light juxtapositions

Nevsky Prospect, Saint Petersburg. Невский проспект, Санкт-Петербург

Pentax ME Super; SMC Pentax M 50mm 1:2; Fujifilm Superia X-tra 400 ISO

episode 1 thoughts
  • first of all the opening theme is still an absolute banger
  • also every single choral theme from this soundtrack is a masterpiece and i still get chills every time
  • honestly like ive seen death note so many times and analyzed it from essentially every angle possible but whenever i come back to it after not seeing it for a while it ALWAYS brings me back to the first time i saw it, as a twelve year old kid, not knowing exactly what it was going to be about, and that is just the best feeling in the world
  • he
  • “examine, normal, necessary, history” are the english words on the blackboard which….might not be intentional but still uh…feels painfully relevant to the story
  • i could make a whole post about the juxtaposition of light and shadow/warm and cool colors in these background shots of the courtyard and the city and the train crossing after light picks up the notebook but god
  • oh also? the sound design?? fucking fantastic. the shot of the notebook falling silently while the professor’s “history history history…” fades into the background, the cut to the flapping noise of the notebook hitting the ground and the distant sound of wind and grit. god. amazing
  • light’s dead eyes fuckin g gets me every time
  • madhouse blew its entire animation budget on these shots of light at his desk like even the off model shots are pretty gorgeous in this ep (except for The One)
  • death note’s soundtrack is so good it’s just so fucking good
  • now i’m just watching death note
  • sachiko………..sachiko. she means well.
  • light, episode 1: no, i should definitely avoid killing people i know
  • light in all subsequent episodes: lmao
  • SOUND DESIGN!! HEARTBEATS!! WONDERFUL
  • also i’m watching this dubbed like a common boob because i love alessandro juliani beyond the scope of human imagination even though he’s not even in this episode lmao
  • ugh. sachiko. “welcome back light!! never mind what you are about to say, now show me those test scores!!”
  • me, sobbing: light yagami allowed himself to become a villain over the course of the first five days that he had the note because he thought that the shinigami who originally owned the note would come and drag him to hell (“i’ve been expecting you, ryuk”) at any moment and he wanted to make a difference in the world before he went and he already valued his own life so little, he just wanted to be a vessel for good even if it turned him bad because who cares, he’s damned anyway, and the moment ryuk told him there were no consequences to using the book was the moment of his downfall, he only started spouting this ‘god of the new world’ stuff after ryuk told him he could keep using the notebook…………
  • how is sachiko not hearing any of this
  • (actually never mind)
  • you guys….light killed a guy named merry harry…..
  • i think i’ve said this before but ryuk’s dangly heart earring is such a Look
  • Fanasonic
  • HERE IT IS!!! THE ONE!! THE WORST FRAME IN ALL OF DEATH NOTE!!
  • i love when swaile gets that very dangerous-sounding singsong inflection to his voice i love it i love it
  • jesus i love light he’s so extra
  • i love light yagami
spoilers all over: ffxv and the symbology of sleep

I had an Anonnie ask me for headcanons about sharing a bed (as in sleeping) with Ardyn, and while listening to the FFXV piano collections this morning and contemplating all the themes, this really made me want to elaborate on the theme of sleep, and the juxtaposition with light in the game, because this has been in my mind so much recently. 

I know many more clever people have already dealt with this before but I’m just throwing in my two cents.

On the surface, there are a lot of references to sleep straight away; the theme we hear first when we start the game, playing in the main menu is called Somnus (lat. sleep); Noctis (lat. night) is the prince of Lucis (lat. light), and the citadel is called Insomnia, literally, ‘habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep’.

Now I find it fascinating, that the original idea, that is also still present in the Brotherhood anime, but which unfortunately doesn’t get explored in the game, was that Noctis keeps falling asleep all the time, even during the day. In the beginning of the game, Noctis is, figuratively, still ‘dreaming’ - he’s wayward but unaware of the grand events that are taking place, and his true destiny.

Noctis’ love interest in the story is Luna (lat. moon). FFXV does not only borrow names from Latin, but is also strongly linked to Greek mythology, ie. their world is called Eos, in Greek myths the goddes of the morning star, or, dawn. Luna is also the Roman equivalent of the Greek goddess Selene. 

According to the myths, Selene, the moon goddess, fell in love with a sleeping shepherd (in some variations a hunter, or a king), Endymion. Being immortal herself, she couldn’t bear her lover becoming old and dying. Thus, she asked Zeus (or according to other sources, cast a spell herself) to make Endymion fall asleep, and in his eternal sleep, remain young and immortal. Only in his sleep, could he be together with his beloved.

See where this is going?

Originally posted by ludast

The first major event in the game to wake Noctis from his naive ‘sleep’, is when, while forging a covenant with Leviathan, Luna dies and Noctis is forced to use the power of the Armiger for the first time, thus getting a first glimpse of the power he can possess. The musical composition we hear during the Leviathan fight is aptly named Apocalypsis Noctis, lat. ‘the revelation of the night’, or, ‘the revelation of Noctis’. This is literally the revelation, the awakening for Noctis.

From there on, there is quite literally no turning back, unless you timetravel to the past.

Okay so this is no news to anyone. What I really wanted to talk about, of course, is how this all relates to our favourite Trash Jesus Lucis Caelum, Ardyn.

The name of Insomnia does not make much sense, if you only link it to Regis or Noctis – sure, it can be a nickname for the “city that never sleeps”, Insomnia being a big metropolis – but there’s definitely another layer to it, and that is in direct relation to Ardyn.

The poor man has been cursed with immortality, as he absorbed people’s daemons in his past as a healer, and was subsequently cast aside by the Astrals. All this time, he has only been waiting for Noctis, and he does everything he can to push him to be the King of Light, quite literally pushing the night towards the light.

As the starscourge spreads through the world of Eos, the nights grow longer, until the light of day is completely diminished and the world succumbs into eternal night. Ardyn heads back to Insomnia, to wait for Noctis to become the King of Light, while he sleeps inside the crystal.

The last mission in the game’s storyline, the one where your task is to confront Ardyn, is called The Cure for Insomnia. The name bears more than just a superficial significance though; it obviously plays with the name of the citadel, where you’re headed to defeat Ardyn, but it also holds a strong symbolic meaning: Ardyn will finally be able to rest, to sleep the eternal sleep.

This makes Noctis’ last words to Ardyn so meaningful;

“This time you can rest in peace. Close your eyes… forevermore.”

Having completed the final mission, you have found the “cure for insomnia”; ie. found a way to release Ardyn from the curse. 

This is also why it’s my strong headcanon, that Ardyn does not, or can not, sleep (literally, and I touch upon this in A Man Of No Consequence). He’s been kept awake, alone in the darkness with the daemons, for an eternity, until Noctis, the night, grants him peace, and lays himself to rest as well, to allow for the new dawn of Eos.

Interior with lady at the piano. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on panel.

Interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms, were a feature of Danish painting in the late 19th century. Vilhelm Hammershøi, a contemporary of Holsøe, also specialised in such scenes, frequently, like Holsøe, including a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.

Interior with a Woman Sitting at the Piano. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas. MacConnal-Mason Gallery.

Holsøe was to become renowned for interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms. Such scenes frequently includied a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.

anonymous asked:

I LOVE that you address class when you talk about Severus. It's one thing that's always bothered me in discourse around him, is that people ignore his impoverished background and his half-blood status

Ahh class is a tricky beast - I am pleased that you like the points that I raise regarding it, because it’s something that’s quite important to me - which I think probably comes across in my posts.

I think it adds another dimension to Severus as a character; it’s not just the juxtaposition between light and dark, or even Muggle and magical (which are both rich in themselves) - but between classes, and that’s so ripe for pulling apart and interpreting.

Now that’s what I call photography. Hot damn. 

The way the light shines through the window and the fact that that’s clearly a reflection and you can see the smudges of the glass. It’s a juxtaposition between light and dark that KJ executes perfectly. And Skeet is smack in the middle, which to anyone who has studied photography is extremely disconcerting. 

And Skeet’s face Is so intense. And frankly, slightly scary. 

This is amazing. 

Either KJ has a camera or Cole lets him borrow his. 

I’m so completely in awe of this photo. WOW!

anonymous asked:

Can you write a fic where the MC didn't accidentally spill her drink on Bianca? Like what would Hunts first impression had been if he didn't first meet him/her at a disciplinary meeting?

5.5k+ words

Even at the beginning of the year, something about her drew his eye. When she had enrolled, she was rather shy, soft-spoken and unsure of herself. Though she was quite pretty and well-put together, there was no mistaking the fact that she missed the air that some others had. Those who lead luxurious lives with rich mommies and daddies who took care of their most inane wishes. No, she was different than the majority of those who had enrolled. It reminded Thomas Hunt of himself when he had first taken classes at the prestigious university. It made him aware of her. Cautious, almost.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Raven nursing a sick Beast Boy?

“You know, this is kind of your own fault, Gar." 

Raven looked down at the thermometer in her hand and sighed, moving it away from his face and placing another, cool towel on his forehead. He whimpered, but said nothing as she brushed the wet hair back from his forehead with slow, tender touches. “If you weren’t outside playing around in the rain like a child, you wouldn’t have gotten sick.”

Keep reading

Kvinde der sidder i dagligstuen (Lady Seated in a Drawing Room). Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas.

As with other works, Holsøe depicts a single female figure, turned away from the viewer. Here, she reads in a simple black dress. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.

I promise.

Picture prompt?

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.. this picture is a beautiful piece of art and spun a story in my head that wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it out. 

This picture popped up in my feed last week and had me mesmerized. Credit for the art goes to the original poster- http://mirta-posts.tumblr.com/post/137491189674  Her page is full of amazing pieces that I’m sure inspire so much more than my little piece. 

ANGST. ANGST. ANGST.

Word Count: 1584

Dean x reader, Sam 



Dean Winchester tugged at the bow tie as he pushed out of the crowded hall with his pilfered bottle of whiskey. Sam had been eyeballing him all night and the first chance he got to sneak out just happened to coincide with a pass by a very distracted bartender. He couldn’t blame the guy, he would’ve been distracted by the bridesmaid at one time too.

The only thing he needed now was some space without loud celebrating idjits surrounding him with suffocating noise. He strode down the hallway heading for the service door at the back of the building that lead to the beach. Not wasting any more time, he twisted the cap off the bottle.

The door opened easily and he slipped out, taking his third long pull from the bottle feeling the salty air cool his skin as the liquor burned down his throat. The crashing waves drew him like a moth to the flame but each step felt heavier than the last. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, just about to dip into the ocean and its reflection stretched out across the top of the water as if reaching for the beach. It briefly brought to mind the vengeful spirit hellbent on punishing both brides and bridesmaids on their happy day that he sent up in smoke not too long ago but then his thoughts immediately turned back to her.

He took another long pull and made his way toward the water pulling at pieces of the monkey suit with his free hand. Each step forward in the soft sand sent him back to a case so much like this one yet so very different.


She was wrapped in a purple dress she wouldn’t stop fidgeting with and complaining about even though he thought it fit her like a dream- the color be damned.

“What are you staring at Winchester?”

His gaze jumped up to hers as he cleared his throat. “What?”

She dropped her hands from the edge of its deep purple bodice and narrowed her eyes at him. “Exactly. You just get to wear that nice, good looking, and probably very comfortable suit while I have to schlep around in this god damn Barney vomit nightmare that is trying to squish my insides. The things I do for a case! With this color, let the god damn spirit take her. She wasn’t even that nice to someone who offered to step in for her dearly departed maid of honor.”

“Mmm. I’d like to squish..” His eyes wandered back down to the bodice hugging her chest.

“DO not finish that..” She brandished her finger at him but amusement sparkled in her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll just think about it.”

Her whip of laughter always made him smile. He craved it on his worst days. She tugged on his lapels and pulled him against her. “Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up, chuckles.”

His gaze fell to her protruding cleavage, “I don’t think this thing is half bad.” She let out another belt of laughter.

“Just you wait. One of these days we could do this. Force a couple people to dress ridiculously and get presents and dance the night away.”

“Why the hell would we do that?” He looked into her eyes trying to read her.

“Well, not like this. I’d like something more.. private and open.” Her gaze trailed away then her eyes popped wide with excitement just before coming back. “Like a beach. Yeah, with the waves lapping at our feet as we vow to fight to the end together. It doesn’t need all the pomp and circumstance, just us and a few friends and family.” She turned on that smile that melted his insides.

He watched as whatever she was imagining in her head soothed the tension in her shoulders and on her face. She looked so serene and he felt drawn to her once again. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Oh yeah? So why would we tie the knot? Why spend the money if we wouldn’t really be changing anything?”

She shrugged, her gaze trailing away from his. “I don’t know. Just one of those things, I guess. What if I asked you to marry me? To bond yourself with me for life and ever after?”

“And ever after, huh?”

“Sounds good.” She smirked as her gaze flicked back up to his. “A night where everything was about celebrating us.” Her hands smoothed down his lapels and her eyes followed.

“I like the celebrating we do already as often as we please.” He pressed his lips against hers humming against the softness as her scent enveloped him.

“Mm, me too. But I like the celebration and bonding thing too.”

Dean chuckled then his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and read Sam’s message. “Okay, we’re in.” She held out her arm for him to take as her game face slipped into place.

“Let’s go.”

 

 

Dean?”

Dean tore his gaze away from the waves and glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve been looking..” Sam paused then cursed under his breath.

Dean offered up his bottle but Sam waved it away. Dean knocked back another shot noticing how light the bottle had become but kept his eyes on the water as it rushed in and pulled out- wiping the sand in front of him clean and smooth.

“Here. I thought you might want these.” Sam dropped Dean’s shoes and socks in the sand behind him. “I guess I should thank you for leaving the bread crumbs.”

The cold water reached up and slapped his knee. “Why didn’t I just give her everything she wanted when I had the chance, Sammy? Why did I have to think so much into it?”

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away. “I knew we shouldn’t have taken this case.”

“I thought about it. A few times, even planned out the logistics of getting the right people to a spot like this one and surprising her.” The scene played out in his head like he had imagined so many times before then he shook it all away. “But I never went through with it because I was scared.. terrified that if she was linked to me she’d be..” His voice broke as he looked out over the ocean, the sun glittering off the water in a thousand points of light in its last struggle to stay.

“I know. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“She was damned the day she met me, ya know? The least I could’ve done was give her the things she wished for. Even if she didn’t actually ask.”

Sam pulled at his brother’s arm. “Alright, let’s get you to bed.”

Dean shook him off. “I’m fine! I’m enjoying the water.”

“No, you’re punishing yourself for something out of your control! Y/n knew..”

Dean snapped as he twisted to face his brother, “DON’T! Don’t say she signed on..”

Sam cut him off, matching his rising volume. “I WASN’T! I was saying she knew what we were up against. We all do. We all take on the risk when we go out for each hunt!” He sighed, taking a step back both literally and mentally. “Why do you think she never asked you?” Sam watched the tension on his brother’s face crumble before he turned back to the water. “She would’ve asked you to marry her. She thought it out as much as you did but she didn’t pull the trigger for the same fucking reason you didn’t. We’re all scared of being the reason something goes after the ones we love, man. But she wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped forward. “I can’t, Sammy. I just can’t. Just let me stay here with her for a little while.”

Sam took another step back. “Okay, but I’m not leaving you. I’ll just be over there.” He knew his brother heard him even though he didn’t acknowledge it, just like he didn’t acknowledge Dean’s little slip. He turned and walked a few paces away before taking a seat in the sand. He settled in watching the water lap at the beach erasing his steps with each wave in the dwindling light.

His gaze followed the disappearing dents to the broken man in front of him allowing the water to lick at his legs- the rolled up pants getting splashed each time. His white shirt open, missing a button or two, hanging heavily from his shoulders matching his posture. The sleeves shoved up and his bow tie left undone.

The sun glinting off the water just beyond him flashed against the bottle he gripped in his hand. The sparkling light created such a juxtaposition it almost hurt his eyes. That man coming apart at the seams looked so tired, stricken, and lost. And if he didn’t know that man’s story, he would feel sorry for him.

Unfortunately, he knew the devastation of loss and he still felt the anguish of lost love but neither one of those things prepared him for what he saw on that beach. There was nothing more excruciating or harrowing than watching his brother torment himself and not being able to do a damn thing to help him. But with the last rays of light before the sun disappeared below the horizon, he repeated the vow he gave y/n before she closed her eyes for the last time. I promise I’ll always take care of him, y/n. I’ve got his back, I promise.

Reading – The Painter’s Wife. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas. MacConnal-Mason Gallery.

Interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms were a feature of Danish painting in the latter part of the 19th Century. Vilhelm Hammershøi, a contemporary of Holsøe, was also a painter who specialised in such scenes and, like Holsøe, frequently included a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.

anonymous asked:

You've read new52 right? Do you think it was always clear that P couldn't handle Barry's flash life? Oh, does Iris know Barry=Flash in New 52?

I have, anon. And one of my favorite things to do is talk about comics, so thanks! This got long, but I don’t want to risk losing it under the cut…

I don’t think it was necessarily clear from the beginning that Patty couldn’t handle the Flash life, but it was clear that Iris was part of his life as Flash while Patty stayed more distant from him despite dating Barry himself. Kind of like the show! Ironic, because to this day, Iris still does not know that Barry and the Flash are one and the same in the current comic run. She just knows she’s in love with Barry and perhaps a little attracted to the Flash. 

But I digress! In the very first issue, it’s Iris who finds the Flash and Patty who fills Barry in after the fact.

Once Patty finds out he’s the Flash, she stays by his side but you rarely see them working together as a team. She works with Barry all the time, sure, he’s kind of her boss and she kind of lives with him. But Iris is the one who gets all the run-ins with the Flash. For example, the panel we all love where he’s carrying her? He’s carrying her out of the speed force, where she’s spent the last ten issues trapped. So while Barry has been living his life with Patty, Iris has been existing completely separate from him and yet in the space he created which is literally a part of him. Is that a metaphor? I don’t know.

The final and oft-forgotten break up (because everyone stopped reading New 52 since comic Iris and Barry weren’t together, but then use it as proof for why Candice’s Iris can’t be with Barry, see?) takes place precisely because Patty can’t handle Barry’s life as the Flash. It’s the dark Flash she’s afraid of, but that’s someone he became in one reality and is therefore a part of him. 

One interesting thing is that we also get to see Iris (in the future) seeing this dark Flash while knowing he’s Barry, and her reaction is rather different. If you’ll notice, Barry reaches for Patty’s face and she leaves. Whereas Iris reaches for Barry’s face and he leaves. He leaves her to turn to the dark side, though she’s yelling at him to come back. She would give him another chance, just like she gave her brother. Patty, however, will not.

BONUS: Look at that light vs. dark juxtaposition @storyadvocate is always talking about. Barry is remembering Iris in the light while sitting with Patty in the dark!

anonymous asked:

3 word prompt: season 8 cliffhanger

Pacing. It’s never been a habit of hers, but tonight, she can’t stop. Back and forth, traveling the perimeter of the room, taking deep breaths through her nose, exhaling through her parted lips.

He’s in the kitchen, making a celebratory dinner that will be done soon, that will require her to come out of hiding, but she isn’t ready. Not just yet.

She just needs a few more minutes. 

No victories, only battles, Montgomery had once told her. She had known he was right then, but they had just unveiled LokSat, finally come up with a way to end all of this with their lives still intact, their happily ever still on track. 

They weren’t ready for another battle. They were still nursing war wounds from this one.

“Kate,” his voice floats muffled through the walls, half distracted, and Beckett crosses her arms tightly over her chest, presses her forearms in hard against her unsteady heart. “Kate, dinner’s ready!”

She sighs and tilts her head to the ceiling, blinks away exhaustion crowding her eyes and shifts to rest her back against the edge of the bathroom sink for just a moment longer. Her hip flares with sparks of pain, the graze along her left bone still livid with the kiss of a bullet. Another scar to add to the collection.

But Castle had made it through their gun battle without any bloodshed, his eyes stuck on her the entire time, his palm protectively hovering above her bloodied waist until they had made it safely into an ambulance. 

He had held her hand while she had lain in the bus, winced through the stitching to the skin just above the jut of her bone. 

“You dove in front of a bullet,” he had growled, his eyes so harsh, a piercing blue in the dim lighting. A juxtaposition to the tenderness of his hands, one cradling hers, thumb sweeping over her knuckles, while the other cupped her ear, tracing the shell. “For me.”

“You would have done the same,” she had murmured, carefully turning her head to find his fingers, dusting her lips to his knuckles. “You have before.”

He hadn’t been able to deny it, he couldn’t, but he had leaned in closer, looking oh so weary, so tired, and bowed his head over their tangled hands. 

“I can’t lose you. Please don’t let me lose you,” he had breathed out like a prayer, and Beckett had reached with her free hand, cupped his nape and drew him in closer without jostling the paramedic at her waist, paying strict attention to sewing up the ripped skin of her hip. 

“I can’t lose you either,” she had whispered, stroking her thumb to the delicate skin behind his ear. “I wasn’t trying to sacrifice myself, Castle. Keeping you alive keeps me alive. Can’t let you die, baby.”

He had released a choked breath of laughter into the knot of their hands, lifted his head to meet her eyes with a strangled smile and a glimmer of light spreading through his gaze. But despite the part of his lips, the exhale of his breath, words had escaped him. All except-

“Love you, Kate.”

The knock on the bathroom door startles her and she hisses at the jolt of agony that splits like lightning through her hipbone. 

“Kate, is everything okay?”

Beckett checks her father’s watch. “Yeah, I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be a battle. The timing may be wrong, it may not be how they had planned to do this and it’s been so long since they were able to discuss it, but-

The door handle clicks, easing open slowly, and Kate snags the stick balanced on the edge of the sink behind her, fighting the urge to hide it, petrified to let him see before she can have the chance to prepare what she’d hoped to say. Torn between and left standing like a deer in headlights with the blank test in her hands.

“I swear I’m not trying to hover, but if it’s your hip, I have that prescription from the doctor if you…” His sentence trails as his eyes roam her face, fall to her fingers, the pregnancy stick poised between her thumb and her index. His gaze is vibrant and questioning as it flies up to meet hers. “Kate, are you-”

“I don’t know yet,” she gets out, deflating as he abandons the doorway, drifts in towards her. “I still had another minute left.”

“But you… you might be?”

Kate swallows, nods. “Listen, Rick, I know we probably aren’t ready to do this right now and it’s been months since we even talked about starting a family-”

“Kate,” he murmurs, the smile unfurling along his lips soft, no expectation, no hope or dread. Nothing but promise. “I know it’s been a while since we discussed it and this has been a more difficult year for us, but if you’re pregnant… would you want to keep it? Our baby?”

Her hand rises to her stomach on its own accord, clutches the fabric of her sweater through the collapse of her lungs at the mere idea of it. 

“Castle,” she croaks, but he’s already moving in closer, covering the hand on her stomach and twining their fingers. “Of course, I would keep our baby.”

“Then we would figure this out,” he tells her, so gentle and calm, so reassuring, and something inside of her eases. 

Not for a second did she believe he would pressure her into a decision she wasn’t comfortable with, not once did she doubt he would be ecstatic at the idea of having a baby with her. All she fears now is doing this wrong, putting their life together at risk, putting what could soon be their child in harm’s way, their family. 

“I just want us to be safe,” she confesses, squeezing the fingers laced with hers. “I don’t want to worry about any more threats. I just want - I want us to be happy.”

“I’m happy,” he states without hesitation, his other hand lifting to feather along her injured hip, settling above the wound, palm fitting to the curve of her side. “I told you, I have everything I want right here, and if that test result is positive, so will that baby in nine months. Our baby will be so happy, Beckett, because he or she is going to have us for parents and I already know we’d excel as partners in this too.”

A chuckle spills from her lips, breathless, and Kate drifts into him, their hands pressing against her stomach while Castle’s arm gingerly winds around her waist, cradles her to the haven of his chest. 

“And you’ll still be a captain, still be second only to Batman in the world of detectives,” he murmurs, forcing her lips to quirk against the hollow of his throat. “You can still run for senate someday, you can do anything-”

“We,” she corrects him, feeling his lips quirk against the line of her hair. 

We can still do anything. No matter what happens in the future, our future, you’ll always come home to me, to our child. We’ll always make it work.”

She nods against him with confidence, finding herself believing every word. They would make it work. They’ve always managed to make it work. They’ve always beat the odds.

Kate lifts her arm to wrap around his shoulders, the pregnancy test rising into her line of sight before she can, the results displayed and momentarily stealing her breath. 

“Castle.”

Woman Reading. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas. 

Holsøe regularly painted interior scenes, sparsely furnished rooms, often including a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.