reminded him of the sun warmed straw field he had walked through on Naboo. How he had missed that smell.

"I wont lie Lil. I hated you for about a week. When I got over that, I stayed pissed off for at least another month."

She trembled a little, her face hidden from view.

"Then, during my fifth week of insomnia and self loathing, I realized why I was so angry, and that it definitely wasn't because I hated you."

He tilted his head down, seeking her eyes, but she was still hiding them on his shoulder.

He nudged her lekk with his nose, gently demanding her attention. She shyly met his gaze, the blazing blue stars beginning to blur behind tears. Stop this at once Lil, you're not the crying type, and especially not over me. 

He dipped his face to hers, capturing her lips. She was rigid with shock for a moment, but then relaxed against his touch. He barely broke away, only to come back for a second helping, kissing her with more force in order to drive his message home. She tasted like honey, hints of cinnamon, and the poor quality caf they all survived off of on the Venators. The feel of her petal soft lips against his was enough to make his knees shake, and his heart pound, and, thinking back on every fantasy he had entertained about her, he would come to realize what a poor imagination he had. 

Pulling away, she dashed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. 

"The truth is that…  I didn't dare come to see you that day. I knew that it would upset you and I couldn't cope with that. I wouldn't have been able to go make myself leave, even though it was the right thing for me. Its ok that you hated me for a while.. I hated myself."

 She sucked in a shaky breath, regarding him silently for a moment as if she was trying to choose her next words carefully. Apparently, her voice had left her, so she framed his face with her sienna colored hands and returned to his kiss almost violently. He spanned her waist with his hands, pulling her closer to him, all the while cursing his protective armor that denied him the pressure of her firm body. 

"I wouldn't have let you go" he growled, biting at her lip for punctuation. With a breathy whimper she opened her mouth to his caress. He tasted her lips, and her tongue, twisting his head for a better angle. His gloved hands groped their way blindly up her back, and then back downward to her waist, one daring to sneak to her rump, palming the cheek boldly, but hell she could shatter his bones with her mind if she objected and he wouldn't be upset. She answered by chasing his tongue with hers, uttering a low moan of approval. 

Rex pushed her backward against the cold side of the transport, pinning her there with his bodyweight. His mind spun with surprise and delight that not only had she not broken his face, but was mouthing and pawing at him with equal desire. He sucked in a quick breath and claimed her mouth again, leading the charge with a velvet tongue. He was determined to display for her every ounce of frustration she had left him in for the past year. To convince her that she should not leave him again.

He nipped at her chin, scraped his teeth along her jawline, and caught a hitch in his breath as he tasted the salty skin at her neck. She rolled her head away, crooning gently, and he surprised himself at how quickly he one handed the top few frogs of her shirt. Bearing her neck down to the shoulder, he sucked and kissed at her offering, cherishing her closeness, his mind racing at the willingness with which she came to him. His right hand had found its way to her breast, caressing the sleek fabric covered mound and searching the telltale hardened peak he found there. She was arched backward over his opposite arm, her legs astride his armoured thigh, all the while he was inwardly cursing the confines of his pelvic armor; his member had sprung to full solute at the attentions of his Lady Commander. When she rolled her hips he dared to arch to his boot toe, giving her a hard surface to press herself against. 

She stiffened under his touch, suddenly going quiet and still. 

"Kriff." she whispered.

His eyes snapped open, alarmed by the sudden change in her demeanor.  He was about to speak when…

"OORAH! COMMANDER!"

A chorus of hoots and howls joined the first voice, and Rex dropped his forehead to Ahsoka's shoulder, hand still splayed across her chest, thigh pressed to her besh… his index finger tracing the crease of her perfect ass….

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jesse. Kriffing Jesse, and about fifty of his men. Standing there watching him grind on Ahsoka like they were a live action porn holo.

"Fuck my life" he growled in disgust. 

"GET SOME VOD! OWWWWW!!!" 

Dammit Jesse. 

The fondling hand shot to his hip and raised the blaster just in time for his head to snap up and choose his target. The bolt screamed by Jesse, missing his temple by the length of a finger. 

Wide eyed, he screamed and cackled and ducked, the other troops reacting similarly. 

Rex contemplated shooting them all, and was choosing his next target when….

"FUCKING JESSE! QUIT COCK BLOCKING ME, YOU STUPID PENIS WRINKLE!" Ahsoka roared at the clone, and with a violent sweep of her arm she flung the entire corps out of sight further down the plaza. Rex couldn't help but grin at the satisfying shouts of pain and the clatter of armored bodies bouncing on the cement. 

They both sighed as he returned his DC to its home, and met each other's gaze. 

"Is that what he was doing, Commander? Cock-blocking you?" He teased. 

Ahsoka's blue chevrons darkened in the Togrutan equivalent of a blush. 

"Im not your Commander, Rex, not GAR, nor am I a Jedi. I'd prefer if you'd address me properly." 

"And how's that?" He cocked his head, smirking at her. 

"Anything but. You decide, cyare." 

She pushed her forehead against his. He flushed from the thrill. She had used his "native" tongue, never before had anyone called him "beloved", and the forehead "kiss" was a touch of the purest loving affection among Vod.

"Do you mean that? "Cyare"? Rex's head was spinning. The delicious heavy petting could have allowed him to die happily, but she had done something far more wonderful to him. Cyare was not a name for a piece of meat used to scratch an itch with.. did she understand that? "Are you sure, Lil?"

"Yes, I mean that. I want you, Rex. I think I have for a long time, but I was afraid to call it what it was. I didn't think you'd ever look at me the same way."

"What? Why wouldn't I?"

"Because your a grown man!... Who happens to be younger than me… and I've always just been this idiot kid." She frowned, the dusky colored pout did terrible things to him. 

"I don't think you've been a kid for a while now Sokka." To emphasize his statement, he kissed her like she was a woman. His woman. "What happens…" he didn't know if he dared to hope… "What will you do after we are done here?"

"I haven't really thought about it. I guess it depends on our success." 

They heard shouts. Troopers were gathering on the plaza, getting ready to depart for their search. 

"Than let's find the hut'uun quickly." 

He gave her a final kiss and a squeeze, and backed away step by step until her hand dropped away. 

[muertawrites]

Aphrodite Kallipygos (Zuko x Plus Size Reader) [Modern AU]

Summary: Zuko takes up an art class as part of his therapy and ends up falling in love with a woman who’s a work of art in her own right.

Word Count: 3,500

Disclaimer: There’s a scene in this fic where a couple of thin girls engage in some rude behavior and are criticized in a few none-too-kind words. I want to make it very clear that this scene does not reflect my views of thin people or body positivity - these characters are meant to be a metaphor for greater culture and its strict, unrealistic views of what women should look like. 

Author’s Note: I hate rom coms but after writing this fic it dawned on me that I would be excellent at writing them. Also, this one goes out to all my art hoes out there. I geek out pretty hard about art history in this one. 

Speaking of which, I reference real-world cultures within the structure of the Avatar universe in this one as well. Something I like to do when I zone out is think about which actual countries would belong to which bending nations; my heritage is primarily from the British Isles, and what with liths like Stonehenge and the hella castles hanging around out there, I think we’d be earth benders - same with cultures like the ancient Egyptians and the Pueblos. I also love the idea of Pacific Islanders who can bend both water and lava, and Incan air benders, and I really wish the idea of global cultures as benders were explored more in the Avatar universe. 

Have I mentioned that I’m a massive fucking nerd?

~ Muerta

Zuko never considered himself much of a creative. When he thought about it, he realized that that part of his life had never really been explored; his father always pushed him to focus solely on his bending and combat skills, never allowing even the consideration of other practices or hobbies. As much as Zuko was passionate about the martial arts he'd mastered, he also came to learn that he never had a choice in being passionate about anything else. 

“I think you should take an art class,” his therapist suggested. “It would be a good outlet for you, and one that isn't directly influenced by your family.” 

“I don't think I've ever drawn anything, though,” Zuko admitted. “I wouldn't be any good.” 

“It's not about being good,” his therapist explained, “it's about exploring things that weren't available to you in your youth, freedom of expression. Consider it - there's a shop in this neighborhood that offers classes.” 

She handed him a business card adorned with an array of different art styles, from delicate watercolors to bright, bold cartoons; it read, “classes for everything” in a cheerful, clearface font.

Zuko shrugged and pocketed the card. A week later, he was enrolled in a basic studio art course. 

He arrived for his first class embarrassingly early, passing under the bell of the shop’s front door twenty minutes before it was scheduled to begin. 

The building that housed the shop looked to be older than the rest of the neighborhood around it; the storefront was tiny, with crowded shelves lining each wall and tables and racks wound throughout the center of the space, creating a maze that led to the checkout counter. The room’s ceilings were high, supported by beams in a dark stained wood that matched the floor below. Paper mache sculptures and handmade lanterns hung from the rafters, and the simple, antique plaster walls were decorated with paintings and sketches, likely given by the shop’s clientele. From somewhere in the back, a radio sang folk music, accompanied by the hum of an electric fan. 

Zuko wandered through the labyrinthine merchandise displays until he reached the register, where he was met with the single most beautiful sight he may have ever laid eyes on. 

You stood behind the counter, leaned over a textbook with a pencil in hand, tapping it back and forth over the pages; you bit your lip in concentration, a few strands of your hair falling loose from the messy knot atop your head and over your cheeks, though you were too focused on your reading to care. An apron bearing the shop’s logo was tied around your waist, emphasizing your body's dramatic curves. 

To Zuko, you were gorgeous. He couldn't place what exactly about you allured him; all he knew was that his pulse had quickened to a near dangerous pace. 

You looked up at him when you noticed you were no longer alone, flashing him a kind, somewhat distracted smile. He nodded curtly, too nervous to do anything but stare. 

“Can I help you?” you greeted him politely. 

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a pitch higher than normal as he spoke. 

“I'm here for the art class,” he told you. 

You smirked a little, peering down to check the time on your phone. 

“It's a little early,” you said. “I was just about to start setting up. You could help me if you want? So you're not so bored while you wait?” 

“Yeah,” Zuko mumbled, “yeah, sure.” 

You grinned, waving him behind the counter and through a door to the back room. To his surprise, what he expected to be a minuscule stockroom turned out to be a space larger than the actual shop, lined on one wall with massive warehouse windows that poured late afternoon sunlight into the room. Metal shelves and boxes lay haphazardly about, mixed in with a scattering of easels, pottery spinners, canvases, and other art supplies. You directed your guest to a stack of chairs in the corner, instructing him to line them in a half circle in an empty portion of the room while you placed the easels. 

“So, do you have a name?” you asked, attempting to make conversation that could drown out the repetitive radio drone. 

“Zuko,” he introduced himself. 

You stopped what you were doing, fixing him with an awed, slightly amused gape. 

“Firelord Zuko?” you wondered. 

He blushed, nodding. 

“Oh spirits, I'm sorry I didn't bow!” you exclaimed, dropping into a low curtsy. The gesture was mixed with equal parts mirth and genuine respect; Zuko was unsure how to respond, his heart flickering as he watched you. 

“I heard you were living somewhere in the city,” you continued after making your own introduction, setting an easel in front of each chair he positioned. “Not into the whole royalty thing?” 

Zuko shrugged. He focused on his work, too nervous to look you in the eye. 

“Just weird going back there,” he told you. “I don't really want taxpayer money going to making sure I live above my means.” 

You leaned against the last chair he set down, smiling warmly at him. 

“That's very respectable,” you responded. “Thank you. Y’know, as someone who pays taxes.” 

Zuko chuckled softly as you handed him a bin of art supplies, instructing him to set one of each item at every station. He did as he was told, stealing glances at you whenever he was sure you weren’t looking. 

“So, uh… do you own this place?” he asked, fumbling over his words. 

“Oh, no, this is my professor’s shop,” you replied. “I just work here part time.” 

“You’re a student?” 

You shook your head. 

“Nope. Graduated last year. I work days at the history museum downtown. I also give art history classes here, and help out with the ones Professor Cong teaches.” 

“Oh.” 

Zuko paused, unsure of what else to say. 

“... They teach a different type of history just for art?” he asked after a moment. 

You laughed, covering your mouth to muffle the sound and apologizing, giving him a little nod as you collected yourself. 

“Yes. Some people even get whole degrees in it,” you giggled. “Not that it’s a useful field to learn anything about.” 

Zuko shrugged, trying to shake off the embarrassment of sounding stupid in front of such a cute girl; little did he know, you found the question beyond endearing. 

“It sounds important,” he contested. “I’ve been meeting historians from all over the world to correct all the propaganda from the past hundred years. It never occurred to me that I would need different historians for art.” 

You smiled at him, meeting him where he stood and handing him one of the sketch pads from your bin. His cheeks pinkened, his eyes darting away from yours as he took it and mumbled a “thank you”. 

“I like you, Firelord Zuko,” you decided aloud. “My classes are on Wednesdays. You can come if you want - free of charge.” 

Zuko nodded, swallowing heavily as he met your gaze once again. 

“Thank you,” he replied. “I appreciate it.” 

You laughed a little bit, taking his now empty bin and returning both to their place on a nearby shelf. The shop’s bell rang from beyond the threshold and you went back to the front counter, telling Zuko to take a spot wherever he liked. He sat in the front row; wherever he thought he could be closest to you. 

For the next five weeks, Zuko attended not only his studio art class, but your art history class, showing up early to each lesson so he could spend time alone with you. Despite the fact that you invited him to sit in, he paid the fee for the second course, not wanting you to go without the extra pay for your work - he found a doodle of a turtle duck on his seat the next time he showed up, the fuzzy little penciled duckling telling him he was a terrible listener, but thanking him anyway (with a heart scribbled in beside the words). 

With your guidance, Zuko learned that there was much more to art than just vibrant colors and pretty decoration. Everything in art, it turned out, had significance, each piece and work holding insight into the people and cultures who created it; you spoke passionately about the art of the Egyptians, who used specific shapes and colors in their imagery to tell stories beyond the written word, about the mysteries of prehistoric structures that revealed how early humanity was much more sophisticated and interconnected than considered at a glance, about the symbols that translated and influenced across centuries to shape how each nation, each culture, portrayed themselves into the modern world. He found himself hanging on every word, falling even more deeply enamored with you with each moment he spent with you. 

It didn’t take you long - what with the easy, pleasant conversations you shared before classes - to discover that Zuko lived relatively close to you, only two stops away on the local metro. Knowing this, you often saw each other on the days you weren't at the shop, meeting at the station between each of your respective neighborhoods and having coffee or dinner in one of its many cafes, talking about anything and everything and managing to pass several hours together in what seemed like the blink of an eye. You loved being with Zuko, finding the more you did it, the less you wanted your rendezvous to end; you thought about him all the time, getting all kinds of giddy whenever he crossed your mind. 

On one of your extracurricular excursions, you and Zuko wandered around the local high street, marveling at the different streetside vendors and dreamily window shopping behind the glass of the upscale boutiques, doing little more than enjoying each other’s company. It was a hot day, and along your way, Zuko stopped at a coffee stand to get you each something cold to drink. 

A pretty young woman in line in front of you eyed you up and down, her gaze flicking from between you and Zuko with disgust. She jabbed her slim, graceful elbow into her equally as flawless friend’s side, whispering something in the other woman’s ear as they both glared at you, sniggering cruelly behind flat stomachs and angular, willowy frames. 

You sneered at them, making a point of hooking your arm within Zuko’s and pressing your much wider hip against his, the poison of the encounter sinking into your skin and infecting your thoughts. Zuko noticed your change in demeanor immediately, steering you away from the scene as soon as your drinks were served. 

“You okay?” he asked, still holding tight to your arm. 

“Fine,” you quipped, biting back tears. “Just a couple of pretty bitches proving how fucking hideous they are on the inside.” 

“Wait, seriously?” 

Zuko halted, pulling you to the side of the street and out of the way of traffic. He lay a hand on your shoulder, the firm, able grasp of his palm somehow making you feel even worse. 

“Someone would really make fun of you?” he wondered, outraged and incredulous. “Why?” 

You shook your head, smiling defeatedly as your lower lip quivered. 

“People have made fun of me since I was a kid, Zu,” you told him, speaking as if he should’ve just assumed it. “I’m fat. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” 

“So?” Zuko replied. You were so shocked, you physically leaned away from him, raising your eyebrows. “Yeah, you’re fat. That doesn’t mean you’re not pretty. I… I think you’re really pretty. Gorgeous, even. You’re beautiful.” 

You blinked at him, taken aback. He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his eyes never once leaving yours. 

“... Did I break you?” he tried after a moment, sounding concerned that it was a genuine possibility. 

You laughed, shaking your head in feverish disbelief, attempting to clear the confusion that fogged your battered brain. 

“No, I just… Nobody’s ever called me pretty and fat before.” 

Zuko shrugged. 

“Both are true,” he told you. “I like your body. You look like one of those Greek sculptures. Of the goddesses.” 

You stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of dishonesty or patronization; all you found looking back at you was the clumsily genuine man you were quickly falling in love with. 

“... Have I ever told you about Aphrodite Kallipygos?” you asked. 

Zuko shook his head, as confused as you had been a few seconds ago. 

“She’s a statue of Venus,” you explained. “She’s got her dress raised up over her backside, and when they found her originally, she didn’t have her head; the guy who restored her sculpted it so that she was looking back at herself, admiring her body. There’s even a whole folktale about a pair of brothers who fell in love with two women because they had, like, beautifully fat asses and the town built a temple dedicated to Venus and her butt. The name literally translates to ‘Aphrodite of the Beautiful Buttocks’.” 

Zuko chuckled, raising the hand at your shoulder to cup your cheek. 

“See?” he said. “Men have worshiped thick, juicy butts since the dawn of time!” 

You laughed, your cheeks turning bright red as you buried your face in your hands, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his chest and further hide yourself. 

“Zuko, oh my god,” you breathed. “Promise me you’ll never say that out loud in a public setting ever again, please. You’re the fucking Firelord for Tui’s sake.” 

Zuko chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and hugging you tightly. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, still grinning. “Made you feel better, though.” 

You pulled away from him, affectionately punching him in the shoulder. He laughed, gasping at you in mock reproach before pressing a finger into your side, shocking you with a burst of static electricity; you cackled as you jumped away, sticking your tongue out at him. 

Zuko felt a rush of lightheadedness as he watched you, savoring the sound of your laugh and the radiance of your smile. It was then he realized he was in love with you. 

The next studio art class focused on model drawing - more specifically, a nude model. Zuko, having been raised in what was arguably the most reserved family in the world, was nervous about the idea of having to sit in front of a stranger for an hour, not only staring at their naked body, but immortalizing it in graphite on a page. 

He was mortified when he arrived at the class and found you sitting in the corner, wrapped in nothing but a silk dressing gown. 

As you climbed the platform you were meant to model on, your limbs rattled. You began to question your sanity, wondering what you thought you were doing offering to pose for the class, what kind of statement you thought it would make. You faced enough judgement from others about your weight with your clothes on - what the hell did you think they would do when you stood before them completely naked, every bump and crevice on full display for them to gawk at and criticize?

You glanced to the side at Professor Cong, seeking some sort of assurance or comfort from him; he, being the seasoned professional in his mid-sixties that he was, sat reclined in a chair in his Hawaiian shirt and flip flops, scrolling totally undisturbed through Pinterest on his phone. Honestly, you expected no less - his obtuse reactions in the face of the awkward and uncomfortable were basically a superpower. 

Taking a deep breath, you untied the knot holding your dressing gown together and let it fall, slipping gracefully from your shoulders and to the floor. You assumed a comfortable, classic pose, purposely facing yourself away from the man whose eyes you could feel searing into your back. 

Zuko’s breath hitched as he watched you undress. Though he only saw the full of your body for a moment, he was captivated. The swell of your breasts and curve of your stomach sent him into a dizzy spell, his mouth going dry and his skin heating with a noticeable flush. The rolls of your back, the ripples and divots along your thighs and rump, the stripes etched into your skin like the veins through a granite block, he drank in every part of you, moulding every detail with a focused hand as he sketched. He made note every scar and beauty mark. Once or twice, his mind drifted towards the salacious, imagining how your body would feel beneath his, soft and supple, releasing exalted breaths and enraptured moans, your nails dragging down his back as he drove you closer and closer to infinity… 

He inhaled sharply, snapping himself back to his work. You were Venus, Minerva, Diana - a goddess among men. He would gladly spend the rest of his life worshiping you. 

The moment the class ended, you gathered your dressing gown and made a beeline for the employee bathroom, getting back into your clothes as quickly as you could physically manage. The experience of nude modeling wasn’t nearly as harrowing as you expected it to be; you actually found it kind of freeing, being able to show yourself to a room full of other people and come out of it unscathed, in fact feeling quite beautiful - what had you nervous was the fact that you’d have to face Zuko immediately after the fact, seeing as you took the train home together after classes. His was the only opinion you cared about, and you wanted nothing more than to convince yourself that he hadn’t judged you as harshly as the self-hatred brainwashed into you made you believe. 

When you emerged from the bathroom, Professor Cong stood in front of one of the empty easels in the back, smirking at the drawing the student had left there. 

“Your boyfriend left you his piece,” he teased. 

You blushed, glaring at him as you approached and snatched the sketch from his hands. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you tried in vain to defend yourself. 

Professor Cong just chuckled. 

“I’ll believe that when I see evidence to the contrary,” he replied. 

You looked down at the paper in your hand and felt the breath drain from your lungs, your heart and stomach soaring into your throat. 

Zuko had drawn you in the image of Venus, your body draped in gossamer fabric and your head turned over your shoulder, eyes cast downward and lips slightly parted in a blissful, ethereal expression. In the corner of the page, he’d written “Aphrodite Kallipygos” in his sweeping handsome script, beneath which was his signature and the date. You’d never once seen yourself look so beautiful, let alone in the eyes of someone you loved so fiercely. 

You swallowed hard, rolling the drawing and securing it with a hair tie from your bag before exiting the shop through the back, knowing Zuko would be in the alley waiting for you. 

“Hey,” he greeted you when you appeared through the storeroom door. “Are you okay? You looked really ner-” 

You interrupted him by throwing your arms around his neck, slamming your lips into his in a desirous kiss. It took him less than a second to recover himself from the shock of the action and curl his arms around your waist, pressing his body against yours and lifting you every so slightly off the ground, kissing you just as hard as you kissed him. When you parted, you were breathless, your cheeks fiery red and your lips swollen the color of vermilion. Zuko smiled at you, one side of his mouth curling up slightly higher than the other. 

“So you liked it?” he asked. 

You laughed, nodding. 

“Zuko, I loved it,” you gasped. “I love you. I think I loved you as soon as I met you but that sort of thing is really cliche and stupid to admit.” 

Zuko chuckled, raising his hand to your cheek and kissing you again, his lips soft and tender this time around. You sighed happily into his mouth, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the feeling of his body sharing the same space as yours. 

“I think I loved you the moment I met you, too,” Zuko confessed, his nose grazing against yours as he pulled away. “But you’re right. That sort of thing is really stupid and cliche.” 

You giggled, tugging gently on the collar of his jacket. 

“Come on,” you prompted him. “Let’s go back to my apartment. You’ve already seen me naked; we need to make it even.” 

Zuko laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you out of the alley, his side pressed firmly against yours. 

“Fair,” he agreed. “But if you want me to pose for any art, you’ll have to sign some paperwork. I’m still Firelord, you know.” 

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[elsanna-shenanigans]

December 2020 voting feedback and reviews

With Elsanna Week done, and before we roll in with the next monthly prompt, it’s high time for our Authors to receive feedback on their stories.

Below the cut you will find: a run-down of the bonus restriction points, individual feedback for the stories from the voters and a link to a sheet containing detailed reviews of every December submission, courtesy of our Monthlies Reviewing Club.

BONUS RESTRICTIONS

Points were being awarded for completing two different criteria: including some sort of fire and using the phrase ‘I will keep you warm’ in dialogue (for either Elsa or Anna, ‘I’ll’ variant acceptable as well.) Each bonus restriction was worth one point for a total of up to two extra points.

Stories awarded 2 extra points: I Caught Fire (in your eyes), The First Element, Scintillating, Raynaud's, Cinnamon, Candles and Blankets, Shadow Dancing, The Queen Of Fire And Her Sister's Warmth, You Are Not Dating, Karen's yard, No Longer Here, Never shall you ask me, Even if it kills me...

Stories awarded 1 extra point: Death was the warmest, Rising sun, Are You Feeling It Now?, Waves, The Pleasure Of Warmth, Strange New Worlds, Familiar Warmth

Stories not awarded extra points: The Christmas Spirit

The extra points have already been included on the results graph.

FEEDBACK AND REVIEWS

This month’s roster of 13 reviewers included: @dont-tell-them-its-me, @the-magic-one-is-you, Enrico Dandolo, @fruipit, Soliloquy, Moriturus, ObservantMagic, OverlordPenguin, @adoraslastbraincell, SapphicaWrites, Space Alien, Spicy Toast, VolksParadox.

Additionally, Anam of Arendelle reviewed the first fics, but had to drop out due to personal issues.

The reviews can be read here.

Individual stories feedback from the voters: f = favorite vote, k = kudos vote

The Christmas Spirit Style 2 (2k) Fits the prompt best 2 (1f 1k) Characterisation 2 (2k) Dialogues 2 (1f 1k) Tone 1 (1f) Plot 3 (3k) The story's Elsa 2 (2k) The story's Anna 2 (2k) Setting/Universe 1 (1k)

Death was the warmest Style 1 (1f) Characterisation 3 (1f 2k) Dialogues 2 (1f 1k) Tone 1 (1k) I like the flow of the story 1 (1f) Plot 1 (1f) The story's Elsa 1 (1f) Setting/Universe 1 (1f)

I Caught Fire (in your eyes) Style 5 (1f 4k) Fits the prompt best 1 (1k) Characterisation 9 (2f 7k) Dialogues 6 (2f 4k) Tone 4 (1f 3k) I like the flow of the story 5 (3f 2k) Plot 12 (4f 8k) Grammar 1 (1f) The story's Elsa 4 (2f 2k) The story's Anna 7 (3f 4k) Setting/Universe 6 (2f 4k) Total other: 3 Other (1f): - I'm such a sucker for cheesy Christmas rom-com shit Other (2k): - this felt like a tv xmas movie - easy read, good plot, very interesting take on Anna

Rising sun Style 4 (2f 2k) Fits the prompt best 1 (1f) Characterisation 7 (2f 5k) Dialogues 4 (2f 2k) Tone 8 (2f 6k) I like the flow of the story 5 (2f 3k) Plot 6 (2f 4k) Grammar 3 (2f 1k) The story's Elsa 2 (1f 1k) The story's Anna 3 (1f 2k) Setting/Universe 3 (2f 1k) Other (1k): - Oow my heart.

The First Element Style 1 (1k) Characterisation 2 (2k) Dialogues 2 (2k) Tone 2 (2k) Plot 2 (2k) The story's Elsa 1 (1k) The story's Anna 1 (1k) Setting/Universe 2 (2k) Other (1k): - different but interesting

Are You Feeling It Now? Fits the prompt best 1 (1f) Characterisation 3 (1f 2k) Dialogues 2 (1f 1k) Tone 1 (1k) I like the flow of the story 1 (1f) Plot 1 (1f) The story's Elsa 1 (1f) Other (1k): - i really liked some of the language used and the ideas expressed

Scintillating Style 16 (9f 7k) Fits the prompt best 7 (4f 3k) Characterisation 12 (7f 5k) Dialogues 10 (6f 4k) Tone 8 (7f 1k) I like the flow of the story 12 (6f 6k) Plot 13 (8f 5k) Grammar 6 (4f 2k) The story's Elsa 10 (5f 5k) The story's Anna 8 (4f 4k) Setting/Universe 7 (6f 1k) Total other: 6 Other (4f): - Amazing Smut, wish there were more, it just got to the good part! - *bruh* the warm in this is real hot - literally all the reasons that i posted in my review, plus some - warm and cozy, amazing fit for the prompt with a very tasteful erotica scene Other (2k): - really nice classy smut - Great vibes, great talk, great smut

Raynaud's Style 3 (1f 2k) Characterisation 1 (1f) Dialogues 1 (1f) Tone 2 (1f 1k) I like the flow of the story 3 (1f 2k) Plot 1 (1f) Grammar 2 (1f 1k) The story's Elsa 1 (1f) The story's Anna 1 (1f) Setting/Universe 1 (1f) Total other: 2 Other (1f): - Melted brain and punched gut. Elsa playing chess vs penguin stuffed toy. Other (1k): - It's all in the pretry dude. It's not just the story. It's like the author is making music without sound.

Waves Style 1 (1k) Characterisation 2 (1f 1k) Dialogues 2 (1f 1k) Tone 2 (1f 1k) I like the flow of the story 2 (1f 1k) Plot 1 (1k) The story's Elsa 1 (1k) The story's Anna 1 (1k) Setting/Universe 1 (1f)

Cinnamon Style 15 (6f 9k) Fits the prompt best 15 (4f 11k) Characterisation 16 (5f 11k) Dialogues 12 (5f 7k) Tone 10 (3f 7k) I like the flow of the story 7 (3f 4k) Plot 10 (4f 6k) Grammar 8 (2f 6k) The story's Elsa 8 (4f 4k) The story's Anna 8 (3f 5k) Setting/Universe 5 (1f 4k) Total other: 4 Other (2f): - I'm a sucker for big sister Elsa looking after Anna yes i am biased - OMG this was absolutely adorable! Other (2k): - Warm from start to finish - i like this take on Anna

Candles and Blankets Style 7 (1f 6k) Fits the prompt best 4 (2f 2k) Characterisation 9 (2f 7k) Dialogues 4 (4k) Tone 6 (2f 4k) I like the flow of the story 6 (2f 4k) Plot 10 (3f 7k) Grammar 2 (2k) The story's Elsa 5 (1f 4k) The story's Anna 5 (1f 4k) Setting/Universe 7 (1f 6k)

Shadow Dancing Style 3 (1f 2k) Fits the prompt best 1 (1k) Characterisation 2 (1f 1k) Dialogues 2 (1f 1k) Tone 4 (1f 3k) I like the flow of the story 1 (1k) Plot 11 (7f 4k) The story's Elsa 4 (2f 2k) The story's Anna 3 (2f 1k) Setting/Universe 7 (4f 3k)

The Queen Of Fire And Her Sister's Warmth Characterisation 1 (1k) Tone 2 (2k) Plot 2 (2k) The story's Elsa 1 (1k) The story's Anna 1 (1k) Setting/Universe 1 (1k) Other (1k): - This felt like an idea I would have and never end up writing so thanks for writing it for me lol it was great

You Are Not Dating Style 8 (3f 5k) Characterisation 10 (3f 7k) Dialogues 8 (2f 6k) Tone 7 (2f 5k) I like the flow of the story 7 (1f 6k) Plot 13 (3f 10k) Grammar 4 (1f 3k) The story's Elsa 7 (3f 4k) The story's Anna 6 (3f 3k) Setting/Universe 8 (5f 3k) Total other: 2 Other (1f): - This was just like a feel good fic for me, I’m so happy for these dorks Other (1k): - Fun & funny.

The Pleasure Of Warmth Tone 2 (2k) I like the flow of the story 1 (1k) Plot 1 (1k) The story's Elsa 1 (1k) The story's Anna 1 (1k)

Karen's yard Style 6 (2f 4k) Characterisation 5 (2f 3k) Dialogues 7 (3f 4k) Tone 5 (2f 3k) I like the flow of the story 5 (4f 1k) Plot 2 (1f 1k) The story's Elsa 2 (1f 1k) The story's Anna 3 (2f 1k) Setting/Universe 4 (1f 3k) Total other: 5 Other (2f): - Such a fun read - this felt like a sketch Other (3k): - LOVED the humor. LOVED the style. Loved it. - ughughughu great - funny without being crass or cringy, good job

No Longer Here Style 4 (2f 2k) Fits the prompt best 1 (1f) Characterisation 3 (2f 1k) Dialogues 4 (2f 2k) Tone 8 (3f 5k) I like the flow of the story 5 (2f 3k) Plot 9 (2f 7k) Grammar 1 (1k) The story's Elsa 2 (1f 1k) The story's Anna 3 (1f 2k) Setting/Universe 3 (1f 2k) Other (1k): - Very fuzzy.

Strange New Worlds, Familiar Warmth Style 1 (1k) Characterisation 1 (1k) Plot 2 (2k) The story's Anna 1 (1k) Setting/Universe 1 (1k)

Never shall you ask me Style 8 (4f 4k) Fits the prompt best 1 (1f) Characterisation 3 (1f 2k) Dialogues 6 (2f 4k) Tone 7 (4f 3k) I like the flow of the story 4 (3f 1k) Plot 6 (4f 2k) Grammar 2 (2f) The story's Elsa 2 (1f 1k) The story's Anna 2 (1f 1k) Setting/Universe 9 (4f 5k) Other (1f): - just an amazing story

Even if it kills me... Style 2 (1f 1k) Fits the prompt best 1 (1f) Characterisation 3 (3k) Dialogues 1 (1k) Tone 1 (1k) I like the flow of the story 1 (1k) Plot 4 (1f 3k) Grammar 1 (1k) The story's Elsa 1 (1k) The story's Anna 1 (1k) Setting/Universe 2 (2k) Other (1k): - Interesting idea.