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elizais · 1 month

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when you know, you know.

when they realise just how much they love you ft: nikolai, bram, poe part 1 here content/warnings: mentions of murder (poe's ability), shortttt, i tried to keep it as a gn reader but i might have slipped up at points. i wrote bram without the sword and in current day bcs i was struggling dudesss i think this is my first time trying to write for bram and poe so please take these with a pinch of salt but the lovely person who requested it was so polite i couldn't pass it up <3

nikolai was.. lively to say the least. i mean, just having a partner would be (in his eyes) something tying him down. but, for you? being with you would comply with him wanting to be free. you granted him freedom from all of the negative thoughts that could plague him.

walking down the high-street with you, hand in hand as he pondered all of these ideas. the both of you were strolling towards a cafe that kolya had begged to go to for its "famous pirozhki".

he was not in his usual attire today, wearing a simple blue turtleneck sweater and jeans that fit him loosely. you had to admit, he looked close to incredible when you contrasted it to his usual wear. even though his outfit was different, his personality did not falter in the slightest.

swinging your arms forwards and backwards quickly as you walked, he giggled at whatever joke he was thinking of. turning towards him, you smiled. "kolya?" you poked his upper arm for his attention. "what type of bird is that?" you asked, glancing at a small bird hopping through tree branches. as he looked over, it flew away.

his braid fell over his shoulder, laying softly as he considered making a witty joke. the truth of what he was thinking was of how much he adored you, how you pointed out birdies, watched comedy shows with him, tried your best to cook his favourite meals, put up with him using his ability to scare you..

he thought back to earlier, you had brushed his hair into the usual neat braid as he spoke about what tricks he was going to pull on sigma and fyodor too. he laughed as you frowned, claiming "leave sigma alone, he has a casino to take care of, babysitting you is my job."

bram was, aside from being a vampire and that, perfect. his personality was complex, but you often joked that it wittled down to him just wanting to sleep.

today, you were both sat on the sofa as he spoke about aya. you were brushing through his hair. "she was telling me about some artists, i think she meant composers." he explained, going on about music as you giggled. his hair was showing some curls towards the ends that you were entertaining yourself with.

he was kneeling in front of you so that you could face his back and toy with his hair.

"what is amusing?" he asked politely, refraining from turning around incase he messed up the braid you insisted so stubbornly on putting in his hair. you pulled the long braid onto his shoulder and he saw how you had refined the hair past the bobble into a sweet curl.

he smiled softly as you spoke, "what genre do you want to listen to? does aya have any recommendations?" you teased and he let out a soft chuckle. cherishing these sweeter, saccharine moments were as good at keeping him alive as his ability was.

he put up with the garlic jokes, playing dumb vampire films on tv (he really does love hotel transylvania!), the teasing.. all because he loves you !!

poe was like a breath of fresh air to be around. there was never a need to be loud or extroverted with him. and those were just bonuses on top of getting to hang out with a raccoon all of the time. you were currently in another room trying to trim karl's nails.

key word: trying

ed was in the study, writing another novel. whether it's for ranpo or not? who knows. karl wasn't putting up a fight but more so.. wriggling around. any sane person would have given up by now but with the amount of time this raccoon spends around your shoulders? zero chance.

once you finally finished, you swooped karl into your arms and carried him back to edgar. "ed? have you eaten or drank water recently?" you asked, setting down karl and walking over to him as he closed the book before him. he nodded as he looked up to you from his armchair.

"yes, and i have finished it!" he exclaimed, you furrowed your brows in confusion. "finished what, love?" he presented you the book proudly. "it's just like the film we watched a few weeks ago. you said you wanted to live in that manor house, no?" and that's when it clicked for you.

he carried on, "when you want to go, all the characters will be there! i had to add in another to die but other than that? it's the same!" he excitedly explained. tracing over the clothbound cover with your name on the front, he added one more thing. "oh! and to figure it out in one of the office desk drawers it will let you know what happened."

you smiled at that, he didn't want you to struggle. unfortunately, his ability was only murder mystery related so he couldn't write a book about a sunshine land where nothing went wrong. yet he tried his best, for you!

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jennelikejennay · 8 months

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Pondering the different versions we've had of Kirk, Spock, and Bones.

There's actually no one version of Trek which is flawless. We can set TOS as the gold standard, or we can pick and choose.

For me, it goes like this:

Pine Kirk: best looks. I'm sorry, young Shatner looks pretty nice but he is not in the same league.

Shatner Kirk: best characterization. Because of the changes in the Kelvin timeline, AOS Kirk is a completely different guy. There are similarities, but TOS Kirk has a gravitas I really like. He's not a kid. He's a starship captain.

Wesley Kirk: I hated him at first, but I'm starting to see it. You can see Kirk's kindness, his way of getting people to open up to him (even La'an!), his ability to get the best out of people.

Still, he looks kinda like a muppet. Idk.

Nimoy Spock: best looks. The other two are great, sure, but the cheekbones? The lanky but strong figure? The VOICE?! You can't beat Nimoy Spock.

Quinto Spock: best characterization. I know, how can you outSpock the original Spock, but bear with me. TOS struggled a bit sometimes to decide who Spock would be. He's serious, deadpan, and then they get bored and spray him with sex pollen or something to get him to do something else. Quinto has the advantage of a serious character arc where we get to see the tension between Spock's feeling and emotion, his human and Vulcan sides. I consider the backstory in the 09 movie absolutely canon for the main timeline.

My only complaint is, destroying Vulcan is too sad. Seriously, JJ. We can traumatize Spock without throwing a massive complex trauma into the entire universe that every future work is going to have to cope with.

Peck Spock: he certainly is hot, and his voice is much more like Nimoy's than Quinto's is. He does have the tension that Quinto has, though in a less intense form. He's missing a bit, though. Why isn't he greener? Where is your eyeshadow, Mr. Spock? Where is your SASS? As Strange New Worlds continues, I really hope he grows in his ability to sass.

Bones: honestly??? Kelly and Urban are the same dude. Karl Urban simply becomes Bones. Hard to have a preference of one over the other when they are both so perfect. TOS Bones does have the advantage of looking older, which seems more in character for a guy that grumpy. But AOS Bones is of course much hotter.

What do you guys think? Am I wrong? Who did these amazing characters best?

#kirk #spock #mccoy #star trek thoughts #Star Trek #star trek tos #star trek aos #star trek strange new worlds

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pacifymebby · 1 year

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Peaky Blinders where it’s nearing the holiday season and they see her getting along with the children at a family gathering (or something like that) and ponder the idea of them having kids of their own that she would treat that way

Tommy

🌿The manor is decorated beautifully this year, the tree is huge (HUGE!) because Tommy knows how excited you get for Christmas and he wants you to have the perfect day this year.

🌿He had promised to be home in time to help you decorate it with the children. Ada and Karl are visiting, John, Esme and the babies too... So the house is alive with the sound of excited children running riot

🌿But Tommys late... Its snowed and the cars struggling in the bad weather, he's getting frustrated, he doesnt want to upset you and he knows you'll be disappointed if he isnt there to put the star on top of the tree.

🌿Its not disappointment youre feeling however its worry, the more late it gets the more worried you are

🌿But theres so many little ones running around that you dont have time to dwell on your fears

🌿Youve always had a way with kids, probably because youre still a child at heart and so you let the other Shelby women take a welcome rest, staying with the children whilst they sit back and relax.

🌿 When Tommy finally makes it home he gets a slap from his sister "Your poor girlfriends been worried sick about you, why the fuck didn't you phone..."

🌿But you don't look worried to him, when he stops in the doorway he has to pause to admire the sight of you.

🌿Youre holding one of Johns little ones in your arms, helping them to put a bauble on one of the higher branches.

🌿 You haven't noticed him and he doesnt want you to, he wants to stand and admire the touching site for as long as it lasts. The glow of the lights on you and the wean, the way you gasp and give the child a big smile when she manages to hook the bauble on. "Clever girl, well done sweetheart look isn't it beautiful"

🌿 Aye, tommy thinks its definitely beautiful.

🌿He recieves a second slap from Ada who has been watching him watching you the whole time... Its lighter this time and theres a knowing smile on her face

🌿"Fucking marry her first Tommy."

🌿When he comes up to join you by the tree, he puts his hand to your head, bending down to kiss your head before opening his arms up for the little one to hug him too.

🌿 When one of your own sisters little ones runs up to him too, tugging on his trouser leg for a carry he chuckles, scoops them up and stands with the child on his hip and you under his arm. Makes him feel like hes part of a family.

🌿 "You look good with a baby in your arms y/n," "Maybe that's what you can give me for christmas eh Tom?"

Alfie

🐻 He doesnt mind children, he doesn't love them either, in truth hes always felt a little awkward around them, having to watch his mouth, never knowing what the hell they are going on about...

🐻 But, and he doesnt understand why, they seem to gravitate to him, they like the grumpy old man with the strange stories, they think hes funny

🐻 He doesn't celebrate Christmas either, so he feels a little awkward visiting your parents for a family christmas, when he's not used to the traditions and your older siblings' children are all excited, practically fizzing over

🐻 He's in awe of the way you seem to handle them. Like some fucking christmas miracle worker... You seem to have a way of calming them, hushing them right up and settling them.

🐻 After Christmas dinner when your family go for a walk in the snow, Alfies leg won't allow him to join you and so, not wanting to leave him alone on Christmas, even though he says he'll be fine, you stay behind

🐻 And when your brothers wife sees the opportunity to gift her little one to you for the afternoon youre more than happy to take her in.

🐻 Your niece is only small, barely even two yet, but shes lively and she doesn't look like shes about to have a nice afternoon nap. So when youve gotten Alfie comfortable with his leg up on the sofa, you lie on the floor with the baby, playing with her, tickling and giggling.

🐻 Alfie had planned on drifting to sleep, taking a well earned little break, but now hes started watching you he doesnt want to look away.

🐻 Cause its "fuckin adorable innit,"

🐻You being so at ease with the little ones makes him feel more at ease and so after a little while he sighs dramatically.

🐻 "Oh go on then, come give your uncle Alfie a cuddle," you can't hide how thrilled you are that hes warming up to the little ones. You want babies with him so badly but youve always been worried about whether he actually wants them.

🐻 "Well i don't know what that surprised look on your face is for poppet, gotta start practicing haven't i?" "They might start popping out of you next zieskiet..."

Arthur

🍂Usually at Christmas its Arthurs job to be Santa. Its not a job he absolutely adores, but he certainly likes it more than he makes out.

🍂 You can see through his act though, when he stsrts grumbling about that fucking santa suit. You know really he likes it, likes making the kids happy, enjoys making everyone smile.

🍂 But he doesn't have kids of his own yet and what he doesnt realise is that this christmas is going to make him yearn for little ones of his own more than ever before

🍂 Because this year hes going to have to watch you with Tommy and Adas tots, playing outside in the snow helping them win snowball fights against their mean daddy and uncle.

🍂 Watching you scoop little Ruby up out of the snow, bundling her up in her arms protectively so that uncle her old uncle charlie cant get her... Watching you both squeal and giggling when her uncle Arthur takes you both by surprise pulling you down into the soft snow with him

🍂 Then getting to bundle you up and take you back inside, you handing Ruby over to Tommy. You almost look sad to be giving the sweet girl back

🍂Youre sitting by the fire under a blanket, the little ones mostly all worn out, you're eyeing Lizzie almost enviously as she cuddles sleeping Ruby to her breast.

🍂 Arthur throws himself down beside you, a little drunk, but feeling calm and peaceful and full of hope. "This time next year love, you ain't gonna have time for playing with nobody elses babies..." "oh, whys that?" you almost look glum, and he can’t have that, not his girl, not on Christmas "cause santas gonna make sure youve got babies of your own..."

John (besties just pretend he didn’t die for me okay?)

🌼 John thinks its adorable how shy you get around other peoples children, you get this look about you thats a kind of yearning, but timid too? He can tell how much you want children of your own, but you don't want to infringe on other parents by playing with their children

🌼 Whenever you spend time with Tommy and Ada's children you do the same, you get shy... John thinks its hilarious, he loves it.

🌼 So he likes torturing you by putting you in positions where you have to deal with the kids. And the kids love you, even if you don't really see that... Youre a natural with them

🌼 And john really wants you to see that, because he wants so many kids with you... He just needs to know you're ready, that you wont be scared of being a mum.

🌼 You’re at the manor when Tommy calls a board meeting suddenly in the middle of the party, on Christmas Eve of all the times to hold an emergency meeting... but John and the rest of the family do as he says, naturally...

🌼 You not being married, don’t need to go to the board meeting, and even if you had been welcome, you wouldn’t have wanted to go “someone should stay with the kids,” you’d said to excuse yourself before it could become awkward...

🌼so thats what you do, you stay with the kids, and you’re glad, because kids aren’t stupid, especially not Shelby kids. They know something bad must have happened, and when the rest of the adults leave the children are quiet, they seem scared or worried, at least a little deflated and it breaks your heart

🌼 so you get brave, you get down from the sofa so that you’re on the floor with them, and you crawl to be close to them, “who wants to hear a little story?” at first they don’t seem convinced but you know this story off by heart, your dad used to tell you it every Christmas Eve.

🌼 “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...” you tap little Ruby on the nose and she makes a little squeak like a mouse. The kids all look curious now, and, little smiles on their faces.

🌼 “When out on the lawn their arose such a clatter...” you crawl to the tree and take some jungle bells from a branch, letting them chime and jingle. They gasp and giggle and shush each other and the more pleased with the story they become the more confident you feel.

🌼 Its a short meeting, the family return but John stops them in the doorway, you haven't noticed he’s been watching you but he knows the story you’re telling too, knows it’s nearly finished and that if the rest of the family come back you will get shy and won’t want to finish it. So he hushes his family and holds them back just long enough to let you finish.

🌼 by the end you’ve got little ruby in your lap, she keeps jingling the bells whilst you finish the poem.

🌼 John can’t help the glow of pride in him, he thinks you’re magic, the way you’ve captured their attention, made them hopeful and happy despite the worry and tension in the air. You’d be a perfect mother in this dark little family.

🌼 “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!” he finishes the last line of the poem for you as he walks in, a smile on his lips as he comes to join you, “what do you reckon little ruby? you think your auntie y/n should tell you that story every Christmas Eve?” when ruby smiles shyly and nods, you smile shyly too.

🌼 later when you’ve gone up to bed, he rolls over and, teasing you, nuzzling his nose into the back of your neck, he says “y/n I can’t sleep... tell me that story eh, the one you told the kids?” at first you think he’s just teasing you but when you finally relent, he listens the whole time, and when you’re finished he props himself up on his elbow and says, “this year for Christmas y/n, will you let me make you a mam eh?”

Bonnie

🍀Its the week before Christmas and the families have gathered not far from the Shelby manor. Now you never leave your wagons, even in the winter when the snow comes down. It’s cold but there's nothing fire and good warm food can’t help.

🍀However, as Christmas approaches the weathers closing in on your little camp, the snow is falling thick and fast, relentlessly and soon you fear you’ll all be buried beneath it.

🍀And in the cold weather the wee ones are all looking cuter than ever, wrapped up in big coats, gloves, hats, boots and blankets, they’re all snug and tight under layers and layers to keep warm. And it’s been making you broody, been making Bonnie feel pretty broody too.

🍀Everyones always looking after eachother so it isnt the first time hes seen you mothering the youngens, you’ve been mothering the little ones since you were pretty small yourself, so you’re good at it, he can already see your a mammy in the making. And the little ones adore you too, probably because you spoil them with cuddles and kisses and also because you tell the best stories.

🍀 You’re sitting by a fire that Bonnie and some of the others are struggling to maintain, you’ve got three of the little ones cuddles up to you, three of them all tucked under a blanket with you as you try to keep them all warm.

🍀 Its such an adorable sight, the four of you wrapped up together, little red noses poking from above scarves. He thinks its sweet how you bounce them on your knee, squeeze them tight. You’re telling them a story about a little Christmas tree who’s been decorated and made to look beautiful.

🍀 But the men decide its too cold, that the fire might be lighting tonight but that by the end of the week it won’t be. Aberama says the Shelby’s have extended an invitation, for the lot of you to stay with them for the week, and Christmas too. It’ll be the first time some of those wee ones have ever stayed in a house and some of them are nervous.

🍀some of them are scared of Tommy Shelby. you are a little bit too and bonnie knows this, which is why he’s beaming with pride when you scoop the little ones up help them up into the caravan with you, you promise them a story on the journey if they’re good.

🍀so bonnie makes sure to sneak into your vardo with them, “not going to help with the horses Bon?” “Nah, wouldn’t miss one of your stories for the world,” he grins at you cheekily as he bundles one of the kids into his lap.

🍀 the rocking of the wagon makes the kids and you sleepy as you all trundle down towards the Shelby manor, as the kids are all falling asleep you sing them little lullabies, making sure they are all tucked snug in blankets. You sit beside Bonnie, head resting on his shoulder as you begin to fall asleep too and when he closes his eyes and kisses you on the forehead, he lets himself to pretend that the kids are yours and his, imagines what his life will be like when you’ve got a brood of your own.

🍀later when you’re alone with him in a bed, he’s going to want to make a start on that brood. “You’re gonna make such a good mammy one day y’know,” “want you to make me a da,”

Isaiah

🐀 Don’t get me wrong, its not that he dislikes Christmas, its that its a fuss, its always hectic and just, a fuss. He likes an excuse for a party just as much as the next man, but Christmas, thats something he struggles to get enthusastic for.

🐀 this year however something is different, the beads and baubles are on the trees, the decorations out in the street, and you’re sitting in an arm chair in the corner of his fathers living room, crocheting a blanket as a gift for one of your nieces.

🐀 he was with you only a few days earlier when you’d taken the little cherub into town to show you her favourite colours. You’ve been working at it hard ever since and whenever Isaiah tries to distract you you shoo him away

🐀 so this year he's excited for Christmas, he can’t bloody wait in fact, because maybe once you’ve given the little girl your gift you’ll pay some attention to your boyfriend again

🐀 but he’s also looking forward to seeing the little girl receive her new blanket, he’s watched how you’ve put all your love into the gift and he knows the little girl is going to be thrilled to bits with it.

🐀 he secretly can’t wait to see her wrapped up in it, he knows it will be adorable.

🐀 what he isn’t prepared for is how broody the sight of it makes him feel...

🐀 when the little girl squeals with delight, immediately wraps it around her little shoulders like a cape and runs to you, bounding into your lap to give you a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, the sight of you with a little one in her arms, it makes him want to give you his children

🐀 and watching you playing with the children too when they have their new toys. he doesn’t know why he never noticed what a good and loving mammy you’d make but he knows thats what he wants to make of you

🐀 and he’ll definitely try that night, hovering above you in bed, looking down at you with a whole new kind of affection and need in his eyes.

🐀 “wanna give you children y/n, fuckin lots of em, gonna have so many little babies with you love...”

Michael

☘️ He's glad to have you with him this Christmas at the Shelby manor, it’s been a long and difficult year and tensions are still a little jaggy

☘️ But with you he feels alright, he feels calm, happy enough to raise a glass to the new year with you by his side. He feels so much more peaceful with you

☘️ They’re having a party for New Years and the whole family is there, the little ones all dressed in their party clothes, running around going wild, excited about the snow outside and all the dancing and fun inside.

☘️ Michaels been harbouring the thought of settling down for awhile, so it doesn’t really come as a shock to him when he feels that yearning tug on his heartstrings upon seeing you having fun with the kids.

☘️ It’s the way you dance with them, teaching them to dance “properly” the little girls all look up to you, wanting to be just as pretty as you one day, wanting to dance just as well as you

☘️ You have one of John’s little girls holding your hands and you’re teaching her how to Charleston, you have to bend right down to reach her, you’re being so encouraging, even when the little girl is off rhythm or trips you tell her how amazing she is, how she's a natural, how she's going to be a star one day.

☘️ he’s not surprised by the sudden broodiness, but it does hit him stronger that night and he can’t wait to take you up to bed and put a baby in you. Because he’s determined that thats what he going to do to you tonight.

☘️ when you all gather in a circle to hold hands and sing, you let the little girl jump up into your arms. The girls really taken you and Michael isn’t surprised, you’re a natural at this mothering thing.

☘️ When one of the little boys asks for you to be his New Years kiss Michael has to hold back a chuckle, waiting patiently for you to kiss the boys cheek before he can cut in and kiss you.

#Peaky blinders imagines #Peaky Blinders headcannons #peaky blinders headcannon #peaky blinders x reader #Tommy Shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby x reader #Alfie solomons x reader #bonnie gold x reader #Michael gray x reader

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mybeingthere · 5 months

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Käthe Kollwitz, Self-portrait, 1889.

Pen, brush and ink on drawing carton. 31.2 x 24.2 cm. © Käthe Kollwitz Museum Köln.

“I felt that I have no right to withdraw from the responsibility of being an advocate,” wrote Käthe Kollwitz in her diary in 1920. “It is my duty to voice the sufferings of men, the never-ending sufferings heaped mountain-high.” Kollwitz’s body of work – which, unusually for a female artist, was celebrated internationally during her own lifetime – is a stark delineation of everyday injustice: her etchings and drawings of men and women at work are indictments of capitalism’s toll on working-class lives.

Kollwitz was born in 1867 in Königsberg, East Prussia, into a socialist family. Her father was determined that she should train as an artist, and sent her to the best local teachers before enrolling her in art schools in Berlin and Munich to encourage her talents. Kollwitz came to describe a visit to the Berlin première of Gerhart Hauptmann’s play The Weavers (1892) – a drama documenting an 1844 uprising among a group of Silesian weavers – as a milestone in her work. In this portrayal of class solidarity and group unity, Kollwitz found the subject for her most famous series, A Weavers’ Revolt (1893-97), which drew inspiration from poor working conditions at the time. Kollwitz herself witnessed the impact of poverty through her husband Karl’s work as a doctor in the community, and it fed into many of her artworks. “I was gripped by the full force of the proletarian’s fate,” she wrote in her diary; pondering why she was drawn to life’s horrors, she concluded “the joyous side simply did not appeal to me”.

https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/.../ra-magazine-francesca...

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galaxy-lilies · 3 months

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(same tattoo idea anon) more about the throwaway comment I made about what if Quackity lost his wings

Fluff idea, now Karl and Sapnap can introduce Quackity to the wonders of being the little spoon, or the middle spoon (previously his wings would smack whoever was behind him in the face)

Half fluff half angst, Quackity still has a lot of pain, both regular and phantom, from losing two huge limbs, but Sapnap is always there to give him a massage with his fiery warm hands to relax the muscles, and Karl does research on natural remedies he can make from the mushrooms around Kinoko.

Angst idea, imagine Karl having a bad memory day, and he can't recognize Quackity as Quackity, bc "Quackity has wings"

Q getting nightmares about when he lost his wings and he wakes up expecting to feel cold seeing how his wings sometimes blocked the two from cuddling him but now as Sapnap held him close to his chest and Karl was pressed behind Q, gangly gummy arms loosely wrapping around Q’s arm he let out a small sigh, shifting closer to sap to get some more of that extra warmth

The massages are definitely the best part, Sapnap’s strength from training still remaining as he pushed and kneaded Q’s back. Q wondered if this was what it felt like to Karl when he went gummy, he felt like a blissful blob. There was one time Karl might’ve mixed up the mushrooms and they all got high LMAO but to be fair it did do the job and relax Q.

Q gripped Karl’s shoulder as Karl looked at him, his eyes glazed over and not looking directly at Q. Karl even tried to grip for soft downy feathers he was so familiar with behind Q with just pained Q even more. Though it wasn’t their first rodeo with Karl’s memories. “Well, what is something your Quackity would know that I might not know?” Karl seemed to genuinely ponder this question, his face scrunching up in concentration. If it was under better circumstances Q would’ve laughed but his face remained calm but pained. Idk what the specific thing would be, maybe the shenanigans that occurred on party island, el rapids, or just their first meeting in the underground church, either way Q is doing his best to be patient as Karl starts to connect the pieces

#anonymous #karl jacobs #quackity #sapnap #karlnapity #indie rambles #indierambles

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vigilskeep · 5 months

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Hello there! I'd be delighted to know what you think about a certain brainworm of mine:

Can a Tranquil corpse be possessed? Asking for a friend 🧐😜

As in: does the invasive procedure of the Rite cause a literal physical change (similar to a clogged blood vessel that renders a part of the brain unusable) that lasts as long as the body decays? Or merely a spiritual one that has no effect on the body itself? Or does a demon need only the flesh and cares little about the severed dreams and emotions long-lost? I mean, regular folk can get their corpse stolen easily, as seen in Redcliffe etc, so it's not a magic issue (as also evidenced by Thedas funeral rites being all flame-o to prevent mass demonification of ye olde ancestors), but they also didn't go through any such ritual in the first place.

(thinking about what Karl Thekla's burial/funeral act might have looked like) (a small pyre under a long-unused Lowtown foundry chimney whose flames are lit by a mourning hand with no need for a torch?) (a sailor's last journey into the Waking Sea's conveniently placed embrace?) (a grave dug under the cover of darkness somewhere outside the city, where the shadow of the Gallows doesn't reach?)

(because Anders wouldn't just leave his body at the Chantry. no way.)

Your thoughts are always interesting to read, so I thought I could throw this particular topic your way - if you'll feel inclined to ponder about it, of course 😊😊

At any rate, have a lovely day! 😁

hiii okay so the tranquil actually can be possessed, even alive. they’re simply not desirable for demons. (however, this was only really found out in the novel asunder, so anyone in da2 or previous should not know this unless they have a really good reason.) it would be my assumption that a tranquil’s corpse is as good as any... but since the brand is physical and the branding process involves lyrium (? i believe) it is possible, yes, that the corpses might be similarly less desirable. i hadn’t thought about it!

i also would like to believe karl had some kind of funeral but i don’t know if anders could take the body... there’s an attempt at dignity and then there’s trying to vanish from the most public building in the middle of hightown with a full grown man’s body you weren’t expecting to carry. the majority of andrastians burn their dead and the chantry probably holds mass pyres for unclaimed bodies as a religious service and as a safety/sanitation measure. personally i think that’s the best we can expect for him :( not dismissing other hcs that’s just what i would assume

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elliefictions · 10 months

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A MET OF THEIR OWN (PART 1)

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Original Female Character

Summary: Pedro is invited to the MET GALA and kept the secret about his outfit from Lizzie, his longtime girlfriend.

Part 1 is Lizzie’s POV.

warnings: fluff. Some smut will be in part 2.

Word count: 1,7k words

PART 2

Writer’s note: first fic ever written and quite late to the MET GALA game. This was in my drafts for a while and I have decided to share it with the world. Also, I thought we did not mention that now infamous lip ring enough. Enjoy part 1! Part 2 is already up!

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“Too bad you’re not coming with me tonight”.

Pedro was in bed with Lizzie, gently stroking her shoulder from behind as she was laying down on her side. She lazily smirked.

A few weeks prior, he received an invitation from Valentino to attend the MET Gala. Proof of his recent meteoric rise in fame after starring in two major TV shows and trolling his way on the Internet. Obviously, he wanted her to come with him.

“Honey, as much as I’d love to, this is your moment. I’d only be a distraction.”

“Oh, because you think you’d outshine me?”

Lizzie turned to face him and he was looking her up and down defiantly. She tried to do the same even if she couldn’t help but find him endearing with his sassy mug.

“Well, duh. Of course I would”, she replied, tracing his aquiline nose with her finger and making a boop on its tip. He broke into a sweet grin.

“And you are absolutely right”. He fondly said, hugging her and peppering her forehead with kisses, his mustache tickling her skin. He would always find a way to make her laugh.

“Pedro…you do remember why we can’t go together, right?” she inquired while caressing his cheek softly.

They have been dating for a while now. Rumors had started circulating since the Oscars a few months ago but it was a miracle they had not been papped yet, because she also was famous in her own right, as a rock singer and musician. They both wanted to make their relationship public at some point but they and their respective teams all agreed that the MET Gala was too big of a stage to make their red carpet debut. They just wanted to be out but also wanted to avoid making it a PR move. And of course, she couldn’t even attend his preparations as it might attract too much attention.

“I do, I do.” Pedro drew one last kiss on her lips and got up. “It’s just too bad you won’t get to see my outfit before the red carpet…”.

“Well, that is unfair.”

Lizzie pouted and threw a pillow at him, making him snort. Pedro has never been good at keeping secrets. He always spoiled the plot of his own movies or TV shows, sometimes much to her own chagrin. But somehow he managed to keep his outfit a full mystery. Not a single clue, not a single peek.

“The theme is “Karl Lagerfeld”. Please tell me you won’t go dressed up as Karl.”

Pedro choked before quickly trying to recompose, made a zipping gesture with his hand, airlocked his mouth and threw the imaginary key far away.

This was actually a clue. They had never discussed his opinion about Karl Lagerfeld but she could totally make a guess. Honoring a fatphobic, islamophobic man? There was no way he’d do anything resembling an homage.

She got up and started making the bed while staring at him with a sly grin. He probably knew he accidentally gave her a hint. He got out of the bedroom at a resolute pace.

“Do you think I will like it?”

“I don’t know…”

“Can we at least FaceTime before?” she pleaded with puppy eyes as she followed him to the kitchen.

“Nope.”, he teased, insisting on the last syllable, while pouring coffee for both of them and handing her a cup.

“Thank you.” She quickly sipped a small mouthful. “But will you get to keep the outfit? Will you come back home with it?”

He stopped drinking his coffee halfway through, pondering her question. He finally gave her a side glance and smirked.

“I really can’t have it. But I might be allowed to keep it at least until tomorrow…”

“Finally!” Lizzie threw her hands in the air. “Is this Christmas?”

He looked at her with adoring eyes and chuckled.

“I’ll ask Julie. I’ll let you know.” He winked at her as he finished his coffee and quickly grabbed a toast. “But I don’t know when I’ll be back home so you don’t need to wait for me”. He kissed her on her forehead. “By the way, what are you gonna do today?”

“Not much,” She sighed. “I have to finish writing a song. I’ve been stuck on that one for three days. Hopefully, I get to finish it. And then I’ll just chill, wait for your red carpet and then for you to come back home”. She dramatically cocked her eyebrow. “Hopefully with the outfit”.

“Oh…and if I do, will you help me undress, my love?” He teased her back as he slowly got closer to her and nudged her nose with his.

“Only if it’s worth it.” Lizzie deadpanned.

He laughed wholeheartedly, then raised his hand to high-five her.

“Deal.”

—---

Lizzie had spent the whole day finishing the song. It would still need some finetuning but, at least, she had the overall structure and was satisfied with the result.

After having sent the demo file to her bandmates, she decided to unwind for the day. She opened Pedro’s drawer to retrieve his beloved Lakers T-shirt, then went to the kitchen to open a bottle of red wine and prepare a quick board with crudités, charcuterie and cheese. She couldn’t bother to actually cook anything so an “aperitif” would do the trick.

As she placed the board and her glass of wine on the coffee table, she turned on the TV and opened Vogue’s livestream of the MET GALA carpet. She recognized several faces in the crowd, and silently commented on the various outfits. There were several black tuxedos that made her facepalm - it was too literal of an interpretation of the theme-, but other more interesting takes, such as homages to Karl’s cat “Choupette”, that made her either smirk or irk.

She looked at her phone. No news from Pedro for the whole day. She looked on social media and there was no photo of him yet. He probably was still getting ready at the hotel.

She decided to text him, sending him a picture of the TV with her wine glass in front.

L. - 7:30pm

“Hey, ready to see you on TV! This is your night, your moment. Enjoy it, honey. Love you. 💜.”

P - 7:31pm

“Thanks, love you too 💜. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Won’t be able to text for the next few hours.”

P - 7:33pm

“BTW, got to talk to Julie. She arranged for the Valentino crew to collect my outfit back tomorrow afternoon.”

P - 7:33pm

“You’re not ready…😈”

L. - 7:34pm

“Such a tease…😏”

She left her phone on the couch and sipped her wine. But then her phone vibrated again. She picked it up with one hand.

P - 7:36pm

“This won’t be on the final look…so I can show it to you 😏”

The next message contained no text but just a picture. Lizzie almost spat her wine, as she immediately recognized his lower face and her focus went immediately to his lips and to the jewel that adorned them.

L. - 7:38pm

“Is that…A LIP RING????? 😱”

Lizzie’s brain froze, as her mind was suddenly racing in a million directions, not knowing what to make of this piece of information. She immediately saw the three dots moving on their conversation window, meaning that Pedro was writing her back, and she waited expectantly for the reply.

P - 7:39pm

“😘”

L. - 7:39pm

“OMG. Please, another picture?”

But Pedro did not reply, he did not even see her latest text. However, it only took a few more minutes before her phone started to blow up with the first pictures of his outfit and ten minutes later, he’d actually appear on TV.

She was right. It wasn’t an homage to Karl Lagerfeld. Actually, it was the complete opposite.

Among the crowd of black and white gowns and tuxedos, she couldn’t miss her partner and his slicked back hair -which made him look older than his age but still it was one of her favorites- wearing a bright red shirt with a slim black tie, very Kraftwerk-ian - and probably the only reference to Karl, both he and Kraftwerk were German?-, under a long red coat.

But the big detail that was without a doubt a flipping off the designer’s legacy was the lower part of his outfit. The black shorts. The calf length socks. The shiny leather combat boots. Him showing knee and bits of leg hair. Those were big no-no’s in Lagerfeld’s fashion lingo.

The whole thing was against everything Lagerfeld stood for in terms of men’s fashion. And you knew Pedro enough to assume this was totally deliberate. It was a statement. He came to the MET GALA to troll it, AND will probably be crowned as one of the best-dressed of the night.

He was a punk. And he was her hero. And seeing him on the TV, looking so regal and confident made her beam with pride and feel so emotional.

Lizzie kept looking at photos and videos of him on Twitter. Even if she wasn’t too fond of the shorts, the overall look made her feral for him. It felt like an edgy, punk version of a Vampire Godfather. And god she loved this look on him. She was just sad he dropped the lip ring but she understood it at the same time. Given all the reactions on social media, he’d have made legions of women and men lose their minds.

And she did not think she would actually live to see this day. They were talking about the man who had like only five T-shirts when they met - including the Lakers shirt- and who looked like a disheveled mess, even on promotional duties. And now he was a fashion icon.

And then suddenly, it dawned on her. Later tonight, he will come back. Dressed like this.

She looked at the Lakers T-shirt she was wearing and then opened the selfie mode of her phone camera. Her bare face was worn, and her hair looked like a rat’s nest. She felt entirely inadequate.

She didn’t know when he’d be back. But she imagined him attending the party and the afterparties. Which meant that she had some time ahead of her. She immediately got up from her couch, and cleaned your glass, plate and board. She had some work to do.

#pedro #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal ofc #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal met gala #met gala 2023

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rubyblue2005 · 1 month

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Bsd Issekai but the issekai'd person is constantly quoting the author's around them.

Poor Poe, being followed by a person who keeps shouting quotes at him whenever they bump into him.

Poe, going on a candy run for Ranpo:

The Issekai'd: "ONCE UPON A MIDNIGHT DREARY, WHILE I PONDERED-"

Poe and Karl: (⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠) (⁠(⁠(⁠;⁠ꏿ⁠_⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠)⁠)⁠)

#bsd fanfic #bsd #bsd poe #bungou Stray Dogs #Bungou Stray Dogs Poe #bsd edgar allan poe #bsd headcanon #bsd headcanons #Bsd Issekai

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rockislandadultreads · 1 year

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Nonfiction Recommendations: Jewish American Heritage Month

Black, White and Jewish by Rebecca Walker

The Civil Rights movement brought author Alice Walker and lawyer Mel Leventhal together, and in 1969 their daughter, Rebecca, was born. Some saw this unusual copper-colored girl as an outrage or an oddity; others viewed her as a symbol of harmony, a triumph of love over hate. But after her parents divorced, leaving her a lonely only child ferrying between two worlds that only seemed to grow further apart, Rebecca was no longer sure what she represented. In this book, Rebecca Leventhal Walker attempts to define herself as a soul instead of a symbol—and offers a new look at the challenge of personal identity, in a story at once strikingly unique and truly universal.

Bad Jews by Emily Tamkin

What does it mean to be a Bad Jew? Many Jews use the term “Bad Jew” as a weapon against other members of the community or even against themselves. You can be called a Bad Jew if you don’t keep kosher; if you only go to temple on Yom Kippur; if you don’t attend or send your children to Hebrew school; if you enjoy Christmas music; if your partner isn’t Jewish; if you don’t call your mother often enough. The list is endless.

In Bad Jews, Emily Tamkin argues that perhaps there is no answer to this timeless question at all. Throughout American history, Jewish identities have evolved and transformed in a variety of ways. American Jewish history is full of discussions and debates and hand wringing over who is Jewish, how to be Jewish, and what it means to be Jewish. In this book, Emily Tamkin examines the last 100 years of American Jewish politics, culture, identities, and arguments. Drawing on over 150 interviews, she tracks the evolution of Jewishness throughout American history, and explores many of the evolving and conflicting Jewish positions on assimilation; race; Zionism and Israel; affluence and poverty, philanthropy, finance, politics; and social justice. From this complex and nuanced history, Tamkin pinpoints perhaps the one truth about American Jewish It is always changing.

Genius & Anxiety by Norman Lebrecht

In a hundred-year period, a handful of men and women changed the way we see the world. Many of them are well known—Marx, Freud, Proust, Einstein, Kafka. Others have vanished from collective memory despite their enduring importance in our daily lives. Without Karl Landsteiner, for instance, there would be no blood transfusions or major surgery. Without Paul Ehrlich, no chemotherapy. Without Siegfried Marcus, no motor car. Without Rosalind Franklin, genetic science would look very different. Without Fritz Haber, there would not be enough food to sustain life on earth.

What do these visionaries have in common? They all had Jewish origins. They all had a gift for thinking in wholly original, even earth-shattering ways. In 1847 the Jewish people made up less than 0.25% of the world’s population, and yet they saw what others could not. How? Why?

Norman Lebrecht has devoted half of his life to pondering and researching the mindset of the Jewish intellectuals, writers, scientists, and thinkers who turned the tides of history and shaped the world today as we know it. In Genius & Anxiety, Lebrecht begins with the Communist Manifesto in 1847 and ends in 1947, when Israel was founded. This robust, magnificent volume, beautifully designed, is an urgent and necessary celebration of Jewish genius and contribution.

People Love Dead Jews by Dara Horn

Renowned and beloved as a prizewinning novelist, Dara Horn has also been publishing penetrating essays since she was a teenager. Often asked by major publications to write on subjects related to Jewish culture—and increasingly in response to a recent wave of deadly antisemitic attacks—Horn was troubled to realize what all of these assignments had in common: she was being asked to write about dead Jews, never about living ones. In these essays, Horn reflects on subjects as far-flung as the international veneration of Anne Frank, the mythology that Jewish family names were changed at Ellis Island, the blockbuster traveling exhibition Auschwitz, the marketing of the Jewish history of Harbin, China, and the little-known life of the "righteous Gentile" Varian Fry. Throughout, she challenges us to confront the reasons why there might be so much fascination with Jewish deaths, and so little respect for Jewish lives unfolding in the present.

Horn draws upon her travels, her research, and also her own family life—trying to explain Shakespeare’s Shylock to a curious ten-year-old, her anger when swastikas are drawn on desks in her children’s school, the profound perspective offered by traditional religious practice and study—to assert the vitality, complexity, and depth of Jewish life against an antisemitism that, far from being disarmed by the mantra of "Never forget," is on the rise. As Horn explores the (not so) shocking attacks on the American Jewish community in recent years, she reveals the subtler dehumanization built into the public piety that surrounds the Jewish past—making the radical argument that the benign reverence we give to past horrors is itself a profound affront to human dignity.

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thosearentcrimes · 8 months

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20th March, 1861, London

Our protagonist, Étienne, is a Radical lately exiled from France for his revolutionary views. Today Étienne is seething about the bizarre theories of his fellow Londoner revolutionary emigre, Karl Marx. Oh sure, human society does progress linearly through stages, that's obvious, everyone knows that. But it's not because of accumulation or material conditions or whatever. Of course a guy who reads and writes about political economy and capitalism all day thinks all of politics is just political economy and capitalism. The French Revolution could not have happened until the late 18th century? Nonsense. The French Revolution couldn't have happened until the Enlightenment, sure, but the Enlightenment could have occurred sooner. All of the timing is just a historical accident, a matter of waiting for the right crisis in a country of the right (French) temperament and a Great Man or two possessed of the right concepts. You see, Étienne is very much an Idealist.

Étienne is a smart and well-educated man, and so a sympathetic acquaintance has managed to secure him a respectable position as an assistant curator at the new Museum of Manufactures in Kensington, and he quite enjoys his daily walk to work through the Kensington Gardens from his new home in one of the nicer streets of Paddington. Despite his intelligence, however, he is not a cautious man, which is how he ended up in London in the first place. Today it would have paid to be cautious. George F Train, a man of rather similar temperament to Étienne, has recently set up a tram line running along the north edge of Kensington Gardens. Étienne is crossing there at this very moment, too absorbed in his pondering of historical forces to notice the people yelling at him to stop or the carriage speeding towards him. He is pronounced dead at the scene.

???, Paris

Our protagonist, Étienne, has just been born to Isabelle Barbou, wife of the clothier Simon Marcel. How this has happened, or how it is possible, is not known to the author of these words. All that is known is that Étienne the son of the clothier Simon Marcel is very much the same person, with the same memories, as Étienne the aforementioned assistant curator. His first act, in his second (and yet preceding?) life, is quite characteristic for the newborn body he now occupies. He cries. For several years, as any baby does, he will compose himself. Étienne, however, is not getting used to the existence of the world, but rather to early 14th century France, a task by no means easy for a man used to the conveniences of 19th century urban life and goods.

12th June, 1315, Paris

Étienne had been fairly quick to orient himself. Easily he discovered his name and identity, though his knowledge of its meaning was rather hazy as his recollections of medieval history were not the best even when he was first alive. He was supposed to be some sort of traitor? That fit well enough. It took him longer to get a precise handle on the date. Even if he had been able to discern which Roi Philippe people were talking about and which Flemish Revolt they were discussing, he did not remember the precise years. Eventually he snuck enough peeks at contracts to be confident that the clustering of dates around 1311 roughly reflected the then-current year.

Étienne's first thought had been to prevent the Hundred Years War. Sure, tensions between the Kings of England and France were already high and unwinding those antagonisms would not be possible, but if the looming succession crisis of 1328 could be stopped the intensity and length of the warfare could be reduced and the repeated threats to French independence could be headed off entirely, and history could be advanced by up to the century otherwise lost to pointless war. Sure, the French people would be denied the glorious symbol of Jeanne d'Ar- hm. Was Jeanne someone like him? Were there others in his own new time? Well, that was a worry for another time.

It was the Tour de Nesle affair and the death of Philippe IV that prompted Étienne to seriously review the idea of preventing the succession crisis, and which eventually led him to dismiss it entirely. How was a young cloth merchant in Paris, whose father was not even all that rich or prominent, affect the family relations of the Capet family? Even if he were the fournisseur des draps for one of the princely houses, how would a wise choice of fabrics help? No, there really was no prospect of preventing the crisis.

Already since first hearing of the Flemish revolts, Étienne had been idly fantasizing about an alternative approach. Instead of preventing the crisis, he could take personal initiative and advance history by a great deal more taking advantage of the crisis. The Valois would certainly need to call the États Généraux to finance the war, and if he could get there Étienne could start rerunning the events of 1789. Certainly he would not be able to prevent the emergence of the Empire, likely he would not make it to a Republic, but perhaps he could give France (and by extension the world) a bit more of a head start.

Étienne's questions, rather odd even for a precocious child, got him the answers he needed. The elected position most likely to be invited to the États was the Prévôt des Marchands of Paris. Some modifications to the events of 1789 would be necessary, there was no Bastille to storm (storm the Louvre instead? or build a Bastille and storm that?) but in principle he had everything he needed. A crisis, the Parlement de Paris, a meeting of the États Généraux. Doing anything like this just one century earlier would have been much more difficult.

#original fiction #ok so i SAY i dont like isekai or historical fiction and I really dont but I suspect after this nobody will believe me

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thelightningthatjumpsbetween · 1 year

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Chapter Two

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Several months earlier

The party continued on in the lagoon under them, while Ethan and Heisenberg looked on from a nearby ledge. The small “just in case of Miranda” fire had grown into a veritable bonfire, and the celebration into something magical with Eva’s presence.

Still, Ethan found himself lost in his own looping thoughts, silent as he pondered. He could feel the heartbeat of the Mutamycete from here, could slip easily back and forth into the liminal space, where black threads of mycelium coated the landscape. Something had changed with Eva’s arrival. The Mold felt….sad, he decided.

Which in turn made him wonder what awaited them all next. As Zoe carried the finally-sleeping Rose on her shoulder, rocking her, Ethan worked up the courage to ask Heisenberg one of many questions he often choked down out of fear.

“Why did you take Rose? Was it to…use her against Miranda?”

Surprised, Karl turned toward him, tipping his head back in that theatrical Heisenberg way. He looked at Ethan curiously, as if impressed with the question, but hesitant to anger the blond. With one grey-brown eyebrow arched, the engineer responded with a thoughtful, “No….”

Like all his words, it dipped down, then up. Ethan’s pout twisted into a skeptical smirk and he raised an eyebrow of his own. This surprised Karl, who grinned back wolfishly.

So Karl was going to make him ask more questions. Fine.

“Was it to convince me to stay?”

Karl scoffed, and then jerked one shoulder up in a half-shrug.

“Considerin’ you grabbed her an’ tried to run….no.”

At this, Ethan raised both of his eyebrows and nodded. True. He’d been vicious upon awakening, disgusted at what had happened to his body, disgusted at everything that he was, let alone everything he thought about the Lord. To see him with his daughter…

His amused expression evened and Ethan gazed down at the crowd for another moment, planning his next question. But then Karl surprised him, speaking first.

“Wasn’t about her, wasn’t even….” intentional, was what he’d planned to say. But that wasn’t true. Karl had been considering taking the child as soon as he breached the holdover facility, some no-name hospital in an armpit of Hungary, where the BSAA team was on holdover with their “cargo” including the BOW soldiers that Redfield had, er….commandeered.

In fact, the team was so focused on that, that Karl had easily infiltrated the area. No, Rose was never the goal. But she was on his mind.

He blinked, golden eyes nearly glimmering like the fire they focused on. “Just had the thought when I saw it all. What ‘er life would be like. Raised like a…” freak. “Like a–”

“Thank you,” Ethan said suddenly, spinning on his heel toward the man, whose stutter died with those words, and a confused look overtook his face. “I understand what you mean. You didn’t want her to…go through.”

His wandering gaze came back to Heisenberg’s face, the scars, the widened eyes. “And I know that you don’t like to talk…specifics. Of what you went through. But I just want you to know that one day, I hope you can. I hope you feel like you can trust me with that.”

Karl acted for a moment as if he would respond. His mouth opened, closed, he blinked rapidly, tilted his head again. Finally he simply looked back toward the fire. Ethan so rarely “got” the other that he smiled broadly, crossing his arms over his chest in satisfaction. He moved toward the other and leaned over Karl’s shoulder, his chin resting over Heisenberg’s trapezius muscle. “I’m betting your master plan didn’t involve this, though.”

“Nope,” Karl said cheerfully. “Thought you were a real stubborn idiot. Glad you came around.”

“I am an idiot,” Ethan corrected, and he closed his eyes at Heisenberg’s chuckle.

—------------

It was a restless half-hour after the memory-turned-dream that Ethan did crawl from his bed and enter the dimly lit hallway. He could hear sounds from the kitchen, and sensed rather than guessed that it was Eva.

Like his bond with Rosemary, the two could somehow ‘feel’ the other's presence, and even communicate if they wanted to, though there was seldom a need. Also, like Rosemary, Eva’s energy–when focused on-was a brightly lit beacon even in this world.

Ethan didn’t know what made the two so powerful, but it gave him comfort. He had an inkling that the only other beings so gifted, so powerful, would have been Eveline and Miranda. And that hadn’t worked out great for anybody, really.

Eva’s warm smile faded when she saw the grumpy look on Ethan’s face, and she moved from the stool where she sat, surrounded by food and a notebook, to stand in front of him. Now a hint of a furrow threaded into her white-blond eyebrows.

Her voice was musical, soft. Less echoey than it had been in the other realms. But still almost magical-sounding. Like a fairy voice.

“Are you all right?”

He sighed raggedly and rubbed both palms down his face, feeling rather stupid. Ethan wasn’t used to having others around in such a capacity, and had no real practice with talking to other adults about anything of substance. In fact, the only real practice he’d had–his marriage-was mostly littered with mistrust, lies, and uncertainty. He was trying to do better. Embrace things.

His frown turned into an almost-lip-tremble when he admitted in a small, quiet voice, “I dreamed about Mia.”

Whatever he’d expected, he didn’t expect an instant, warm hug, and Ethan paused at the gesture before returning it.

“I’m so sorry,” Eva said genuinely. How was she so good at being so comforting after a century of isolation? Ethan had nothing on her, and he was still like a fumbling infant at communication despite a college degree.

“I’m just old,” she answered aloud, a hint of humor in her voice, and then Eva pulled back. Her fingers went to cover her lips as if she were nervous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” he said honestly, sauntering past her and plopping onto one of the stools. “Makes it easier on me, if anything.”

“I’m not invading your thoughts,” she began in her lilted accent, so similar to her mother’s, but without the sharp tone, “but I am just guessing…you would like some coffee?”

He couldn’t help but smile, and his posture relaxed as she moved toward the other side of the kitchen. Eva had become something of a food expert in the few months after gaining a body. At first, her creations were bizarre and even made Karl look on in fear and trepidation. But soon, she bought dozens of cook books, tagged along to restaurants and shops, and spent long weekends with Maricara to learn the trade.

She still ate donuts, and swore by the combination of pickles and macaroni.

Her back was to him. Ethan studied the drying herbs on the wall, and the paintings left by Heisenberg’s family. Unlike the somber dining room, this side was brightly patterned folk art. Flowers and birds.

“So, what was the dream?”

“It was just…a memory, actually,” he answered with a frown. “At the end, I thought I heard Miranda laughing.”

“That is odd,” Eva responded, but her dark blue eyes glittered when she turned, her gaze sliding toward Ethan. “Was she a part of the memory?”

Now he shrugged, agitated. “I guess so. I guess Miranda was a part of my life a long time before even Eveline came to be.” When Eva remained silent, he added, “Mia met Miranda while she was in college. She told me about it on our first date….I just…didn’t know who she was talking about.”

A moment of comfortable silence, in which the wall clock was the only sound. Ethan’s soft fingertips stroked over his own lips while he contemplated the memory again. The smell of brewing coffee now punctured the air, welcome and comforting.

His fingers were now probing his stubble. Ethan hated the scratching feeling, and made a mental note to go shave soon. He moved his fingers back to his lips, mumbling through them. “Is it…..do you think Miranda can….see those things? Memories. Dreams. Like that.”

“Yes,” Eva replied simply.

“Did she…cause it?”

“That, I do not know.” Eva turned and crossed delicate arms over her chest. She tilted her head, eyes tracking around the room while she considered. “I could not, but maybe I didn’t try. However…my question is, were you thinking of Mia before sleep?”

That was a pretty normal question. Ethan frowned at it though. He couldn’t even grieve properly, without wondering if Miranda was polluting his mind. He exhaled, surprised at how shaky his breath still was.

“I think of her a lot,” he admitted, wondering why he’d never said that before. “When I thought she died the first time, before….” he couldn’t even form the word anymore. He closed his eyes instead. He could sense Eva moving around to Karl’s usual seat, where she pushed a mug toward him gently.

“...That time, I just thought of everything good. Every good memory. Then she was back and it was such a relief, well…after. Anyway, this time, the thing that’s on my mind is the memories of arguments, fighting. She hated moving here, I could tell. She hated the BSAA’s involvement with us, hated that Chris trained me.” Blond eyebrows lifted in an expression of sorrow, resignation, as he burned his lips with the coffee.

It tasted magnificent. Eva somehow managed to make coffee that was incredibly strong and woody and still creamy and sweet. He didn’t even mind the burned lips, and gulped more.

She was listening intently, stirring her own coffee with her chin propped in her other hand.

“Mostly I just…I guess. I’m mad at her, and I know she knew things weren’t ever going to work again between us, but I feel like she abandoned me a long time ago….which sounds stupid.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“That part doesn’t upset me as much, I guess I get really upset when I think others are leaving, but I’ve accepted that she left. What hurts and makes me angry is thinking that she did it to Rosemary. Left her alone, without a…” his voice cracked and he gave up, clenching the coffee cup instead.

Eva was silent for a few minutes before she draped a pale hand over one of his. “I hear you, Ethan,” she said in a warm tone. “May I say something?”

“Of course,” he grumbled, eager to burn his throat with more coffee.

“I am not a mother,” she began, using the word he was trying to avoid, “but I have felt many souls’ experience, who were. Generations of mothers. One thing I can tell you is there is a certain sort of…insanity, a madness, to it. Even other animals experience this. Motherhood is to become insane, in a way.”

He raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet.

“In some, it manifests as control. I would say my own mother is a good example of that. A need to control the fate of their child, in fact, a need to control everything. In other mothers, it manifests as panic or fear of well-being. A sort of constant, fierce protectiveness. A Mama Bear, yes? Like the Lady Dimitrescu.”

Was that a pang of remorse? Oh, fuck off, he told himself mentally, trying to will memories of the pain she’d inflicted on him back into his mind so he wouldn’t feel anything remotely positive toward the woman.

“This madness does not always show–one must have something to cause a chain reaction, so to say…living a quiet or normal life, it might never appear. But sadness, sorrow, pain.” Eva frowned, and finally sipped from her own cup.

“Well, I suppose there are a thousand ways to respond, and I have seen many of them. One response is to run away. Overwhelm. To spiral in a way until existing seems unbearable. I am certain that Mia felt guilt, in the end, and I am sure it overwhelmed her. However, it does not mean there was no love. Sometimes madness overwhelms love. Sometimes they are very near the same feeling.”

Though he didn’t want to think of them, he found the Bakers entering his memory again…how different they had been, before. How crazed, enraged Jack had been over Eveline’s proclamation that Ethan was to be her new Daddy. He thought of Rosemary’s birth. He’d been ecstatic, on cloud nine, but Mia’s fear overshadowed the event. She had been hysterical. Citing hospital trauma and mistrust of doctors. They’d given her so much medication and still she panicked.

As always, Ethan didn’t understand her fear, but simply worked hard to reassure her. In hindsight, it made so much sense.

He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Thanks, Eva.”

She sat upright, looking suspiciously at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he reassured, this time taking her hand. “No, I think you’re right.” He forced a smile, only possible thanks to the coffee, and quipped, “You’re pretty sharp for an old lady.”

“Why! I was born two months ago!” she said in faux-outrage, but then giggled.

After more coffee, he asked a question to shift the subject. “If mothers come with madness, what do fathers come with?”

Her blue eyes narrowed in thought, and they both turned their gazes toward the large glass doors that led to the garden, where the sky was barely turning grey.

“Fathers,” she said contemplatively. “Become…obstinate. Headstrong. Stubborn.”

He heaved a sigh into the coffee mug. “You sound like Heisenberg.”

They both burst into laughter at that.

The sun would rise soon.

#wintersberg #ethan winters #karl heisenberg #karl x ethan #fic: the lightning that jumps between

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