#it was a challenge but I wanted to make at least one full illustration for Hypno

[sofiasfanartcollection]

Finished my painting of Hypno feeding the pigeons and doves :)

These are mainly rock pigeons, including most of the white ones, but there is a white Barbary dove, a couple mourning doves, and a diamond dove in there. Can you find them?

I think Hypno often rescues doves/pigeons (another headcanon).

The Barbary dove and diamond dove are escaped birds that wouldn’t likely survive long in the wild, so Hypno will be bringing them home with him. Some of the little white rock pigeons are domesticated and the pigeon on his right hand and pigeon on his right shoulder are escaped racing pigeons so he will keep them too. The mourning doves are wild and doing just fine. They can be pretty shy, but they feel safe around Hypno.

Here’s a sepia version for fun and some of the line work

#sofia’s art #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rise hypno #hypno potamus #pigeons #doves #rock pigeons and rock doves are the same thing so #diamond dove #Barbary dove #mourning dove #birds #he loves birds #and he knows what he is doing #he’s good at identifying birds and can tell when pigeons are domesticated rather than feral or wild #he is feeding them healthy grains and seeds and veggies #it was a challenge but I wanted to make at least one full illustration for Hypno #let’s pretend that the perspective is right on this #pigeons are so pretty #so many birb friends #although this is really a very small flock #wonders if Hypno could call all the doves and pigeons of New York to him #the diamond dove is on his left shoulder it has spots and a pink eye ring #the mourning doves are the beige ones with black and white in their tails #the Barbary dove is the closest white one that is in the upper middle #white barbary doves are often used by magicians #they are also called ringneck doves though not every color morph has a neck ring

[the-colourful-witch]

The All the Young Dudes book covers project

I've been working on this fun project in my time off from social media. It consists of three illustrations to use as book covers for All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 on Ao3. This book has been the foundation of my involvement in the fandom. It's the first fic I read about the Marauders and I loved it so much! I laughed, and I cried, it was a real rollercoaster. After making the cover for A Brief History of Dragons by Eyra, I caught the bug and started thinking of more covers to illustrate. I loved working on the first cover, but I didn't love doing it on my tablet. At heart, I am a traditional illustrator and for this kind of illustration, I felt paper might work better. So I got to work. I knew I wanted to make three covers. From what I've seen online most people bind their own copies of All the Young Dudes in three parts: Year 1-4, Year 5-7 and Until the End. Therefore, I made three covers. I have not yet digitalized these illustrations, but I'll turn them into downloadable covers for binders to use for their book projects. I am working on binding my own physical copies of AtYD too :) It's fun! Right, to the covers. There's so much to say!

Book One

This is the start of Remus' life at Hogwarts and his friendship with the other Marauders. I wanted it to feel a bit like reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone for the first time. It's the realisation that magic is real, it's that first spark you get when picking up a book you instantly connect with. That was the feeling I wanted to incorporate in this first cover. There are a bunch of little easter eggs for the story and I hope you'll pick them all out. Let me know in the comments what you think they are. Also, for this project, I studied the language of flowers. I am not sure if all my information is correct, but in this one, I put dandelions in the top corners. Dandelions represent new beginnings :)

Book Two

The second half of the Marauders' time at Hogwarts. This part is all about love and loyalty; something I liked a lot! It's also the time when the Marauders complete their animagus transformations. The animals had to be on the cover! That, I knew for sure. I went for a forest theme for this second cover, because of all the mischief the Marauders got up to in the Forbidden Forest during full moons. I used flower language here as well. For every Marauder I picked a flower I felt represented who they are. For Peter, at the top, I chose Bleeding Heart and Belladonna. Both of them represent betrayal and death. Nice and cheery :) For Sirius, on the Right, I chose Bluebell, which represents loyalty. For Remus, on the Left, I chose Acacia, which represents secret love or forbidden love, because he's hiding his sexuality for most of the book. But it's a love flower and in his core Remus is caring and loving, despite his rough edges. For James, on the bottom, I chose violets. And violets represent love at first sight. I know we all know why <3 I like this cover a lot. The picture is a bit grainy, but like I said, I'm still working on digitalising.

Book Three

Last but certainly not least. This book is about war, love and loss. It was definitely the most challenging piece out of the three, but worth the trouble. On this cover, I put Hogwarts at the top, because that's where it all started and where it ends. On the bottom, there's a prophecy, which is about Harry and Voldemort. There are a few gravestones at the bottom. Very cheerful, I know, but if you pay attention, you see a Deathly Hallows on one of them. On the sides are my favourite parts. I like the lily flower in the arms of death, because it's obvious, but also beautiful. I like the Death Eater on the other side because it's spooky. The snakes represent rebirth and Slytherin House, which is important to the story of the Second Wizarding War, connecting good and evil. Once again I put all the flowers in this piece, scattering them around because they're all interwoven in each other's stories. Finally, I want to say something about the three central images. In the first we see Remus as a child. He's alone and scared of the big scary wolf. The three images are a timeline. It represents Remus' relationship with the wolf in him. At first, he despises it and is scared of it. And finally, he stands with it, not quite embracing it, but he's not scared anymore. In the middle, I wanted to show Remus with his friends, because they banished his fear whenever they were together. With his friends, the wolf didn't control Remus and he could control the wolf. I hope it's all clear. I loved working on these pieces and I hope you like them too!

#alltheyoungdudesart #alltheyoungdudes #atyd #marauders #maraudersera #maraudersmap #marauders era #siriusblack #remuslupin #jamespotter #lilyevans #peterpettigrew #gryffindor #dead gay wizards #deadgaywizardsfromthe70s #hogwarts #harrypotteruniverse #characterart #characterdesign #illustrator #illustration #harrypotterart #harrypotterdesign #wizardingworldofharrypotter #all the young dudes #wolfstar #jilly #atyd remus #fanfictionbookcover #bookcoverart

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 16th: Library | Eyes on Fire - Blue Foundation | Curious a/n: little Eddie & Wayne, ADHD!Eddie, pre-canon Eddie & Jonathan friendship. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | ao3 masterpost here

All his life, all seven years of it so far, Eddie has been told to be quiet, to sit still, and to not touch things. He can’t help it most of the time– there are so many things to explore, and learn, and find, so many different textures to feel. Eddie learns best when he’s able to physically hold something in hands to help him focus and it’s gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. 

But living with Wayne, at least for the summer, he’s been given more opportunities than ever before to lean into his curious nature without being scolded. They’ve gone to museums, petting zoos, science centers, even the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Each new experience is a novelty and Eddie’s loved every single one of them. Today though, Eddie’s nervous. 

“You almost ready, kid?” Wayne pokes his head into Eddie’s bedroom, warm smile and a cocked eyebrow. Eddie’s been taking his time, untying and retying his shoelaces over and over to stall. 

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, I’m ready.” Eddie offers a tight smile, one that feels faux even to him. 

“Do you not wanna go? We can try something else if the library isn’t your thing.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I wanna go! It’s just…”

Wayne enters the room fully, sitting down on the bed next to Eddie who fidgets with his fingers and looks down at the floor, his feet swaying back and forth over the edge of the bed.

“Just what?” He doesn’t touch him, but Wayne’s presence alone is comforting enough. 

“What if I get in trouble? Aren’t you supposed to be super quiet and stuff in libraries?” 

Eddie knows Wayne well enough by now to know that he’d never get in trouble that way that he has with his dad, but he doesn’t want to disappoint or embarrass Wayne, either. 

“Well, yeah, on the grown up floor for the cranky old guys like me,” Wayne bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s, and Eddie can’t help but smile– real this time. “But there’s a whole children’s room that has games, lots of books, fun stuff. And if it feels like too much, you just give me our little signal and we’re outta there.” 

When Eddie first started going places with Wayne, they’d developed their secret signal that probably wasn't too secret but worked just the same– Eddie would stand next to Wayne and step on his foot. Not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough that Wayne would notice, look down, and see Eddie’s overwhelm. And like promised, they’re outta there. No questions asked. 

“Okay, I think I’m ready then.” Eddie stands up and heads toward the front of the trailer. “Let’s go.” 

They’re at the library for all of a few minutes, Eddie hesitant to leave Wayne’s side as they scour the fantasy books, when he meets another kid around his age, maybe a little younger. Both boys go to reach for the same illustrated copy of a book about dragons. 

“Oh, sorry, you can take it,” Eddie offers, moving his hand instinctually. 

“No, no it’s okay, you were looking at it first. Go ahead.” The other boy responds, shrugging and looking back at the shelf. 

There’s a woman behind him, smiling down fondly as she speaks. “Sweetie, why don’t you share with your new friend?” 

“Yeah, if you wanna share, we could. Only if you want to though.” Eddie bounces on his heels, hopeful. He doesn’t get to make a lot of friends when he’s home with his parents. 

“Okay, yeah,” the little boy smiles carefully and pulls the book from the shelf. 

Eddie follows him to a small table at the end of the aisle and they pour over the pages, full of colorful illustrations and short stories. Eddie loses track of time, but he and his new friend, who he learns is named Jonathan, are just kids who don’t need to watch the clock. 

They finish the book and return for another, and then another. Eddie's disappointed when the day ends and they have to leave, but he sees Wayne trade contact information with Jonathan's mom, Joyce.

"We'll see you again next week, Eddie. It was so nice to meet you." Joyce smiles, sweet and comforting, and Eddie isn't so afraid of the library anymore.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #jonathan byers #joyce byers #wayne munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #eddie month prompts #don't mind me just projecting a little onto eddie [fake surprise from the audience]

[commanderpigg]

Quote from 2022:

My goal for next year: just have fun drawing! Maybe I’ll learn new skills, maybe I won’t. But I hope I can make art that I’m actually proud of like I was this year. I sense another big life change is coming my way, because I can’t seem to avoid them, but at least I have art to ground me.

Past me, stfu about these life changes because BOOOII you have no idea what 2023 had in store for you...

A breakup, relocation, and many new experiences and life lessons--2023 was rough. I basically stopped drawing for 3 months after shit hit the fan in January (let me know if you ever want me to finish that cilan piece lol) and it's a miracle I have this many completed works. There's some stuff I haven't posted and a lot of incomplete sketches that may never see the light of day, but that's okay. True to my goal from 2022, I made art that I was proud of. I'm lucky to have ended my year on a good note, hugely thanks to the good vibes I was feeling from my friends IRL! In December, I even restarted my CSP subscription on my iPad and even completed the 30-day-OTP challenge I'd been doing for 10 years!

I use these summary of art posts as like my yearly therapy/reflection session. Probably because creating art is one of the few constants in my life, as well as one of my biggest passions, so to almost lose that passion again makes me rethink a lot of my priorities in life. I'm not completely satisfied with a lot of the pieces this year, but despite that, there was this desperation to keep trying--evident with the amount of full-color illustrations and finding a new muse in FFVII Aerith 🥰

I want to see my love of art reflected in next year's summary; whether it be through more completed long-time projects, more original art, or more experimentation. Also, improving my fundamentals like better anatomy, posing, lighting, etc. The future is uncertain, and the horrors persist...but so will I 😈

#im sad this year but an even sadder year was 2019 which was objectively one of The Most years of my life #so you know what i'll take it--be kinder to myself this year cuz dang pigg u actually did the thing #with the end of the pokeani i do worry about the future of my pkmn works but i doubt i'll ever stop drawing the OTP #summary of art #summary of art 2023 #my art

[animehouse-moe]

The Art of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, and The Life of Hirohiko Araki

A while back I promised to give a walk through of the Jojo art books I own, and I found myself with quite a bit of free time today, so that's what I'm doing. These art book are... something else. Everybody knows how much Araki's style is influenced by high fashion and pop culture (specifically music), to the point that stands are named after bands, and a lot of illustrations in these books borrow poses and themes from actual photo shoots. But it's far greater than that when you experience it in full. The depth and sheer scale of Jojo's exists on a different level through these references, the locations, the styles, even Araki's comments. It well and truly is the world that Hirohiko Araki inhabits, and I hope I can do it at least the slightest bit of justice in this (not so) little post.

Jojo A-Go!Go!

So, Jojo A-Go!Go! (as well as Jojoveller) are actually collections of books for Jojo. The main/big volumes containing all the major illustrations, while the smaller ones are dedicated to more knowledge than art. With A-Go!Go! we get separate books for the various stands of Parts 3-5, and a volume that explores Araki's past through countless interviews and snippets that I'd love to see officially translated some day.

Regardless, one cool aspect of the A-Go!Go! set is this little wheel featured on the box that contains the volumes. As you can tell, there's a layer behind the circle on the top of the box that you can spin around to align properly, or like I show here, create some funny mix ups.

Anyways, the art. Man, the art. Incredible, just incredible. The book opens with a lot of double spreads that feature groups of characters based on parts or roles within their respective parts, and they all look so good.

Of course, it's not just good art, it's an impressive creative process that captures the best parts of Araki's creativity, with pages like this. I just think it's so cool how they use a cutout page to provide a unique style and experience through the art book. Especially with the bottom image, as you can see stands in the darkness of the pages.

But yeah, an absolutely stunning art book for parts 1-5. Very impactful and strong poses and styles, as expected from Araki.

I really wish that the stands and Hirohiko Araki volumes were translated for this art book. There's so much information and a world of interesting pieces from Araki himself within them. I can read a little bit, but it does take a while, so sadly I can't really translate or explain much either. One day though, I hope Viz or someone else will provide an English version of these art books for English-speaking audiences.

Jojoveller

A rather similar story to A-Go!Go!, Jojoveller is the art book for Jojo parts 6-8, plus a few extras. In addition, it also has a full collection of Jojo stands that's up to date with the release of the art book back in 2013, plus a history book of Jojos. Once again, a huge amount of information, but a lot stuck in Japanese which presents a challenge for NA audiences.

Anyways, the art. There's not much to say besides what I've already said. It's incredible. It's powerful, creative, stylized, unique, so on and so forth. But showing it makes more sense than telling you.

Once more, I love how these art books use translucent or partial pages to create an experience for readers. So very cool.

And here's an example of the extras. Incredibly cool to get the Gucci x Araki artworks at this scale (also cool cause it's Rohan).

These pieces are just so incredible. I'd to try and go through one day and find the real life counterparts for the illustrations that borrow from photoshoots. Just on that topic though, it's incredible that Jojo's has created a feedback loop with it. Borrowing concepts and poses from high fashion and photoshoots to use in its world and story, which people in turn mimic and use themselves.

Jojo 6521

Want the previous two art books but don't want to spend the money, or want to be able to read what's in them in English? Jojo 6521 is the almost answer. It's a condensed version of the two art book collections, condensing the art and information of them into a single book which includes a really interesting breakdown of information by part.

It's not near the same scale of information as the other books, but it's also only one volume at a fraction the page count of the others combined, and it's the only one in English. Sort of a beggars can't be choosers thing, but still quite a bit of cool stuff in it. I think my only gripe would be how plainly the illustrations are put together in this art book, as the vast majority of them are just placed together on a plain white page with each other. But, I think that's counteracted by the new/original material discussed and shown in this volume, with loose character designs and other pieces placed thoughtfully throughout.

And there it is, the Jojo art books I own. I could spend hours looking through all the different illustration and designs that appear in these books. Hell, I could spend a significant chunk of time just looking at the packages/formats that these art books come in (specifically the JP ones). The entire experience of these art books is so incredibly well designed that even though they're very expensive, I'd say for anyone that can afford them and is a Jojo fan, you absolutely need to own these art books.

#jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo stardust crusaders #jojo part 6 #jojo vento aureo #jojo part 4 #jjba #jojos bizzare adventure #jojo stone ocean #jojos part 5 #jjba art #golden wind #diamond is unbreakable #jjba part 1 #battle tendency #stardust crusaders #stone ocean #steel ball run #jojolion #jonathan joestar #joesph joestar #josuke joestar #josuke higashikata #josuke higashitaka #giorno giovanna #jolyene kujo #johnny joestar #johnny jojo #hirohiko araki #jojo art

[sothasil]

Hi! You're one of my favorite artists ever, and I would love to do some studies of your art! What are some of your favorite pieces that you've done, and how do you pick your colors? There's a lot more questions that I could ask, but figured you wouldn't appreciate an entire list of questions XD

Hello and thank you, I am honored! Feel free to send me all and any questions! I'll answer these two, starting by:

How do you pick your colors?

As I change art style with pretty much every illustration project of significance, this varies a lot. Here are, from most to least common, ways I pick my colors.

Eyeballing it. Unfortunately my most common... What I will do a lot digitally is lay down a color background, and flats of a few colors, then manually adjust each until they look good together by selecting by color and using adjustements. I then paint over it all.

Using a limited palette, eyeballed. Same as before, but this time I force myself to only use a few colors. It helps me, as constraints do.

Using a reference, eyeballed. This happens a lot when I mimick an art style. My medieval drawings for example, are often done by looking at images of actual medieval art to get an idea of what colors to use to look medieval.

Using an existing image, pipetted. Rarely, often as a challenge or if I'm super stuck, I'll just take a pic with colors I like and pipet from it. This website automates this if you want a good easy starting point!

These can be combined around. I'll post examples now, explaining how they use each.

This is a sketch for a drawing I ended up doing way different. This is the first method - I used a flat layer for the characteres and three colors for the sky to test out atmosphere. This is how I plan out most full paintings, just trying to nail down a mood I have in my head. I fiddle around until I like it or, like in this case, fully give up and iterate further. Here, the composition was to be redone too as I did not like the body language. I was going for "bright hot sunny day under a weather that feels wrong".

For this comic, I combined a very limited palette and a photo ref to pipet from. I was looking for the stark cold/warm contrast of a mid-season bright night by a fireside. I took a google image photo of a campfire at night that was already edited. The photo itself looks unnatural but conveyed what I wanted. It's still on the file itself! From it, I pipetted a few colors I found "summed up" the palette and did all with them.

While my own habits make me prefer painting as you would in traditional methods, with directly picking the right colors, I will often digitally alter with overlays and layer blending modes some colors and gradients, etc, to alter a drawing to fix it's color palette. The following is a quite egregious example, because I first drew the character in flats before putting him in a full scene. Here is a before/after summed up.

The shadow is a layer, the bright yellow light zones also, and the orange "transitions" of light zones on the skin a third. There's also an overlay over the full character to blend him in. I do this by...making a full flat color of a layer, fucking around until a blending mode does what I want, and adjusting hue/brightness/saturation and opacity until it looks good.

Another WIP where I was struggling with the overall palette. I was going for late 60s psychedelic. You can see in the top right the original color. I thought it looked too...new, so I added a yellow layer on top, and fiddled with it. Final choice was the following setting. I then put it with my sketch and color blockout in a folder and painted over it.

For this sort of adjustement, the "Color Balance" modifier in CSP, Photoshop, and others is also a godsend - but one I often use for fine tuning a finished piece.

This being said, there's some rough rules to coloring which are...born from studying color theory and doing studies. I am guilty of doing very little studies...so I'll just sum up the basics of the color theory rules I use.

For "default" shading, I use a color that is darker, more saturated and with a slight hue diff. This is my "don't shade with black".

Using a shadow that's cooler will make the light look warm.

Vice versa.

There's a bunch of stuff to remember in how colors relate to each other and pipetting images who's atmosphere you think is interesting really is the best way to learn... It's learning how to black-blue/gold-yellow dress in your own art for the lack of a better word...But the basics will be:

Don't trust numerical values, but look at your colors in context. A same hue, brightness, saturation can look so much different. This is how Rakkan's beard looks whiteish here despite being a light very grey brown.

All this but...colour is such a wide topic, I can't really say a lot but can also type for hours... if you have precise questions about a piece in particular I can explain :') I hope this wasn't too vague and was instructive!

Speaking of particular pieces, answering your question last under the cut:

What are some of your favorite pieces that you've done?

In no particular order, illustration only.

Including this in another poast bc staff's new post editor limits the amounts of pics I can put in response to asks. Insert colorful language here...

Frankly twas hard to pick I am rarely fond of what I draw

#ask

[thegladelf]

An Open Heart is An Open Wound 13/?

Guess who's back! *nervous laugh emoji*

I know it's been a while. Life got busy and writing got hard, but uh, we've gone down another Captain Swan rabbit hole and that led to old fanfic and that led to me realizing that I still had at least a couple of chapters outlined. So I dunno if I have it in me to finish this fic, but I'm going to get y'all as far as I can. I've forgotten a lot of what I originally had planned, but luckily I have notes for some of it and the show for the rest. There's at least one more chapter coming after this and I know it's going to make a lot of people happy. (No beta to credit this time, we die like Liam Jones now)

Last Chapter | From Beginning | AO3

Summary: Killian was sent to our world to find a cursed town called Storybrooke, but his quest was derailed when he met Emma Swan. Drawn together by a past that is more similar than either of them realize. For a time, they were family. Then things changed and Killian left to complete his mission. Now, ten years later, Emma has come to Storybrooke and it’s Killian must decide whether he should pick up the pieces. (Alternate universe retelling of Season One.)

Word count: 10.8k

# # #

“Whatcha reading?”

“The Hulk versus Wolverine.”

Killian didn’t recognize the first voice at the end of the aisle, but the second was one he knew well. Not wanting to startle the lad, he ceased his perusal of the baking goods—he knows there are ready made breakfast foods, but he prefers making things from scratch and free of all those words he doesn’t know—peering over the shelf tops to find his son holding up a colorfully illustrated book for the inspection of a girl not too much older. She stood a bit taller than Henry, her hair cascading over her shoulders in golden waves. Her clothes echoed his school uniform, which made sense he supposed, as there was only one school that he knew of in this town and it got out a few minutes ago.

“I’m Ava,” the girl supplied.

As she spoke, someone brushed past Killian drawing his attention. Another child in a school uniform, this one a dark-haired boy with his arms full of toiletries. He strode casually past, seemingly unaware of Killian's presence. Killian noted the care in his step, his suspicion confirmed as the lad crouched down at the end of the aisle, quietly reaching for Henry’s backpack on the floor.

“I think I’ve seen you around school,” Ava continued as her accomplice slipped his items inside Henry’s backpack. “You’re in Miss Blanchard’s class, right?”

The second lad stood quickly, stepping forward. “Almost ready, Ava?”

A flicker of unease flashed across Ava’s face as she acknowledged the new boy. “This is my brother, Nicholas.”

Indecision stayed Killian’s hand for only a moment. He and Emma had used similar tactics on more than one occasion, and from the look of these children, they needed the items. But they were involving Henry in their actions and that he couldn’t let slide, no matter that he had been in their position on many occasions. Hadn’t he often nicked things while good, polished Liam distracted the cart owners?

“Hi,” Nicholas said, touching his sister’s arm. “Come on – let’s go.”

The girl smiled at Henry. “You want to come hang out?”

Henry’s bright reply stabbed at Killian’s emotions as he stepped forward, but the shop’s proprietor was eyeing the threesome with narrowed eyes—though that might just be the continual cold the balding man seemed to suffer from.

“Hold up just a minute there, mate,” Killian said, resting his hand on Henry’s shoulders. With his hook, he caught one of the many loops on Henry’s rucksack, sliding the zipper open to reveal the stolen goods. “I don’t think you want to be going anywhere with these two until they’ve returned these things.”

Ava stared up at Killian, like a rat caught in a trap, her fists balled at her sides. The boy — already halfway to the door — bolted the rest of the distance. His sneakers skidded against the tile floor as nasally challenged Clark slapped his hand over the door.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded of Nicholas. He sneezed and dabbed at his nose with a crumpled handkerchief. “Don’t think I didn’t see you rob me.”

Henry’s lip trembled as he looked at the pair of siblings and despite Killian’s common experience with these waifs, he felt the flare of anger at how they had taken advantage of such a good heart as Henry’s.

“That’s why you were talking to me,” his son accused. “So your brother could put that stuff in there.”

Ava bowed her head, at least having the decency to be ashamed. Her brother glared at Clark, but remained silent.

Clark grabbed the boy by his arm, roughly pushing his toward the counter and his register. “I don’t know who you two think you are—don’t you go anywhere missy, you come right over here with your brother.”

He glared until she obeyed, though it wasn’t surprising, she didn’t seem keen to leave her brother. A trait she shared with Liam, he truly hadn’t known when to let Killian go either.

Clark grabbed a phone just to the side of the register. “I’m calling your parents—all of your parents,” he said, with a look at Henry. “And then I’m calling the sheriff.”

“Surely that’s not necessary,” Killian said. “It’s toilet paper and food stuffs. Certainly you can let it slide so long as the children put it back and promise not to engage in such activities again.”

“Certainly I will not,” Clark shot back. “I won’t stand for thieves in my store.” He schlumped around the counter, yanking the bag from Killian’s grasp. He threw it on the counter with a thunk. Carefully, he unpacked the bag, sneering at Henry’s school books as he called Emma and then attempted to call the children’s parents. From Killian’s side of the conversation, the former appeared more fruitful than the latter. The man tried to dismiss Killian, but as he showed no sign of releasing Henry as well Killian opted to stay.

Besides, he recognized the look in the children’s eyes. They might need a champion to plead their case.

Emma and Regina must have both been in their offices, for they arrived at nearly the same time. Regina’s black sedan whipping into a spot behind the curb, she was up and out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind her, as Emma’s cruiser pulled into the space behind her. Killian bit back a smile at the sight of her rolling her eyes as Regina stormed through the door.

“What’s all this about?” the mayor demanded.

The clerk pulled himself up to his full height, which was still several inches shorter than the mayor. “Well, I’m sorry, Madam Mayor, but your son was shoplifting.”

“That’s a lie,” Killian said. “I saw the whole thing myself. Henry had no idea.”

“See?” Regina said. She grabbed the olive bag, zipping it closed with finality. “We’re going.”

Emma breezed through the door in time to halt Regina’s progress out of the shop. She paused, her eyes sliding over the scene, taking in each person. Her jacket rode up on her shoulders as she propped her hands on her hips, finally zeroing in on their son.

“Henry.” She sounded surprised. “What happened?”

Regina sighed. “Miss Swan, must I remind you that genetics mean nothing.” She spoke forcefully, her arm curling around Henry’s shoulders and drawing him closer. “You’re not his mother and it’s all taken care of.”

Her words made Killian’s blood boil, but Emma didn’t even flinch. Her calm demeanor reminded him of their bargain. Though he wanted to, giving Regina the dressing down she deserved would only strain things between the two and they had Henry to think of. For his sake, there needed to be peace between his mother’s.

“I’m here because I’m the Sheriff,” Emma said, with a sarcastic tilt of her head.

“Oh, that’s right.” Sounding disappointed rather than humbled, Regina stepped back, nodding at the boy and girl. “Go on, do your job. Take care of those miscreants.”

Emma sighed, but said nothing else to Regina as she and Henry left to the chiming of the bell. Ava and Nicholas eyed Emma’s badge warily. Killian found he wanted to comfort them, offer some assurances that Emma would set things right. He kept silent though, it was not his place to make promises for her.

“Did you call their parents?” she asked Clark, fiddling with her keys.

“Uh, the number they gave me was disconnected,” Clark said. With an exasperated huff, he circled back around the counter and started packing the items into a little, blue shopping basket. Though he kept his head down, the tilt of his head made it clear he followed every word of the interrogation.

“Did you guys give Mr. Clark a fake number?”

The children shook their heads.

“Then why’s it disconnected?”

The boy hung his head and tears sprung into the girl’s eyes.

“Cause our parents couldn’t pay the bill,” Ava said, soft and broken.

Emma picked up the nearest item, a tube of toothpaste. She gave the small box far more scrutiny than it deserved. Remembering her own childhood, no doubt.

Emma met his gaze when she looked up, but focused on the children once again. “And you guys are just trying to help out, huh?”

“Please,” Ava whispered. “Please don’t arrest us. It will just make things worse for our parents.”

Clark sighed, setting the basket down on the counter with a thud. He leveled a disapproving glare at Emma.

“The items never left the store, Mr. Clark,” Emma said. “I think you can let it go this once.”

“And what about the next time?” the man asked in his nasal whine.

Killian shook his head. Henry hadn’t found the time to acquaint him with every character in the book—though he suspected that the lad had at last figured out who Mr. Gold was—but they had found a few stolen moments here and there for Henry to acquaint Killian with the people most pivotal with his grandparents' story. He couldn’t imagine anyone putting up with Clark for very long, let alone as long as Snow White and the other dwarves had.

“There won’t be a next time,” Emma said, fixing a stern look on the cowed children.

“And you’ll be compensated for the items,” Killian put in. He fished his wallet out of his jacket pocket, laying out the money that would have paid for the few items he needed. He could manage one more morning of only citrus for breakfast and come back tomorrow. “Ring them up.”

“Hook…” Emma said.

“No, I insist.” He smiled at the children. “I’ve been there a time or two myself. Their intentions are good, even if their methods are suspect.”

Emma smiled at that. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Fine,” Clark said and then sneezed.

The children glanced at each other, their mouths hanging open.

“Thank you, Mister,” Ava finally said. “We promise it won’t happen again.”

With a smile, Killian wondered if she meant they wouldn’t steal again or simply that they wouldn’t get caught.

# # #

“I could’ve taken care of all that,” Emma said as she watched Ava and Nicholas trot merrily up to her squad car.

Killian shrugged, letting the door swing closed behind him and cut out the jingling bell above it.

“My brother and I were very much like them, once upon a time. Though we didn’t have parents to go home to.” He grimaced, closing his eyes like he wanted to shut out a particularly painful memory. It was one of the most concrete details he had ever shared with her about his past. With a scratch behind his ear, he continued, “The kindness of a stranger could have changed both of our lives.”

Emma pressed her lips together. “Yeah, too bad there aren’t more strangers like you out there.”

He snorted. “That’s probably a good thing, Swan.” He threw a flourishing gesture toward the kids leaning against the car. “Would you like some help transporting them back home?”

“I’ll add that one to the list,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What list?” Killian asked, brow furrowing.

“The list of people you think I can’t handle,” she replied, sticking her hands in her back pockets. Her eyes strayed down the street, eyeing the pawnbroker’s sign swaying in the wind. “Should I put preteens before or after middle-aged men who use a cane?”

Killian tensed. “That is hardly something to joke about.”

“Lighten up, Hook. I know you don’t like the guy, but I think I could take him in a fight.”

Killian grunted, staring so hard at the kids she thought he might burn a hole through Nicholas’ head.

“Hey,” she said. “I don’t like him either. And I don’t plan on looking for trouble. Though if he keeps showing up at work…”

“What?” Killian snapped, tearing his gaze from the children. “When?”

Emma held her hands up, more to tell him to chill out than to push him away. “Whoa. He was there the day after the election is all. Wanted to give me Graham’s jacket.”

“And you’re just mentioning this now?” he demanded. “What did he do? Did he threaten you?”

“Stop it,” she said, aware of the two kids watching not far away. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him a little further down the street, turning him so those flashing blue eyes wouldn’t get the kids all worried. She sighed. “He wanted to congratulate me or whatever. Apparently, my standing up to him was all part of some master plan to get me elected.”

She suppressed a shudder, remembering the silent way Gold appeared at her office door two weeks ago. She hadn’t even known he was there until he spoke and nearly scared her out of her skin.

“Emma,” Killian pleaded, “I need to know things like this.”

“No,” she snapped. “You don’t. Look, your problems with Gold are not my problems with Gold. I don’t know what happened between you two, but until you care to tell me what he did that was so awful, I’m going to handle him based on my own experience. Got it?”

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you around,” she said, pushing past him.

The kids slid inside the car as soon as she popped the locks, setting the white plastic bag with the groceries Killian had purchased between them. Ava rattled off an address with a speed that stoked the burning suspicion already coiling in her gut.

Emma expected yellowed, peeling paint and maybe a boarded up window, but the house she ended up at was a calming blue and looked well maintained. The yard neatly cut and the steps leading up to the door swept clean. It was in better shaped than Ava in her ratty sweater and Nicholas with his shaggy haircut.

“This it?” she asked, throwing the gear into park. At the kids nod, she unhooked her seatbelt.

“Please, no,” Ava said, sinking into the backseat. Her fingers tightened around the belt buckle. “If our parents see you, they’ll be so embarrassed.”

Emma twisted, her jacket squeaking against the leather seat as she faced the kids fully. “Did Henry tell you about my superpower?”

Ava shook her head. “We just met him.”

“I have the ability to tell when anyone is lying.” Emma softened her voice, trying not to sound too harsh as she met first Nicholas and then Eva’s eyes. “Tell me the truth, money problems aside, is everything okay at home?”

They both nodded too vigorously.

“Yeah, we’re great,” Ava answered, but her words sounded hollow. Rehearsed. “Can we go?”

Emma contemplated calling them out, but thought better of it. Something was off for sure, but she needed to know more before she could decide what to do. “Alright.” She inclined her head toward the door.

Both of them flashed her relieved smiles as they piled out of the car, the bags in their hands. The sun caught Ava’s messy waves as they bounced against her back. The girl turned and waved to Emma from the top step, her smile bright and very, very fake. With a nod, Emma shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. The kids watched her in the rearview mirror, so Emma kept going until she rounded the corner of the street and couldn’t see them anymore.

She parked against the curb and jumped out. Brittle, winter grass crunched under her boots as she crept through a yard, peeking around a bush just in time to see the kids disappear around the side of the house. Emma took off after them, careful to stay just far enough behind that they wouldn’t catch her lurking.

The pelted across a deserted street, leading her through an overgrown yard and past useless, rusting trucks. Finally, Nicholas tossed the bags to Ava and used a trash can to scramble over a fence. The girl did the same. Emma almost went after them, but decided against it, noting instead the dilapidated, white house that appeared to be their true home.

She circled around. The house was old and obviously abandoned. She wondered why it hadn’t been listed in the paper all those weeks back when she had been looking for a home. She probably could have afforded this one too, she thought and immediately scoffed at the idea. Emma Swan was not the type to own a house. Renting worked just fine for her, thank you very much.

Every window on this house was boarded up, but the front door had a simple lock. Biting back a smile, Emma knelt, making quick work of the lock. Dust littered the air when she entered and she suppressed a sneeze. Light filtered in through the old boards, landing on a trap door that led into the basement and the floor creaked loud enough to provide sound effects for the movie Twister. Emma paused, stepping down on the board that protested so loudly, making groan again.

That should do it, she thought.

Quickly, she ducked down a hallway and waited to see who would be the first up from the basement.

Before long, Ava and Nicholas came tiptoeing through the house, Nicholas holding on tightly to his sister’s hand. They missed Emma in her little corner, peering instead into the kitchen.

“Why’d you guys lie to me?” Emma asked, stepping out of the shadows. “Where are your parents?”

The kids spun toward her, eyes wide. Nicholas pressed his mouth shut tight, but Ava lifted her head, a hint of a challenge in her posture as she said, “We don’t have any.”

She knew she had recognized the look in their eyes. Now the questions was, what could she do about it?

# # #

After she escorted them down into the basement—which was in even worse shape than upstairs, despite the furniture crowded together in an attempt to create a home—Emma had the kids gather up all their things and marched them back down the road to her squad car. They went without complaint, both eyeing her warily, but seeming to accept the inevitable.

She knew what she should do. Cases like this were social services business not hers, but every time she looked in the rearview mirror and saw their dejected faces, it reminded her of what would happen to them if she made that call.

“What happened to your parents?” she asked.

“Our mom died a couple of years ago,” Ava, the appointed spokesperson for the pair, said. She fiddled with her hair, wrapping and unwrapping a strand around her finger with frenetic energy. Gone was the calm, cool exterior.

“And your dad?”

Ave just shrugged.

She knew what she should do, but that was exactly what had been done with her, wasn’t it? The people who had handed her from home to home were just doing their jobs. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, what was it Killian had said about the kindness of strangers? Her life could have been so different if even one person had truly cared about her.

So she decided she would care about these kids. She was going to do her best to make sure they didn't get separated. Maybe she lacked any real idea of what to do exactly, but there had to be something.

“Hey, I need to stop by the station real quick to pick up some stuff,” she said, glancing up at them through the mirror. “But you’re not in trouble, okay? I’m going to take you to my house and get you some real food and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Ava sighed, groping for her brother’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They opted to wait in the squad car, so she left the keys in the ignition and hopped inside for a few minutes as she searched through the records for anything related to them or their mom. She found a file, an autopsy report, with the name Ava had given her for their mother, but not much else.

The car was still there when she came back out and only then did it occur to her that they could have stolen it. Emma shook her head. Intentions aside, she needed to be a little more careful with these two.

Twenty minutes later found them back at the loft, a pot full of mac and cheese on the stove as Emma and the kids ate. Both children had tucked into their food with relish, shoveling it into their mouths like it might disappear.

“Hey,” she said, waiting for them both to pause and look up at her. “There’s as much of that as you want. I’ll even make another box if you’re still hungry, just don’t make yourselves sick.”

Nicholas swallowed, nodding. They both continued with a little more patience this time. Ava’s fork scraped the bottom of her bowl just as the apartment door opened and Mary Margaret walked in.

“So I hear that—” Mary Margaret froze, gaping at the two kids now sitting at her kitchen table.

Emma’s chair squealed against the floor as she pushed it back. “Guys, this is my roommate Mary Margaret. I need to talk with her for a minute.” She jerked a thumb back at the kitchen. “I won’t eat more than this, so you can have the rest if you want.”

Both kids jumped to their feet, bowls clutched in their hands.

Mary Margaret couldn’t seem to decide where to look. Finally, she said, “Uh, what did you need to talk about?”

Emma pulled her back into the bedroom, the file weighing heavily against her conscience. She knew how many rules she was breaking.

“They need a place to stay for a couple of nights,” Emma said.

“What? Why?” Mary Margaret hissed. “What happened to their parents?”

Quickly, Emma spilled the details of their little adventure at Clark’s store. Her roommate pressed a hand to her mouth as she listened to Emma’s description of the house they had been living in.

“They’re wearing the uniforms from your school,” Emma finished. “Do you know them?”

“I’ve seen them, but…: She shook her head. “I had no idea. None of us did.”

Emma sighed, a small part of her relieved that Mary Margaret hadn’t been close to these two. She didn’t know what she would have done if her roommate had had suspicions about the kids’ home life and said nothing.

“Ava and Nicholas Zimmer.” Emma opened the autopsy file again, her eyes scanning the documents. She saw no mention of the kids, just like she hadn’t found anything about them the first time she read through it. Mom had apparently passed from some form of cancer. “They said their mother was a woman named Dorrie Zimmer. She died a few years ago.”

Mary Margaret fiddled with one of the buttons on her blouse. “And the father?”

“There isn’t one. At least not one that they know.”

“What does, uh… What does social services say?” Mary Margaret asked. She took a step forward when Emma stayed silent. “You didn’t report them.”

Emma leaned in, lowering her voice even more. “I report them, I can’t help them. They go into the system.”

“The system that’s supposed to help,” her roommate countered.

“Yeah, says the woman who wasn’t in it for sixteen years,” Emma snapped in a hushed voice.

Mary Margaret stepped back, swallowing nervously.

Emma pushed on. “Do you know what happens? They get thrown into homes where they are a meal ticket, nothing more.” She peeked behind her again, glad to see the kids settled with their second bowls of cheesy goodness. She caught Mary Margaret watching too. “These families get paid for these kids and as soon as they’re too much work, they get tossed out and it all starts over again.”

“But they’re not all like that.” Mary Margaret shook her head.

“All the ones I was in.”

Pity filled Mary Margaret’s eyes, but not for the kids, this time she directed it at Emma. “What? We’re just going to adopt them?”

And there was the crux of the matter. There wasn’t room here, neither of them were exactly in the position to take on two kids. Emma had no delusions on that hand, she wasn’t even equipped to handle Henry. And Mary Margaret…well, she’d want kids of her own someday, there was no home for them with her. Maybe a few weeks ago she would have given up and consigned them to the system with a heavy heart, but standing in the kitchen she had remembered her argument with Killian. It took him only a few minutes to accept Henry as his son, only a few minutes to demonstrate just how wrong keeping it from him had been. What if Dorrie Zimmer had made the same mistake all those years ago?

“I want to look for their father,” she said. “They don’t know him. He may not know they exist.”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows shot up. “And you think if he knows, he’ll want them?”

Emma wanted the answer to be yes. But she wasn’t, she couldn’t. Maybe Killian had proved her wrong—and the jury was still out on that one, because he could up and leave at any time—but she didn’t even know if she had ever met this other guy.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Emma wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to think of cold hands and clothes that smelled like trash bag. “But what I do know is it’s hard enough finding foster families to take one kid that isn’t theirs, let alone two. It’s their best shot, or—”

A soft gasp burst out behind her. “We’re going to be separated?” Ava stared at them, her face red and tears in her eyes. Her exclamation had drawn her brother’s attention, he paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, eyes going wide.

“No,” Emma said, too quickly to think about what she was saying. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Please…” Ava’s lip trembled. “Please don’t let it.”

“Emma’s going to do her best, sweetie,” Mary Margaret said, with a hard look at Emma. “Now, as good as that dinner looks, I think it’s missing some dessert. Why don’t you help me bake some cookies while Emma tries to figure this out.”

Ava swallowed, but nodded despite tears still in her eyes.

The kids were reserved the rest of the night. Nodding and answering in monosyllables when they could. Despite all of Emma’s patience, they didn’t know any more about their dad than they told her in the squad car.

She let them take her bed, volunteering to sleep on the couch. Mary Margaret offered the other half of her bed, but that felt too…cozy for Emma. Too much like it meant something, like they were best friends who braided each other’s hair and swapped stories about boys. That made Emma feel guilty, because if it weren’t for Henry she would leave Storybrooke behind and never look back.

The kids didn’t have any real pajamas, they just apparently slept in their clothes and changed the next day, so Mary Margaret unearthed a couple of t-shirts and some sweatpants for them to sleep in. They disappeared upstairs with soft good nights after changing into the new clothes and handing over their old uniforms to be thrown in the washer with all their dirty clothes.

That would be a plus, at least, Emma thought as she tried for the third time to get comfortable on the couch. She remembered many, many days wishing she could do more than air her few outfits. Every now and then, she’d save up enough for a corner laundromat, but clean clothes were a luxury when you had to steal to eat.

Emma wanted to do better for them though. Better than a couple of meals and clean clothes and a night in a warm house. She pulled the blanket a little closer. She knew exactly what nights in that old house must have been like.

She would do better for them. They’re birth certificates had to be at city hall. She could start there. Maybe there would be something on their birth certificate or in the hospital records.

Yeah, there had to be something. She smiled. It sounded like something Henry would say.

She drifted off, thinking maybe, just maybe she could be the kind of stranger Killian mentioned earlier that day.

# # #

Ava nearly cried when Mary Margaret handed her a uniform smelling of Downy. Even Nicholas ducked away when he thought they weren’t looking and swiped at his eyes.

It was odd, having two near teenagers to get up and fed and ready for school all of a sudden and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have Henry sitting around the table with them. To be handing him a clean sweater and telling him to hurry up in the bathroom. Both children tried to take their time in the shower, but Mary Margaret hurried them along with promises of letting them shower later that evening until the hot water ran out.

They went to school with her, while Emma headed over to City Hall, ready to brave the musty archives and hoping she might find something — anything — to give these kids a chance.

In a rather stereotypical fashion, the Office of Records was in the basement, tucked away down a practical labyrinth. Emma wandered into three other offices before she finally got directions to the right one.

A huge, oak counter stood between her and the rest of the room. Behind it was set after set of library style filing bins, all of them in the same matching wood. Every flat surface was covered in files and binders and odd papers. A man sat amidst the chaos, his attention on a computer that could probably give life advice to the ones at the sheriff’s station. Half bald, with a beer belly and a rumpled button-down shirt, he was oblivious to Emma’s arrival until she called out.

“Excuse me. Mr…” She examined the nameplate and made her best guess. “Krzyszkowski?”

The man let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, it’s Krzyszkowski.” Pronouncing it like there was a ‘v’ at the end, though, there wasn’t. Emma checked. He stood, weaving around a table to get to the counter. “Everyone calls me K.”

“Mr. K,” she repeated, relieved to have a name she would be less likely to embarrass herself saying. “I am Sheriff Swan. I’m hoping to look at the birth certificates of Ava and Nicholas Zimmer.”

He reminded her a bit of a rat, with his beady, dark eyes. If Emma expected some curiosity or blustering, she would have been disappointed. Krzyszkowski reached for one of the papers behind the counter immediately and pulled up a handful.

“Alright, just, uh, fill out this form.” He slapped the papers onto the wooden surface, killing the small, foolish part of Emma that had hoped for just a moment it would be that easy. He lifted an industrial stamper, big enough to be a serious contender in a game of Clue and stomped it down on all three pages. “In triplicate.”

Emma blinked, surprised that it was that easy, despite her crushed—but unrealistic—hopes. The form only wanted basic information, record keeping for who saw what records she assumed, no signing over your firstborn or requests for certification.

“Okay.” She plucked up the first form. The desk had one of those ball-and-chain pens, the swinging chain causing her handwriting to wobble slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” the man said from his spot halfway across the room. He stood at one of the filing cabinets, his fingers still shoved inside a file holder. “Those documents have been recently removed.”

“By who?” Emma asked.

Somehow she already knew the answer.

“By the mayor,” he replied. He examined the one piece of paper that was in that file. “Just this morning actually.”

Of course.

Of course, Regina dug her fingers into this already. It was so like her, to want to meddle in something that had nothing to do with her whatsoever and step in to do Emma’s job when she was already doing it. Sort of.

“Thanks,” Emma said. “I guess I’ll just go see her about those then.” She left the forms sitting on the counter, one of them only half completed.

How had Regina known who to look for? Had she gotten their names before she left Clark’s shop yesterday? Maybe she’d been so offended that the kids tried to involve Henry she meant to give the parents a piece of her mind, or whatever it was suburban soccer mom types gave when they felt miffed.

Maybe Regina had planned to show up on their doorstep with a basket of apples.

Emma snorted at that, but reeled herself in quickly. Laughing would not get her into Regina’s good graces, and she needed to do that if she planned to help these kids.

The receptionist stopped her as she entered. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Emma said, “but I need to talk with her about the Zimmer case. Tell her that.”

The receptionist stared for a moment, but when Emma didn’t budge, she got up and shuffled into Regina’s office, closing the door firmly behind her. Emma crossed her arms and resisted the urge to tap her foot. The woman returned shortly, the open door she left behind her the only sign that Emma had permission to enter. With a deep breath, she walked into the office, hands stuffed into her back pockets.

Regina shuffled papers on her desk, barely glancing at Emma as she entered. “Don’t worry, Miss Swan. You can relax,” she said, her hand resting on the file Emma needed. “I’ve contacted social services. Turns out these kids are on their own.” She grimaced, as though the thought pained her, though whether that was genuine or an act was hard to tell. “They need help.”

“Which is exactly what I’m trying to do,” Emma said. If they had an equal goal, maybe Regina could be reasoned with. After all, she had no connection to these kids other than their brief contact with Henry.

What did it matter to her what happened to them? “I’m trying to find their father.”

Regina sighed, handing over the file. “Well, he doesn’t exist.”

Emma took the file with a roll of her eyes. “He has to.”

“Well, of course, biologically he exists,” Regina said. “But there’s no record of him.”

Sure enough, where they would have put the father’s name, only the word “Unknown” was written. Disappointment hit Emma solid and low, but she tried not to react. Not in front of Regina.

The other woman fiddled with a pen. “Which means we have no choice.These children need a home, so they will be put into the foster system.”

Any part of Emma that thought Regina’s concern might be genuine vanished at the look of smug satisfaction on Regina’s face. Of course. If Emma was invested in this, Regina wanted to thwart it. And Regina had the law on her side too.

“Storybrooke has a foster system?” Emma waited, already knowing what Regina’s answer would be.

“No, but I’ve contacted the state.” Regina moved around the desk with more ease than anyone wearing a pencil skirt had a right to, speaking in flat, clinical tones. She lifted a pitcher of orange juice — probably hand-squeezed and organic if she was as strict with what she ate as she was with Henry — pouring herself a glass as she explained, “Maine’s group homes, unfortunately, are filled. But they put us in touch with two homes in Boston – a boy’s home and a girl’s.”

The steady thrum of unease that started with the mention of group homes exploded into full-blown dread.

“They’re separating them?” she gasped.

“I don’t like it, either,” Regina said, though her tone was hard to read. “But we’ve got no choice. You need to have them in Boston tonight.”

Emma’s stomach sank to her knees. “Me?”

Regina turned on her, sipping at her glass before speaking. “Well, you wanted to be Sheriff. This is what sheriffs do. Yes, you’re taking them.”

“No,” Emma said with full knowledge that she was being childish. Maybe she couldn’t stop them from being separated, but she would not be the one that delivered them to those homes. She never wanted to be within a mile of another group home for as long as she lived. “I promised them they wouldn’t be separated.”

“Well then, perhaps you should stop making promises you can’t keep.” Regina waited for a moment, her face softening as she approached Emma. “These children need a home. I’m just trying to find the best one.”

“So am I,” Emma retorted.

Regina shrugged. “He left them once. Even if you did find him, that’s not guarantee he’ll want them.” She set her glass down. “I see the appeal of the idea, Miss Swan, really I do. But better a sure home than letting them depend on a man we already know they can’t trust, don’t you think?”

Emma’s grip on the folder tightened. “Fine. I’ll do it. But they get to finish the school day first.”

“A wise decision,” Regina said, smiling coldly. “Best not to make a scene.”

“Madam Mayor.” Emma nodded and headed for the door, the file still clutched in her hand. Her spine crawled. Every step she was sure Regina would call for her to bring the file back, but no such call came. She got out the door and down the stairs and back to the station before she took a full breath, but no one stopped her. No one called her out for a liar.

Not that she had lied. School ran until two, so she had until then to figure something out.

# # #

“Any luck?” Henry walked into Emma’s office and her heart sank.

An odd feeling to associate with Henry. Until now, she hadn’t realized that seeing him usually made her day brighter. His arrival, however, signaled the end of the school day and — since Emma still had no plan — the end of her window to find Ava and Nicholas’ father.

“No,” she said, closing the file she was sifting through. She had all the records from the year Ava and Nicholas were born, searching through for any mention of Dorrie and her possible baby daddy.

Henry dumped his bag and set the storybook down with a thunk, heedless of the mess on Emma’s desk. “I know who they are. They’re brother and sister. Lost. No parents. Hansel and Gretel.”

For just a brief moment, her spirits lifted, until she realized just how ridiculous that was. Henry spoke of fairytale characters and they needed a real life, flesh and blood person. Still, he was trying to help.

“Anything in there about the dad?” she asked, more out of habit than hope.

Henry shook his head. “Just that he abandoned them.”

“Great.” Emma flipped his storybook closed, picking up her last file and heading to stash it back in the filing cabinet. A big bunch of dead ends. That’s all any of this was. “Sounds like a familiar story. Whoever this guy is, he could be in Laos by now.”

Henry followed her into the next room. “No, he’s here.”

Emma scoffed, her natural cynicism apparently untamable today. “Just how do you know that?”

“Cause no one leaves Storybrooke.” He leaned against a desk, tapping his fingers across the dark surface. “No one comes here, no one goes. It’s just the way it is.”

“I came here,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Your dad came here, she almost added, before she remembered she hadn’t told him about Killian yet. That idea made her insides twist. She was okay with Killian knowing about Henry and hanging out with Henry at this point, but every time he even hinted at spilling this secret, ice cold dread seeped into her bones. Sure, Killian was all fatherly and cool with it now, but what happened when he got bored and tired of having a kid hanging around him all the time? Right now, Henry would lose a friend  and nothing more.

“Because you’re special,” Henry said. “You’re the first stranger here. Ever.”

“Right, I forgot.” Emma shrugged it off. He might not remember any strangers coming to Storybrooke, but clearly that wasn’t true. She ran her fingers over the files, wishing she knew them as well as Henry apparently knew his book. The cool metal felt brittle as she slid the drawer closed.

For a brief moment, she wondered if there had ever been someone who felt this way about her. One of her case workers, maybe? Someone determined to help, but with their hands tied by laws meant to “protect” her. She wanted to keep looking, but she was out of time and out of ideas.

Henry came around the desk, hopping up to sit on it like he owned it. “Can you tell me about him?”

“Uh.” Emma blinked. “I haven’t found anything about him.”

“Not their father. Mine.”

He stared up at her with wide-eyed innocence, feet banging against the desk as he waited, completely oblivious to the way Emma’s stomach lurched down to her toes. The silence stretched.

“I told you about your parents,” he added, sensing her hesitation. “And now you’re even living with your mom.”

“Mary Margaret isn’t… She’s… Never mind.” Emma sank into the nearest chair, gathering her thoughts. What did she tell him? How much did she tell him? How did she avoid this subject completely? Killian wouldn’t leave him, a small voice said. But she had been so sure about Killian all those years ago and he left her then. He’d promised never to leave her and then he did.

“Please?” Henry begged.

Emma couldn’t say no.

“I was pretty young.” She sat back, pushing her hair away from her face as she thought. “I’d been dodging social services for a year and…” Emma paused, unsure of how much was too much. Henry already knew about her past, did he really need to know about Killian’s? “To be honest, your dad and I weren’t always on the right side of the law. I met him stealing the beetle.”

Henry’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”

Emma grimaced, maybe she shouldn’t have told him that. “Yeah.”

“Cool.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, well, don’t tell Regina you think that.”

Henry leaned forward. “What happened after that?”

“We were…family for a while after that,” Emma said with a shrug. It was true on her part at least. “And good for each other, I guess.” She watched the way Henry’s face lit up, the way his fingernails dug into the cuffs of his sweater, and she couldn’t tell him the truth. Even if she wanted to—she just couldn’t.

“We got real jobs, tried to put down roots. Mine was at this crappy twenty-four hour diner. And your dad, he got a job at the… docks. Long, hard days, but he’d always come in after work to sit with me until I got off.” She swallowed. That part, at least, was true. There had been a few odd jobs and Killian had hung around a couple of those places while waiting for her shift to end. “He’d order coffee and sit at the counter and complain about how we didn’t have pumpkin pie.”

“Did you get married?”

Emma tried not to blush. “No, we just…” Emma had no idea how much Henry knew about sex. He was nine. Was nine too young? Did it even need to be explained for this story anyways? “Uh, we watched each other’s backs for a while and…” She shrugged. “Eventually we grew apart. Life happened. His got better and mine got worse and…”

“And you met that other guy,” Henry said. “The one that got you sent to jail.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Emma said. She closed her eyes against that particular set of memories, breathing deep. More things he did not need to know. More things she did not need to think about. “Before I went, I… I found out I was pregnant with you. And I tried to contact him, and I found out that he’d joined the…army.” The idea of Killian in the military was laughable, but this was a way to kill two birds with one stone. She gave him a sad smile. “He died during the war, saving a wounded soldier. So, you think I’m a savior, Henry? He was.”

Emma leaned forward, taking his hand in hers. She was going to rot in hell for doing this, she knew. But she’d made her decision. This was safer for her son.

“Your father was a real hero.” She didn’t think she had ever told a more blatant lie.

Henry didn’t give her any time to worry about whether he had inherited her superpower. “Do you have anything of his? Something you can remember him by. Something I could see.”

Without thought, her hand went to her chest, habit taking over before she remembered Killian had the necklace now. Emma sighed, feeling a little less for its loss, even with the memories attached to it.

“I… I don’t…” She sat up, the chair creaking underneath her and startling her beautiful, brilliant, ingenious son. Emma smiled. “Henry, I’m sorry. I gotta go. I may know how to find this guy.”

The wheels of her chair scraped against the floor as Emma rolled away from her desk and headed for her office and her keys. It felt like electricity shot through her veins. This would work, she knew it. Her fingers itched to turn on the siren when she slid into the squad car, but that would draw attention and attention probably meant Regina. And Regina would cut this idea off before Emma could even say the word ‘plan’. Besides, it was only two blocks away.

Ava and Nicholas jumped as Emma burst into the apartment. Ava had one of last night’s cookies in her hand and a guilty look on her face as she whirled to face Emma. Both children wore regular clothes. Emma didn’t blame them for wanting out of those uniforms as soon as possible.

“Stay right there,” Emma said. “I have an idea.”

Nicholas blinked at her, then turned around, reaching for the cookies as Emma dashed upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. Two seconds later, she clattered back down the stairs, her old cardboard box in her arms.

Emma set the box on the counter, reaching inside without taking her eyes off the kids. “I want to show you guys something.”

Her fingers brushed soft wool like she knew they would. The blanket made a poor substitute for parents, but some part of her still relaxed a little.

Nicholas sat forward, his stool teetering on two legs. “What’s that?”

“It’s my baby blanket,” Emma answered, holding the small blanket to her chest. “It’s something I’ve held onto my whole life. That’s the only thing that I have from…” The words caught in her throat, for just a second. “From my parents. I’ve spent a lot of time with a lot of kids in your situation, and all of them…” Again, it was painful to admit. Even if they didn’t know her story, that she hadn’t been enough for her parents, she felt like they would see the truth written across her face, like countless children had done every day of her growing up. But she pushed on, because Ava and Nicholas weren’t in this situation because they were unwanted. They were here because their parents hadn’t had a choice. That was all she wanted, to give them a choice. “All of us. We held onto stuff.”

Ava’s eyes were glued on Emma, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted in a look of wary comprehension. She had them. If there was one thing Emma had noticed, it was that where Ava went, her brother was sure to follow.

“I want to find your father,” Emma said, setting the blanket down. She met first Nicholas and then Ava’s gaze. “But I need your help. Is there anything of his you’ve held onto?”

“I might have something.” Ava swallowed, her hand going to her pocket. She stared at Emma, clenched hand still hidden from view. “But if I give it to you, you’ll make sure we stay together, right?”

“Right,” Emma promised without thought. All she needed was a clue. If she had that, she could find their father. And if she found their father, she could keep them from growing up like she did. She could make sure their story was different from hers.

Metal clinked as Ava withdrew her hand. Shiny, dark metal peeked through her fingers, followed by a chain sliding from the pocket.

“A compass?” It didn’t look expensive, the metal a dull gold that barely reflected the light. It was heavier than it looked though. Emma examined it, noticing that the little needle was stuck.

“Our mom kept it,” Ava explained, her voice raspy. “She said it was our dad’s.”

“Thank you.”

She flipped the compass over, searching for some sign of the previous owner. No such luck. Biting her lip, she racked her brain for any other ideas. This was the key. This would lead her to their dad. She could feel it. She just…

Ava interrupted her thoughts. “Did you find them?”

Emma jerked her head up. “Who?”

“Your parents.”

“Not yet,” she said, because a flat out denial felt too harsh for this moment. “But I’m going to find yours.”

The kids watched silently as she examined the compass, trying to think if she knew anyone in town that might know about such things. She traced the outer edge with a finger, following the path of her thoughts.

Mary Margaret came out of her room, tucking the hem of her shirt into a pair of jeans. “Oh, Emma, I thought I heard you.” She smiled. “Are you done for the day or…”

“No,” Emma said, shoving the compass into her pocket. “I had a couple of questions for Ava and Nicholas.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret sighed. “Well, Henry will be disappointed, he was planning to come hang out while he waited for Regina to get off work.”

“He knows this is important,” Emma said, hand on the doorknob. “Tell him I’ll see him later.”

The door swung open with a slight creak and Emma could practically hear her roommate adding WD-40 to her mental shopping list, but she didn’t stop to think. She let it latch behind her, pounding down the stairs and onto the street. The squad car’s engine revved to life and she was halfway down the street before she realized where she had decided to find her answers.

If she had been less desperate she might have turned around and figured out another option, but she needed someone who knew this town better than she did and a nine-year-old with a storybook just wasn’t going to cut it.

Few people roamed the streets at this hour. A couple of kids walking home from school, a bike messenger, an elderly couple out for a walk. When she got to the docks, it grew a little more crowded. The harbormaster stood outside his shack, debating hotly with someone. Several bundled up fishermen unloaded crates from a trawler. She pulled up to the curb near where Killian had indicated his ship was...parked? Anchored? Moored? She wasn’t entirely sure what the word was. The fishers paused, glancing over as she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

“Afternoon, sheriff,” one of them called.

Emma waved, feeling self-conscious and scanned the boats.

“You in the market for a boat?” he asked, grinning. “Looking to expand the sheriff’s department to the high seas now?”

“No,” she answered. “Just need to talk with a friend.”

“Odd place to look, considering none of those have been away from the docks in years. Nobody owns them far as I know.”

Emma turned to him, a cold fear coiling in her gut. “Really? My friend said he lived on one of these. The, uh, Miss Guided.” 

She almost winced at the name. Almost. But she was too busy worrying over whether Killian had lied to her. A cold sweat broke out over her skin, despite the stiff breeze blowing in from the ocean. She never had accepted his offer to visit his boat, so she had no proof. He could have made the whole thing up and be living on the street for all she knew.

“The Miss Guided?” The fisher got a strange look in his eyes, like he was trying to read fine print, but his eyes refused to focus. He bowed his head. Then his gaze snapped back up to Emma’s, his pleasant smile returning. “Ah, yes, Hook’s little boat. I’d forgotten he moved her so he could keep up with these poor unfortunate souls.” He gestured to the many boats with sails furled and gear packed away, looking forlorn. “That’s her right there.”

For a minute, Emma expected to find Killian standing where the man pointed, but the deck of the ship he indicated stood empty. There on the side curled the words Miss Guided. Clearly, she and this fisher had different definitions of the word little, because Killian’s boat measured at least thirty or forty feet. Despite her complete lack of knowledge about most things seafaring (Killian had talked about a thing or two, once upon a time, but she remembered very little of that), she could see the difference between this boat and the others.

Killian’s boat gleamed, the railing reflecting the sun and the deck a pristine white. The sails weren’t edged in gray or yellowed by the sun. And while the deck was tidy, it was in a thoughtful, useful way that gave the boat character instead of an air of abandonment.

Knees shaking, she approached. She didn’t like this, going to him in his territory, no matter that she had a gun. Killian wasn’t a physical threat to her, she couldn’t ever see how he would be. But she still remembered the way her heart sped into overdrive when Henry asked about him and the way she chickened out instead of telling her son the truth. Killian’s hold on her emotions, even after all these years, scared her far more than any other threat he could ever present.

She could shoot him. She couldn’t shoot her feelings.

“Hello,” she called out. “Hook?” Her feet faltered. A little dock extended away from the main dock down the side of the boat, providing access to a set of somethings that couldn’t decide whether they were steps or a ladder. Emma eyed the boat. Could she board without permission? The expanse of water between that little dock and the side of the boat looked awfully wide. “Hook?”

“Swan?” came a muffled reply. A moment later, Killian’s head popped up from under the deck, startling Emma. He quickly scaled the rest of the way up to the deck, concern clouding his features. “Is everything alright? Is it Henry?”

“No,” Emma said quickly, pushing down the guilt that flared inside her. “I just needed your help with something.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. Killian smirked, leaning up against the side.

“And what,” he asked, consonants snapping, “might the lady be needing help with?”

“Stop it.” She glared at him, though if she was mad at him for coming on to her, she couldn’t feel guilty so maybe she shouldn’t complain. “Look, I’d rather not shout it at you so either you come down here or…give me permission to come over or whatever you nautical types do.”

Killian chuckled. “Oh, things aren’t so formal on this little thing.” He gestured for Emma to make her way down the finger dock. “Though ‘permission to come aboard’ is the typical greeting. Keeps the jumpy ones from running you through with a sword. Here, grab this.” He leaned down, indicating a steel cable stretching taut above them. The metal bit coldly into Emma’s palm. “Yes. Now just step onto the gunwale. One foot and then the other right there.”

Emma did as he said, taking the hand he offered as she stepped off the dock. Killian smiled.

“Good then. Now you can step over,” he said, indicating the cord that ran the length of both sides. “We’ll make a sailor out of you yet.”

“Maybe some other time,” she said. “Look, you remember those kids from yesterday?”

Killian nodded, eyes dark. “Aye.”

“They’ve got no one.”

“I thought that might be the case,” he murmured. “You said you needed my help? How?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Emma expected Killian to lead her to a bench or something, but instead he led her to the back of the boat and down a cramped set of stairs. It opened up just a little once they were below deck. Enough that Killian could stand without hunching at least. The living quarters too were neat and tidy. No choice really, with the limited space beneath. There was a small kitchen along one wall and a set of cushioned seats along the other. All the way at the front was a triangular little bed, just big enough for one, maybe two people if neither of them were Vikings.

It was nice. Cozy.

Killian shifted nervously. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

Emma shrugged. “Coffee, I guess.”

She glanced around, absorbing the small details. He had been reading, if the book lying face down on the bed was any indication. Not much lay out and about, but neat as Killian was, some of his personality shone through. The tiny pictures on the wall above the couches. The dark, earthy color of his blankets. A towel hanging on the outside of a door near the stairs. The bathroom she supposed.

Killian puttered around, pulling out an old kettle and turning on the stove. The rotten egg scent of propane clouded the air.

“Afraid making coffee is a bit more complicated here than at Granny’s,” he said.

“Well, it’s a step up from the bug,” Emma replied. “At least this place has a stove.”

“Stinks to high heavens though,” he grumbled.

“But at least you’ll know if there’s a leak.”

Killian turned to the cabinet, pulling out two mugs, one at a time. “There is that.” He leaned against the small counter next to the sink, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Now, what’s this about Ava and Nicholas?”

Emma brought him up to speed, detailing everything that had happened since she drove off yesterday. Well, not everything. Clearly he wasn’t interested in the odd little details, like her sleeping on the couch or what she wore to bed. On second thought, he was probably interested in that last one. Killian listened thoughtfully, nodding every now and then without interrupting. By that time the coffee had finished brewing.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said when she finished. “I fail to see how I can help.” He handed her a mug. “Afraid I don’t have any cream.”

“Sugar?” she asked.

In answer, he flipped open another cabinet and handed her a little ceramic jug.

“Thanks,” she said, dumping a few spoonfuls into her coffee as Killian shook his head.

“It’s not meant to be drunk that way,” he grumbled.

“What are you? A Starbucks barista?” Emma retorted.

“A what?”

“You know, Starbucks. Coffee? I know we’ve been to a few…” She shrugged.

“Ah, yes.” He scratched behind his ear. “I suppose I’ve been here so long I’ve forgotten there are places other than Granny’s to get sustenance.”

Emma nodded. “She does make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Now, what assistance were you counting on, Swan.” He cast his eyes around the small hold. “I’m afraid I haven’t much room to harbor a couple of strays, but I suppose…”

“No, nothing like that.” Emma wrapped both hands around the mug, glad of the warmth. She had no idea how Killian stood sleeping in this place. Even with his mound of blankets. They were gloriously messy, as though he had been cocooned in them before she intruded on his afternoon. “I’m trying to find their dad. From what Ava’s told me, he probably doesn’t know they exist.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “And this…father...you think he might take them in?”

Emma shrugged. “I hope so.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone low. “For all you know, they were simply too young to remember him running out on them.”

“No,” she replied. “But it’s worth a shot. I mean, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to want to be involved either and you surprised me. I figured if you regretted running off…”

“Maybe he would too.” Killian swirled his drink, seemingly lost in the dark liquid. He took a sip, swallowing it with some difficulty. “How can I help?”

Emma pulled out the compass. “This is all they have of their father.”

With one reach Killian set his mug down on the little counter and took the compass in his hand. He turned it over, just as Emma had, caressing the smooth back with his thumb.

“A bit banged up,” he said. “But good workmanship.” He tapped a fingernail on the front. “Crystal. Jeweled setting. Quite the detail. Not your ordinary compass.”

Emma sat forward, hands clutching her coffee. “Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”

Killian shook his head. “I’m no expert. I simply know how to use the device…or I would were it working. Perhaps if you tracked the maker or the man who sold it they could tell you more.”

“Well, unless you see something I missed, I think finding whoever made this is a bust,” Emma said, taking the compass back from him. She pressed her lips together, noting how he fidgeted only slightly—his fingers tapping against his thumb while the rest of him stood stock still. She knew the answer to her next question before she even opened her mouth, but she asked it anyway. “Do you have any idea who might sell something like this?”

“You mean who might buy family heirlooms for pennies and then charge through the nose at resale?” he ground out. “Aye. Unless these children had a compass maker as an ancestor, this likely passed through Gold’s hands.”

Emma stood to leave, but found she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with her coffee. She wasn’t entirely sure she could just dump it down the drain in the sink. That felt a little rude anyways, considering she still had half a cup full.

Killian sighed, lifting the mug out of her hand. “I take it we’re paying a visit to the Crocodile.”

“The what?”

He snapped his mouth shut, eyes widening. “Nothing. Let me grab my jacket.”

“Oh no.” Emma held her hands up, the chain slapping dully against her wrist, halting him in his tracks. “I’m sheriff, this is my job.”

“And I’m a concerned citizen,” Killian shot back. “Mostly about you and the number of deals you’ve struck with Gold.”

“I can take care of myself, Killian,” she said. Tucking the compass into her pocket, she got her foot on the first step before Killian’s hand closed around her elbow. Gentle, but insistent.

“Please, Emma,” he said. “You don’t know him like I do. At least let me come for that, I might catch something you don’t.”

Emma sighed, but she couldn’t deny the very real fear in his eyes. There was a darkness to that fear, but it was true fear. Part of her should have been worried about what would happen if Killian and Gold ended up in the same room with only her to stop them, but she couldn’t dismiss the way anxiety coiled in her gut. Gold had been willing to risk injuring her and Regina to get what he wanted. Maybe Killian’s fear was justified.

“Fine,” she said. “But whatever issues you have with Gold, leave them at the door, okay? I won’t let you mess this up for these kids.”

He rocked back on his heels, his face thoughtful. Then he nodded and plucked his jacket up from among the blankets on the bed. Emma didn’t look behind her as she ascended, but she stopped short as she realized she wasn’t entirely sure how to get off the boat without ending up on her ass.

Killian chuckled as he passed her and it irked her how well he still read her. He winked. “Same as getting on, only in reverse.”

Easy as you please, he took hold of that same cable, quickly stepping over the line running down the side, and stepped down onto the little dock. He turned to her with twinkling eyes and held out his hand.

Emma gritted her teeth and followed him, doing exactly as he had done and stubbornly refusing to take the offered hand.

“See,” he said, apparently unflustered by her rebuff. “Nothing to it.”

“Come on,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “We’ve got work to do.”

#kau #captain swan #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs crew #henry's dad!au #i know it's been so so long #i'm a terrible person #this chapter has been sitting on my computer for six years #heh #my bad? #there's at least one more chapter coming tho #which has also been on my computer since 2017 #again a terrible person

[twistedtummies2]

Fifteen Days of Disney Magic - Number 13

Welcome to Fifteen Days of Disney Magic! In honor of the company’s 100th Anniversary, I am counting down my Top 15 Favorite Movies from Walt Disney Animation Studios! Today’s entry is the source of Disney’s Anthem. Number 13 is…Pinocchio.

“When You Wish Upon a Star, Makes No Difference Who You Are…” I don’t know how many people now would place this film so high in their personal rankings, but in animation circles, “Pinocchio” is considered not only massively important, but also a massively impressive feature, on an artistic level. This was Disney’s second full-length animated movie, and the whole conceit of the project seems to be, “Go big, or go home.” Nearly everything that made “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” impressive seems to be “upped” in this feature. The music in “Snow White” is charming, but “Pinocchio” is home to Disney’s Anthem. The illustrative aesthetics of Snow White seem to be given an upgrade; this movie is DRIPPING with atmosphere. Everything feels so rich and detailed, with so much texture and weight to it, and the scope of the film – which has also been upped – allows for a lot more variety in the environments we travel through. As Pinocchio goes on his many adventures, we move from humble cottages to grand theaters, demented carnivals, and the vast ocean itself. The darkness has also been upped. I would argue that “Pinocchio” is at least a strong candidate for Disney’s single darkest movie ever made. At first, this may seem odd; as most people probably know by now, Disney did dumb down the story quite a lot. In the original book, things got not just disturbing but downright brutal, sometimes even gory. Not only that, but the original Pinocchio was very much a little brat: the idea of him having no conscience, in the original story, was that he was a bad seed, who had to learn how to be a good person. He was a troublemaker who had to learn a lesson. For the Disney film, the character of Pinocchio is softened up QUITE considerably: this version of the character is instead a pure innocent. He’s not inherently bad, he’s just…inherently ignorant. He doesn’t fully understand the world around him, and he’s just trying to figure it out and survive the experience. Surviving, on that note, is NOT easy for him: at every turn, Pinocchio’s very EXISTENCE is under threat. Some scenes in this film are so horrifying, they’re still named as among the scariest moments in any animated feature, or heck, any movie ever made PERIOD. Just because it’s dumbed down from the source, it doesn’t mean it isn’t still utterly SADISTIC when it wants to be.

On the note of darkness, if you’re a Disney Villains fan, then you’ll be happy to know that this movie has more major rogues in it than perhaps any other theatrical Disney feature: as the story goes on, Pinocchio and his sidekick, Jiminy Cricket, have to work their way past an escalation of increasingly nasty baddies. From the con-artists, Honest John and Gideon; to the two-faced puppeteer, Stromboli; to the diabolically disturbing Coachman; and finally to the man-eating Monstro. With each new challenge, Pinocchio learns and adapts. His courage, optimism, and perseverance ultimately see him through. On that note, what I do like about this movie – and what I think it actually achieves that is BETTER than its source material – is that it balances its dark and light elements in a very good way. For all the nasty characters, deranged visuals, and morbid scenarios…Pinocchio and those closest to him are all wholesome, funny, and loveable characters the audience can relate to and enjoy. It’s one of those stories where the darkness helps one appreciate the light a little more: after going through this crucible with these protagonists, the happy ending feels even better than expected. I imagine Don Bluth and possibly Brad Bird probably took a lot of inspiration from this film, since their movies also seem to have this wonderful blend of cynicism and positivity. Films like “Iron Giant” and “An American Tail” are also stories where the humor and joy is amplified by the dread and despair that comes with finding it. The film is equal parts inspiring and utterly insane, and if that doesn’t sound like a story I’d love…you clearly don’t know me very well, do ye, folks? ;) The countdown continues tomorrow with my 12th Favorite Disney Movie! HINT: The One That Started It All.

#disney #disney 100 #disney 100 special #list #countdown #top 15 disney animated movies #fifteen days of disney magic #number 13 #pinocchio #pinocchio 1940

[semper-legens]

184. 1984, illustrated by Matyás Namai

Owned: No, library Page count: Unknown/not numbered My summary: A graphic novel adaption of George Orwell’s 1984. Winston Smith lives in Oceania, one of the three big powers in the world and home of Ingsoc, English socialism. Citizens of Oceania are watched through telescreens, must guard their minds from thoughtcrime, and cannot go against the Party in any way - unless they want to be detained by the Party, that is. But for Winston, everything changes when he meets Julia, a young woman who shares his anti-Party convictions. It’s a matter of time until they’re caught. But while they have it, they’ll share the love they’ve found. My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

1984! Who doesn't love a boot pressing down on a human face forever? This is actually the second graphic novel adaptation of 1984 that I've talked about here - what can I say, I find graphic novel adaptations of books that I'm familiar with interesting. I like to see how different artists interpret the source material, and 1984 poses some unique challenges to the adapter. Go completely oppressive and dystopian? Draw from Nazi imagery, communist imagery? Go a bit more sci-fi with it? How do the different characters look? What does this world look like? And what do we do about the giant section in the middle that's literally just the characters reading an in-universe book full of exposition dumping?

Well, this was actually a really good and interesting adaptation of 1984. The aesthetic is pretty much dystopian Europe, circa the Berlin Wall or Soviet Russia. One choice I really liked was that the art is completely monochrome but for splashes of red - blood, Julia's sash, the makeup she later wears. It's very striking and used to good effect here to contrast the grey of the world around Winston and Julia. The art also uses this sort of stream-of-consciousness surreality to depict Winston's dreams and fantasies; during the Hate in the early part of the book, we see Winston's violent fantasies against Julia being enacted in the background, and small scenes are used to underscore Winston's narration, like showing his neighbour's spying children when talking about what the Party has done to the family unit. Speaking of, the narration and dialogue (at least as far as I could tell) are lifted verbatim from the book. I don't think there's much if any original text here. Which is interesting, given the more visual nature of the medium in general. I don't think 1984 would work so much as a story without the ability to see into Winston's head, which makes the diary conceit that much more useful to show his thoughts as he performs his duty.

The imagery is also horrifying, at times. While we never see anything too explicit, we still get a good sense of what has happened to these characters and what is happening at various points of the narrative. The fear of the rats in room 101 is made clear without even showing them, which is interesting; we don't see Winston getting tortured in too graphic detail, but the way his body decays over his period of captivity is shown in full, horrifying detail. This adaptation understands the need for restraint, which is good - I think a lesser artist might be tempted to show these things in full detail, and as such turn the story into more of a gore exploitation thing, which really doesn't fit the narrative. A lot is left unsaid and unseen, which makes the violence that we do see that much more shocking for it. Overall, a really solid adaptation, and I'm very glad I picked it up.

Next, something completely different - records of a house full of ghosts.

#1984 #Matyás Namai #bookblr #book blog #book blogger #4

[fickleminder]

In response to your post about your writing...

Forgive the essay, but you're one of the best writers I've seen on this platform. My favorite is probably "the years start coming and they don't stop coming"; it never gets old. I also LOVE "The Sphynx" and "Dirty Pop(sicles)" (but that last one... lmao).

I think the way you write is typically clear, concise, and interesting. You do a good job at varying sentence length and structure, and you use a wide range of vocab to avoid repetition. These things also give the MC a relatable personality and convey their emotions in a subtle way (not to mention the fact that they can be downright hilarious). "Actions speak louder than words" is always a hallmark of good writing, and I'd say you nail that most of the time.

One thing about fanfiction is that you don't have many opportunities to describe things without relaying something your reader already knows. But this is arguably good practice; in general you don't want to stop time to give a full description of an environment unless the character is in awe and observing it all in detail themselves (even then, keep it brief).

Personally, I like your character- and plot-centric approach; truthfully, the details of the setting and what someone's wearing aren't important to the reader... unless, of course, they are.

Some might disapprove of your "abrupt" transitions, but I think it works really well for you. The way you introduce the next part usually makes it easy to pick up and avoids being repetitive, so I don't see it as a problem (quite the opposite, actually).

In short, you do a great job! Do you write/plan on writing formally at all, or is it just a hobby for you?

I had to lie down and reboot my brain a few times before even thinking about how to reply this. This is such a motivating thing to read first thing in the morning, holy shit.

Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m going to print this essay and hang it on my wall.

I feel like I struggle with “show don’t tell” a lot, which leads to the balancing act between elaborating/describing and not over-explaining/stating the obvious. I’ve written plots too vaguely before, and I always have to remind myself that plot twists readers can see coming (or at least don’t come completely out of nowhere) are actually a good thing 😅

I’ll keep your encouragement in mind Anon! And to answer your question, writing’s just a hobby for me. It’s something I want to keep absolutely stress-free, so I don’t do those “write x words a day” stuff or monthly challenges. Kudos to the writers who do though, I have mad respect for them 🫡

I can’t say this enough, but thank you again. I’ll let you in on something: I’m actually in the middle of commissioning an artist for an illustration of a scene in The Sphinx. Since you enjoyed that piece (I had a lot of fun writing it too even though xOC fics generally aren’t popular), I hope you’ll look forward to it when it’s finally done.

Have a great rest of the week Anon 💕💕💕💕

#ask #writing

[tuxedaaron]

I'll admit, when I made the decision to draw some pics for Green Lantern: The Animated Series, this wasn’t my choice for the first one.  But I was struck with a sudden wave of inspiration and the pencil work looked so good, I couldn't help but get to it.   Besides, at the time I was in the mood for something simple. Like with my Spectacular Spider-Man fanfic ideas, I've got too many GL:TAS fanfic ideas to ever write them by myself.  So like with SSM, I decided to draw a series of pics to showcase my main ideas in the hopes that I might draw co-writers to the cause to help me out.  This one here is one of the big ones. After absorbing and assimilating the colors of the Emotional Spectrum, Aya is resurrected as a White Lantern.  Gifted with new power and, literally, a new lease on life, she now makes it her purpose to understand it in all its forms.  As such, she spends most of her time on the Blue Lantern homeworld of Odym (pictured here).  As a planet that teems with more life than any other, it's the perfect environment for her to observe its natural cycles and absorb all the knowledge she can.  Of course, she has other reasons for making Odym her adopted home, but I won't get into that here (don't want to give TOO much away). Despite the simple nature of the pic, this whole thing was pretty much an experiment from Minute One.  I knew when I made the decision, I wanted to draw the pic DCAU style.  And having some experience with that at this point, it wasn't that tough...at least the head and the torso.  And then I got to the legs.  Now anybody who's been watching my stuff for a while knows full-well that I likes me some good shapely legs.  So to assimilate Aya's legs into my preferred method took a bit of doing.  Not that her legs aren't attractive in their own right, they're just contrary to what I'm used to drawing.  But after a couple of tries, I managed to get it done in a way that I liked. The other challenge here was the color scheme.  I knew how I wanted it to look in my head (creamy white for the armor, a light-grayish skin tone), but until I saw it, I wasn't sure if it would work.  There were a couple of things I changed on the fly.  Her lips, for example, I know I could have made darker.  But that, to me, just conjured up too many comparisons to Raven from Teen Titans.  So instead, I chose to go the other way and keep them a straight white and it still works. And that's where we come to the rainbow-colored highlights, which were, BY FAR, the biggest gamble.  But this was something I wanted to add for a couple of reasons.  One, because she was going to be pretty much bland white, I wanted SOMETHING in there for a bit of contrast.  Also, I wanted to still illustrate Aya's mechanical nature through the highlights all the colors of the Emotional Spectrum that she assimilated and now runs on.  I really didn't know how this was going to look when I started.  But when I was finished, I have to say, while it may look a TEENY bit odd, it wasn't something I disliked enough to do away with. Besides, I still think it works as an animated feature of her.  Picture all of the colors in a constant state of rotation, with certain colors becoming more predominant than others with changes in her emotional state.  For example, in a moment of shock or uncertainty, her highlights would change primarily Yellow, in order to illustrate Fear.  As such, she's almost like a living mood ring.  Talk about literally wearing your heart on your sleeve, am I right? ^_^ All-in-all, I'm quite happy with the pic and I hope everyone else is, too.  And if this pic should happen to make you curious about my fanfic ideas and possibly want to help me out so they can be written, so much the better.  One way or another, as always, I look forward to hearing what you have to say. ^_^

#tuxedaaron #fanart #dcu #dc universe #dcau #dc animated universe #green lantern #green lantern the animated series #aya #white lantern

[melhive]

4, 14, 16? for the artist ask thingy :)

Excellent choices my dear Radish ♥

4. Fav character/subject that’s a bitch to draw

What even is going on in Kuroo's head?? And I'm not even talking about his thoughts, I mean capilar issues only.

"But you never drew Kuroo??"

Ok fair (I'm scared to, though).

After a year of DaiSuga they're starting to get into shape in my hands so most struggles are getting solved. That being said, I have no idea how Furudate does post time skip Daichi's hair. I know it's a licked back hair but doesn't matter what I do it always looks SO weird??? So I go for a, uhh, sculpted up hair, or whatever one calls that. At least it looks good on him.

14. Any favorite motifs

The thing I love the most about illustrations are exactly that, they're illustrating, they're visually telling a story. And that's hard as fuck, but at the same time that's what's going to hold you to any piece for more than 2 seconds: because you'll want to absorb all details of it, you'll read the image and you'll tell yourself a story to every element and their interaction in there.

I'm, uh, very not practiced in, say, darker stories. Not that I don't want or don't like, but in between 46123 WIPs the lighter themes always win for some reason. So I love the challenge of making the characters look close, intimate, friendly, desiring, etc, and through their emotions start to tell the story with the other elements around them.

Expressions, exaggeration, emotions, body language. I suppose it's the humanity in it that I love to explore the most.

16. Something you are good at but don’t really have fun doing

Now, this is going to be really funny, I know, but: rendering.

90% of my pieces are rendering, I'M AWARE! Rendering is the trick in my sleeve, it's my magic, it's where I shine. But MAN, that's easily half of my work, and before that there's like, looking for references, doodle, sketch, fix everything, lineart, colour, change all colours a thousand times and clean the mess I made colouring, so when I say it takes a lot of time, it's usually a full week or more just rendering, depending on the amount of details.

And If I don't get the light right at first, there's always the fixing everything and do all over again and change the colour of the rendering and making it smoother etc etc

But in the end? Shit, it looks so good, doesn't it? Light observation is one of the few fundamentals I remember from studying for the art school exam and the skill I can safely say I got better ever since. But damn, it's a lot of work.

#melsays #askmel

[paranormalrealism]

MY FULL REVIEW

WHERE DARKNESS MEETS LIGHT

By Sabrine Elouali

Writing is about taking a thought the author wants to convey to the reader. While that may seem a simple task, it is difficult in the least. The author not only has to succinctly capture their own idea, but then also present it in a way that isn’t a garbled message in the mind of a reader. With poetry, the author has less time to transfer that image. Usually they don’t have pages, they have lines.

I read a lot of poetry on a variety of topics. When I came up the book Where Darkness Meets Light, by Sabrine Elouali, I was interested in reading the poems dealing with mental illness. While it is not a condition I struggle with, I know many who do.

When Darkness Meets Light is a short book of 77 pages. It is a fast read, but one you will want to spend quality time with. I read it and reread it several times so that I could try to understand the depth of emotions, both dark and light.

If mental illness resonates within you, then you need to buy this book and give it a good read. You won’t be disappointed.

Some poems really spoke to me, others not so much. That takes nothing away from the author, who has done an excellent job of crafting emotions.

I believe you will love this book and keep it close so you can use it as you need. I gave the book a 5-Star rating and I recommended it to several family members.

AUTHOR’S WRITE UP

A poetry collection depicting the trials and tribulations of living with mental illness and the journey of one girl's struggles to try and overcome them. From the difficult beginnings of life that contributed to her illnesses, to the present day where she still faces her demons day in day out. Full of harsh truths, comforting truths, and humbling truths. A book that will have you reflecting on your own life, where you can make changes, improvements and start to really challenge your regular ways of thinking. Featuring descriptions of hope as well as woeful testimonies, each poem illustrates the thoughts and emotions this young woman has gone through and continues to go through. Having written this book to inspire, and open the eyes of all who come across it, as well as hopes of breaking the stigmas around mental health and mental illness.

#book review #mental health #mental ilness #poetry

[inapat17]

Unearthing Chimeras

When considering the value of an archive, I am reminded of the importance of understanding the past in order to comprehend the present. To illustrate this feeling, I have chosen the film 'The Chimera' 2023 by Italian filmmaker Alice Rohrwacher. As the movie says, 'Everyone has their own Chimera, something they try to get but never manage to find.'

This quote is particularly relevant to the band of tombarolis, who are robbers of ancient tombs and archaeological wonders. For the thieves, their Chimeras symbolise the redemption of work and the dream of easy wealth. In contrast, Arthur's Chimera is very different; it is Beniamina, his deceased wife. To find his Chimera, Arthur must challenge the invisible, search the earth and find the door to the other world of which the myths speak. This is a voyage between the living and the dead, the visible and the invisible, between people and solitude, each character searching for his chimera.

In an interview with Alice Rohrwacher from Film at Lincoln Center, the filmmaker discusses the inspiration for the film. She begins by talking about her first love, archaeology. For her, archaeology is closely linked to memory. The act of finding ourselves in the past allows us to understand that the present is the result of many layers. There are layers, and whatever the present is, it will eventually pass. This leads Alice to reflect on what she wants to leave behind as an individual.

Rohrwacher's cinema evokes spirituality through the use of 35mm and 16mm film formats, blending the past and present. The artist seeks to leave beautiful things behind. As archaeology tells us a lot about things that have ended and that we will end. Making a film is like leaving a trace. Alice Rohrwacher once said, 'When you make a movie, you put together so many different things, and at least in your intentions, you want that to be good.'

Alice grew up in the same Tuscan region as the film. She describes it as an area where the dead give life, and where a 2500-year-old civilization thrives. The tombs in the area are full of wonderful objects that can be found anywhere, and with a little digging, one can find fragments of things that were built by someone. In that village, there is a notorious object thief who used to share his adventures at the local cafe or bar. As a child, Alice was deeply impressed by this thief and listened to him carefully.

It is important to consider that these objects may belong to someone.  As time passed, she found herself wondering: 'If you can escape the law of the day, the law of paper, the law of authority, but what about the law of the night?, And the law of souls? because these objects belong to someone. The film's intention is to explore this fear. Then there is the notion that an entire civilization would construct beautiful objects and then hide them, make them invisible, and that is how the idea for Alice was born: to make a film about this world in which the visible and the invisible would have the same value.

Ceskary Avitia

#chimera #Archive #archaeology

[dollycas]

Special Guest - Kathleen Bailey - Author of Under the Cocoon Moon: An Olivia Penn Mystery #AuthorInterview #Giveaway - Great Escapes Book Tour

Under the Cocoon Moon: An Olivia Penn Mystery by Kathleen Bailey

It is my pleasure to welcome Kathleen Bailey to Escape With Dollycas today!

Hi Kathleen,  Please tell us a little bit about yourself. I write mysteries with heart and humor that keep to the cozy and traditional sides of crime. Prior to becoming a full-time author, I worked as a pediatric physical therapist for over twenty years with children who have special needs. TMI tidbits: The Great British Bake Off is appointment TV for me, I’ve eaten an apple almost every day for over thirty years, and my kitty completely dictates my schedule.  What is the first book you remember reading? The first “book” I remember reading was a Playskool Little Red Riding Hood Cloth Doll Storybook. It’s now considered a vintage toy. Ouch! What are you reading now? I’m reading Paige Shelton’s Alaska Wild Series. What books have most inspired you? One of my favorite books in my very early days was Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. This book would always be among my weekly library hauls. I hardly ever reread the story, but the illustrations captured my imagination. They were so unique, and I made up my own stories to go along with them. It was the first book I remember that inspired my creative spark. Much later in life, The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron was the book that instilled the habit of writing every day. Whether it be related to my fiction writing or personal journaling, this practice has been transformative. What made you decide you wanted to write mysteries? I’ve always loved puzzles of any kind, whether they involved words, numbers, or pictures. Growing up, I enjoyed watching the original TV version of The Twilight Zone, and I always was rapt, waiting to see what the twist was going to be at the end. The stories that I gravitate toward the most are those that keep me guessing and wondering what exactly is going on. Puzzles, twists, and wonder all come together for me in the mystery genre. Do you have a special place where you like to write? My desk is in my living room where I have a view of my front yard. I’m nearby all the essentials: food, water, and a bathroom. My kitty is always around either wanting me to play with her or looking adorable while taking her afternoon catnap.

Where do the ideas for your books come from? Ideas come from everywhere. All of life serves as inspiration. Sometimes, a simple song or a photo may conjure an entire scene. I think many writers go about life observing the world and then asking themselves, “I wonder what would happen if …” I think part of the fun of writing is taking the ordinary world and turning up the volume. Cozies create worlds that look like ours, but the plots can be wacky, wild, and weird. That’s part of the entertainment and escapism that makes cozies such an appealing genre to many. Is there anything about writing you find most challenging? All of writing is challenging. Probably getting through the first draft is the least fun part. What do you think makes a good story? Good stories have compelling plots and characters. For me, though, stories are about characters, and the changes they go through. Plots need to be engaging, but if readers aren’t invested in the characters, they won’t want to go along for the ride.

Which, of all your characters, do you think is the most like you? I’m most like Olivia Penn. There are a few reasons for that, but the one that strikes closest to the heart is that she has a very close relationship with her dad. I, likewise, was very close to my dad, and he was my biggest cheerleader, especially when it came to writing. Sadly, he passed away suddenly just a few months before I finished the draft of my first book, Where the Light Shines Through. In each book I write, I include little personal “Easter eggs” that I know would make my dad smile if he read them. What makes your books different from others out there in this genre? I think what makes books different is the author’s voice. This is an author’s unique style and tone of writing. Among other things, it’s shaped by your life experiences, perspective, and evolution of your craft. In the cozy genre, we’re all writing about murder and mystery, but no two books are the same. Each author writes the story that only they can tell because of their unique voice. What’s next on the horizon for you? I’m working on book four in The Olivia Penn Mystery Series. It’s shaping up to be another wild adventure for Olivia. Thank you, Kathleen, for visiting today. I am so sorry about your dad but I love the way you add something special for him in each book.  Keep reading for info about Kathleen's new story!

Read the full article

#cozymystery #KathleenBailey #RhinoPublishingLLC #Virginia

[virgilnolwen]

ArtTober Day 1-2-3

First of all, I want to thank everyone for checking on my list ! However, I do have to ask : Because I'm not a part of older Tumblr... what do you all have with Sweater ? Is that a dark reference I might not get ?

ANYWAY, my plan is to make small illustrations mixing three days/themes (because doing an everyday challenge doesn't work with my mental health-). SO here's the first illustration with a little story !

The evening was everything but quiet. The small town was buzzing with life, bringing bittersweet memories to Ambrose's mind. They had similar festivities back home, around the same time too. However, they did not do what the villagers were calling "Trick or Treat !" If one couldn't give a treat, biscuits or something to eat, they might end up stolen by the moons. What a novel idea, truly. Avoiding the moons' wrath was also the reason for all the kids wearing costumes, as to not be recognize as being young ones. Talking about kids, one of those who welcomed them was at their door before entering. They knew each other and lived under the same roof, so there was no need for politeness. He walked happily to Ambrose, showing his bucket full of the last fresh fruits of the season.

"-Look, I got some for you ! Oh... you're still doing those weird bouquets.. why so ?"

"-Well, that's what we did back home" Ambrose smiled. "Dried flowers never rot, so we give them to our deceased loved ones and exchange them with our family and friends. After that, we feast with everyone and share the food there, with a lot of songs and stories."

"Oh we do that too ! At least the food part. Do you also dance around the bonfire ?"

"We didn't, but candles were lit to show the recently dead where to go. A road to the Forbidden Forest where all ghosts meet."

"Woow, that must be beautiful !"

"It is. It truly is."

The younger one couldn't understand the sadness in their voice, but he felt it. No way he was about to let his guest be sad tonight !

#indie artist #solo artist #art #oc #arttober #arttober2023 #art challenge #fantasy oc #fantasy art #fantasy world