dancing-death reblogged
Swan Logo Design ♡♥
The snow had let up, slowing to just a light flurry- enough to be picturesque without being a nuisance. Karl gazes out the window, humming slightly to himself. The year was drawing to a close- less than two hours now, and the page would turn, the earth would begin another rotation around the sun. Another chance to do things over. And Karl thought, with a slight smile, that he hadn’t been better equipped to do so in ages. His shoulders felt less burdened. He was surrounded by support and love. From his adopted brothers, yes, but also from Owen. What a difference having one person here made. To everything. Delicately, he sunk his fork into a small slice of cake, putting the smaller portion into his mouth with such meticulous neatness as not to get a single smudge of icing on his lips. It was good. Moist, soft, the icing fluffy, the cake perfectly sweet without being overly so. Truly one of his brother’s masterpieces. He’d have to thank him later. For now though, he was content sitting here with his cake and his tea, watching the snow and waiting for midnight. And, perhaps, a certain someone to kiss as the hour struck. It would be both a perfect seal on the old year and a delicious promise to the new.
dancing-death reblogged
I stumbled upon a black swan with Melanism while I was away from home, and with its beautiful black feathers and a stunning red beak, I was so lucky to have seen this animal in person. This swan doesn’t have Melanism after all, it is a type of swan, Cygnus Atratus. Thanks @fallenswift for the information!
dancing-death reblogged
Well, he promised, and he can't help but blush a bit, even though the large, somewhat flat package in his hands is fully wrapped. This was either a huge mistake or the best idea ever. "Um, mein Perigrine? Merry Christmas. Here's zhe present I promised you, if you vant it."
“Of course I want it. I’m greedy and I like gifts.”
Grinning wildly at his dry sense of humor, he takes the gift. But as he does, he leans in close, giving a low, pleasing rumble of a growl of thanks. Enough to breathe into the man’s ear. Just enough to potentially make him flush or squirm.
“It’s not every day a Prince gives a commoner a gift. But I guess commoners have to make offerings to royalty, so, here.”
Still exuding his smarmy, impish charm with his well placed words, he hands him a package as well. It’s a gift bag, not a wrapped present. It’s weighty, but not heavy, and its contents smell good.
He goes about opening his gift. He knew Karl promised him a gift, and he had told him that nothing was necessary. But Karl was a stubborn man, so he knew he’d do it anyway.
“I von’t be offended if you don’t like zhis…”
It’s true, the gift isn’t exactly conventional. It’s a painting, nicely framed. A painting of the man who’d given it to him, reclining casually on a couch, glasses puckishly held in one hand, one end in his teeth. He also isn’t wearing anything but that coy little grin.It’s hardly a pornographic artwork- rather tasteful, actually, but still. What had started as an amusing, sexy idea in Karl’s head was now a little bit of a sheepish one. He fiddles with the handles of the rather pleasantly aromatic gift bag nervously. “So… um… vhat do you zhink…?”
“It is…? His nervousness instantly subsides. He’s still blushing a bit, but he looks absolutely relieved. He scoots closer to Owen, leaning against him. Yes, the artist had done an admirable job on the painting. He’d have to thank him again when he saw him next.
“I’m glad. I’m so glad zhat you like it. And I’m sure I vill like vhateffer zhis is. I mean, I like zhe smell already.” Curiously, he fishes in the bag for whatever is making that lovely scent.
“Mmm, I know. Zhat’s vun zhing I love about you. I’m too old to deal wizh ein overabundance of bullschiess. I appreciate honesty, effen if it’s blunt or unpleasant.” His own brand of honesty, after all, tended to be both of those things. Snuggling a little closer, he pulls his hand out of the bag, gasping as it’s explained to him what he’s now holding. “Mein Gott. Wunderbar. I can tell zhe quality just by how it smells. Absolutely divine! Oh, I can’t vait to taste it. I don’t know vhich to make first! Is... is zhis vun vanilla? Cinnamon? Oh, I zhink zhis vun’s got lemon zest...” He stops goggling over the teas and looks back up at Owen, absolutely beaming. It’s a piece of cake to win over a tea aficionado with the right offerings to his stash, and Karl’s gratitude is deftly shown with a blizzard of little kisses to his face. “Danke Schoen, mein peregrine. I absolutely love it. I’m going to put zhem avay for special occasions- I don’t vant to go through zhem all too fast.”
dancing-death reblogged
Well, he promised, and he can't help but blush a bit, even though the large, somewhat flat package in his hands is fully wrapped. This was either a huge mistake or the best idea ever. "Um, mein Perigrine? Merry Christmas. Here's zhe present I promised you, if you vant it."
“Of course I want it. I’m greedy and I like gifts.”
Grinning wildly at his dry sense of humor, he takes the gift. But as he does, he leans in close, giving a low, pleasing rumble of a growl of thanks. Enough to breathe into the man’s ear. Just enough to potentially make him flush or squirm.
“It’s not every day a Prince gives a commoner a gift. But I guess commoners have to make offerings to royalty, so, here.”
Still exuding his smarmy, impish charm with his well placed words, he hands him a package as well. It’s a gift bag, not a wrapped present. It’s weighty, but not heavy, and its contents smell good.
He goes about opening his gift. He knew Karl promised him a gift, and he had told him that nothing was necessary. But Karl was a stubborn man, so he knew he’d do it anyway.
“I von’t be offended if you don’t like zhis…”
It’s true, the gift isn’t exactly conventional. It’s a painting, nicely framed. A painting of the man who’d given it to him, reclining casually on a couch, glasses puckishly held in one hand, one end in his teeth. He also isn’t wearing anything but that coy little grin.It’s hardly a pornographic artwork- rather tasteful, actually, but still. What had started as an amusing, sexy idea in Karl’s head was now a little bit of a sheepish one. He fiddles with the handles of the rather pleasantly aromatic gift bag nervously. “So… um… vhat do you zhink…?”
“It is...? His nervousness instantly subsides. He’s still blushing a bit, but he looks absolutely relieved. He scoots closer to Owen, leaning against him. Yes, the artist had done an admirable job on the painting. He’d have to thank him again when he saw him next.
“I’m glad. I’m so glad zhat you like it. And I’m sure I vill like vhateffer zhis is. I mean, I like zhe smell already.” Curiously, he fishes in the bag for whatever is making that lovely scent.
dancing-death reblogged
Well, he promised, and he can't help but blush a bit, even though the large, somewhat flat package in his hands is fully wrapped. This was either a huge mistake or the best idea ever. "Um, mein Perigrine? Merry Christmas. Here's zhe present I promised you, if you vant it."
“Of course I want it. I’m greedy and I like gifts.”
Grinning wildly at his dry sense of humor, he takes the gift. But as he does, he leans in close, giving a low, pleasing rumble of a growl of thanks. Enough to breathe into the man’s ear. Just enough to potentially make him flush or squirm.
“It’s not every day a Prince gives a commoner a gift. But I guess commoners have to make offerings to royalty, so, here.”
Still exuding his smarmy, impish charm with his well placed words, he hands him a package as well. It’s a gift bag, not a wrapped present. It’s weighty, but not heavy, and its contents smell good.
He goes about opening his gift. He knew Karl promised him a gift, and he had told him that nothing was necessary. But Karl was a stubborn man, so he knew he’d do it anyway.
“I von’t be offended if you don’t like zhis...”
It’s true, the gift isn’t exactly conventional. It’s a painting, nicely framed. A painting of the man who’d given it to him, reclining casually on a couch, glasses puckishly held in one hand, one end in his teeth. He also isn’t wearing anything but that coy little grin.It’s hardly a pornographic artwork- rather tasteful, actually, but still. What had started as an amusing, sexy idea in Karl’s head was now a little bit of a sheepish one. He fiddles with the handles of the rather pleasantly aromatic gift bag nervously. “So... um... vhat do you zhink...?”
dancing-death reblogged
hyperzephyrianlives
Good post
eiga0n
Reblog to piss off a nazi
potatovodka
Fuck Nazis. and fuck anybody who sympathizes with Nazis.
Waiting for him is a gift. Not a typical gift. Not something you'd usually expect from someone. It's a few sheets of paper. On it were musical notes. They were pages to a musical composition, created by hand, for a piano and violin. And in the corner, a handwritten note, "when you wish, WE will give you your christmas gift".
It was his.Karl knew it sure as he knew there was snow on the ground and the moon above. This was his song. He could visualize it somewhat, but the request to hear it properly, have it brought to life...to have a song wrote for him, just for him...He breaks down crying, sobbing heavily. But not out of sorrow, for once- for joy. How did, all at once, he receive so many blessings? Maybe there was something to this being a magical time of year after all.
dancing-death reblogged
“Well, what’s that saying? Have your cake, and eat it too? But I guess we’d be talkin’ about fruitcake or somethin’. Given the holiday and all that.”
His breath was quick, sending out puffs of steam. He laughs, eyes wide, his expression one of joy and almost wonder, as if he was witnessing an honest to God miracle, some true work of magic. He felt warm. Despite their frigid surroundings, the snow falling around them, the icicles hanging from the buildings, Karl felt perfectly warm, as if there were some gently glowing fire lit within him. It had been so long, it seemed, an eternity, since he felt this way. He traces his fingers along Owen’s jawline, dropping slightly off his chin and landing just below his own throat, touching a pendant tucked safely beneath his shirt. A smooth carving of bone, gifted a while ago and kept safe on his person since. “Let’s go inside, ja? I don’t vant you to catch your deazh just vhen you’ve arrived. Of course, it vould be my prerogative to nurse you back to healzh personally...” He chuckles, a coy sort of grin playing across his mouth.
dancing-death reblogged
Sometimes I wish I lived in a snow globe where the wind blows, It’s wonderful And every single time that you shake it you make it so magical…
It was about the third time in a week that the steady snowfall had lured Karl out into it. It had to be the uptick in his mood- the usually austere, icy Medic had been unusually cheerful for the past week or two. He felt so vibrant that even his usual inclination to dance was in overdrive, and he lept and pirouetted through his matches, slaughtering and healing with a hum on his lips.
And then there was the snow dancing. With the setting sun as his backdrop and a lamp post as his spotlight, he twirls among the falling flakes, the little dancer centerpiece of his own personal snowglobe. The source of his joy might be known to his brothers, but little did Karl know that it was currently disembarking a ramshackle old truck, trudging up one of the cleared paths.
He’d been waiting for this moment for months. But he was too engaged in his own wintry ballet that he didn’t realize that it was about to happen right now.
It was all picturesque. And if it weren’t for the ungodly cold, it might even be considered heavenly. The way the dying light sank behind the tips of the mountaintops. The way breath curled up from chilled lips, like the smoke from a dragon’s maw. The fluttering flakes, twirling and swirling, like crystalized faeries dancing a ballet all their own.
Those flakes weren’t the only things dancing, though.
The howl snapped him right out of his revere, causing him to pause, landing on both feet in a dead stop and turn sharply toward the direction of the sound like a startled deer. He stands perfectly still a moment or two, the wind stirring his scarf. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. But the instant his mind told him that no, he wasn’t looking at a figment of his imagination, he returned the howl with a joyful whoop of his own. A gazelle on the savannah didn’t leap faster than Karl did right then. His strong legs carried him in long, bounding strides right toward the man who’d called out to him, his final leap ending with his arms winding about the newcomer’s neck, coating his handsome face in breathless kisses. “Owen… you came, you finally made it… ahaha, gott, I vasn’t expecting you for days. You really are mein Christmas miracle…”
Owen gave another few woops before howling again. He felt alive. The cold didn’t matter anymore. The biting chill against his skin was nothing. Right now, he was here, and where he was? It’s where he was meant to be.
“I’ve got my gift, mein peregrine. I haff it right here und it’s wunderbar. All I vanted, vhat I vanted more zhan anyzhing in zhis vorld.” Even after he’s been set down, he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to. He never wants to let go now that he has the one thing he’s been waiting for all these months, since they first decided that Owen would come here to be with him. “On zhe ozher hand... I do have somezhing for you. It’s silly, really, und I don’t effen know if it’s somezhing you’d like, but... heh. It vas ein whim zhat I couldn’t help but follow through on. I’ll give it to you on Christmas but... ah, Owen, bitte, kiss mich again. Don’t stop.”
He felt like a besotted teenager and he doesn’t care. He hasn’t felt this good in such a long time.
dancing-death reblogged
Sometimes I wish I lived in a snow globe where the wind blows, It’s wonderful And every single time that you shake it you make it so magical…
It was about the third time in a week that the steady snowfall had lured Karl out into it. It had to be the uptick in his mood- the usually austere, icy Medic had been unusually cheerful for the past week or two. He felt so vibrant that even his usual inclination to dance was in overdrive, and he lept and pirouetted through his matches, slaughtering and healing with a hum on his lips.
And then there was the snow dancing. With the setting sun as his backdrop and a lamp post as his spotlight, he twirls among the falling flakes, the little dancer centerpiece of his own personal snowglobe. The source of his joy might be known to his brothers, but little did Karl know that it was currently disembarking a ramshackle old truck, trudging up one of the cleared paths.
He’d been waiting for this moment for months. But he was too engaged in his own wintry ballet that he didn’t realize that it was about to happen right now.
It was all picturesque. And if it weren’t for the ungodly cold, it might even be considered heavenly. The way the dying light sank behind the tips of the mountaintops. The way breath curled up from chilled lips, like the smoke from a dragon’s maw. The fluttering flakes, twirling and swirling, like crystalized faeries dancing a ballet all their own.
Those flakes weren’t the only things dancing, though.
The howl snapped him right out of his revere, causing him to pause, landing on both feet in a dead stop and turn sharply toward the direction of the sound like a startled deer. He stands perfectly still a moment or two, the wind stirring his scarf. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. But the instant his mind told him that no, he wasn’t looking at a figment of his imagination, he returned the howl with a joyful whoop of his own. A gazelle on the savannah didn’t leap faster than Karl did right then. His strong legs carried him in long, bounding strides right toward the man who’d called out to him, his final leap ending with his arms winding about the newcomer’s neck, coating his handsome face in breathless kisses. “Owen... you came, you finally made it... ahaha, gott, I vasn’t expecting you for days. You really are mein Christmas miracle...”
Sometimes I wish I lived in a snow globe where the wind blows, It’s wonderful And every single time that you shake it you make it so magical...
It was about the third time in a week that the steady snowfall had lured Karl out into it. It had to be the uptick in his mood- the usually austere, icy Medic had been unusually cheerful for the past week or two. He felt so vibrant that even his usual inclination to dance was in overdrive, and he lept and pirouetted through his matches, slaughtering and healing with a hum on his lips.
And then there was the snow dancing. With the setting sun as his backdrop and a lamp post as his spotlight, he twirls among the falling flakes, the little dancer centerpiece of his own personal snowglobe. The source of his joy might be known to his brothers, but little did Karl know that it was currently disembarking a ramshackle old truck, trudging up one of the cleared paths.
He’d been waiting for this moment for months. But he was too engaged in his own wintry ballet that he didn’t realize that it was about to happen right now.
The snowfall was heavy and steady, but not to the point of danger yet. It painted a lovely picture to watch outside of one’s window while sipping cocoa- a picturesque holiday scene. And then there’s one mad artist outside dancing in it. Karl can’t help himself. His first major ballet was The Nutcracker, and while his role had been the Rat King, the steps he danced were to other notable characters- namely, the dance of the Sugarplum Faeries. He could hear the familiar music of his beloved Tchaikovsky in his head. His long black and blue striped scarf whirled around him with every pirouette, the snow peppering his hair. He felt magical, as if he were in a snow globe with a music box in it. A silly thought, perhaps, but Karl was prone to silly thoughts lately. His heart felt lighter, his body constantly humming with the tingle of anticipation. Any day now.
dancing-death reblogged
back home for the holidays, internet’s shite. doodle sniper while it’s down
Anonymous asked:
A letter arrives, a bit crumpled from the mail. It's very short, as if written hastily with not a lot of time on the clock. "Got approved, finally, will be here soon, twisted some arms to get verified around here, there by holiday", signed with only "OR"
“...”Was that a squeal of delight? Yes. Yes it was. Flopping back onto his bed with a sigh, he presses the letter to his chest. FINALLY. And such an appropriately timed letter, too.He couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas gift. Some people wanted toys or treats or valuables in their stockings- all he wanted was a Maori Sniper.
dancing-death reblogged
boring medic painting to get me back into the swing of digital
dancing-death reblogged
Pfeh. You, I can understand why. You’re attractive to many. Ask that one man. He’d agree with me.
But why follow me? I’m bitter, and old, and I’m easily pissed off if I don’t get my morning coffee. Do they get off on old, mad German men who enjoy the sight of blood, taking delight in ripping apart cadavers to see what makes their innards tick?
…Wait. That’d work on me. Gottverdammt. Nevermind. I’m not helping my case.
Do I need to remind you zhat I'm just as bitter und older zhan you? Besides, you cut a very striking figure. You're rahzher handsome, actually.