#my cleverly named art tag

[tardytothepardy]

🍊✨

I wanted to draw her (transparent version and reference under the cut)

[lapinposts]

been reading ch 11 of the contract and this came into my mind /j

[bvannn]

Weekly Update March 15, 2024

Something is wrong with me today, but I’m not sure what. I’m keeping an eye on what I suspect it may be, although it’s more likely a sleep related problem. I’ll try to get to bed early tonight. I did a good amount of artstuffs this week, though.

First real significant thing I did this week was record a bunch of melodies for songs and covers. I’m getting somewhere on the main cover I’m working on, and I’ll be tweaking the vocals hopefully soon and possibly posting a WIP once they’re acceptable. I think I will need to chop up the wav file and add effects only to specific notes to add more bite, since vocaloid seems to not really be able to do that. That’s fine I’m a smart person sometimes I can get around it.

Other instrumental songs are going well too. Made good progress on an old Zelda medley/cover I’d been working on, and another instrumental character theme has a good outline. I’ll try to really push for them soon, and once I get the Zelda one done I’ll poke at mechanical license websites to see how bad pricing is and see what songs are even available. The vocal cover should be, since it’s from a mainstream band, but I don’t know if video game music will be available, we’ll see. I might also go in for more recording tonight to see if a bit of movement/exercise would help whatever physical problem I’m having today.

I also have been having awful insomnia, which I’ve been using the time to try chipping away at lyrics for the two ‘vocal’ songs I’m done with otherwise. I’m sitting down and doing one section per session, so with any luck I can get those done soon too.

Drawings are also going well enough. I’m getting weirdly self conscious about my art, since I haven’t really seen a lot of growth in interaction on any of the sites I post to except here. Thank you guys for sticking with me! I’m trying to pull myself together to do more small drawings, so you guys have a bit more to look at for now, although I also have been chipping away at that comic still. I need to write/thumbnail 2 more scenes and edit, then I should be good to make actual pages.

Aside from the initial pitch comic I’m thinking about the outlines for the rest of the stories a bit more now. I get anxious when I get insomnia so I’ve been trying to just write in general, so I can at least be productive with the time, and that’s included lyric stuff, TTRPG stuff, and a lot of OC story stuff. I’m always afraid to lore dump on here unless I’m explicitly asked, for fear of coming off as annoying, but all things considered people seem to like the posts that include lore a bit better so my fear is probably unfounded. Perhaps I will do more on my own, but if you ever really want lore never be afraid to send an ask. I also tag the names of my reoccurring OCs so people can search my blog for them if they want to see more of any specific character.

Also speaking of writing, am still chipping away at an Anime Campaign/Epithet TTRPG game. I put up a poll on the epithet subreddit, which was a cleverly disguised way to gauge interest in an epithet pre-written campaign, since people are more likely to interact with a poll than to upvote a post. There were fourty something people who responded, almost unanimously positively. I might throw another one up there to see how many would actually be interested in DMing, but if feedback comes back positive I might turn what I’ve been working on into a prewritten module for others to run as well. That’d also be a fun writing project, which will be nice because writing is lower effort and lets me rest more, and rest is what I think I need right now.

Good amount of stuff got done this week despite me being in generally poor health. I will try to get better. Focusing on more writing stuff with smaller drawings like headshots will try to be the focus for next week.

[kobithedragon]

SO, @cyle , I've actually started using Twitter properly for the first time ever (not cuz Elon, I just hit the daily like limit here too often) and honestly I understand the hate but at the same time I love the tabs each user gets on their own Twitter page.

Specifically, replies.

I love how twitter replies work, I think it's really cleverly designed.

Quote tweet is essentially reblog - it's literally the same thing but stripped down: without showing the via, without being able to see all of the previous comments. So of course it's not feasible for conversations like how tumblr's reblog is, and in general retweet is just awful for content curation, but anyway that's besides the point.

Reply allows for nicely layed out conversations. It fixes the issue of recursive indentation to show consecutive replies to a specific comment, it fixes just tagging the person you're replying to and hoping they know which comment you're replying to, it fixes major platforms (Instagram, tiktok, YouTube, Facebook)'s unhelpful hybrid of both. Tapping through reply tweets, retweeting them, replying to them, it all just makes sense, to me anyway.

Now, if we somehow display reblogs as if they were reply tweets, we'd be implementing replies in the tumblr way! We'd be introducing reblog replies - or something like that, for the lack of a better name.

Reblogging as a user experience would remain exactly the same. The user would be presented with the familiar Tumblr "reblog chain" post, and can reblog it normally, either adding their own text/media or not , along with their reblog.

BUT, the reblogs tab for each post would act like a twitter replies interface - where the user is presented with the most reblogged (with text/media) or liked reblogs (with text/media) first, and then expanding each reblog to reveal more and more reblogs that act in exactly the same way as the one described.

Tumblr and Twitter are vastly different platforms. I love the current way reblogging for conversation works. I think it's just as unique and brilliant as Twitter replies. And it reflects the vastly different nature of the way tumblr is supposed to be used compared to twitter. But , as we all know, Elon happened, and even Duolingo tweeted about returning to tumblr, so there is a very high interest right now in making tumblr at least a bit more like Twitter, so as to accelerate the adoption of ex tweeters. So that they feel a bit more at home here, feature wise, whilst knowing the platform they're on is in safe hands (big up Matt🙏)

I'll add that it is smart to take features from rising platforms such as tiktok as opposed to declining platforms such as Twitter. And Tumblr is way more art & media focused than Twitter - so seems more attractive to the likes of Instagram and tiktok and Pinterest users when Twitter doesn't as much.

But even Matt himself said in an interview, Tumblr could easily be a bigger and better twitter than Twitter is! It already is better in many ways, and bigger because it FEELS bigger because old posts recirculate, nothing has a expiry date!! But yeah it just needs something for the ex tweeters. And me. I love reply tweets٩(♡ε♡ )۶

Those are just my thoughts on one aspect in particular. I hope this can be useful to consider. All the best!! Posting here as opposed to feedback support request because it may need some debating amongst the tumblr users.

[brown-little-robin]

tagged by @dimsilver: thanks!

Rules: answer the questions and tag some friends at the bottom! (I'm judiciously removing and/or editing some of the questions here, forgive me.)

1. Are you named after anyone?

My parents named me the feminine form of a Biblical name. I was NOT named after my uncle, although he has the masculine form and firmly believes that I was named after him.

2. When was the last time you cried?

During winter break, I think? Just briefly, out of frustration with myself. It was cathartic.

3. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Less than I used to. I used to use it as a defense, but a couple years ago I got burned out on anger, I think, and I'm less likely to twist my words to be sharply clever now. I still use words cleverly when clever things occur to me, but my specific angry sarcasm is asleep now, thank goodness.

4. What’s your eye color?

Warm dark brown. Turns a rich caramel-gold with light directly on it.

5. Your go-to pizza or coffee shop order?

Cheese pizza! Hot chocolate! Lemon poppy-seed muffin!

6. Any special talents?

Special? Does having synesthesia count? I have chromesthesia (see sounds), grapheme-color (letters are associated with colors), ordinal linguistic personification (numbers have personalities), and spatial sequence synesthesia (I perceive days and times as having physical locations around my body). It's more a brain condition than a talent, but I think it's special.

7. Where were you born?

Illinois, which is odd because I've lived the rest of my life in Iowa.

8. What are your hobbies?

Sewing stuffed mice, writing fanfiction and original stories, and sculpting ceramic animals!

9. Have you any pets?

Not right now, but someday I'd like to have a hamster again. Or a cat or dog if I could reasonably handle the responsibility!

10. What sports do you play/have you played?

None *pensiverat* homeschool PE consisted of walking or biking the bike trails with my dad and brother. I have taken a martial arts class and enjoyed it very much, though! If I get a job where I don't get exercise, I might get into Tae Kwon Do or something similar.

11. How tall are you?

5’3. I'm not super small—I can reach plates in tall cupboards if I stand on tiptoe—but definitely could be categorized as short.

12. Favorite subject in school?

English! My major! :) followed by ceramics.

13. Dream job?

Fiction writer (room and board in rural cottage provided by filthy-rich patron) and co-owner of a thriving ceramics shop (love the ceramics, don't love entrepreneurship duties). But in the real world? Librarian. Oh, how I drool over librarian jobs. Especially @isfjmel-phleg's job (Interlibrary Loan / Cataloguing Assistant). I love libraries, I love sorting things, I love filling out forms, I love digitizing and working with recalcitrant technology. Working at a public library would be interesting and challenging; working at a university library might be better for my little introverted soul.

Tagging: here’s a few (no pressure <3) - but please consider yourself tagged if you want! @swinging-stars-from-satellites @fortes-fortuna-iogurtum @lovesodeepandwideandwell @isfjmel-phleg @lady-stormbraver @rainofarrows @fruitbatvampiresociety @thatfriendlyanon @bluesidedown @called-kept

(I have no idea why my tags are Like That. this happens to me sometimes)

[dalazygamerneko]

YAASSS @the-forgotten-sunfish thank you fwen for tagging me! 😽💜

1. Are you named after anyone?

Yes. Loooool.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Last night...I was reading a merthur fic lol

3. Do you have kids?

Yes. Multiple. In fanfiction only tho lmaoooooo.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

Ho ho ho! I've heard sarcasm is used when the mouth finds pleasure in being cleverly witty, words just continously drip from smirking lips.

I do not sarcasm. Ho ho ho!

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Uh...their eyes?? Yeah their eyes.

6. What's your eye color?

Why? You want steal my magnificent shade of sinfully dark chocolate eyes?

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Smutty endings bish lmaoooooo

8. Any special talents?

None whatsoever. I've come to accept my talentless mediocrity. 😆👍

9. Where were you born?

Earth. Lmaoooooo ❤

10. What are your hobbies?

Drawing, singing, imagining merthur in raunchy scenes, writing, eating, dreaming of merthur making love, sleeping, gaming, writing smut about merthur...LMAOOOOOO XD

11. Have you any pets?

I don't know. Do stray cats count??

12. What sports do you play/have played?

None. I'm a lazy ho...ho ho ho!

13. How tall are you?

Average height. Actually I don't know lol

14. Favorite subject in school?

Twas long ago. Music and Performing Arts. Ah yes. The only subjects I was decent in lol

15. Dream job?

Sleeping. Lol jk uh...drawing cats? Heck if I know lol

Tagging the homies aka anyone who wants to do this. Yep, whoever reads this I'm tagging you. Yep...YOU'RE IT! LOL!

[virgilsjourney]

Summary: On autumn & associations.

Tags: Ficlet, College/Uni AU, POV Logan, Character Study, Slice of Life

Content warning: Past unhappy home life (briefly implied)

Relationship focus: Friendship/found family for all; Logan/Patton (pre-relationship); Roman/Virgil (pre-relationship)

_____________

It’s while he’s walking home from the library that Logan notices it: the leaves are beginning to crunch underfoot. He doesn’t realise he’s slowed his pace until he comes to a complete standstill, and then he blinks and taps his foot on the pathway experimentally. The fallen leaves are curled, dry like paper; when he glances down, the sight of amber and brown surprises him, somewhat—he usually tracks the changing of the seasons with clockwork precision, but now autumn seems to have snuck up on him all at once. It’s an odd feeling, thinking back to the silent dread that would normally accompany this time of year: the nights drawing in and getting colder, leaving him unable to spend the evenings outside (away from home, blessedly alone). Something twists in his chest. Sadness, even remembered sadness, is hard to shake.

As he nears the tower block, he can see that the light is on in their apartment, a golden glow cast from the kitchen-cum-living room on the fourth floor. There’s the silhouette of someone in the window; Logan recognises it as being Virgil when the figure gives him a customary half-salute-half-wave.

Logan waves back.

When he opens the front door, it’s to be immediately greeted by the sound of chatter drifting from the kitchen. He smiles when he hears his name—“Yeah, well, Logan can be the judge,”—and calls out a greeting before following the voices into the room.

“Finally,” Roman says. His legs are dangling over the arm of the couch; he’s wielding a script that has multiple page corners folded over, sticky notes galore. With his free hand, he gestures expansively to the window and says, “Cast your eye over our toil.”  

Virgil, still by the window, scoffs. “You mean my toil.”

He presses something against the glass and as Logan gets closer, it’s clear why Virgil had been standing there to begin with: the window has been decorated with bats made from cleverly folded pieces of black card.

Logan settles on the couch, leaning on his knees; he shoves Roman’s legs out of the way as he does so, ducking to avoid Roman hitting him in the head with the script—a well-oiled routine. As he asks, “So, what am I judging?”, he peers over the top of the couch and finds Patton sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinning up at him.

“The bats,” Patton answers. Pieces of Halloween themed scotch tape cling to his fingertips, rows of smiling pumpkins—a little strip adorns the bridge of his glasses which, Logan thinks with affection, could equally be an accident or intentional.

“You need to be more specific, Pat,” Virgil says. “It’s between my bats,”—he nods at the upper half of the window—“and Roman’s.” He points further down, where a row of what looks like black amorphous blobs are stuck, to varying degrees of success.

“Ah.” Logan fights a smirk. “Well, it’s a close call.”

This time, he does not avoid Roman’s signature ‘script to the head’ move. “Rude! Mine have character.”

“Yeah, sure they do,” Virgil replies, “they’re works of art; Van Gogh’s got nothing on them.” It’s probably supposed to sound like biting sarcasm, but when directed at Roman, it’s like he can’t stop the fondness from colouring every word.  

“Judging matters aside, you are aware that it’s not Halloween yet?” Logan asks.

Virgil gives him a deeply unimpressed look.  

“If you value your life,” Roman says in a ridiculous stage whisper, “you’ll drop that question.”

“Too late,” Virgil says; and he gives an evil looking smile, all teeth, which might have been intimidating, once, if Logan didn’t know that the more terrifying Virgil acts, the greater he values the friendship.

Patton shuffles over to the window and places the rest of the tape on Roman’s ‘bats’ before standing up to point at Virgil, mock-stern. “No outright spookiness until Halloween.”

“Damn,” Virgil says with a shrug. “I’ll have to push back the crypt rental.”

“Surprisingly not the worst thing you’ve said today,” Roman says.  

“And on that note,” Logan says, “I’m leaving.”

He doesn’t, of course—he just goes to the kitchen area, leaning over the counter awkwardly to check that the toaster is plugged in.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Patton says.

Logan turns. Patton’s at the sink, filling up a glass of water.

“Making… toast?” Logan says, confusion growing. “It’s—I was late coming back, so I don’t really have time to do a full—”

“Yeah, but…” Patton sets down the glass then opens the fridge. He brings out a bowl covered in plastic wrap; there’s one of Roman’s sticky notes on top, with Logan’s name written in Patton’s hand. There’s also an entirely inaccurate doodle of Saturn. “I saved you some pasta,” Patton says.

“Oh.” Logan takes the bowl. “Um, thank you.” He almost leaves it there, but a little apologetic impulse creeps up. “You didn’t have to—”

“But I did,” Patton finishes. He winks, and it seems more understanding than teasing.

All of a sudden, Logan decides that he doesn’t want to point out that piece of tape still stuck to Patton’s glasses: it suits him, he thinks.

Logan heats the pasta up—underneath the hum of the microwave, he can hear Roman and Virgil still bickering playfully; when he glances over, he watches Patton begin to add his own attempt at bats to the window.

Logan turns back to the microwave, smiling.

The nights might be drawing in, but finds he no longer minds it quite as much.

[montygreen]

ofmd tag meme

i was tagged by the lovely @blackbeardz thank you so much, vici!!

no pressure tags: @izzyxhands, @ripkarl, @rainbowbonnet, @transtlanticism and anyone else who wants to do this!

your name:  leila

how many sugars: in my tea? zero

characters you relate to most: i’ve honestly never thought about it?? maybe oluwande or frenchie

otp? — stede and ed (but jim and oluwande are VERY close second)

notp? — any ships involving calico jack are a big, big no for me

if you were a pirate captain, what would you call your ship? — i do not have even a single clue?? my brain is failing me on clever and creative ideas today

what position would you have on a pirate ship (bosun, captain, powder monkey, master gunner, surgeon etc.) — given i’m a physiology major, i guess that defaults me to surgeon, doesn’t it?

favourite ofmd fics or arts? — god this fandom is so full of just... the most insanely talented people, but some of my favourite ofmd fics are hiring a mouse management officer (aka the fic where the crew of the revenge get a cat), weather the storm (a REALLY fucking good time loop fic), and perfect pretenders (it’s fake dating? how else can i sell this one to you, i mean COME ON)

biggest wish for season 2? — obviously for stede and ed to eventually talk things through, oh and i think established jim and oluwande would be ADORABLE

favourite quote: stealing vici’s choice of quote here because also my favourite, it’s so fucking funny (especially to me a person in science) “science tells us all the useful organs are on the right part of the body, so i cleverly took the sword on the left” / “is that right? i mean, the--the liver.” / “the liver? we don’t even know what that thing does.”

favourite minor character: frenchie, if he counts as minor, but if he doesn’t, probably spanish jackie

favourite episode: the best revenge is dressing well

has ofmd caused you to re-evaluate your gender: nope

favourite cast/creator quote or interview: that david jenkin’s quote about stede and ed knowing of each other and then meeting and just having chemistry where he goes on to discuss queerbaiting and feeling scene in a story... yeah... yeah that one

do cats have knives in their feet? — oh, absolutely, but i adore them with my entire heart

song that makes you think of stede bonnet: i don’t have a serious answer for this, but i saw an edit someone made of stede to “i have friends” from cxg and it was SO FUNNY, it lives in my head rent free, so that

song that makes you think of ed teach: doomsday by lizzy mcalpine

song that makes you think of izzy hands: .....i’m just a girl in love from crazy ex girlfriend

[archenemyintellegence]

(26/10/2022) HKMOA - "The Road to the BAROQUE"

Today I visited the art museum to watch an exhibition on baroque art. This is the second time I went to this exhibition because I lost the booklet I got from the first time. Due to having stuff to do, me and my friend only had around 30 minutes to enjoy the exhibition. It is not a big problem for me tho because I've seen the paintings before. I used this chance to take photos of some of the drawings that I like in the exhibition.

Here is the booklet of the exhibition. Besides of this, I got a pin from HKMOA too! Nice.

Pierre-Jacques Volaire, Eruption of Mount Vesuvius, 1777

This painting is the first one that caught my attention in the exhibition. The balance of colors and lighting are just amazing! The contrast between the orange and blue are so natural yet so bold. There are so many light sources, like the volcano and the moon, but still I can see that the scene is at nighttime, as huge proportions of the scene is shrouded by the shadow. However, the light sources are so cleverly places so every details can be seen clearly, even for the people and stuff at the bottom shadowy corners can be seen as their contour are highlighted by different light source.

Mattia Preti, Saint John the Baptist, 1653

This painting is surrounded by bunch of nude paintings. At the first time I went to the exhibition with another friend, we were talking about why everyone look so hot in baroque paintings. Even this old man looks hot af lmao. From the info in the exhibition, I guess it’s because they believe beauty=righteous that time. So the main characters in the paintings, which are often the good guys/woman, look so unrealistically hot.

Francesco Guarino, Saint Agatha, ca. 1640

This, is my favorite painting in the exhibition. Just speechless. The torture she’s been thru was horrendous but it is not the focus here, as you can see it’s only hinted by some blood stains, and her pale skin. The torture is not stopping her from radiating beauty and confidence. No sorrow or pain in her face as she believes in her faith and decision. Just… beautiful. (Reminds me of Viktor lmao)

Matthias Stomer, Supper at Emmaus, ca. 1632-1635

The dramatic yet cozy lighting makes me feel like I am sitting with these guys. The expressions on these guys faces are amazing. They be like, “WHAT? THAT MF IS JESUS? WE HAVING A MEAL WITH J E S U S?¿” (Tbh I forgot the context of this drawing and I didn’t have time to read it this time as it’s kinda crowded)

Giuseppe Recco, Still Life with Fish and Basket of Seafood, 1655 ca. - 1670 ca.)

I should really take a picture of the name tag next time I go to the museum. I have no idea if the date and the translation (I google translated it lol) are correct. The Italian name of the painting is “Natura morta con pesci e cesto di frutti di mare”. If you want to do more research you can find the painting with this name. Anyway, let’s go back to the drawing. Among all the still life shown in the exhibition, this one is my favorite. The colors of the fish are brilliant. I can look at the scales all day if there’s no one in the museum. The white belly on the red fish in the centre… it’s so wonderful. The use of more saturated yellow to highlight on a less saturated colder color, then the purple in the shading. Fish must’ve eaten the rainbow! Now I’m glad that the museum is crowded because I may cry if I have enough time to truly appreciate the amazing colors of the fish. Besides of how beautiful the fish looks, I can feel the fishy smell from the painting, which is unbelievable? Must be the reddish haze and lighting that introduced the fishiness to my brain!

Giuseppe Recco, Still Life with Festoons of Flowers and Game, 1671

Here is another still life that I enjoy. I like this painting because of how well-planned the arrangement of stuff is. The line of flowers is the thing that grab you attention at first as the flowers are im vibrant colors, which pops out from the less saturated colors of everything else in the painting. You want to look closer to see how beautiful they look and then your sight are being guided by them. First, I discovered the old hunter chilling in the shadow. Then, the bust and the pile of game in the corner. After that, I discovered the horn and being guided by the horn to look at the sky and trees at the background. Then, I saw some dude at the back and then being attracted by the flowers again. But this time, I have the attention to admire the trolley that seems to made of some high quality wood. Thanks to the big brain arrangement, I watched the whole drawing in detail, one by one, even when there’re so many details going on. However, there’s at least one detail I missed, which was the dog on top of the game. I know there’s a dog somewhere in the painting because I read the introduction but I just unable to find it the first time I went to this exhibition. I finally found the dog the second time, thanks to my friend, who pointed out the dog immediately after I told them how brilliant the arrangement is. She is built different I guess.

In conclusion, the exhibition is an amazing and inspiring experience. It’s the best 10 dollars I’ve every spent. It made me realize the photo is nothing compared to the real thing. I can never forget the shock when I saw paintings emitting rainbow glow in front of my eyes. They look so magical. It told me that I should really go to watch more exhibition to learn more about the magic. There’s no reason not to do that since covid is gone (not completely but at least the museums are opening). Also, I am an ART STUDENT TOO? I mean my course is kind of shitty, which I seldom have chance to draw stuff and explore art but THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE? NO WAY THIS IS THE FIRST EXHIBITION IVE SEEN IN THESE YEARS? I have worked so hard on my drawing grind all by myself in these two years so there’s no excuse to not do the exhibition grind too. From now on, I will be visiting the museums more often, and I hope one day I can see Dali’s work in person?? I really need to be moistened by Dali’s art. At last, I hope you enjoy this not very professional and informative report of the exhibition. I will keep recording my visits to exhibitions in the future. If you don’t enjoy it, I will try my best to make this more enjoyable by actually knowing more about art haha.

[rissi-chan]

WIP folder game

RULES: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs

Thank you @elspethdekarios for the tag!

I used to pride myself on titling things all cleverly - but that hasn't been the case for the past several years now, so here are some vague descriptions of what I'm currently working on!

I actually posted my art WIPs last week <3

Art:

CoS Girls ready (or at least dressed) for Dinner with Strahd <3

CoS Girls (and the animal companions of the party) Slumber Party!

CoS OCs + their LIs

[NSFW] BG3 Gale x Neri "Get Fucked [On]. Mystra and Bhaal"

BG3 Gale Meets CoS Neri

Fics:

Part 3 of Sorcerer's [Sexy] Studies (on ao3)

Exploration of the Self [and the other] (on ao3)

I tag anyone with WIPs that wants to share their projects and hold themselves accountable! <3

[bunnyandthejets]

15 Questions!

I was tagged by my beloved @not-nervous-jester 💜 thanks!

1. Are you named after anyone?

I think my middle name is from a distant great grandma or something and I absolutely despise it

2. When was the last time you cried?

Yesterday at the doctors I got super overwhelmed and couldn’t stop for some reason so that was really cool and sexy of me 🙃

3. Do you have kids?

barf no

4. Do you use sarcasm?

not to sound like a bumper sticker but I like to think I’m pretty fluent

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

If their vibes are good or bad usually. Body language is also pretty important I think.

6. What’s your eye colour?

Grey-blue sorry I’m boring D:

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both! I enjoy scary movies but not the type that’s just torture porn. Gotta have a little more than that for me. Do appreciate the art in a good gore scene though. and the world could always use more happy endings, because to quote the prince from The Last Unicorn “In real life there are no happy endings, because nothing ends.”

8. Any special talents?

I can flatten my hands on the floor without bending my knees, and I can fall asleep pretty much fucking anywhere (except cars or planes, bc that would make things too easy)

9. Where were you born?

A hospital :^)

10. What are your hobbies?

Digital art, watching movies, video games, collecting dolls. I don’t go outside.

11. Do you have any pets?

I have 2 half Siamese cats that are brother and sister. they’re very cleverly named. Artemis is brown and tan chunk of a little man, whose only thoughts besides elevator music are about snugs and food. Luna is white and grey and her hobbies include sitting in the highest places she can get (or on me), hitting her brother, and screaming. I have pics of both of them on my birdapp if you wanna see them my handle is bottled_angel

12. What sports do you play/have played?

I did gymnastics when I was a wee bun, but after that nothing. I don’t have an athletic bone in my body.

13. How tall are you?

5’2”- Doctors told me for years I was 5’3” and a quarter (that’s what it says on my driver’s license) but apparently they were just humoring me or something idk

14. Favourite subject in school?

None! Fuck school. (Okay when I was in 11th grade I took Astronomy for a semester and that was pretty cool)

15. Dream job?

I want to go to school and get my degree in mortuary science so I can become a licensed mortician. I’m not sure when that will happen though, unfortunately, I’m not ready to do it yet.

Tagging anybody who wants to do it because I’m lazy ✌️ love u

[bookofmirth]

You Are My Almanac - elucien 1

Summary

Elain Archeron finds herself stuck in an engagement that her mother had arranged before her untimely death. Elain is determined not to like the man and to create a solitary life leading her household the way she wants, but her fiancé has an annoying habit of making her like him.

AO3 | tags: arranged marriage, Regency-era inspired but not faithful. These two are wary of one another and I got a bit snarky when I wrote this first chapter because I want it to be fun, not super angsty. Oh also the title is from the song almanac by Purity Ring.

Elain had perfected the art of staring out a carriage window without being jostled around like a dice in one of the cups her sisters used when playing one of the games played with guests after dinner. Their mother disapproved of the games, of course, but that hardly mattered when all it took to please her was an appropriately humble “yes ma’am” whenever it was required. And it took Elain quite an effort to remain upright and steady in the carriage as it traveled over the country roads, but it was suffer a sore back and look lovely as possible for her current rendezvous, or suffer the mortification. Elain would much rather maintain appearances. At least for now.

Because now, Elain could say “yes ma’am” or “please, maman”, until she was blue in the face, and it would be for nothing, since her dear mother had upheld her promise to see Elain engaged to a fine, wellbred young man with a suitable income, but then she had died before bothering to see what Elain thought of the man, or even introducing them.

For Elain was on her way to meet her betrothed. The word rolled off the tongue, betrothed, or it had, when she was still a child and had imagined that she would have any choice in the matter. When the word still held a sense of romance and promise.

And Elain Archeron had found herself betrothed, that was certain, though it had happened quite without any influence or input from herself.

She had a vague idea of the kind of man she wanted to marry. Kind and considerate, tall, a handsome rider, with extensive property and an income that would support her in at least the style to which she was currently accustomed, if not better. Elain was firm in her belief that she wasn’t asking for much. If he were political minded then that might suit her even better, as she had always imagined hosting important people at her dinners, not just the Beddors from down the lane.

Who were the Vanserras, anyway? Elain had never heard of the name, had never seen it when she flipped through the pages of Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, not to mention that the family lived very far away!

Or that might have been a complaint Elain would have lodged to her sisters, had they not also found themselves engaged and then married to men who lived in that part of the country which Elain had heard described as “lovely, in the right light and at certain times of year”.

Elain’s knowledge of the rest of the country was limited, to be sure. But she didn’t much like the idea of being thrust into a new home, with a man she didn’t know, in a town where she hadn’t even established a proper seamstress. It was important to find one who wouldn’t give her that look when she came in with tattered, muddy skirt hems. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her future husband scolding her about the zeal with which she engaged in her hobbies.

When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Elain realized that Feyre had been talking for the last minute or so and Elain hadn’t caught a word. She looked at her sister, younger and yet more worldly than Elain ever hoped to be. Where Elain knew people, Feyre understood the bigger picture of what it took to survive.

She gave her sister a small smile and Feyre reached across the carriage to pat Elain’s hand.

“I’m sure he will be perfectly nice, dearest. And if he isn’t, there are plenty of ways of ensuring that your husband stays out of your hair. Not that I would need them.” Feyre said this last part with a small, secret smile.

Elain fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to come to you, Feyre. You are one of the lucky ones though, you know.” The door to the carriage opened and Elain held out her hand without a glance at the footman. “Not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love.”

The sisters stepped from the carriage, the gravel of the drive crunching under their shoes. Elain held a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. She was unable to take in the manor in one glance, and turned in a full circle to take in as much of the property as she could before meeting her fiancé and going inside her future home. To her doom.

At least this man, Lucien Vanserra, had a man to keep his grounds meticulous. The shrubbery had been cleverly chosen and the flowers were full of pollinating bees, which would make for interesting experiments in cross-pollination, though perhaps she might do something about the grove of fruit trees - they were too far away from the water source to be effective. And Elain wondered at the status of the fruit, how much of it went to use in the house and how much went to the local residents. Hopefully - Elain grimaced at the thought - it didn’t fall to the ground and go to waste.

Elain felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Feyre, waiting with her head inclined to the door. The front door, underneath a large, elaborately-carved portico, where the first footman stood at attention, waiting to usher the women into the home. And to his left, a tall man with fiery red hair, tied back with a black ribbon, stood waiting to greet her.

Elain’s breath caught to see him. He was younger than she had expected. She wouldn’t have put it past her mother to bridle her with a septuagenarian if he had offered the right price. So that this man, this Mr. Vanserra, was at most ten years older than her… Elain was disappointed to find herself pleased. And he certainly was well-acquainted with a proper clothier, if the fit of his vest and trousers were any indication.

Feyre stepped forward first. “Lucien! It is so good to see you.”

Mr. Vanserra lowered his head slightly. “Lady Chevalier, thank you for visiting my home today. I hope that Rhysand is doing well.”

“’Lady Chevalier’ my eye, call me Feyre, Lucien.” She took his hands into her own and it seemed that he might have reciprocated her familiarity had Elain not been there. His eyes flicked to her and then back to Feyre, seeming to already be wary of how he appeared to her.

“Lucien, this is my sister, Elain.”

The rest of the greeting hung in the air and Elain could have tasted the words. Elain, your fiancée. Elain, the woman you have never met but who will share your bed. She nearly reddened at the thought and forced herself to pay attention to the situation at hand.

Lucien turned away from Feyre and took a step closer to Elain.

Elain curtsied. “Mr. Vanserra. You have a lovely manor.” And hopefully, I won’t see much of you in it, she added silently to herself.

Lucien lifted Elain’s gloved hand to his lips, pressing so softly that she wasn’t sure when it was over, if he had actually made contact. Wouldn’t have known it had happened, really, if not for the slight warming of her skin.

“Miss Archeron,” he said, bending at the waist, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Allow me to welcome you to my home.” His eyes alighted on hers as he said the words - my home - for it wasn’t their home yet. And they were both painfully aware that it would be.

Lucien extended his hand to gesture at the imposing double-doored entrance and stood upright.

Elain lowered her head slightly in deference. “Thank you for the welcome. The property really is lovely,” she couldn’t help adding. Lucien looked into her face with earnestness and she took note of the golden warmth of one eye, while the other was traversed by a brutal scar, one she wouldn’t have expected to see on a Lord of the peerage. “The grass is… very green.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien responded. He took a step back and surveyed the lawn as if he hadn’t noticed its color before. “I had it specially grown. Just for its…. verdancy.”

Her hand fell to her side when Lucien let go of hers, and she momentarily forgot what to do with it. She glanced at Feyre, whose hands were clasped together in front of her waist, and Elain mirrored the posture.

“Well, ladies. I have had tea set out for us. I’m sure you could use some refreshment after your travels.”

Feyre made a small curtsy in response and Elain fell into line behind her.

The first footman hurried ahead of them and opened the front door. The interior of the home was a dark, yawning chasm.

And with that, Elain took a step forward, into the home of her future husband.

***

Thanks for reading! You may have noticed my tag list has disappeared. If you want to be on it again, even if months or years pass without an update, let me know! Sorry if you have requested in the past and intended to stay on it forever, I just figured that things change in the years since I started writing fanfic. 💕

[hanibalistic]

#67509E | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff

word count | 1889

warning | appearances of vampire fangs, mention of blood sucking

tag | @fluffyskzclub​

note | i miss hyunjin.

hyunjin pouted like he was throwing a tantrum—well, to a certain degree, he was throwing a small tantrum.

he curled himself around the fluffy blanket that you two left on the couch from yesterday's spontaneous movie night as he pouted at you bitterly. he tried to fit his tall body within the blanket, but his long legs awkwardly jutted out of the end corner, unable to bend enough to curl himself into a tiny ball. his head poked out of the blanket he draped around his shoulder and over his head.

"must you open the curtains all the time?" he whined with furrowed brows, lightly kicking his feet against the couch. "i hate the sun, you know that!"

you rolled your eyes as you closed the curtains after being drowned in his mindless complaints about the last half an hour. you had opened them so the plants could soak in some sunlight. you even took into consideration that hyunjin would be asleep for longer like he always does, otherwise, you would have never let the sunlight into your shared apartment. but for some reason, he decided to leave his stupid coffin earlier today.

to listen to the birds' chirp perhaps. that's the kind of leisure activity a hundred-year-old would like, you bet.

the same thing happens every time you open the blinds, which is that hyunjin does not shut up about him disliking the sun and how it weakens his vampirism as opposed to it actually killing him. he would not stop until you close the curtains and turn on the lights, which often made you scoff. not only was he annoying, for a vampire who was supposed to burn under the sun, he sure does speak of it a lot.

"we will need sunlight somehow, hyunjin," you said as you turned around to glare at him. "the plants you stole, from outside, in the morning, will need sunlight."

you emphasized your words to make sure he knew of all the heinous frustrations he has caused you. the puppy pout on his face, as well as the pitying glint in his eyes, only deepened with each emphasis of your voice, his body flinching and shrinking when he could tell that you were upset with him.

watching him, there was a rush of conflict brewing like bubbles in you. you weren't sure if you felt more annoyed or endeared about the fact that hyunjin, a not quite literally ancient but old enough to feel ancient vampire, gained such comfortability from you that he was fine with throwing a childish tantrum in front of you.

he looks cute, surely! he always does. but sometimes, you genuinely could not stand another second of him whining.

"stop yelling at me! you know what the sun does to a vampire!" he retorted.

oh, god—blah, blah, blah.

"yeah, a vampire that doesn't have an accessory of the sigil," you said cleverly as you moved over to him. you yanked the blanket off his body, ignoring his protest, and you pointed at his neck. "like the necklace you never take off!"

"i only got this recently! the witch would have never sold me this if you hadn't come with me," he argued, pulling the blanket around him again. "i'm not used to the sun yet, just let me have a little more time."

you pursed your lips together, your neck turning sour at his poor mumble as you softened. he did only just get the necklace—by just, it was about two to three months ago. however, while that alone may seem like a long period, comparing that to almost a whole decade of no sunlight, perhaps he really just needed more time to adjust.

but! zooming past the streets, leaving normal people wondering where the sudden gust of wind came from, and hiding in the apartment that leaves no room for any traces of sunlight was not the way to go about it!

"how about just a little bit, hmm?" you said then, suggesting a compromise casually while you walked toward the window. "take it little by little!"

hyunjin widened his eyes in disbelief as you moved farther away from him. he shook his legs in protest, his body moving animatedly on the cushiony couch as he protested loud and clear. "hey! you better not open the curtains, [name]!"

you grabbed the hem of the curtains, your mind occupied with calculating the correct amount you would flip open. it has to be a very small amount, to a point where the sunlight could only hit one leaf of the plant on the window rail, or just one square of your marble floor. it has to be the form of sunlight that could not hurt even a fly, so you could show him just how goddamn dramatic he was being.

"[name], i swear!"

"oh, bite me," you muttered under your breath.

there was a gust of wind—a familiar kind. it blew at the tip of your hair, making it waft around, and the hem of your thin shirt also danced at the breeze of hyunjin's vampiric speed.

blinking consciously, you loosened your grip on the curtains and turned around. immediately, upon feeling the heat of his face, you flinched back and closed your eyes to settle yourself.

"jesus–what the hell, hyunjin?" you muttered with a hand on your chest before you slowly opened your eyes.

hyunjin was glaring at you; no malice, just alluring intensity. his hair fell over his face prettily. the sunlight that he didn't seem to care much for now shone a soft haze over half of his face, making him glow and glitter naturally.

"those are some reckless words to say to a vampire," he said lowly, tilting his head to the side lightly as he arched a brow, "don't you think?"

your heart pounced.

the matter of blood, or just his general nature as a vampire, like his need to feed off of human beings, has only come up once.

he mentioned it to you when he was applying to be your roommate, having a foul plan to erase your memories in case the truth was not well-received by you. he told you that he has been a vampire for a while so he knew how to control his urges, therefore you would not be in any harm, and the matter was never spoken of again.

he held up his words. he has never discussed blood with you, he has never shown any blood-thirsty behavior at all. he acted like any other roommates you have had; being too loud at night, eating cereal in the living room and eyeing your bed-head with a judgemental gaze, knocking at your door and asking if you wanted to pick a takeout place.

if he used his powers less, you would have forgotten about his vampiric side.

why was your heart thumping then? was he too pretty for your own good? or was he standing too close for familiar comfort? or perhaps both?

you scoffed, making your thoughts vanish. "you won't bite me."

hyunjin softened in a way you couldn't catch. deep within the tender wash of his eyes was a sea of wildfires he hid behind closed doors.

you were right, he won't bite you, but he wants to, especially because the smell of your blood happened to be more enticing than others because he likes you.

the art of blood sharing (in a sense) is done between lovers; consider it like leaving a love mark, of a sort. it is an act of claiming and reassurance, and hyunjin has been wanting to sink his fangs into your flesh for a while so he could leave a bite mark.

but he could never do that. that was a desire trapped in his throat, urging to be let out and to be voiced, and hyunjin would not allow it. there were too many risks of unleashing the deep-seated yearning in his chest. it lingered in his head in withdrawal, cautiously threading through his mind to keep his urges contained.

he puts his want elsewhere. his want to taste your blood, to kiss your neck, has to grow somewhere, so he has to put it somewhere, and he puts in it his daydream which that manifests gently when he is with you, and ferociously when you were away.

"i won't," he muttered under his breath, to which you relaxed at. but then he grinned, and he opened his mouth to speak first, "doesn't mean i can't, though."

you widened your eyes when black veins draped beneath his eyes and his sharp fangs appeared. it was a terrifying sight, but you were only shocked to see it than scared. rationally, you reached your hands up and slapped your palms against his cheeks, startling him.

"hmmm... " you grumbled, sounding thoughtful as you surveyed his shocked expression.

the veins under his eyes retreated and the colors returned to his face. the innocence flooded back into him, bright and boyish, and he dared not move an inch under the pressure of your gaze—beneath your touch hyunjin is but a gentle boy hapless in love.

"ah...aah...wha–" he closed his eyes slightly and opened them with furrowed brows, confused and helpless with his head slightly tilted up. his words were muffled but jot too hard to understand. "[name]–why–uhh–"

you pushed at his upper lip with your thumb and looked at his fangs, wondering why they did not retreat with the dark haze of his eyes. then, ignoring hyunjin's muffled questions, you carefully poked at the tip of his teeth—razor-sharp, but very real.

he was whining again. his hands reached out to the hem of your shirt and desperately, as well as timidly, tugged at it. meanwhile, he put on a defeated face. as much as he would with your thumbs poking his fangs, that was.

"ahh, please stop–[name], stop touching my fangs–why," he feigned a sob, shaking his head as a blush reached his cheeks, "they're just teeth."

"teeth that puncture," you commented when you let go. the way your thumbs briefly smoothed over his top lip was not lost on him.

seeing his pout, you pursed your lips with faint guilt. rubbing the back of your neck, you shrugged. "sorry about that, i just got curious."

"it's okay," he waved you off quickly, "i was curious too when i first got them."

hyunjin looked at you when you giggled under your breath; soft, hearty giggles that tried to conceal themselves without the anticipation for his vampiric hearing. gentle, funny giggles that never once questioned his problematic past. lovely, adoring giggles that are here before and after he revealed who he is to you.

he came to your apartment begging for a home where he could be himself, and you allowed him safety with you.

"alright," you said with a curt smile, "i'm going to go change, need to get grocery."

"i–i'll come with!"

you seemed shocked for a moment, accessing him like a trick question. then you relaxed and nodded with nonchalance. "yeah, whatever."

he melted despite the lackluster reaction. it was the excitement that counted. smiling to himself, he twirled and twisted his body shyly as the sun shone from outside.

yeah. hyunjin truly is but a simple boy in love with you.

[kmomof4]

Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates Ch.5 Ingrid

*rubs furiously at my ear* Wow, y’all!!! Y'all had a lot to say about that last chapter, didn’t you? Well, most of the pain is now firmly in the rearview. There will still be a bit of pain in the coming chapters, but not like we’ve had. Today’s chapter brings us to the halfway point in the fic as well as the turning point, the modern era and putting our favorite couple on the final road to their Happily Ever After. We still have a lot of story to tell and I so hope you enjoy what’s coming! Thank you all so much for the trust you’ve placed in me by coming along on this journey! Y'all are the BEST!!!!

All of the love, thanks, and socially distant internet tackle hugs to @profdanglaisstuff for her outstanding beta services and being a fount of information and encouragement when I wanted to either throw my laptop, pull my hair out, or give up completely. Also to @hollyethecurious for her encouragement and help in brainstorming. The ladies of the CSSNS and CSMM discords for their encouragement, sprinting, and help with a title, and finally to @spartanguard for making such GORGEOUS and PERFECT art for EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER!!! I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so grateful that I got paired with you!!!

Chapter Summary: We are now in the modern era, and we meet a new family that has become a major part of Killian’s life.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: Almost 8800 of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, October 1995

Killian Jones brought the Jolly Roger into his personal dock on his estate greatly anticipating a warm meal and long hot shower after being away for so many months. Of course he ate on the Jolly and she had been outfitted with modern plumbing that he kept most of the passengers away from, but nothing beat a homemade meal from his own kitchen. He had donned many hats over the centuries in terms of occupations, pirate captain, smuggler, whaler, blockade runner, a brief stint as a doctor in Chicago, and now pleasure cruise captain, and now that the long summer season was over, he could return to his home for a few months of rest and relaxation. The weather was just starting to turn cooler overall, but the sharp bite of the wind and clouds rolling in told him that a storm was right on his heels. He made his way up to the back door of the manor as his scarf was blown about his face and raindrops just started to fall.

“Thank you, Mr. Starkey,” he addressed the older man that had immediately appeared when he entered as he handed him his scarf and leather greatcoat.

“Your supper will be ready in about an hour, sir,” the man admitted, chagrined. “I wasn’t expecting you quite this early.”

“No worries, Starkey,” he replied, “we had favorable winds, and with the expected storm, I wanted to make it home before it hit. This will give me time to get the sea salt off me before I sit down to your excellent meal.”

The man before him smiled. “It’s your favorite, sir. I wanted to welcome you home properly. My lobster chowder with Red Lobster’s cheddar bay biscuits.”

Killian threw his head back and groaned in delight. “I can taste it already. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir.”

Killian departed the lower story, and headed for his chambers on the other side of his home trying to bring his salivating under control. He may have problems with fresh, raw garlic, but who could resist those biscuits?

~*~*~

Much later that night, Killian was pulled from his slumber by a crack of lightning that shook the windows and lit up his chambers as if it was noon. The rain against the windows beat a staccato rhythm that matched his breathing and heart rate. Once he got his breathing back under control and his pulse back down where it normally was, much, much less than a resting heart rate for a human, he became aware of a pull. A tugging sensation over his heart that almost felt like something was trying to rip it out his chest. Laying back down on his bed, the sensation lessened but didn’t go away entirely. As he lay there rubbing at the area, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest with a pressure, that if he didn’t know any better, he would have said resembled a heart attack. It was exactly the same sensation that he felt over 200 years ago when Emma had been born in France and when she had been born in the late 19th century.

Killian would never forget the day that he lost his Swan yet again. He recognized the soulmate connection and arrived in Chicago a few years later in 1896. He took a position with St. Luke's Hospital near the industrial center of the city where he knew his Swan was employed. One of the unfortunate victims of the lack of child labor laws and the Industrial Revolution. Close enough to feel her daily presence, but apparently not close enough to protect her. Rumplestiltskin, owner of the factory where she worked, brought her in covered in blood from where she had lost most of her left arm in an accident at the factory. Although his cruel designs were cleverly hidden behind his mask of feigned concern for the little girl in his arms, Killian could see the delight dancing in his enemy’s eyes as he lay Emma, only about six years old, even younger than he had known her at first in France, on the table in front of him. She had lost so much blood and was so nearly gone, that he was completely taken aback when her green eyes opened briefly, landing on him, and whispered, “It’s you.” before breathing her last. It was all he could do to remain upright. Did she somehow recognize him? Recognize their connection? No one questioned the blood tears that streaked his face, just assuming it was hers, as he ran from the room, Rumplestiltskin’s laughter echoing in his ears.

She had been reborn again. There was no doubt in his mind. But where? When she had been reborn in France, he had felt the pull toward Paris. In the 1890’s, Chicago. This time though, he wasn’t feeling any particular pull toward anywhere. Could it be too soon? Had she literally just been born? Was it possible that she could have been born somewhere nearby? He didn’t dare hope. Hopefully the morning light would bring some answers. Hopefully, he’d be able to get back to sleep before then.

~*~*~

He was awakened the next morning by Starkey knocking lightly on his chamber door. Killian awoke rather disconcerted that he had slept as late as the angle of the sun in his room told him it was, plus the fact that anyone approaching his chambers normally would have put his senses on full alert. Being caught unawares by Rumplestiltskin, even in the privacy of his own home, was not something he wanted happening.

“Enter,” he called, standing and wrapping himself in the robe from the bottom of the bed.

Starkey stuck his head through the door with mirth dancing in his eyes and a smile on his face. “The ladies Elsa and Anna Fisher are downstairs for you, sir. On the back patio. They are quite excited and impatient to see you.”

An affectionate grin broke over his face. “I’ll be down momentarily, Starkey.”

“Very good, sir,” he replied. “I’ll let them know.”

~*~*~

Killian entered the patio area just a few minutes later to the barely contained enthusiasm of two little girls that he had been blessed to know these last few years when they came into the care of their aunt, Ingrid Fisher, a very close personal friend of his for many, many years. The girls had been so young when they entered her charge, nearly one and just turned three, that they both knew her as Mama.

“Uncle Killian,” little Anna cried, “guess what?” She had very nearly flown from her place on the chaise lounge where she had been bouncing in her exuberance. She now stood before him nearly vibrating with excitement trying to contain the torrent of words that it was nearly killing her to hold back right now.

Killian knelt down before her and lifted her into his arms as he continued to where a much more sedate Elsa waited patiently for them on one of the other lounges. “What is it, my lamb?” He settled down next to Elsa and gave his full attention to the elated little girl in his arms.

“We have a new baby,” she very nearly squealed.

“AnewsisterMamacalledfromthehospitalthismorningtotellusthatababygirlhadbeenbornlastnightintheEmergencyRoombutthemamaleftsothebabyhasnoonetotakecareofhersowe’regonnatakecareofhershe’llbeoursister.” Anna’s words tumbled out of her so quickly that Killian had trouble keeping up. He looked toward Elsa with barely disguised confusion on his face.

Elsa released a long suffering sigh, as only a six year old could. “You have to slow down, Anna,” she exasperated. “Mama will be bringing home a new sister for us. She was born last night.” Killian couldn’t help the chill that ran down his spine at that information. “But the mama left before morning. Since Mama is already approved to be a foster parent, we get to have her.” At this, some of the excitement that Elsa usually kept inside, leaked through. Her blue eyes sparkled and the smile that broke over her face rivaled the sun at noon. “Mama said that we’ll adopt her and she’ll be our sister. She’ll have the same last name and everything!”

“Oh, my darlings,” he exulted, “that is indeed wonderful news!” He reached over and pulled Elsa to him in a side hug as Anna was doing her best to strangle him with the force of her embrace. “When will Ingrid be bringing her home and when may I come see the new addition to the family?”

“Mama said it would be a few days before she could bring her home,” Elsa volunteered, “so maybe this weekend.” She shrugged.

“Alright then,” he replied. “I will call this evening after your mama gets home and get some more details.” He stood back up with Anna still in his arms and started toward the kitchen. “And now, my lambs, have you had breakfast? Would you like some French toast? I know how you love Mr. Starkey’s French toast.”

The girl's squeals had nearly the same effect on the windows that the lightning had the night before. Killian laughed as he led them from the patio to the kitchen.

~*~*~

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Ingrid,” he replied, settling down in his favorite armchair, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

His friend’s delighted laugh made a grin break out on his own face. “I knew the girls wouldn’t be able to wait to tell you.”

“So, tell me everything.”

“A teenager, a girl really,” she corrected herself, “came in last night in the last stages of labor. Her daughter was born about three this morning. Right at the height of the storm, from what I understand.” Killian hummed and tried, without much success, to suppress the shiver that ran through him. “But by the time I got in this morning, she was gone. I don’t know how she was able to walk out of the ER so soon after giving birth. So there’s essentially no record of her whatsoever. She was too close to delivery to get any kind of information about her, and when one of the other nurses came in to get the information and move her and the baby to the maternity ward, she was gone. Leaving that poor baby girl behind.” She sighed.

“By the time I got there at 7, the whole place was in an uproar. I went up to the nursery to see her and just fell in love. With the mother gone and no idea of where to begin looking for her, that poor baby would go straight into the system. And I just couldn’t allow that. Not when I had the power to stop it.”

Killian hummed in agreement. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, lass. Tell me, this baby...” he hesitated. Ingrid was the closest friend he had ever had. She was one of two, in all his centuries of life, that ever knew exactly what he was. But she didn’t know about this. “This baby, have you decided on a name for her yet? She doesn’t by any chance have a birthmark on her neck, does she?” It was all he could do to keep his breathing steady as he awaited her answer.

“The girls and I discussed it and we decided she looks like an Emma. And yes, she does have a birthmark actually,” she exclaimed. Killian’s breath hitched. “How could you have possibly guessed that? It’s a swan that looks like it’s taking off. I’ve never seen anything like it. Anna thought ‘Swan’ should be her middle name. For the birthmark.”

Killian’s head spun. He gripped the sides of the chair, trying to regain some equilibrium. It was her. It was his Swan. How…? He couldn’t believe that it had happened again. He had, of course, been waiting for it, hoping, continuing on in the long lonely years of his life, praying, ever hopeful that this day would come. But now that it was here, it was all he could do to contain himself. He cleared his throat. “Emma Swan Fisher,” he whispered. “Uh, Ingrid? When will you be bringing her home?” he asked.

“Wednesday morning, barring any unforeseen complications, I should be able to bring her home,” Ingrid replied. “Killian, what’s going on?” Her concern for him was plain over the line. Killian scrubbed his face in his agitation.

“Ingrid, I promise,” he beseeched her, “I’ll explain everything. I’ll see you Wednesday. Give me a call when you get home.” He hung up and scrubbed his hand down his face again.

He made his way to the adjoining bath and splashed cold water on his face, trying to bring himself under control. He looked back up in the mirror. Haunted eyes in a pale face looked back out at him. Purple bruises under his eyes told him that he’d gone too long without the sustenance that his physical body still needed, even if he could still eat and drink. He was going to have to hunt tonight. Getting his hands on a rabbit or even a larger animal like a deer wasn’t going to cut it. Not after a shock like that rocked him to his very core.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to do it very often, he normally partook of animal blood to meet his body’s needs. And even that, he only had to do once, maybe twice a month. But when he was so obviously drained, as this bombshell had quite effectively accomplished, he was going to need human blood. Fortunately, the island had no shortage of scoundrels, villians, the bottom dwellers of humanity on which to feed, people that no one would miss, and in fact, their disappearance may very well free others on whom they preyed.

Donning black from head to toe, the vampire disappeared into the night.

~*~*~

Killian was unsurprised when he could see Anna’s red braids flying behind her as she ran to answer the door. Ingrid had brought baby Emma home that morning and he had told Ingrid to expect him around noon.

“Uncle Killian,” she cried, grabbing his hand and dragging him along behind her. “Come see my baby,” she exclaimed.

Killian chuckled as he picked her up and strode toward where he could hear the cries of an infant. “Where are they, my lamb?”

“In the breakfast room. Baby Emma doesn’t like the bottle Mama is trying to feed her,” she chattered on about how cute and how loud her baby was. Killian couldn’t help the delighted grin that stretched his lips as he came into the room. Ingrid sat at the table with the newborn in her arms, holding a small bottle to her mouth. Elsa stood by her side cooing to the baby and gently stroking her head trying to get her to take the bottle.

Ingrid lifted her face toward Killian as he set Anna down so that the little whirlwind could join her Mama and sisters. “Oh, Killian! Thank God, you’re here,” she exclaimed. “Could you take her for just a minute? I’m not ready for the girls to hold her by themselves yet and my bladder is about to bust.”

Killian was taken aback briefly, but made his way over to them and sat down. “Of course, Ingrid,” he assented, holding out his arms for the infant. As soon as Ingrid transferred the precious bundle into his own arms and handed him the bottle, she all but ran out of the room.

The girls gathered around him as he looked down at the baby. Wide light gray eyes stared, unblinking at him. He took in every detail he could. The way her little cheeks had yet to fill out to the pleasing plumpness that most associated with babies. The thin, whispy, light colored peach fuzz that covered the crown of her head. The scrunches around her eyes when she closed them as she opened her rosebud lips on a wide yawn. With her mouth as wide as that, he thought he might attempt to get her to take the bottle in his hand. Placing it in her mouth, she closed it again and began to drink from the instrument of nourishment. Her eyes opened again and she continued to stare at him as she drank from the bottle.

A smile broke his face as a profound sense of destiny swept over him. This was his Swan. Beyond any doubt. He could see the birthmark on her neck. He could feel the connection between them buzzing under his skin and with every beat of his heart as he held her close. Perhaps that was why she was taking the bottle from him so easily when she didn’t want to take it from Ingrid. Love like he had never known filled him near to overflowing. A love that he had harbored for over 300 years. Holding his soulmate in his arms like this, made him realize one thing. He would do anything to protect her. And since he found her so early in her life this time, he’d be able to protect her the way he wanted to. The way he should have done all those times before. He would do anything to make sure that she had the chance to grow up and fulfill her destiny. Her prophesied destiny to join him in the destruction of the Darkness and the final downfall of Rumplestiltskin. This time, he would succeed. This time, she would be his. He couldn’t lose her again. And then, a small smile broke over his face, they’d live happily ever after.

He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Rumplestiltskin in a century. Not since the last time that Emma had lived, in the late nineteenth century. As much as he rejoiced that the demon had left him alone for so long, it was rather disconcerting. Before Emma died in France, he would make his presence known about every decade or so. Since then, it had been spaced out further, finally terminating when Killian had lost Emma back in Chicago. Again at the hands of his sire. This was by far however, the longest that he had gone without being aware of his presence. Now that Emma had come into his life again, he would doubtless make an appearance. He’d have to be doubly vigilant in keeping her safe from the monster if he hoped to bring his dream to fruition. And now, he was going to have to tell Ingrid everything.

~*~*~

All three of the girls were finally down for naps when Killian and Ingrid settled down in the living room with some hot tea. Ingrid leveled a hard stare at him sending him scratching at the area behind his ear.

“Ok, Killian. What’s going on here?” The love and concern were written all over her face.

Killian couldn’t meet her eyes as he began. “There is only one person that I’ve spoken to about this, Ingrid,” he sighed. “And I honestly never expected to have to do this with you.” He raised his head until his eyes met hers. “You are the closest friend I’ve ever had. You know what I am. You know what I care about, my values, and my convictions. How I live this cursed life.”

“And it’s because I know you so well,” she interrupted, leaning over to him and placing her hand on his arm, “that I’ve never been afraid of you. Both to have you in my life for all of these years and the lives of the girls.”

“And I can’t thank you enough for that, lass.” He looked down at where she was touching him with a soft smile.

“Pfft,” she snorted, leaning back in her chair and waving away his sentiment, “Don’t call me lass. I’m a little too old for that these days.”

He smirked at her. “You’ll always be a lass, compared to me, love,” he teased her, earning him a mighty eye roll.

Twenty-seven years ago, he met Ingrid, quite literally by accident. An accident that had claimed both her parents, and nearly claimed herself as well. When Killian got himself out of his car, with his broken bones and cuts quickly healing, he could plainly see that there was nothing he could do to help the two adults in the front of the Oldsmobile that had broadsided him. The two girls in the back however, were both still alive, although the older one was in immediate need of medical attention. As he moved closer to her, he could hear the rush of her blood within her, not in its appointed channels. She was bleeding internally and would almost surely die before she could be transported to a hospital. The other girl, probably about five years her junior, was only unconscious. He moved to the side of the gravely injured child, and sneaking a glance around to be sure that no one in the gathering crowd was paying attention to him, bit into his wrist and held it up to the girl’s lips, letting just a few drops of his blood land on her tongue. The coppery taste was enough to rouse her. Unfortunately, sharing his blood with her would not only heal her, but also expose him for what he truly was. Her eyes widened in her shock.

“Who are you?” she asked, obviously fearful that a strange man with red eyes and fangs was standing over her.

“A friend,” he answered, as his wound healed and his eyes resumed their blue hue and his fangs retracted. Listening carefully, he could hear not only the sirens of ambulances in the distance, but he could also hear the healing going on in her body. “You’ve been in an accident.” He didn’t think it wise to tell her about her parents.

Her eyes widened even more. “What about Mama, Papa, Gerta?” she cried, looking toward her sister.

“Your sister is going to be fine, lass,” he said, comfortingly. “What’s your name?”

“Ingrid,” she replied. “Ingrid Fisher.”

“Your sister is going to be fine, Ingrid. And so will you.” He moved away from her side as the paramedics arrived. He waved them off from attending to him, as only a few scratches were now visible. The girls needed their attention much more than he did.

He had been able to keep in contact with her, and because she quite vividly remembered his healing of her, he wasn't terribly surprised when the, by then, young teen, figured out his secret.

Killian returned to the present and to the amused concern still flooding Ingrid’s eyes. He gave her a small smile before taking a deep breath and beginning his story, from the beginning.

~*~*~

Ingrid’s mouth hung open as she leaned back on the sofa. “Soooo, let me get this straight,” she mused, “Rumplestiltskin, as in the fairy tale Rumplestiltskin, was real. Is real,” she corrected herself, shaking her head. “And that baby, from the fairy tale, was your brother. Fast forward, he kills Liam and changes you, and since then he’s come back every so often and has been responsible for at least two of…” here she trailed away momentarily, obviously trying to get her mind around all he had revealed to her, “my Emma’s past deaths. Ok.” She nodded decisively. “I can handle this.” She turned her pale blue eyes to his. “But she is your soulmate. And the two of you are prophesied to destroy the Darkness? The Darkness that makes you a vampire? But what will happen to you?”

Killian shrugged his shoulders. “If it’s the Darkness that makes me a vampire, as I believe it is, I’m hopeful that I’ll no longer be a vampire and that I’ll be able to live out my life with Emma at my side.”

“Oh, Killian,” she breathed, “That would be wonderful, indeed.”

“So you raise her,” Killian asserted, looking at her again. “You adopt her and raise her as your own. As long as that monster stays away, you will all be safe. But when he comes, and I say when because it’s only a matter of time, you will have to leave.” He looked down at the clasped hands in his lap. “And you won’t be able to tell me where you go. He would be able to find you through my knowledge. And he won’t hesitate to kill you all to prevent my happy ending with Emma. When the time is right, you’ll come back, and I’ll be able to court her and protect you all myself. This time,” his voice shook in his conviction, “we will succeed.”

She covered his hands with her own. “You will, Killian. I have no doubt.”

~*~*~

Three and a half years later, Boston

Rumplestiltskin stood on the quay looking up at the ship that he hadn’t seen with his own eyes in over four hundred years. It looked exactly the same from where he stood. The wood of the hull was in pristine condition, freshly painted, nearly ageless. If he didn’t know for sure that it was the same ship, he’d have trouble believing it himself. Still as majestic as I remember.

Rumple ducked his head into his shoulder as the captain appeared at the gunwale of the ship. He wasn’t yet ready to reveal his presence to his progeny.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses,” the captain called out. “Welcome to Jolly Roger Tours! I am your captain, Killian Jones. Today we will be sailing into the waters of the Atlantic, hearing tales of Blackbeard and Captain Kidd, and visiting several barrier islands where they and several other of the most notorious pirates from the Golden Age of Piracy lurked before striking the merchant ships coming into Boston Harbor. We will end our tour in Salem with a visit to the New England Pirate Museum where you will see actual pirate treasure and be able to tour a Colonial seaport before returning home. Now once you are aboard, everyone under the age of twelve will become junior crew members. They will be outfitted in pirate gear and will be in the charge of one of my crew for the duration of the tour.”

The captain then turned a stern eye on the very excited children of the group. “Now let me tell you how it works on my ship. I give the orders and you follow them. Is that clear?” The children let out a collective YESSS, that was so loud, he was sure he wasn't the only adult with the beginnings of a headache. “Then welcome aboard, me hearties!”

The children climbing the gangplank resembled a flock of birds, moving as one, with the combined weight of a small elephant, which did nothing to make the headache dissipate. Perhaps it was a mistake to make his appearance here and now.  But the time had come again. Time to remind Killian Jones who had the power in their centuries-long dance.

He hung back until he was at the end of the queue ascending the gangplank. As he neared the captain, who was personally welcoming each passenger aboard, he decided to go ahead and make his presence known to his host.

~*~*~

Killian was nearly to the end of the queue when a depraved giggle reached his ears and a bolt of fear traveled down his spine. Looking toward the last person in the line, his eyes widened as he took in the distinctive profile of his sire. Thankfully, his eyes were averted, so he was in no danger of revealing anything to the demon, but he could see the curve of a sinister grin sliding onto his features.

“What are you doing here,” he hissed.

“Why, Captain Jones,” he gasped, in mock outrage, placing his hand on his heart “no joyous welcome? No, ‘It’s good to see you, mate.’”

“No,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms across his chest. “As Captain of this ship, I have the right to refuse to let anyone on board. For any reason.”

“Oh, really?” he drawled, feigning surprise. “Are you going to let me board, Captain?”

“No, I am not,” he replied. “Get off of my ship. And don’t let me see your face anywhere near her again.”

Rumplestiltskin giggled again. “Oh, don’t you worry, Dearie,” he crooned, before his voice took on an edge of malice, and was that anticipation that he could detect in his words? “Showing my face near your ship will be the least of your worries in the near future.”

Dear God in heaven, Killian thought, he knows where Emma is. “Get off of my ship.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he murmured, with a mocking bow, sarcasm oozing from his words. “Until we meet again.”

Killian watched as Rumplestiltskin meandered down the gangplank, his gold tipped cane clicking on the boards, before he disappeared into the crowds.

~*~*~

Killian brought the Jolly in to dock behind his estate, his shoulders dropping in relief when he saw the four people he loved most in this world waiting for him. He’d been acutely aware, all day long, that if his sire knew about the family and where to find them, he could have already struck.

Anna, predictably, bounced on the balls of her feet, all ready for her adventure. Ingrid and Elsa were doing an admirable job keeping their countenance free of the fear he could plainly see in their eyes. Little Emma dozed on her mother’s shoulder. It was past her bedtime.

He descended the gangplank and grabbed their various suitcases and baby paraphernalia before he started hauling them aboard as Anna peppered him with questions. “Where are we going, Uncle Killian? Is it a pirate adventure? Is that why we’re leaving at night? Are we gonna spend the night in a pirate cave? Do we get to hunt for buried treasure?” Killian chuckled at her enthusiasm as he deposited their luggage on the deck .

“No, my lamb,” he sighed, “You’ll be going on an adventure with your mother and sisters this time. I’m not coming. I’m simply taking you there.”

“But, why aren’t you coming?” she whined, looking up at him with her big blue eyes.

Killian knelt down in front of her. From Elsa’s expression, Ingrid had either told her what was going on, or she picked up on her mother’s apprehension. Elsa stepped forward next to her sister, fixing him with her stare.

“Where are we going, Uncle Killian?” she asked. “All Mama told us was that we needed to pack our suitcases and that we could bring only two favorite toys and two books.”

“I didn’t know what to tell them, Killian,” Ingrid lamented. Killian smiled gently at her, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. He knew this day would come, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with now that it was here.

Before the ship had even cast off for the Pirate Tour that morning from Boston harbor, he had texted Ingrid to tell her that it was go time. He’d told her when he’d be home that evening and that she and the girls were to meet him at the dock. He would take them to Boston, and they could disappear to anywhere in the world, ensuring their safety from Rumplestiltskin. Shortly after he had revealed everything to her when Emma was just a newborn, he had made financial arrangements for the family in anticipation of this day. A secure offshore bank account in Ingrid’s name would meet all their needs for many, many years to come.

“I’m taking you to Boston, my lambs,” Killian began. “And from there your Mama will be your captain. She’ll be telling you where you’re going and how you’re going to get there.” He smiled at them. “You might be getting on another ship, you might be getting on an airplane, you might be getting on a train or a bus. This is going to be a most excellent adventure. But for now, we must cast off. We’ll be in Boston in no time.” He rose from before them as Ingrid returned from his quarters after settling Emma in bed down below. “Ingrid, take the helm while I weigh anchor,” he ordered. “Girls, go below with Emma.”

Everyone scrambled to obey his orders as he moved to the capstan. The enchantment that the Blue Fairy had placed on the wood of the Jolly all those years ago, still held and enabled him to lift the 112lb anchor himself. Once finished, he joined Ingrid at the helm.

He placed his arm around her shoulders as she finally lost the battle with the tears she’d been holding back. He murmured comfort into the crown of her head as she sobbed into his chest.

“How am I supposed to leave you, Killian?” she cried. “You’ve been with me for most of my life! I’ve always been able to count on you!”

“And you will again, love,” he cajoled. “This is only temporary. As soon as Emma is old enough for me to court, you’ll come back and we’ll be together again.”

She raised her tear stained face up to his. “But, Killian,” she protested, “that’s fifteen years away! How am I supposed to not contact you for that long?”

He turned to her and held her gaze with his own. “Ingrid, I have never met, in all my years of life, a woman as strong as you. Losing your parents when you did, fighting for Gerta not to be separated from you while you were growing up in the system, losing her and Agnar so soon after Anna was born, raising these three girls all by yourself, accepting me into your lives so easily, Ingrid, that takes a tremendous amount of bravery and fortitude,” he asserted. “You will be fine. And so will those girls. Rumplestiltskin will not be able to find you and they will grow up safe, happy, and together. That is all that matters right now.”

Ingrid sniffled again. “I know,” she sighed, “I’m just gonna miss you so much.”

“And I’ll miss you all, too. So much,” he murmured, placing a kiss to her brow.  “Now you go below and be with your girls. We’ll be to Boston in about an hour.” He released her and she made her way below.

~*~*~

Killian entered his quarters after docking in Boston. On his bed, Emma was sound asleep, while at the foot, Ingrid read quietly to Anna and Elsa on either side of her. His heart nearly broke at the sight. He had to be strong for them. This was for their safety. This is what was best, for all of them.

Ingrid looked up at him as he drew near the little family. “We’re here, my lambs,” he choked out. Anna and Elsa looked up at him. Anna jumped to her feet on top of the bed and placed both her hands on his cheeks.

“Don’t be sad, Uncle Killian,” she said, “I’ll write letters to you every week telling you all about our adventures.”

Killian shook his head as he took her little hands in his own. “No, my darling,” he insisted, “You will not be able to write letters to me. You mustn’t contact me at all. Not until Emma is all grown up. When she is, you’ll all be able to come back to me and we can be together again. Is that okay?” He cocked his head toward her as he awaited her answer. When her brow furrowed without one, he continued. “I have to keep you safe, my lamb. And this is the only way to do it. That’s why we have to do this. Why we have to be apart for a little while. When the danger is past, we can be together again.”

The furrow remained on her brow as she raised her eyes to his. “Okay, Uncle Killian.” She nodded decisively. “But I’ll miss you.”

“And I will miss you, my lamb,” he promised, gathering her in his arms. He held his other arm out for Elsa as she launched herself toward him, sobs choking her. Killian closed his eyes as he held these little girls that he loved so much in his arms. After a few minutes, he carried them to the hatch and placed them on the ladder to the deck. They scrambled up as Ingrid came toward him, carrying Emma, still sound asleep.

Killian took her precious cargo so she could climb the ladder then followed along behind her. Reaching the deck, he saw that Ingrid already had Emma’s stroller opened up and he could lay her right down in it. He turned and pressed a kiss into her brow. “I love you, my Swan. I will see you again,” he murmured, setting her down and arranging her so that she could sleep peacefully until she had to awaken. He picked up his end of the stroller as Ingrid grabbed the handle and her own suitcase and carried the stroller containing the sleeping toddler across the deck and down the gangplank. Anna and Elsa followed behind with their own suitcases. Finally depositing the stroller on the quay, he turned back toward them. Kneeling down and opening his arms to them, they ran and nearly knocked him over with the force of their hugs.

“We love you, Uncle Killian,” they cried.

“And I love you, my lambs,” he replied. “Never forget that. We’ll be together again soon. I promise.” He disentangled himself and turned to Ingrid once more.

He gathered her in his arms, whispering endearments into her hair. “It’s okay, Ingrid,” he murmured, “I love you. You can do this. I’ll see you again.”

“I love you too, Killian,” she echoed. “And yes, we’ll see you again.” She pulled back, out of his arms and turned to the girls. “Make sure you have everything. Anna, hand on the stroller.” The tears were gone from her voice, her head held high and her back straight as her brood gathered their suitcases. There was his strong lass. Pride and love for her filled his heart to overflowing. She grabbed her own suitcase and pushing the stroller before her, made her way toward the street without looking back.

“Until we meet again, my loves,” Killian murmured before ascending the gangplank once more to make the journey home.

~*~*~

It was nearly midnight when Killian arrived home that evening. He didn’t expect Starkey to meet him at the door at this hour, but he also didn’t expect to find him being held by Rumplestiltskin in the middle of the morning room, much like the monster had held his brother four hundred years before.

The terror in Starkey’s eyes brought him to a halt. “Welcome home,” the demon singsonged, eyes seeking his own from over his captive’s shoulder, not loosening his grip a single iota.

“What are you doing here,” he growled, anger flowing through him as he advanced on the imp. He wasn’t frozen this time and he wondered if it was possible that the devil had forgotten to do it, or if he had some other plan for him.

“Why must you always insist on asking questions that you already know the answer to,” the monster demanded, giggling. The giggle was suddenly cut off as if with a knife. “I want to know where she is.” His words were slow, deliberate. Carefully enunciated so that Killian knew exactly to whom he was referring.

Righteous anger at this breach of his sanctuary and threatened murder of someone under his protection flooded him. Killian met the eyes of his sire with his own, knowing that Rumple would see nothing of value when their gazes locked. “Who?” he asked.

“Do you really think that now is a good time to antagonize me,” the creature hissed. Killian couldn’t help the little thrill of triumph that skittered across his skin at his opponent’s obvious anger. Looking more closely at his nemesis, his eyes widened as he became aware of something that, he was sure, the imp intended to keep hidden.

Rumplestiltskin was nervous. All of these centuries, he had always held the upper hand. It was why he would always come back. Taunting him, manipulating him, reminding him who held the power. Until now. It hadn’t occurred to his sire that he’d be able to throw off the yoke of oppression that had kept him exactly where the devil had wanted him all these years. The plans and provisions that had been made, long before they were needed, had finally given Killian the upper hand, and the beast was thoroughly rattled by that.

As this realization came over him, pictures that he knew came from his enemy flooded his mind. A wicked looking dagger with Rumplestiltskin’s name on the blade held in the hand of the Blue Fairy. Knowledge that it had the power to kill the monster before him and of where to find it. Killian’s eyes skittered to where his sire’s gold tipped cane lay forgotten on the floor.

With an inhuman howl of rage, Rumplestiltskin threw Starkey to the side like a rag doll. The sickening crack of his skull on the marble floor echoed through the room, but Killian couldn’t do anything about that now. Not with this animal racing to attack.

Killian met this scourge on his entire existence halfway. Blood red eyes shone, exposed fangs glinted in the bright artificial light coming from the kitchen, as Killian crouched and drove his shoulder directly into the rabid creature's abdomen. He flipped over Killian’s shoulder and crashed through the floor to ceiling window behind him, landing flat on his back, briefly knocking the breath out of him.

As Killian came to stand over him, he could see Rumplestiltskin’s face twist in pure malevolence as he struggled to catch his breath. He placed his boot right over his solar plexus and ground down. Only his age as a vampire could explain how quickly he was able to overcome his vulnerability. He screamed in malice, the pitch of his voice rising to the point where Killian nearly stepped away in order to cover his ears. “HOW CAN YOU SEE THAT? NO ONE KNOWS THAT! I WANT HER! WHY CAN’T I SEE HER? TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!”

Killian lifted his enemy from the ground, grabbing the top of his head. He pulled as hard as he could, forcing his head back as he hissed in the cursed creature's ear. “I don’t know where she is and you are never going to find her. We are going to defeat you, Rumplestiltskin. I swore that I would destroy you, and when my love comes back to me, we will find you and fulfill that oath.” Holding the monster tightly in his arms, Killian dove in, piercing his sire’s flesh with his fangs. Blood flooded his mouth as he drank deeply. This time, he was able to shield his mind so that all his attention, all his concentration was focused on the blood. There was nothing else. Nothing to fear giving away and nothing to fear receiving from the evil creature. Rumplestiltskin continued to scream and struggle against him, but it was no use. He grew weaker and weaker as Killian continued to feed.

In a last, desperate attempt to free himself from Killian’s iron embrace, the devil was actually able to free one of its arms and reach for the back of his head. Killian took the opportunity to tear open the monster’s neck, blood spraying everywhere, exposing muscle, tendon, and sinew. The arm fell lifeless to his side and the demon was finally still.

Killian held no illusions that he was actually dead. He could already see the wounds he inflicted stitching together. He knew he had only a few minutes to save Starkey, if he wasn’t already dead, and get Rumplestiltskin out of his home. He dropped the animal at his feet and made his way to where Starkey lay, motionless. He breathed a sigh of relief when he could discern a faint heartbeat and a shallow breath. Piercing his own wrist with his fangs, he held it to Starkey’s lips and let just a few drops land on his tongue. Now confident that his butler would be fine, he turned back to where he had left Rumplestiltskin.

The Blue Fairy stood over the still unconscious creature. Killian’s eyes widened in surprise, then anger.

“What are you doing here?” he shouted, advancing on her. She gave no sign that she had heard him. In the face of her silence, he couldn’t help but ask the question that had plagued him for centuries. “Where have you been all these years?”

The fairy raised her face to his, sorrow swirling in the depths of her brown eyes. “There is no time to answer the many questions and righteous anger that you have right now. They can wait until after I’ve dealt with,” a sneer crossed her features as she looked down at the imp, “this.” The fairy waved her wand over the still motionless creature. He was enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke and disappeared.

Killian was startled. “Where did he go?” he asked, “Where did you send him?”

“Somewhere far from here,” the fairy answered. “Now,” she continued, looking toward him again and squaring her shoulders, “I am at your disposal.” Killian stood staring at the fairy, stunned speechless. The stuttering inhale, determined tilt of her chin, and ramrod straight posture told him that she truly was ready to face whatever questions that he had for her. He ushered her back into the kitchen and prepared them both some tea.

“Why now?” he asked, laying out the tea and sitting next to her at the table. “Where have you been all these years?” That had to be first. He had to know why she had failed so completely in her sworn protection of his family.

The Blue Fairy bowed her head in shame. “When your father sent you and Liam to negotiate that treaty, he was acting on the information that I gave him. Rumplestiltskin was, by that time, a master at manipulating magic and he appeared to be gathering his forces in order to make good his threat upon your family. Your father wanted you both to be safe, so he sent you away. I learned too late that it was nothing more than a diversion. By that time, Liam was already dead and you had disappeared.”

She looked up at his face, obviously trying to gauge how he was taking this information. He refused to let her off the hook. He already knew all this, he wanted to know about the intervening centuries. “I, of course, knew exactly where you were and what had happened to you.” Her eyes turned pleading, filling with tears. “You have to understand. Please, I was Fairy Godmother to your family for generations. I knew your father’s great-grandfather. I have loved your family for centuries before you were even born. I… I couldn’t face your father and mother. I couldn’t be the one to tell them what had happened to you. What had happened to you both.” She bowed her head again. “I was a coward. I failed in my oath, and then I abandoned my family. My duty. Since then, I’ve tried to make it right. I have watched over you, protected and prospered you.”

Killian couldn’t help but snort. “Protected me? You call letting Rumplestiltskin nearly sink the Jolly, multiple times due to magical storms, protecting me?”

She gave him an unamused eyebrow raise. “No, I call keeping you from falling overboard during those storms protecting you. And keeping the Black Death away from you, both while you were in London, and when it was unleashed on your ship. Those are some of the ways I protected you over the years. You may be a vampire, but you are still subject to some of the frailties of your human body.”

“I see,” he replied. His fury drained away, becoming compassion. He took a deep breath and turned gentle eyes on her. “I understand. If I had been in your position…” he trailed away, “I don’t think I’d have done much differently.”

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. “Why now?” He repeated his question from earlier. “Why show yourself now? If you’ve been watching and protecting me all these years, why are you now letting me know that?”

The Blue Fairy fixed him with a fierce stare. “Because you are correct in saying that this time, you and Emma will succeed. Rumplestiltskin and the Darkness have served their purpose in history and their time is rapidly coming to an end. It is your time now. Your’s and your soulmate’s.”

Understanding dawned on Killian. “It was you,” he breathed, “You wrote the prophecy.” The fairy nodded. “You made Emma my soulmate. You’ve brought us together all these times.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “And each time I brought you together, Rumplestiltskin has managed to work circumstances in his own favor and ensure that you and your soulmate were never able to fulfill the prophecy. This time, however, you have been able to do the same. This time is your time. Live your life in peace until Emma returns to you. Once she does, the clock will begin ticking. Rumplestiltskin will also return and you will have to face him. The visions you had revealed the way to defeat him.”

Killian startled. “What? How do you know about that?”

She laughed. “I was the one who gave them to you, Killian,” she exclaimed. “I made that dagger when Rumplestiltskin became a vampire in order to destroy him and the Darkness forever. When I was unable to accomplish that back then, he enchanted the dagger so that I can’t even touch it. But you, or your soulmate, can. Use the knowledge I’ve given you. It will serve you well.”

“Can you tell me anything about Emma,” he begged. “Why her? What makes her my soulmate? Does she know? Has she ever known? Will she know?”

“True Love’s magic,” the fairy answered, “You were both created out of True Love. True Love that has carried down through the centuries. That is what made her FOR you. To answer your question ‘has she known’, she has felt the connection with you in the past. Not as strongly as you. Your senses are enhanced because of what you are. But she has not recognized it for what it truly was. Except that time in Chicago. She was so close to death, that she did recognize your connection. This time, when she returns, she will again. The True Love that you will hold together will destroy the Darkness forever.”

Killian’s eyes widened at the revelation that he was also created out of True Love. He knew that Emma was. He had seen it first hand in David and Mary Margaret. And while he knew that his parents loved each other deeply, hearing from the fairy’s own lips that they were also True Love, made Killian’s heart soar. “What about now? Is she safe?” he worried.

“Know that Emma and her family are safe, and will continue to be. She will return and the path forward will be laid before you.” Killian sat back, lost in thought, mind swirling with all the revelations of the night. The fairy was silent for a few minutes before she cleared her throat and stood from the table. “And now, I must bid you farewell, Killian Jones.”

Killian was brought back to the kitchen and company before him. “Thank you,” he breathed, sincerely, “I won’t waste the knowledge or opportunity you’ve blessed me with.” Nodding, she waved her wand, shrinking down to the size of his hand and disappeared into the night.

Turning back toward Starkey, Killian was gratified that his heart rate and breathing were steady. He picked the man up easily and carried him toward his own apartments a little further down the wing. He knew that come morning, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do. But as he refused to exercise his powers of persuasion or compulsion on his faithful servant of many years, there was no other way around it. After making sure he was comfortable in his own bed, he climbed the stairs to his own chambers.

Laying down on his own bed, Killian finally allowed the emotion of the day to wash over him. What had started out as any other day became one of the worst and then one of the best of his long, long life. He had answers. Emma and her family were safe. He was assured that he would see her again. He’d been patient before, he could do it again.

With a smile on his lips, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~*~*~

See? Happy right? Thanks for reading and sharing!

[megwhiteviscom]

Gretel; Stephanie Nelson Dancegroup

Case Study.

For my presentation, I have chosen the rebranding of the Stefanie Nelson Dancegroup, done by the design agency Gretel. The brand refresh won a wood pencil in the D&AD Annual 2020, which was the year of the dance group’s 20th anniversary. Stephanie wanted a new visual identity and brand for the group, including website, production posters, programmes, merchandise and more.

The rebranding focused on the ‘energy’ of SND; the performance art of the group is striking, contemporary and modern, and each piece includes lots of contorted, ambiguous movement. Gretel used this idea in creating the main theme of the brand identity, which is the graphic shapes that represent the dancer’s movement and echo the geometry of the movement itself. These shapes make the viewer’s eye to be taken around the art and the piece itself, allowing the dance and movement to take centre stage and be at the forefront before the text. Each graphic shape is unique like the movement, resulting geometric language that can “express and suggest movement in a way that feels spontaneous but grounded, instinctive but intentional”. The brand system itself reflects the minimalist idiosyncratic spirit of the performance ensemble.

The website itself also has very clever ways of representing the movement of the dancers. The monogram/logo of SND on the website is always moving around the space, until they finally come together to align and reveal the full name of the company. It’s designed to never be seen the same way twice; the letters interact with and circle each other and the photography on the website to mimic the movement of the dancers and how they would use the stage or the studio space, until it finally comes to a rest at the end of its movement to reveal the name, as if to bow and give credits to the group.

The whole identity of the brand has been cleverly created with colours that are low in saturation. The colours overall communicated and suggested to me a feeling of softness, openness and accessibility. This overall is very important to the brand identity as SND describe themselves as “a public service driven & education focused organization”. Many, if not all, of their work is invested and centred in the idea of using dance for healing and empowerment. The pastel muted colours are balanced out with the somewhat harsh, all back, sans-serif typeface, making the overall identity and each part of the rebrand not look too ‘soft’, but rather communicate the message of SND and how they create. I personally love the colour palette used by Gretel and, as I use a lot of minimal colours myself, this is one of the main reasons why the project and the identity of the brand spoke to me so much.

As a part of SND’s re-branding, Gretel also gave a refreshing new design to Dance Italia, which is the group’s summer program founded by Stefanie in 2011. As the program is a sub-brand of SND, Gretel gave Dance Italia its own identity whilst keeping the design consistent with its ‘parent’ company. Both use the same language of the geometric shapes to communicate the dancer’s movement as a snapshot, but Dance Italia’s shapes are outlines rather than a whole shape, and the outlines are disjointed and separated from one another. I think this gives the impression of a group that is not yet whole, not yet part of its competitive, iconic counterpart, but a place where one comes to learn and interact with the movement and the shapes, take them apart and put them back together. I loved how Gretel communicated this and thought it was brilliantly clever. As well as this, the colour palette is neon. This gives the impression that, rather than SND’s palette being subdued, classy and open, DI is younger, exciting and more adventurous.

While researching Gretel as a company, I discovered a lot about their work and their cohesiveness with every project; with each piece of work, the trademark style of Gretel shines though. This is due to them using the same process through every piece ever created. The process is described as “a tension of intellect and intuition”.

The company has seven ‘disciplines’, or pillars of design that are used to create each project and are woven through each design. Each is so clear and precise that it is clear to see how these principles have been used to structure and create the brand identity for Stefanie Nelson Dancegroup.

The first is discovery, which describes how the company meets the internal team of people that make up the client. They work to discover points of interest and potential problems they might encounter during the project, and also work to process existing research and briefs, or commission research as needed. After this process of discovery, they arrive at the next discipline, which is ‘strategy’.

Strategy is a more methodical approach than the last, which involves sifting through and sorting the research and gathered first-hand information from the client. Each piece of information is carefully considered, from “purpose and personality, to competitive landscape and demographics, to resources and scale”, each is used to create a map of where the project will go from here, and how to execute a succinct brand statement.

For brands and companies that need more help with organisation of their identity, described as ‘new or unruly brands’, the next discipline is ‘brand architecture’. This describes the process of taking complex ideas and input from a client and creating smart structures that allow the brand to grow.

Possibly the most important discipline of the seven is ‘visual identity’. This is where Gretel works to give the client their own, completely unique visual expression and personality, allowing them to communicate clearly with the consumer. Every visual identity created by Gretel is extremely well thought out, intelligent and beautiful, and works perfectly to exist side by side with the client’s vision and work to really bring it to life. The visual identity of SND can be seen instantly; from the uniqueness of the geometric shapes, the colours and typeface used, to how everything was intelligently created to perfectly mimic the dancers’ movement and use of their space.

Paired hand in hand with visual identity is the fifth discipline, ‘writing’. This is how the client, quite literally, talks to the consumer. Their whole language and tone of voice is created carefully by Gretel, to really bring the brand’s ‘voice’ and personality to life. This is included from copywriting to tag lines.

The sixth and seventh discipline, ‘experience design’ and ‘art direction’, both describe where the brand and its identity go after it has been carefully constructed. Experience design is how Gretel brings the brand identity to life across platforms, creating a variety of expressions of the brand’s voice. In Stefanie Nelson Dancegroup’s case, this was showcased in their website, merchandising and flyers for the show, as well as many more examples. they work with ‘complex technical constraints to create powerful experiences’ of the brand for the consumer. Art direction describes the photography and image creation used for the client, which is a major core element of the brand and its identity. “We bring our refined eye to shooting, both stills and live action.”

I have really enjoyed researching both Gretel as a company and their work with Stefanie Nelson Dancegroup. It was a project and client that really spoke to me and echoed the kind of project I would love to be working on myself in the future. It is amazing how powerful Gretel is as a company, and the power they have to build a brand and their identity completely from the ground up. It was very interesting researching how they work and the intelligent processes, or ‘disciplines’ they use in their work.

[deans-mind-palace]

Suspirium (Pt.13)

Pairing: Prof!Sam x Reader

Summary: You’re in your last year of your Classics and Mordern Languages studies and you’re majoring in Latin and English. Then you get assigned to a different Latin teacher. And damn, he loves his subject. Too bad that he’s also hot. What is just a childish crush soon develops into something way more complicated.

Word Count: 1,154

Warnings: None. 

Author’s Note: Reality catches up with our two lovebirds. This beautiful text divider I’ll use from now on, is made by the amazing @talesmaniac89 Check their Supernatural resources out!

Like always, my tag lists for Sam (thereby also for this story) are OPEN

Or you catch up here: Suspirium - Masterlist

The next morning harsh reality came over you. You had slept together. Sam, a professor, had slept with you, his student. It seemed too abstract for you to fully comprehend the magnitude of it. Sam could lose his job and you could lose your studies. Both of you could lose your future! Was it all worth it? You were angry at yourself for the doubts you still had.

You loved Sam, but there was still this gnawing feeling because you had not been completely honest with him. He had no idea about the demons torturing you. Old faces from your past that wouldn't leave you alone.

"You regret it." Sam's voice was still hoarse from sleep. You hadn't noticed Sam was awake. When you turned to him, he stared at you with an honest but insecure smile. You shook your head vehemently and interlocked your fingers with his. Soothingly, you stroked the back of his hand with your thumb, while you tugged a brown strand of his hair behind his ear with your other hand. "No." You were serious and a short pause arose between you while Sam's face relaxed. "Good, neither do I." he muttered near your ear and nipped at the sensitive skin of your ear with his lips before kissing his way across your jawline to your mouth.Just before Sam reached your lips, he paused for an agonizing moment. You tried to catch his lips with yours, but he kept moving out of reach.  As you looked at him in protest, he threw a disarming smile at you and his hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. You felt your heart beat faster.

To finally catch him, you bent forward so suddenly that you both fell backwards. Laughing, you landed in a ball of arms and legs on the soft mattress. Sam cleverly intercepted you and you lay on top of him. Your noses touched each other and you took in every little detail to store it in your memories forever.

There was this little birthmark on the left below his lip. That little scar on the upper right jaw. Just a fine line barely visible to the naked eye, probably an accident from shaving. Above the corner of his right eye there was another birthmark. Gently you stretched out your fingers and followed the invisible path from his lip to his eye to the hairline with your fingertip. Sam's eyes never left yours.

"I love you."

Suddenly sitting in Sam's lecture was quite sobering. It was strange to know that until recently he had been lying in your bed and was now standing in front of his students including you as if nothing had ever happened. Yet you noticed that Sam's gaze wandered to you much more often during the whole lecture. As soon as he laughed, his eyes searched for yours. The sparkle in his eyes made you euphoric every time.

As if Sam had read your thoughts, he continued his lecture. "Today we will have a look at the origin of love. Well, love is probably as old as mankind itself, it was in ancient times, when the first great writers and poets saw the light of day, that the world of feelings was first philosophically addressed. Until today, love has become the greatest theme of art. Whole novels are written about it, songs are written, poems are dedicated and pictures are drawn. Nothing is more present in our lives than our own feelings. It is something that forms the common basis of humanity. An origin from which we can all start. Something that we all understand regardless of language, religion, gender, sexuality, age or ideology. Each of us can relate to grief, each of us knows the pain of a broken heart and each of us knows the feeling of flying when we fall in love." Sam's eyes darted to you for a second. Then he cleared his throat and his eyes swept across the faces of the students, all nodding in agreement and hanging on his lips as if spellbound.

"Before we go into more detail about the beliefs of antiquity, I would like you to try to categorize the feeling of love. However you want." Immediately you raised your hand and Sam's eyes wandered to you. "Ms. L/N, please enlighten us." He meant for you to continue, and all the attention of the lecture hall was on you. You cleared your throat because you didn't trust your voice. "I think the saying of Terence is very fitting. Amantes a mentes. The lovers are out of their minds." Sam nodded slowly, as if he had to listen to your words go right through his mind before his face burst into a glow. "That sounds about right. Very nice, Ms. L/N." Your face became hot and your cheeks flushed from the unexpected praise.

"Let's examine the origin a little further. Like everything in ancient times, there is an explanation for the origin of love. Usually, of course, it goes back to the ancient gods. It should be clear to each of you that the Roman gods go back to the Greek gods. They are the same gods, but they have been given different names. The hierarchical principle is the same." Sam turned and rummaged through his notes until he found a book. The professor put on his glasses and opened the book in the middle. His fingers brushed the pages smooth.

"I will now read you a short passage from Plato's the Symposium.*" The baritone of his voice echoed off the walls. "According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings condemning them to spend their lives in search for their other halves." Sam closed the book, but left a finger between the pages. He then looked at the watch on his wrist. "I'm afraid that's it for today. A moan went up and down the lecture hall and Sam smiled. He was well aware that his lectures were popular with the students.

"Please consider this statement until next time and do research on it. I would like to hear your opinion on love in ancient times next time." With that, he dismissed you from the lecture. Since you had a lecture immediately following, you packed your bags and left the lecture hall with a heavy heart, knowing that you would not see Sam again for four days. He had to go to Boston for a guest lecture at Harvard University and a seminar while you had to go to the next lecture. You gave him one last look before you left. He gave you a final smile.

You almost walked into someone outside the door. "Hey there Y/N. Long time no see." Your blood was freezing in your veins as that well-known voice cut through the air.

*Someone made a beautiful sketch for this principle. Have a look.

Sam tags: @rintheemolion​ @fortheentries​ @vexhye​ @traceyaudette​ @zeppette​ @thewintersoldierswife​ @outofnowhere82​ @transparentfestivaltiger​ @myopiamystical​ @mimzy1994​ @random-ravings