#I myself am a hand talker so it’s refreshing

[concreteemo]

I adore Mr. Noah Sebastian & his handsplaining.

#I myself am a hand talker so it’s refreshing #ALSO #I hate when it won’t let me attach the source IT’S INFURIATING #this interview is great though I love it #bad omens band #bad omens #giphy #noah sebastian #bad omens cult

[obatmeraah]

20160302

Yesterday was the tenth day I drove myself to my office. Usually I took public transportation, but there were days when I just wanted to drive myself. You know, taking some 'me' time while driving.

I don’t like traffic. I found myself getting frustrated when I was trapped in traffic; well I thought most people did too. So every time I was heading home, I drove myself to the road where traffic could happen less. And there was only one way, at the suburb, which involved only a narrow street. There would be tons of people who rode their bikes and motorcycles, but not many cars. At the side of the street you could find many small-homey restaurants and cafes, or computer-game stations, or those little stores you couldn’t find in the middle-town.

I used to like driving over there to see people walking around like they owned their own area. It was really refreshing. But yesterday I couldn’t tell if it was refreshing or just, like, longing.

When I was in college, I used to walk around there. Yes, with you. Then I began to rewind my memories back to the times where there were only you and me, or maybe with some other people we didn’t recognize much. How could I forget about us for this whole time?

So I am writing this because this is the way I remember you. I was remembering the first time I did things with you, so I may write them as well. Besides, a couple months ago, my college friends revealed my Facebook status about a pinch of sugar and you. It was for my graduation, and it was pretty embarrassing because they didn’t understand and it sounded so cheesy. So as a plus, maybe if they read this sometime then they will know the story behind that status.

Where did we begin?

Well we met when we were in high school. We didn’t know each other, we just had mutual friends. But we had worked it well as friends, best friends if I might add.

Well, the first time we were really becoming friends was on my birthday. You were at the field playing football, I was in the hallway heading to class, and suddenly you ran out from the field to me. You grinned widely and raised your hand to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t even tell you my birthday. And you said, “It is two weeks away from mine, of course I remember. Besides, I’m not refusing free lunch today!”

Ha! Smooth move. Should we continue?

The first time I really loved you was right after our graduation farewell. Our friends convinced me to go to the after-party, but I refused to go. It was just not my style. Or that's what I thought. I ended up coming, but immediately decided to leave early. Surprisingly, it was you who walked me home. Nah, you weren’t that kind. You just happened to walk home with your two other friends and I just happened to be on your way.

I knew you weren’t much of a talker, but I didn’t expect you to pull me closer to you because you saw some mobs heading toward us. I didn’t expect you to put your arm around my shoulder and glare at them. And you thought I was oblivious because I kept talking. That’s when I started loving you. But to clear things up, I loved you as a brother. Not that I put you in a brother-zone or something because clearly you had a girlfriend back then.

And I was really sorry because we only had our time to know more about each other until the graduation ceremony.

#2016 #monologue

[purplesurveys]

1742

Anything you're looking forward to this month? We have a mental health break next Friday that I am stoked about. Other than that my days are spent dreading my inevitable promotion.

What's the current temperature? It's cold as fuck in my room because the aircon is blasting right in front of my face, but outside it's 26ºC.

Have you or would you ever forage for mushrooms? I haven't and it also doesn't really sound all that interesting to me.

What's something you dislike about spring time? Idk, maybe the fact that I can't relate to it haha...

What's your favorite lollipop flavor? Not a big fan of candies in general. I'd accept whatever lollipop I'm offered but it's not like I'd seek them out ever.

Are you into gardening and what do you enjoy planting? I am not.

What's some flowers you find to be pretty? Peonies.

Would you say you're easy to get along with? It depends on the person, tbh. There are people I know I wouldn't vibe with from the start, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe we just have a different sense of humor or whatever.

Who did you last hold hands with? Not holding hands per se but I did grab Celeste's arm when we crossed the street a week ago because I was scared lol.

What sounds help you sleep? Talking sounds. It's why I always need to have a vlog on when I turn in.

Do you have a loud or more soft laugh? I mean, I have both. I just choose whatever I use depending on the situation hahaha.

Tell me your best pick up line. I never use them.

What's a song that reminds you of warm weather? Beauty and a Beat by Justin Bieber and Nicki Minaj, cos of the music video haha. Also Slide Away by Miley Cyrus.

Do you have any interest in fairies? Nope.

What's the last refreshing drink you had? Soju.

Do you name your plants? I don't own any plants, but I can imagine myself naming them if I ever got into plants as a hobby.

Do you like to dip your fries in a frosty or ice cream? I guess you can say that! I like dipping mine in a hot fudge sundae :)

Do you prefer staying in cuddled up or going out for a date? Both sound delightful. It depends on what I need on a given day.

Cookies or brownies? Cookies.

What is something you are proud of? My writing.

Are you a fan of musicals? No.

Do you like lemonade? Do you add anything to it? I never get to encounter it and when I do, I mean it's nothing special. I neither like nor dislike it.

Are you more of a fast talker or do you talk more slow? Fast. It only changes if I'm actively thinking while speaking, which can sometimes happen when I'm working and get faced with a question that I'm not sure how to answer right off the bat.

Is there anyone who makes you smile no matter what mood you're in? Honestly, it's hard to imagine not smiling around my best friends unless they do something that directly pisses me off.

What are some inanimate objects or things in general that have the same energy or vibe? I'm not sure if I'm answering the question right, but Monday for me gives off the color red. Tuesday is green, Wednesday is blue, Thursday is gray(???), Friday is yellow.

What is something that is quick to cheer you up? BTS has a grip on me like you wouldn't believe.

Have you ever stargazed with someone? I guess. My class had an overnight stargazing activity in school so you can say I stargazed with the rest of my classmates? Hahaha.

If you were royalty, what would you like to be addressed as? Just my name. I'd 100% be begging people to just call me by my name.

Are there any foods you could eat daily and never get sick of? Probably fries.

Are there any things coming up that you have to travel for? It's not a crazy long travel but I have a concert in November that I have to travel all the way south for. Anything that requires a toll gate is far enough for me so I'm counting that haha.

What was a time when you have laughed so hard you cried? My family and I laughed to high heavens over this TikTok video.

Plan a good day. I'm back in Bangkok, have my Viber notifs on mute, and am not thinking about how many days I have left til I'm back in Manila.

What would you do with $10,000 right now? Keep it safe in my account.

If you had to create an alter ego for yourself, what would they be like and what's their name? They would be a person more confident and prepared for the aforementioned promotion that I'm headed towards. I swear I'm getting out the first chance I get...

What's one of your biggest accomplishments today? Angela planned a last-minute dinner (it was the evening of her birthday eve) so I had to think quickly for a birthday gift hehe. I ended up giving her a self-care kit since she's been stressed with work recently – a dog stuffed toy whose proceeds go to a local shelter with every purchase; a couple of Katinko bottles for when her shoulders or back get sore; and a reed diffuser.

Do you believe in reincarnation? why or why not? No. I just don't find much pleasure or fulfilment thinking of existential stuff like that so I don't bother.

What relative are you closest with? My sister and eldest cousin on my mom's side.

Do you have any recurring dreams? Not really.

What last had you startled? My car hit this extremely, extremely low curb earlier today when I tried to turn towards the gas station haha. Even the gas station attendants got shaken up HAHAHA.

What emotion have you experienced most lately? DREAD. Anxiety. Nausea (not an emotion but still?). Eugh.

Let's say there are no obstacles preventing this.. What would you do for the rest of your life? Travel to every art exhibition in the world. Write about things I'm passionate about. Own an animal shelter.

What last made you feel proud? Seeing Yeontan being brought on stage by Taehyung when he performed on one of the music shows earlier this evening haha. I'm pretty easy to please.

What's an odd phobia someone you know has? Not a phobia per se but the Filipino superstition of pagpag has always struck me as odd. I don't follow it and will not voluntarily do it, but then again everyone drags me to do it nonetheless so I just go with the flow as it's just 5 minutes of my time, haha.

What did you last search online? Zayn Malik's Zap tattoo as my friends and I were talking about tattoos earlier.

Do you have any ghost stories you've experienced? No.

If you were to be a food, what would you be and why? Idk, I don't really match personalities to food.

When did you last dust your home? I'm not in charge of dusting but I did sweep the floor, which is what I usually take care of, earlier this evening before leaving to see some friends.

If you could pick an age to stop aging at, what would you choose? I wouldn't choose any.

[leviathan-dee]

Tell Me When You’re Sober

(Dante x Reader, a lil piece where you’re drunk at the bar with the legendary devil hunter. I have been on a roll with these tiny oneshots. If anyone has any requests, feel free to send them my way! I always welcome some practice writing. TW Alcohol.)

(The song referenced here is "Opposites Attract" by Paula Abdul, 1988).

A happily drunk Dante breaks out his theatrical side in the bar, dragging you beside him.

Word Count: 1,413

Read On AO3

The atmosphere in the bar was toasty, the comradery of mutual drunks and laughter filling the dense air. Even the vermillion low-lights that shone from corner to corner seemed to propel the warmth in your chest. But nothing could be as pleasant as the company you held this very moment. A leather clad man propped himself up on the barstool, letting the whiskey glide smoothly down his throat. He turned to you, albeit a bit drunkenly, and parted his lips before smiling earnestly.

“Enjoying yourself, Dante?” You outstretched your hand, placing your palm on his cheek, giving it a playful squeeze. His adorable demeanour gleamed when alcohol coursed through his system.

“Doll, when am I not enjoying myself when in your company?” Gazing with adoration at your features, his palm cradled your hand, lacing your fingers together. It was these moments of pure affection that made you fall for the silver haired man over and over again.

“Touché, smooth-talker.” Slapping his hand teasingly, you gave him a wink, and ordered another drink.

Admittedly, there was no actual occasion to celebrate. You were both feeling down, Britain’s temperamental weather acting up again, with torrential floods of rainwater barrelling against the rooftops. The joint decision of a tiny outing, just between the two of you, was something you both very much needed. Thus you ended up here. In a tiny bar, of all places.

Then again, it never mattered where you landed, as long as it was beside your very own, darling devil hunter.

As you downed another drink, the pleasant buzz of relaxation blanketing your muscles, Dante shifted closer to you on his stool. The scent of whiskey became almost overbearing, as his stubbled chin tickled your cheek. He planted a somewhat clumsy smooch on the side of your face, his lips curving upwards into a cheeky grin, before continuing to down his glass of liquid courage. You giggled at the sensation.

A moment passed, the glass of his drink gently clinking against the lacquered wood of the counter. You watched the maroon wearing man, quizzically analysing his movements. Even in his intoxication, there was a lingering forlornness in his eyes. Something that bothered him, beyond repair. Whether it was the years of familial troubles, or the countless losses he had suffered, you did not know how to fill the void.

Before you could continue with your concerned thoughts, Dante placed his gargantuan, yet soft palm against your thigh, squeezing it with ardour. The gentle lul of eighties musical hits began its circulation on the speakers, your scarlet devil’s knees jerking up to the beat. Unsurprisingly, this was a tell-tale sign of his oncoming performance. He cleared his throat, before seductively gracing your ears with his voice.

“Tell me, doll. How did an angel like you, fall for a devil like me?” With a mischievous grin, Dante winked in your direction, watching your exasperated expression blow out a sigh.

“Dante, honey… no…” Before you could even finish the sentence, he bounced out of his seat, dragging you into the lit dance floor alongside himself. The refractions of rainbow lights shone mercilessly to the melody. Your drumming heart seemed to synch with the beat. Dante looked ecstatic, filling you with peace, and letting you forget any disconcerting thoughts moments ago.

“I take two steps forward, I take two steps back,

We come together 'cause opposites attract,

And you know it ain't fiction, just a natural fact,

We come together 'cause opposites attract.”

Dante’s jovial, as well as drunken, mating call chanting filled the air. Although it wasn’t unusual to hear his hoarse singing, to hear it below with such glee was a refreshing sight. Dante continued dragging you along, his hands on your hips, swinging wildly from one corner of the rainbow surface to the other. The giggling that bubbled from your lungs kept increasing in volume with each step.

“She likes it neat, and he makes a mess,

I take it easy, baby I get obsessed,

She's got the money, and he's always broke,

I don't like cigarettes, and I like to smoke.”

His serenade soured at the mention of cigarettes, his head shaking and tutting at the lyric. However, with each step of his feet, each playful touch of your cheek, you were dancing with not a care in the world. People could watch all they wanted, as long as you had Dante by your side. He grinned, laughed, and pranced. That was all that mattered. His happiness.

“Baby, ain't it something how we lasted this long?

You and me proving everyone wrong,

I don't think we'll ever get our differences patched,

It don't really matter 'cause we perfectly matched!”

The breakdown before the chorus completely broke you. Dante put on his best rapper stance, crouching in the centre of the dance floor, barely keeping himself up from the whiskey induced giddiness. The maniacal laughter that burst from your lungs made Dante’s lips curl into a proud smile, knowing full well that pretending to be an idiot was what made you laugh, and his heart flutter.

You finally gave in to the chorus, signing gleefully with your heartthrob of a boyfriend, grabbing onto his shoulders so you could peck his nose. Even if alcohol rushed within your veins, you knew for certain that it was his presence that caused the euphoric high, not the overpriced cocktails.

The nostalgic music seemingly began to die down, the two of you swaying romantically from side to side, basking in each others’ embrace. Two oceanic eyes scanned your features, Dante’s gaze softening with each inch of your face he took in. You could barely hold yourself back, cupping his cheek in order to plant tender pecks on his lips. He simply indulged in your warmth, kissing back with the same fervour you rained upon him.

Bliss.

Tranquil moments passing, the both of you ignored the next eighties hit. Dante pulled away from the breathy exchange. A triumphant grin appeared to trail on his visage, before less than gracefully cupping your hind cheek in turn. You gave him a dirty look, but soon began to feel the warmth bloom all over your frame.

“So, have I successfully wooed you with my charm?” Dante kept his hand right where he wanted it, eyeing you eagerly.

“Absolutely.” Your voice sounded meeker than you expected, the view of your towering devil seeming somewhat intimidating, especially with the rising hunger that flourished behind his lashes.

Before things could escalate, you grabbed his jacket, pulling the both of you back to the bar to order one final round of drinks. It was a wonderful night, but work was a responsibility you could not avoid. Neither could he, in that matter. Undoubtedly, Dante whined as you yanked him off of the ‘Saturday Night Fever’ style floor, his slurred speech uttering something about ‘the party hasn’t even begun yet’. You simply giggled at the display, patting his buttocks to sit back onto the stool, and down his final whiskey of the night.

“I love you so damn much, doll.” The statement caught you off-guard. Dante’s eyes seemed expectant as he focused on your stare. His every feature morphed back into the bittersweetness you witnessed before the wild dance. You reached out to him, cradling the back of his neck, feeling him shiver under your delicate touch. You placed a devoted kiss on the bridge of his nose, basking in the sensation of his skin.

“Tell me when you’re sober, Dante-” Before you could finish your sentence, you were flipped sideways, ending up in his arms, bridal style. You shrieked in surprise at the sudden change of direction. The sheer speed of your abrupt positional change from vertical to horizontal was astounding. You silently reminded yourself to never underestimate his strength, nor his speed. Thinking back to all of the times he effortlessly picked you up, you thought you’d be used to it by now.

With the wholehearted evening over, the scarlet devil carried you outside delicately, as one would a fragile rose. It seemed as though his intoxication finally left the system, leaving you to be the drunk of the pair. You buried your face in his collarbone whilst pressing lethargic kisses to his skin. Your beloved simply hummed in response.

The hum prompted something to rise in your chest, a love so ardent, you had no choice but to reply to his earnest confession with your own.

“I love you too, you big buffoon.”

#dante x reader #dante #dmc #devil may cry #tw alcohol #oneshot

[grimoireofwritings]

Hiiii can i request? Where Yuno loves to tease his significant partner (femreader) then it turned into a fight coz the sig partner has quite a temper then they made up? Or something along lines hehe please If u dont mind. Thank you!!

   Absolutely! Thank you for sending in my very first request, I hope I can deliver a great lasting impression ;) 

Scenario Request: Yuno teases fem s/o and evokes her temper.

Warnings: None!

     Yuno felt that he was in one of his rare playful moods that morning, as he strolled alongside his s/o on a refreshing Spring day to find an open field large enough for sparring without spatial constrictions. The day before, by chance, he had run into his fiery rival on a casual mission, and he was always absolutely delighted to get a first hand look at Asta’s growth and improvement whenever he could snag the opportunity. He always felt a gushing sense of pride in those moments for his childhood friend, and a burst of energy usually followed the next day as he was further reminded of his motivations in becoming the wizard king. Always stay one step ahead of that passionate, loud-mouthed spitfire.

   “Yuno... Listen, I know you’re excited about seeing Asta’s improvements.. But I know where this is going after sparring with you last time this happened.. And I’m gonna ask that you please not be a total ass today.” At this, the dark haired male scoffed, and smirked. “Perhaps you should make it a challenge for me then.” He shot her a cheeky smirk that ended up going unnoticed, after hearing her sigh and roll her eyes.

   He could be a bit of a trash talker when he was feeling competitive, but sometimes he’d forget that Asta was the only person who’d grown up seeing this side of him, and therefore could understand the intentions behind the words. Yuno was aware that he could sound detached at times, and due to his calm and collected nature, his tone was sometimes misinterpreted by others. Especially in this situation, where he didn’t realize his teasing sounded so blunt that it would come across as a genuine insult. 

   “Yeah, yeah.. Whatever, Yuno. You already know I can hold my own, even against an arrogant brat with a four leaf clover grimoire.”  At that moment in time, you were already pouting, giving a huff as you both moved past the outstretching pathway thick with greenery, but suddenly you felt an intense gust of wind propel you forward the second you’d lifted a foot to pass over a thick protruding tree root at the base of a great oak. Immediately, your foot hooked beneath the arch of the branch, and you went tumbling to the dirt. Lucky for you, your asshole prince charming was there to snag you from the fall just before your knees hit the earth. 

  “So graceful and coordinated. I’m quaking in my boots.” He meant for it to sound jesting and playful... He really did. But it came out instead sounding almost cold and condescending. Something that even he noticed as the words left his mouth. Still, he knew that for the most part, you were one of the few that understood his temperament when others did not. So he shrugged it off, assuming you would be aware that his emotions manifested differently than most people. 

  He was too cheery and preoccupied with his own thoughts to take note of how irritated you were growing with his antics. Sometimes his words were sharp. And regardless of his intentions right then, he was just.. being rude. As the two of you finally approached the open clearing, a massive grassy plain that you’d found perfect for practice grounds, you weren’t expecting him to snap right into action without so much as a warning. “A true magic knight should always be on guard for the unexpected~” he called, as you were swept into the sky by an overwhelming tornado of powerful winds. Yuno rarely tossed you up into the air like this, but when he did, he usually caught you right after, and used it as a moment to hold you and make a romantic display.

    Despite not having given a warning for his attack, he did catch you, like he always did. You landed in his arms, and he scooped you up, giving you a smirk. “Your hair’s a mess now and you’re all disheveled. What a flattering look.” He shot you another grin. But at this point, it just came off as being arrogant.

   That’s it. No more. I’m done with this.

   “Let go of me Yuno, I’m not a dummy for target practice.” You snapped at him, growling as you harshly pushed him away, your feet planting in the dirt as you stood back up on your own two legs. “I understand you’re excited. But I am not Asta. I’m not your rival. I’m your girlfriend.. The person you’re supposed to build up and be a team with.” You hadn’t realized that your fist had come to clench around the front of his shirt, yanking him forward to face you and your outrage.

  “I demand respect from you. I don’t care how much stronger you are. I won’t be treated as an embarrassment or a joke. This is ridiculous, I’m not sparring with you anymore until you actually start to make me feel good about myself, rather than a useless ditz.” 

   You let go of him, turning on your heels to storm off back towards headquarters. He stood there, momentarily shocked by your reaction. He was aware you had a tenacious side to you.. and he had always admired how you never failed to stand up for yourself, and demand the respect you deserved, even from superiors. But you were right. He had crossed the line today. 

   He set off in your direction, booking it as fast as he could to catch up. Right when he caught sight of you once more, he used his wind magic, but with different intentions this time, as he used a swooping gust to twist you around and face his direction. He finally caught up just in time, colliding with you, as he reached beneath your legs and hoisted you up by your thighs, lifting you up to look into your eyes. “Y/n... I’m...”

   He paused. How could he explain this to you? “I’m sorry. You’re right, I was out of hand. And you’re also right about my responsibility as your partner to encourage you. I promise I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I... The reason I speak like that is because I respect you. I know you’re a strong person, so I like to tease you, to let you know I consider you a challenge in strength and merit. You can hold your own against me. I acknowledge you as competition.”

  But he sighed a moment later, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips. “But I will start encouraging you more often. I just want to see you grow to your fullest potential. And I know you always will.” 

  A moment of silence, before he watched you return his expression of warmth. “Ok Yuno. Thank you.” He watched your eyes lower to his lips. “I love you.” And with that, the rest of your day together was improved, starting with a kiss.

#Yuno #black clover #black clover imagine #black clover scenario #black clover blog #yuno black clover

[frutavel]

tell us about Zantari, king (favorite thing about them???)

YOU

YOU HAVE OPENED THE FLOODGATES

Zantari, the Pathfinder, Mahamba's chosen, my main man, the one and only Tari Rosetusk.

My favorite thing about him is everything. He's my main for a reason!

His history as a character is a huge mess, but to sum it up - he started as an alter ego for another character, and ended up becoming his own thing. He gave me (and still gives) many headaches over the years, but in the end I managed to turn him into something solid that gives me the UwUs.

Today's Tari is a horrifying amalgamation of everything I love. He's a chill, sleepy dude with an unbreakable devotion to what he believes in, an undying passion for what he holds dear, and who's shamelessly in love with life, no matter how bad it gets. He looks like just another hippie and he kinda is, but he has a handful of secrets that set him apart.

Tari is wholly himself, and he's also whatever other people see him as - the weird plant dude, the crazy crocolisk guy, the sleepy man you can stumble upon in the woods, the terrifying hunter. They're a part of him, and he defines the whole on his own terms. He's just a little creetchur, he cannot change this.

He's not flawless, but nobody is. He could be a little more trusting towards others, he could work on his honesty politics, he could improve his communication skills, but patience. He can't fix all his flaws overnight, and he doesn't expect anyone else to.

He doesn't expect anything of anyone, and he doesn't trust them to come through for him, so he usually ends up alone.

Under all those good vibes he's hiding tons and tons of anger, guilt, and most of all regret. He has his coping mechanisms to deal with all of those, he can manage them pretty well on his own, and in the off case that he can't...

Well, if he goes deep enough into the nearest woods there'll be no one around to worry hear him screaming.

They won't even notice he's gone.

One of his favorite things in the world is food. He's a bottomless pit and he'll eat literally anything you give him no matter how weird it is. Tari likes cooking himself, and he's pretty decent at it! He specially likes spicy foods, and pandaren cuisine has a very, very special place in his heart. However, his all time favorite snack is moss. Readily available almost everywhere, easy to collect, and (he says) tasty like nothing else. Plus, it's extra hydration (drink your water).

He's also a huge fan of fruit, especially the extra juicy ones like mango. He makes a mess everytime but at least he has fun!

Tari also sleeps a lot, but he has no sleep schedule. He will just take a 12 hour nap and wake up feeling refreshed and ready to do crime. He has a habit of falling asleep everywhere, especially on tree tops.

Currently he mostly falls asleep in his own little house, which he shares with Zai, my zandalari druid and his partner. He loves her more than anything else, more than his pets, more than food, more than himself. The feeling is mutual :)

He strings up little charms on trees he napped on, nobody really knows it they're magic or not or why he does it. He makes the charms himself! He has 4 crocolisks and they all shed a lot of teeth, plus his teroclaw is in the middle of shedding his baby feathers so he even has some extra flair to it. All he needs is to tweak some twigs into funny shapes, shove shiny rocks, the teeth and the feathers on them and it's ready to go. His and Zai's house is also full of these little charms (and plants, because Zai adores plants and so does he. Their home is almost a mini jungle)

His theme song is Toes , which is also one of my all time favorites. He has other songs that fit his vibe, because we all do, but this one is the perfect feeling for Tari.

Tari is an artistic soul, he loves to create. Other than the charms he also likes drawing, especially plants and flowers. When he's around people long enough he'll draw them too. He has a little sketchbook he adds pages to whenever they start running out, the thing's thicker than his arm by now and keeps growing. He likes drawing from life but he doesn't stress too much about it, art is a pastime that's supposed to be fun (this is a callout to myself)

He also plays the guitar and he has a pretty nice singing voice! He learned it from his dad, one of his fondest childhood memories is sitting by the fire with his siblings while their dad sung them a lullaby.

He has no voiceclaim as of today, but it's okay. Tari is not much of a talker, he'd much rather let someone else speak for him.

I have so much more to say about my boy, but this is long enough as is. I finish reminding everyone of how much I love Zantari and that I am 100% feral for him. He's my prodigy.

No doodles to accompany this ask because talking aboht Tari awakens such powerful feelings within my little heart I am working on a full illustration to go with it. He deserves it.

Thank you so very much for asking! Here's a chibi art of Tari and Zai while we wait for the bigger picture :D

(Please note: Very Old Art tm)

#this just in #creator simping hard for his own oc #can we blame him? #it's for the audience to decide

[yamiivance]

Fictober 2019 - 1

                             Cracked Bottles can’t hold pressure

Prompt number: 1: “It will be fun, trust me.”

Fandom: Nightmare On Elm Street(2010)/Dead By Daylight(Personal AU/verses)

Rating: T

Warnings/Tags: Overprotective Parents, Abusive parents, References of some bad collage culture + references to Freddy Krueger, emotional outbursts, parents refusing to talk about things? 

(Please let me know if I missed anything I should tag)

—

“Hey Mama?” Hazel eyes scan around curiously bright eyed and as usual a small old camera in hand- occasionally taking photos of buildings or angles on street signs as they pass them.

Her Mother's brown eyes meet hers with a raised eyebrow.

“Hm yes my sweet little Cassey?”

A smile split across Cassandra's face as she giggled hiding a bit in her grey-blue denim jacket shyly.

“Mama- please!” She gently nudged into her Mother's side with a nuzzle- who simple returns the laugh and smiles back, sometimes Cassandra forgot how beautiful her Mother was, she was wearing her nice clothes since she was sure Her father had shown her off to clients before allowing her to show her around town like this.

Her Mother was wearing a nice dark suit jacket, a purple dress shirt and matching skirt with black tights and short heels to appear a bit taller well still being easy to walk in.

“...Mama...?” Her voice rang out in question again the hesitation to ask it and the nervous expression on her Mother's face told her most of what she had already guessed but-

“...Is this the preschool- uh... is this the place... Dwi- uh big brother went too?”

Of course her Mother was quick.

“Of course not you know what school you and your brother went too.”

Hazel eyes widen and she glances away tears burning her eyes.

“N-No Mama not that-”

“WHOA HEY- LOOK OUT-”

A young teen's voice shouted out the sound of a skateboard skidding to a halt and the sound of a metal fence shaking a bit she glanced up and blinked as the teen looked at her and laughed.

“Ma'am are you ok- I'm so sorry I got a text from my Dad and it distracted me- he can be a bit overprotective but sometimes I don't think he realizes it that he can cause more harm then good-”

His laugh – his brown hair was stuffed under a grey hat- curls stuck out from under it- brown eyes- a strangely familiar face. She'd seen a face like that in her big brother's photos...

“Quentin-”

The teen? Young adult maybe? blinks shocked. She wasn't sure if he was older or younger then her big Brother but she knew that face from some photos he'd shown her of his preschool days.

“...Uh yeah... um how do you-”

“You were my big brother's friend! Dwight!”

She squeaks out the joy of finally being able to say his name to someone- to not have to dance around questions or be met with glares or sharp movements from her Father.

“...Uh--- Y-Yeah wait are you haha- oh my god you're his little sister right? Cassandra? He used to write to me about you he adored you so much from what I can tell! I hope you too are still close- how is he? - Hello to you as well Mrs. Fairfield!” He bows gently at her politely.

Her Mother's smile was polite but she'd grabbed Cassandra's arm tightly and goes.

“I...I am sorry Mr. Smith but... we must be going-”

“...But... but Mama-”

Cassandra's voice cracked, her whole body shook with distress- as her Mother went to drag her away- the worlds leave her mouth desperately.

“You haven't heard from him Mr. Quentin- I- They- Mama please- I...!”

“No buts. Cassey.”

But of course Quentin was already cutting them off-

“H-Hey wait- whoa now- ho-hold on- what you haven't heard from him ether- what- is -... you like photography too- that's his first camera huh? He trusted you with it...”

And yet his hands asked. 'Are you safe? Do you need help?'

She hesitantly responded with one hand well speaking something else.

“Yes of course he would I am the world's best little sister- hehehe!” Though it was a bit forced due to the sobs still wrecking her breathes.

'...Mostly, I just... need someone to talk to- they won't talk to me.'

He stayed alongside them- Mrs. Fairfield not even glancing at the two not realizing they were signing.

“Mama please let me go I'm fourteen not a toddler! I want to talk with Quentin- I swear I'll call if he does anything funny please-”

Finally she pauses glaring at Quentin but her glare wavers when she saw the kind and concerned expression on his face- she glanced away guilty.

“I...I am sorry- of course you can go- but you better text me if there's so much a HINT of trouble understand?”

“Of course Mama! I always do!” She hugs her before skipping over to Quentin, who gives her a little high five.

“You're a little smooth talker huh? You must get it from your Mother huh? She's a smart lady- here Mrs. Fairfield- here's my cell number if you need to contact me ok? If you're worried just call me- or her I promise one of us will pick up at all times!”

The women stares at the paper for a moment but smiles and takes it.

“Thank you Mr. Smith please do watch her- though if a hair is out of place I will contact your Father.”

The threat in her eyes was very real, and yet Quentin simply nods. “I understand.”

“What's it like Skateboarding?”

A laugh escapes him now. “Ah I see interested?”

She looks nervous now, her Mother had already started walking away.

“No- I mean... well it's not very lady-like and I- I wouldn't know where to start-”

Quentin shakes his head.

“Come on I'll take you to the skate park nearby ok? It will be fun, trust me!”

She nods shyly, and much to his surprise he pats his skateboard. “I can push you if you want so you can get used to it a bit?”

Her mouth opened a bit in awed shock.

“Are... are you sure?”

“Of course I am!”

She happily skips towards the board and sitting down, pressing her knees against her chest and holding onto the board with her hands, she was glad she decided on her nice jeans instead of her skirts today.

“...so you haven't heard from Dwight ether...?”

Her voice was soft, shy.

“...sadly no last I heard from him was he mentioned starting collage and being really excited about his photography classes... He even mentioned taking ASL courses again just to keep himself refreshed.”

Cassandra nods slowly watching the world go by from her spot on the skateboard.

“...But he... hasn't been in contact with you or anyone else, you two seemed pretty close- that camera proves it...?”

Tears burned her eyes and she hiccuped mumbling out.

“...t-they... won't tell me anything- he... he came home and- l-locked himself in his room w-wouldn't come out so... so I sneaked in and- he was all beat up- and and he was so upset and looked scared and- I... they won't tell me what happened and now he's just gone and they won't even let me say his name and and-” She sobbed shaking and gripping the skateboard tightly.

“Dad calls him a pervert and our brother believes him- and I try to tell him Dwight is NOT a pervert but he doesn't- Dad has him on a leash and he doesn't even notice everything's wrong!”

“A-and... and-”

She sniffs rubbing at her face still trembling and hiccuping but seemingly trying to calm herself down.

“I-I'm sorry- I... just- I just... no one will... listen to me and t-they treat it like- he was-”

“You don't have to explain that to me...”

Quentin's voice was soft.

“I understand my Dad's always been hiding stuff from me honestly... it's... confusing... Maybe Dwight is still writing me and my Dad's just taking the letters- he does that sometimes- I promise I'll see if that's the case ok? So don't worry so much relax. You're only a kid you can solve these mysteries in time, but don't forget I'm sure Dwight would want you to enjoy yourself too! Like learning to skateboard perhaps?”

“hahaha, m-maybe maybe... yeah I know I-I'm sorry for putting all that on you Mr- um. Quentin... I just... needed it off my chest thank you for listening...”

She sniffs as she stands up off the skateboard and stretched a bit, wiping her eyes and glancing to him. “...So... how do we um, start?”

He smiles at her, an excited one, adjusting his blue jacket a bit and making sure his necklace is tucked away safely.

“Heh, why not you watch me for a little bit, relax calm down and then we'll get start on those lessons huh?”

Cassandra nods softly as she goes to sit down, crossed legged on the ground and taking a deep breath, gently she glances at her camera which hung from a makeshift necklace Dwight had made her for it.

Scanning though the new photos she'd taken on the way here before her breakdown- the photos even before that back with her Mom.

Most of it was Scenery just slightly blurry from motion images of trees, houses and street signs, a few sneaked pictures of her Mother and the decayed Preschool as they passed and a very blurry image of Quentin skidding to a halt on his skateboard.

Glancing up away from the small red and black camera she watches as Quentin does a kick flip on one of the ramps, landing and grinding on the edge, though she can see he swayed a bit and quickly slid back down with his board and to a stop.

“Heh, heck yeah- what you think of that? I'm a little rusty but- it's not something I'd forget how to do ether like riding a bike!”

Cassandra smiles softly hazel eyes sparkling with excitement.

“It... was... AWESOME!” She'd got to her feet, dusting off and moving towards the ramp more. “Do I get to try?”

He laughs. “Of course but let's try and easier spot yeah? Maybe somewhere flat so you can work on your balance and how to move around first?”

Nodding excitedly she steps closer to Quentin- “Here hold my Camera ok?”

“Sure- can I look at the pictures Dwight used to show me the ones he'd take- any old ones still on here?”

She winked at him. “Of course, I'm sure he has copies of them but, I couldn't bring myself to delete some they seemed important?”

Quentin glances at the camera and starts looking though the photos. “Shout if you need me, but try seeing how you do on your own, just put on foot on and then the other and just practice balancing like that, then we'll work on moving and stopping.”

“Ok!”

He hums looking though the simple pictures of scenery. “These are really nice I'm assuming these are the ones you took today yeah- pffff hey that's me!”

“Yeah that's you dummy almost killing us!”

“hahaha I did not almost kill anyone you dork-”

He blinks staring at a smaller version of himself next Nancy and Dwight- and... in front of Badham Preschool's sign- and just above the little sign was what looked to be a gardener smiling with them... His heart gripped in his chest he wasn't sure why, he'd been young maybe that's why he'd simply forgotten preschool- but not his friends- or not entirely... but...

He scroll though more images of Nancy holding up a really nice picture and her looking happy- the gardener there again- Quentin on the man's shoulder him running- motion blurr and all- and then just... an image of the strangely familiar man again, wearing a red and green sweater and fedora smiling at a picture he was handed in what looked to be a basement? Boiler room?

...He wasn't sure why that image made him feel... uncomfortable, they all seemed perfectly innocent obviously Dwight must have liked the man to have such a good few high quality pictures of him- they all must have... but... who was he and why couldn't he-

“...M-Mr. Quentin are you ok?”

Cassandra's voice shot him out of his thoughts as he glanced to her on the skateboard looking worried.

He hadn't realized it but he was hyperventilating- and now the worried look on Cassey's face. He forces himself to get his breathing under control, not even sure why he'd been panicking in the first place...

“...I-...I'm fine? Sorry I'm not really sure... what... uh happened there- do you- did Dwight ever say who this man was?”

He points at the man in the photo hesitantly.

“Of course! That's Mr. Krueger! Dwight said he was always very nice to him- that he missed... having an adult figure like that-... I-... uh... I think he was the gardener of the preschool right...? Um... sorry that's... all I know really?”

Quentin nods simply a confused expression on his face. “...hm... thanks heh, I guess it's not always easy to remember things from when your five huh? -Anyways let's get started on those lessons!”

“Yay! So I think I have the balancing thing- but how do I move without tipping over?”

Quentin chuckles.

“That's the not so easy part but no worries here just try and copy my stance?”

#Fictober #fictober 19 #dead by daylight #Nightmare on Elm street 2010 #noes 2010 #Quentin Smith #Dwight Fairfield #freddy kruger #Min-seo Fairfield #Luka Fairfield #Cassandra Fairfield #Artyom Fairfield #Nancy Halbrook #my writing #Yamii's writing #YamiiVance #DBD AU #NOES AU #Cracked Bottles can’t hold pressure #Cracked Bottles #fictober 2019 #fictober19 #fanfiction

[creacherkeeper]

Hi, hopefully this is ok I saw you were taking prompts for a disability month challenge. I’d love to see some doc about adhd daisy, there’s so little adhd fic out there. Thanks!

Midnight Talker 

~1300 words 

AN: i threw in autistic jem because i just cant help myself and i miss my rambly daughter. takes place mid s1

read on AO3 

Skye scrambles to catch her laptop as her jump and shrieksends it flying off her crossed legs. Jemma dives for it as well, and there’s abeat of stillness after they both catch it on its way to the floor of thecommand center. Then Jemma starts babbling an apology, and Skye rushes toassuage her.

“No, I- I didn’t mean to scare you,” Jemma is saying, pushingthe laptop back firmly into Skye’s lap. “I called your name a few times, butyou didn’t seem to hear me.”

“Sorry, yeah.” Skye sets the laptop on the table beside her—whichshe really shouldn’t be sitting on, but A.C. wasn’t around to catch her—and rubsat her strained eyes. “Just got focused.”

“I can see that.” Jemma smiles nervously, scrunching hernose a bit.

Hands falling to her lap, Skye gives Jemma an up-and-down,smiling tiredly at her atomic-patterned pajamas. “Turning in early? That’s nota bad idea.”

Jemma’s hands fiddle in front of her, and she shakes herhead minutely. “Um. No. Just got … woken up by something, actually. It’s … It’sthree in the morning, Skye.”

“What?” Skye responds, not really processing the words. Sheglances toward her computer, but the time isn’t displayed, the whole screenbeing taken up by code.

“Did you not notice the lights going off four hours ago?”Jemma asks.

Skye looks around, and sure enough, only the low, ambientlights have been left on in the room, just enough to let her see withoutstraining too hard. “No,” she admits. “Have I really been in here that long?”

Jemma opens her mouth, seems to think better of it, and thensays anyway, “Please don’t take offense to this, but … when was the last timeyou showered?”

Skye blinks at the question, and then lifts her shirt tosniff it.

“You don’t smell!” Jemma hastens to say, raising her hands. “Sorry,I didn’t mean to imply- It’s just, I usually keep track of when people are usingthe showers, which I realize is somewhat peculiar, I just- I like knowing wherepeople are, and it’s not hard to pick up on the patterns when you’re living insuch close quarters as this- I don’t mean to be creepy, I’m really not- well, Ijust noticed you usually shower every other night, which would have been lastnight, but you went to your room after the mission yesterday and didn’t come backout until this morning. I don’t mean to pry or anything. I was just wonderingif you were doing okay. Not that not showering means you’re not doing okay, it’sjust that people breaking their routines can sometimes be symptomatic of anunderlying issue ... and …” Jemma shakes her head. “I’m sorry. This is weird. I’mbeing weird. I’ll stop. Goodnight.”

Jemma turns to leave, and Skye manages to keep in her laughfor fear of offending her, but doesn’t quite manage to hold back the grin.

“Simmons,” she says, reaching out and catching her sleeve.Jemma turns back, eyebrows knit with worry. “It’s okay. Seriously. As long asit’s not because I smell.”

“It’s not,” Jemma swears.

“I’ve just been …” Skye tries to figure out how to explain,letting her hand drop. “Kind of having trouble with a lot of steps lately?Like, for most people showering is one step—take a shower—and for others it’s afew steps, like ‘get in the shower, wash, condition, rinse, get out’. But forme it seems like a whole lot of little steps—turn on the shower, undress, checkthe water, get in, shampoo, rinse, condition, etc. etc. … All the little stepsget overwhelming sometimes. And that mission wore me out so much, I just didn’thave the brain function for it. Or anything else.”

“Executive dysfunction,” Jemma says, nodding. “That makessense. A lot of people with ADHD get that.” Then she catches herself, eyeswidening. “Sorry! I’m not supposed to make guesses about people, Fitz said itputs people off.” She gives a self-conscious laugh. “I am really not doing welltonight. I should just stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” Skye says. “I am ADHD, if you were wondering.”

Jemma gives a nervous grin, hands knitting in front of her. “Ifigured. I’m usually pretty good at telling. But people seem to not like itwhen you say it. Especially if they didn’t know.”

“Well, I did know, so all good.”

Jemma nods, glancing away. “Um. Will you be off to bed,then?”

“I should,” Skye says, rubbing her eyes again. “I’llprobably make a coffee.”

“This late?” Jemma asks, face creasing in concern. “Stayingup all night isn’t good for you. The brain refreshes itself during sleep,without at least a few hours—”

“I was gonna go to bed,” Skye assures her, holding up ahand. “Coffee knocks me out. It’s the only way I’m going to fall asleep afterstaring at my laptop for so long.”

“Oh.” The look of concern doesn’t go away. “That can’t behealthy.”

Skye shrugs. “It works.”

Jemma’s brows pull together. “I—” Her lips flicker into asmile. “I could make you a hot chocolate instead.”

Skye considers the offer, and Jemma continues, “I was goingto make a cup of tea anyways, so it’s not any trouble. And if you don’t fallasleep, then maybe we could stay up and chat for a little while.”

Skye nods. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

“Oh.” Jemma gives a started grin, obviously not havinganticipated that Skye would agree. “Okay. Excellent.”

Skye shuts down her laptop and they make their way to thelittle kitchen. Jemma starts heating the water on the stove (and is veryoffended when Skye asks why she doesn’t heat it in the microwave). As they waitfor the water to heat, they both lean against the counter, Skye foggy andtired, and Jemma lost in her thoughts.

Eventually, Skye asks, “Something woke you up?” having justthen processed the statement.

Jemma blinks, turning to her. “What?”

“You said earlier that something woke you up. It wasn’t me,was it?”

“No,” Jemma says. “It was nothing.”

Skye studies the side of her face as Jemma looks away. “Nightmares?”

Jemma’s lips thin.

“I hear you come out of your room a lot in the middle of thenight. Have you been having them often?”

“I didn’t realize anyone had noticed,” Jemma says quietly.

“I’m usually up anyway,” Skye says. “I’m not a greatsleeper.”

Jemma doesn’t answer or look at her, so Skye says, “Havethey been bothering you a lot?”

“It’s not important,” Jemma mumbles.

“Sure it is.”

Jemma’s hand floats up to her neck, thumb rubbing along theside. “Ever since the Chitauri virus I just … haven’t been sleeping very well.It’s silly, really.”

Skye isn’t sure she could convince her otherwise, so insteadshe says, “Well, how about the next time you’re up, I’ll let you make me anotherhot chocolate?”

She nudges her, and Jemma looks over with a small smile.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’m already up most of the time. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” And then, on an afterthought, “Well … itdepends on how good your hot chocolate is.”

That gets a little laugh out of Jemma, which Skye is prettyproud of.

“I do know where Fitz’s stash of mini marshmallows is,”Jemma admits.

“Then next time you’re up, you bring the marshmallows, and I’llbring my charming, groggy personality.”

“Okay,” Jemma says, stifling her smile. “It’s a deal.”

-

Skye wanders out of her room two days later, a yawn trappedbehind her lips and her finger stuck in the bun she was trying to make in herhair. After she manages the bun, she wanders into the kitchen and, withoutlooking, mutters, “You were supposed to come get me.”

But Jemma is already waiting with a cup of hot chocolate inhand, marshmallows and all.

#aosficnet #daisy johnson #jemma simmons #aos #editing ??? never met her #lets just write it in an hour and slap it online #sorry this took so so long!! ive been so busy #felt so nice writing s1 jem though i love her #enjoy #Anonymous

[general-du-vallon]

post Death of a Hero, because because. I did already write an episode tag to this but i have deleted every instance of that in a fit of pique so let’s forget that. I can write as many as i like, anyway. 

“Well, I’m going to go and find my wife to kiss her again,” d’Artagnan says, getting up and looking a bit awkwardly between Porthos and Treville.

 “I have duty,” Treville says, short and sharp, and he gets up too, leading d’Artagnan out.

 Porthos looks around the empty office, thinks about Athos off with Sylvie, Aramis off meeting the queen in secret (as he surely is right now), d’Artagnan in the arms of his wife, and laughs. That hurts so he stops and turns back to the window. He breathes as deeply as he can for a while, then shakes the bitterness off and goes to find Hannah. She’s been here since about the same time as d’Artagnan showed up, stitching them up, giving them salves, looking after them. Some friend of Constance’s. Porthos hasn’t seen her since they came back from the front, he goes to knock on her door and is surprised to find it answered by a very small child, and surprised again when a slim lad with one arm comes to lift the child onto a hip. Porthos peers over the man’s shoulder.

 “Um, is Hannah…?” Porthos asks, uncertain all of a sudden. He hasn’t been hurt since returning, or not more than a scrape or bruise that Aramis or Athos hasn’t taken care of. He went to d’Artagnan with a cut once and only once: d’Artagnan’s solution was to punch Porthos in the shoulder and cheerfully suggest he use a smelly pot of something orange that was apparently a recipe of his mother’s.

 “Oh, you’re from the garrison,” the man says. “I’ll get Hannah.”

 Porthos waits, having not been invited in. Hannah comes out a few minutes later and smiles seeing him.

 “Monsieur du Vallon,” she says, drying her hands on an apron. “My husband said it was someone from the garrison, can I help?”

 “No, I’m sorry, I thought you were still…” Porthos trails off. Husband. That means the kid’s probably hers, too. He definitely should have found out who runs things around here before barging in on someone.

 “I’m still working, if that’s what you mean, Constance usually comes and knocks when I’m needed, so I can spend time with Claude and Esther. Are you injured?”

 “A broken rib, I think,” Porthos says. “I wanted someone to check my back and make sure I’ve not missed something.”

 “Come on in. Usually we’d go to the sickroom, but as it’s you,” Hannah says.

 Porthos follows her into the little house, just a few rooms, a garret really. She’s got it beautifully set up, all the things neatly sewn, everything bright and fresh and clean. He nearly falls asleep as she’s examining him but Esther comes in and distracts him. He lets her assuage her curiosity about many things. Like his beard, and his bright buttons, and the coins she finds in his boot, and is gloves. She’s not in the slightest shy but she isn’t much of a talker. Hannah’s husband comes and stands in the doorway and watches over the child, and in his attentive focus Porthos recognises him as one of the sharp shooters Porthos worked with at the front, two years ago, back at Alsace. They barely worked together for more than a few days, Porthos doesn’t refresh his memory: Lachy took out a man about to shoot Porthos, that day. He’d then got them both captured by the Spanish yelling when a ball hit him. Not that Porthos had blamed him. The wound had festered, locked in the prison there, Porthos had done his best but had been watching over a dead man until Athos and d’Artagnan hatched their foolhardy plan. Hannah must have seen to him when he returned home. But no, because Esther’s coming on three or four, surely. Porthos’s idle wondering comes to an end as Hannah decides that, as he suspected, it’s just a broken rib. Or two, according to her. And extensive bruising.

 “I’ve taken my time cleaning these cuts and grazes so they don’t infect,” she tells him, following him out.

 “I’m glad you’ve found some family,” Porthos blurts, squinting at the sun.

 “Hm,” Hannah says, hands on her hips. “He’s a good man.”

 “I know,” Porthos says. “He saved my life two years ago. He’s a damned good shot.”

 Hannah smiles, a little shy, a little uncertain. Porthos wonders if she loves Lachy. He doesn’t ask, Lachy comes out and Hannah turns, and he doesn’t need to ask. Porthos heads for his rooms, then changes tack and goes to Athos’s instead, lying face down on the bed. Athos is with Sylvie, he won’t be back for hours. Days, even. His bed is nicer than Porthos’s. He’s about to drift off when the latch lifts, sending a spike of adrenaline through him. He recognises Athos before he does anything like skewer the intruder.

 “Nearly killed you, startling me like that,” Porthos mumbles, ignoring the fact that he’s still face first in Athos’s pillow, belt and jacket and weapons discarded somewhere near the door.

 “I would have knocked,” Athos says, sarcastically.

 “Next time,” Porthos says, ignoring the sarcasm.

 He doesn’t ask about Sylvie. He can guess, he’s seen Athos with relationships before. Not necessarily romantic relationships, but relationships. He remembers, early on, Athos trying at least ten times to break away from Porthos, to persuade Porthos he wasn’t worth being friends with, wasn’t worth trusting. Wasn’t worth loving. Couldn’t love Porthos in return. Athos fits himself into the small space Porthos isn’t draped over, groans, fits his arms around Porthos in a way that doesn’t hurt, shoves and cajoles until Porthos isn’t lying on his broken ribs, and then subsides, still grumbling, against Porthos’s shoulder.

 “I hurt,” Porthos says.

 “Me too,” Athos says, fervent.

 “Today was not a good day.”

 “We didn’t die, that’s something,” Athos says.

 “I lost a good barrel of wine, that’s almost as bad,” Porthos says. Athos chuckles, scratching his fingers lightly against Porthos’s chest. “I suppose living is more important than wine."

 “What will I do with you?” Athos says, softly, catching something in Porthos’s tone.

 “More what I’m going to do with myself, now you have all found other family,” Porthos says.

 “Mm-hmm,” Athos says, unimpressed by Porthos’s misery.

 “What?”

 “Well, what shall I say to you?” Athos says. “I could tell you that you’ll always have a place, with any of us. That we share whatever we have, as always. That… you’re the truest friend I’ve ever had, the best man I’ve ever met, you have never wavered. I have no intention of losing that. Or of losing this.”

 “Sylvie’s not as patient as I am,” Porthos says, into the pillow, face pressed there to keep from laughing or crying. Or both. “Lose her if you don’t get it together.”

 “I can’t. I put her in danger. My job doesn’t allow me-”

 “Uh-uh,” Porthos says. “Not my problem.”

 “Then leave it,” Athos says. Porthos grumbles, but that’s fair so he does it wordlessly. “Broken ribs?”

 “Just one,” Porthos lies. “The same as always breaks.”

 “You could stop barrelling into fights,” Athos says.

 “You could stop nagging,” Porthos says, but without any heat.

 “I was so surprised when I realised I loved you,” Athos says. “I can’t believe how much I do, it’s ridiculous.”

 “Love isn’t kind,” Porthos says.

 “Then I promise besides,” Athos says, stubbornly. “Promise you’ll be my family until the day we die. I couldn’t throw you off now if I tried.”

 “Yeah, you’re a weakling. I’m too big,” Porthos says, leaning back into Athos. Athos hisses so Porthos quickly removes his weight. “Especially now. Useless, now.”

 Athos huffs but doesn’t refute any of that. Porthos smiles happily and goes to sleep. d'Artagnan was right: he does have good friends. He mightn’t have a wife and child yet, or any of the things d’Artagnan was dreamy over, but he has plenty of his own. Maybe Sylvie will be just patient enough and she’ll give up her sedition and have many many children who Porthos can dote on. Porthos hums, pleased with that idea. Athos probably likes Sylvie’s sedition. Probably wants to join her. Cause mischief, like Aramis. Porthos can’t exactly blame them, war tears a country apart and makes orphans and refugees, plenty there to fight over. Plenty of places that things could be done better. Porthos sighs, the gauzy image of Sylvie and Athos and himself raising many many little Athoses dispersing.

 “What now?” Athos sighs. “Are we never going to sleep, Porthos? Today has been trying.”

 “At least we’re not dead,” Porthos says. “I was just thinking. Serving my country, long and well. I’ve one good, right, Athos? In the world?”

 “You’ve done wonderfully,” Athos says, dry and irritable but no less genuine for that. Porthos nods and settles down again. “I admire the way you move through the world, my friend. Please get some rest.”

 “Let you get rest you mean,” Porthos says. “Up all hours doing who knows what.”

 Athos huffs again, tightens his arms just enough to hurt for a moment then relaxes, kissing Porthos’s shoulder. Porthos shifts and settles again, eyes heavy, gritty with dust and exhaustion. Today really was not a good day. He had thought that he might never have a child, might never meet the woman he is going to marry, might never have a family. And then, underneath, he’d been afraid. So very, very afraid. Because a trap set for them, for him and d’Artagnan and Aramis, meant danger for Athos. And Athos was alone and vulnerable, unfocussed. But Athos had come and hauled him out and held him for a moment, and now Porthos rests in his arms. So very much to lose, but so very much to come home to as well. So very much to life for and fight for.

#fic #General Porthos du Vallon #porthos #death of a hero #portos/athos

[tentwentyninecompositions]

The Switch: Part Two

Six Years Later - Hello

---- COREY ----

Sabrina and I recently reached out to me. She left a voicemail on my phone telling me she’s moving back to New York. I was on set at a shoot for Mercedes when I randomly decided to check my phone seeing her message awaiting for me to hear. I broke my camera and had to reschedule that gig for a later date. I still can’t believe she called me. Shit honestly I didn’t think she’d even remember my number but she surprised the hell out of me. I got nervous when I first heard her speak. A secret part of me was wondering if she was calling to tell me she was in trouble but thankfully that’s not the case. No matter how far apart we are or how little we talk, she’ll always be on my mind.

I cleared my schedule for the weekend just so I can use some personal time to catch up with her. Ever since she left that message I’ve been wondering what drove her back here. In due time I should figure it out though. My lack of a romantic life has me on a bit of a dry spell. And every night I have to go to bed with blue balls I think of Bri teasing me that I should settle down with somebody. But there’s nobody here that’s caught my eye enough for me to even consider settling. Recently I did start messing around with this girl but it’s not going anywhere. My nigga Brian says I’m stuck on Sabrina and so do my folks. Although she has been part of the reason why I’m hesitant to get serious with just one girl, she’s not the whole reason. But I can’t forget that she did leave me high and dry without another word after her party so many years ago. Time got the best of our friendship. That’s what I can say to describe our status in nice words. Work took over my life and being a new mother took over hers. She made the impression on me that she was interested in getting serious with Julian but that could be me just speculating.

Rolling over on the couch I ended up going too far and fell off the shit. My dumbass ended up getting cut in the head in the process. “So fucking stupid..” I groaned, standing up feeling my phone vibrate from within my pocket. The sight of Sabrina’s face freaked me out but I have to calm myself down before I answer her call.

Smoothing my shirt out caused me to run my hand over my head. What the fuck am I doing? Pulling my phone out I slid my finger across the screen putting the call on speaker. “Speak of the she devil..” I said off bat.

Her laugh managed to soothe my soul. I feel like that’s the sound I really needed to hear. “You haven’t changed a bit. I’m so happy to be home and I’m even happier to hear your voice. What are you doing? How are you?” She asked curiously.

“I’m good as always. I shot for some people you always said I would too. You’ll be the first to get physical prints, you already know. How’s the life of being a mommy? How’s Julian treating you?” Shaking my head at the fact that I said that fool’s name I took a seat on the couch.

“Hold on one second..” She muttered super close to the receiver. A door shut from her end and then I heard her exhale. “Sorry I had to step outside. Life is good. I got what I always wanted but I lost something I’ve always needed.” The sound of her sniffling peaked my interest.

“What about Julian..come on you don’t have to hold back on how gre-“

“It’s just me. No Julian.” She blurted out. “It didn’t work out between us. So it’s just been me and my baby ever since. So what have you been up to? Are you going busy tonight, I wanna see you and catch up.” A sudden pause turned into a whole five minutes of silence from me. She’s not with Julian huh? Even more interesting. “Corey..Corey?” she called out to me.

“Yeah Bri I’m here. We can meet up tonight, I’m free all weekend actually. What time you wanna get together?” I asked. Jumping up off the couch I walked back to my closet looking for something to wear. I want to get ready as soon as possible.  

“Well right now Izaiah and I are waiting for his bed set to get delivered to the house. Let’s meet at seven at Mokbar. Izaiah just so happens to love noodles almost as much as you so I figure that’s a perfect place to meet. Unless you have someplace else in mind..” The open invitation to choose any place I want is tempting but tonight is not about me. It’s about making up for lost time with my closest friend.

Shaking my head promptly I continued picking out random items that I might wear. “No, that’s perfect. I haven’t been there in a while. So what’s little man like? Does he have any hobbies?”

“He’s very charismatic. Kinda like you. Oh and he loves to collect pennies, toy cars, and stamps. He’s not very athletic but he does have a slight interest in baseball. Julian tried to teach him but they never really got along so Zay just kinda gave it up. He still likes to watch the games on tv and go see them live but he hasn’t really had anyone to teach him how to play. And you know I suck at anything that involves athleticism.” She explained laughing bitterly towards the end.

Flashbacks of Bri trying out for different sport teams in school made me laugh. “Yeah sports aren’t your thing. But hey..listen let me get some things done and I will see you both at seven.” I said.

“Okay. I can’t wait to see you Corey. I’ll see you tonight, besos.” She chimed in just before she hung up.

So finally after six years I get to see the face of Sabrina Delores Guerrero. She’s been in a couple of my dreams and a few of my fantasies over the years. I never made anything of it simply because I never thought of her that way. Our friendship is airtight and nothing can break that. Not even the occasion spark.

Walking into Mokbar I scanned the area twice and doubled back once I saw her. There she was zoned out with a glass of what appears to be water in front of her. I hope I look alright. Bri always finds something about me to talk her shit about. Exhaling I ventured closer. “Motherhood did you good girl..” I spoke up catching her attention.

“Ay dios mio, oh Corey it’s so good to see you.” She cheesed, standing up so I could see her full on. Pregnancy really did her body good. Not to mention her skin looks flawless and her hair is just as shiny as ever.

“Damn you look good girl. Come here..” I engulfed her little body into a hug feeling that inner peace come back. I never thought I would crave a hug from this woman right here.

“I’m trying so hard not to cry..” She sniffled against the side of my neck. “I’m so fucking happy to see you again. Let me look at you.” She pulled away and looked me up and down, sighing calmly. “You look good. Even still look 25.” Sabrina did that thing where she has to smooth out my eyebrows because they’re ‘too bushy but too perfect to be going in different directions’.

Sucking my teeth at her lame ass I took my jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair. “Girl please. I always look youthful. So where is he? Where is the infamous Izaiah?” I asked looking around for little man.

“Oh he’s over there by the fountain. They fascinate him. Listen..if he says anything out of the ordinary just go along with it. He can be a little..crazy and direct with his opinions.” She nodded looking over at the fountain where three boys were all face down in the water. “Izaiah..baby come here please.” Sabrina stood up and went over the boy on the far right practically pulling him out of the fountain.

He stood up straight and hit Bri with this blank stare whilst holding a handful of pennies. I couldn’t help but crack a smile at the devilish look Bri’s son just gave her. “Hijo, what did we talk about taking pennies from the fountain huh? You can’t keep doing that Zay. Here sit down.” Bri pulled out a chair little man and he sat down searching for something. “What’s wrong? What are you looking for?” She quizzed.

“Napkin to dry my pennies. Who’s this?” He asked looking up at me.

“This is Corey. This is your Tio Corey I’ve been telling you about. What do you say when you meet new people for the first time?” Bri took the wet pennies and set them in a napkin, drying them off and setting the bundle aside.

“Hi, my name is Izaiah and I’m six years old. I collect cars, pennies, and stamps. What do you do for a living?” Izaiah looked me dead in the eyes with his small hands clasped together behind his plate.

His full introduction took me by surprise and it gave me a weird sense of comfort. “It’s nice to meet you little man. I’m a designer and a photographer, that’s what I do for a living.” Flagging down a waiter I sat back in my chair.

“What do you design? What do you take pictures of?” He pressed on with confidence.

“Now Zay let's not be so intrusive on the first night okay. Don’t scare him.” Bri cut in.

“I’m just curious.” Little man hit me with a shrug and this look of ‘where did you get this woman’.

“He’s a character. He’s definitely you!” I chuckled. I ordered myself a drink and whatever Bri and Izaiah wanted to eat as well. She and I caught up on the lightweight stuff since we had such a young guest nearby. We agreed to get into the nitty gritty shit another time. To my surprise little man even joined in on some of our conversations. He’s quite a talker at his age but he’s refreshing to talk to. He has so many opinions on the world but I respect it.

After Izaiah started to get restless we left the restaurant and walked through city. We stopped by Central Park, Zay picked up more pennies along the walk and he even fed some pigeons.

“Aw man what a night. I never thought a six year old could be so into life.” Looking across the street both ways I led Bri and Zay back to where her car is. He ran up ahead once we got closer to the curb and over to a store.

“He’s so curious about life. When he asks a question it’s never a matter of just okay. He wants to know so much more about everything. I swear he loves to learn. He’s also a book worm like you used to be when were kids.” Bri held onto my arm just as we stepped onto the curb.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets seeing Izaiah press his face up against the glass. “Yeah I can see that. He’s a good kid though and I can tell he really loves you Bri. I bet you make a damn good mom.” Looking down at her I hit her with a smirk only making her playfully punch me in my ribs.

“Mommy can we go in here?” Izaiah blurted out suddenly.

Bri looked ahead of us seeing Zay grip the door handle, ready to run inside. “No papi we have to go home. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” She frowned.

He went inside the store anyway causing me to bust out laughing. “Damn that kid has some balls.” I teased.

“Yes he does. He’s very strong willed.” She shrugged. Bri and I walked over to the store window watching little man gawk at the toy cars of all sizes. The store associate approached Zay striking up a fast conversation that we couldn’t hear. “Oh I love him so much. He’s so me and he’s himself at the same time.” She sniffled, laying her head on my shoulder.

“Where’s the sperm donor? Why didn’t it work out?” I asked cautiously. Sabrina squeezed my arm and turned at an angle to where she was facing me.

“He didn’t get along well with Izaiah. The connection between he and I was fine but because he didn’t stay on civil terms with my baby I had to cut him off. Long story for another day. But luckily Zay has settled into himself with just the two of us around.” She waved inside at Izaiah who had caught our attention from inside the store.

“Does he ask about where his father is? Does he ever ask how he got here?” I asked.

“Yeah there’s been a few conversations about where babies come from and where is my husband. He hasn’t given up on the subject yet though. It gets harder to give him an answer every time. Let’s go see what he found before he talks this guy's head off.” Bri and I went in the store to walk in on the shop owner negotiating prices for this classic red Chevelle collectible.

I stepped in and settled their debate for a good price of $100 versus $250. As my gift to Zay I bought the toy car for him since he liked it so much. After we left Izaiah mentioned ice cream and me being a sucker for sweets myself I took him to a spot his mom and I used to go to, way back in the day. I learned that cherry garcia is Zay’s favorite flavor and man did he fuck it all up. Sabrina ended up inviting me back to her new place since it’s getting late and Izaiah needed to go to bed.

“Mommy..you were smiling a lot around uncle Corey. Do you like him?” I heard Izaiah ask as I rounded the corner to the bathroom. Stopping dead in my tracks I listened in for Bri’s response.

“Aw baby I think you misunderstood. Uncle Corey is my best friend. He’s like my older brother in a way. I was smiling because you two finally got to meet and I missed him.” She mumbled.

“He seems nice for you. And he doesn’t dress like a weirdo.” They both laughed. “Can I wear the race car pajamas?” He quipped while simultaneously yawning like a grown man.

“Of course you can.” She agreed. I walked quietly over to his room and snuck a glance of them goofing around while Bri tried to get him ready for bed.

“You’re not mad at me about the pennies are you mom?” He tugged on Bri’s hand just before she could stand up and walk away from his bed.

“Que? No honey I’m not mad at you at all. I know how much you like to collect pennies but no I’m not mad. Get some sleep okay? I love you.” Sabrina knelt by his bed and leaned in to hug him.

“I love you too mommy. Say goodnight to uncle Corey for me please or can I do it?” He bargained.

“I’ll tell him. Goodnight mi amor..dulce suenos.” Sabrina gave him one last kiss and stood up, walking towards the door. Hurriedly I made my way back to the living room like I never heard anything. “Zay says goodnight. He really likes you.” She too yawned and slid down on the opposite end of the couch.

The smell of her really made me feel better about life. Having her gone for so many years really brought me down. I hope she’s here to stay this time.

“He is quite the kid. But you did a good job with him. He’s gonna be fine later on in life.” I said, placing my phone on the table after I turned the sound on silent.

“So what’s going on in your life? No woman has snatched you up yet?” She asked, crossing her legs. She got comfortable and hugged herself to block the chill in the air.

Taking off my sweatshirt I handed it to her so she wouldn’t freeze to death. Not even challenging me she pulled my hoodie over her head and fixed it on herself.

“This is gonna sound so weird but I’ve missed the smell of you.” She whispered, glancing over at the window.

“Why did you leave? And why didn’t you give me more time?” I’ve been beating myself up for not asking these questions sooner and now that we’re alone I want some answers.

“I never meant to purposely hurt you or our friendship Corey. I thought that by moving it would help me figure out some personal shit I had going on. At the time New York wasn’t the best place for me to raise a baby. Not with the environment I was in, not with the job I had. I just needed a change but after a while I felt empty. Aside from Zay, I didn’t have much to make me smile anymore. I came home because of you and for him.” she answered somberly.

“Bri..that’s bullshit. Well some of it is. You know I would’ve helped you with anything you needed me to. If you needed a babysitter I would’ve been here before you could even call. You left me Sabrina. You left me without so much as a word and believe or not I tried to hate you for that. I really did but my heart wouldn’t let me.” Confessing to her that once upon a time I had ill will feelings towards her is a weight off my shoulders. When I looked over at her I felt bad for my confession once I saw that tear roll down her cheek.

“And you had every right to feel that way. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of keeping in touch with you. I thought that with Julian around I would have such a smooth ride into motherhood but I had just the opposite. I made due and bid my time as a single mother after I broke it off with him. But this is my home and I want to make it Zay’s home. Perdoname por favor.” Sabrina took a minute to gather herself while I did the same thing.

We’ve got a lot of catching up to do and making up for the time we lost with one another. Now that she’s settled into her role as a parent, maybe this transition back home will be easier for her. Reaching across the couch I grabbed her hand and silently plead for her to come to my side. She cuddled up to me with her attention out the window. The view from her living room is one you can’t miss. Sabrina has always managed to live in a place with great views of the city and nothing has changed.

“You still cold?” I asked wrapping an arm around her body. She shook her head and leaned into me, toying with my pants leg.

“Thank you for tonight. It meant the world to me to have you meet Izaiah. He reminds me of you so much it’s not even funny.” She yawned softly, laying her hand on my thigh. Her hand touching my leg the way it is gave me a weird feeling. I don’t usually get these feelings with her so I don’t know what this means.

“Aw come on you think you’re the only one who was happy about tonight? It was my pleasure really. Ever since you left I’ve been wondering how motherhood is treating you but now I see. I always told you would come out okay didn’t I?” I retorted sinking into the couch more.

“Yeah you did. Can you stay for a while? Please..” Bri patted my arm forcing me to look down at her from an odd angle.

I nodded in silence searching her eyes in a way I never have before.

“I should’ve said this on the phone the first time we spoke earlier but I really missed you and I'm happy you’re home.” Using my thumb I wiped away another tear that was seconds from touching bases with her cheek.

She gave my leg a soft squeeze and turned to look out the window. And that was that. I don’t know what she wants to do tomorrow but I’m down for whatever. Maybe I can get in her head to find out what really happened with Julian. After all, she still owes me a shit ton of answers.

#the switch story #tentwentyninecompositions

[latouriste]

🌥🌪✨Yesterday and today I pulled 2 HIGH energy cards for us! ✶ 🌪☄️🙌🏾 The knight of wands (today) and the knight of swords (yesterday) revealed themselves and this shows me that energy IS moving but I still can’t help but to feel like I’m walking in sand with one thing occurring right after the other… I misplaced my recorder and have to hand type readings… My cat, Mochi, escaped out of the window overnight ( don’t worry, I found him this morning and he’s home safe and sound!) Videos are uploading extraaaa slowly today… I dunno if you guys have been feeling this sluggishness today but I am and I know it is absolutely the work of Mr. Mercury Retrograde reminding me to slowwww down, retrace my steps, and continue to do the BEST that I can and to enjoy the process as I move along! ✶ The walk outside was refreshing! 🤗🌿My missing recorder gives me a chance to work and type my readings from bed (I usually am a better writer than talker!), and the videos will upload when they are ready to and reach you guys with perfect timing, as they tend to do! ☕️💕🙌🏾 SO... I’m working WITH this today and invite you to join me! Let NOTHING bind us or stress us out! We are moving WITH the flow, instead of fighting it! We know all things come with perfect timing! We are OPEN to the lessons and the cosmic redirection! We WELCOME the chance to slow down! ✶ ☕️💕🙏🏾 I’ll be pouring myself my first (and only!) cup of coffee, making myself comfortable and working through my clients’ readings, typing them up one at a time and giving them the best of gifts and mySelf! ✶ 🙌🏾Wishing you all an equally easy and productive day! Even rest is constructive and is just as needed as our high energy/producing days- for those that need the reminder that it is okay to BE STILL, to RELAX, to SLEEP IN, or even to SAY NO! Love love love you all! Jess ✶ SHOP | BLOG | SERVICES 🔮BehatiLife.com 💌[email protected] 🎥YouTube.com/c/BehatiLife ✶ #behativibetribe #boho #bohemian #loveandlight #blessedbe #tarot #tarotreadersofinstagram #wiccan #wicca #witchy #bruja #altar #healingcrystals #newage #freespirit #bohovibes #photooftheday #blackgirlmagic #nature #spiriualgangster #chakras #spiritual (at BehatiLife)

#witchy #tarotreadersofinstagram #healingcrystals #photooftheday #wicca #chakras #spiritual #behativibetribe #loveandlight #boho #altar #wiccan #bohovibes #bruja #tarot #blackgirlmagic #bohemian #newage #nature #spiriualgangster #freespirit #blessedbe

[readbookywooks]

The Peasants Stand Firm

THIS was how Fetyukovitch concluded his speech, and the enthusiasm of the audience burst like an irresistible storm. It was out of the question to stop it: the women wept, many of the men wept too, even two important personages shed tears. The President submitted, and even postponed ringing his bell. The suppression of such an enthusiasm would be the suppression of something sacred, as the ladies cried afterwards. The orator himself was genuinely touched. And it was at this moment that Ippolit Kirillovitch got up to make certain objections. People looked at him with hatred. "What? What's the meaning of it? He positively dares to make objections," the ladies babbled. But if the whole world of ladies, including his wife, had protested he could not have been stopped at that moment. He was pale, he was shaking with emotion, his first phrases were even unintelligible, he gasped for breath, could hardly speak clearly, lost the thread. But he soon recovered himself. Of this new speech of his I will quote only a few sentences. "... I am reproached with having woven a romance. But what is this defence if not one romance on the top of another? All that was lacking was poetry. Fyodor Pavlovitch, while waiting for his mistress, tears open the envelope and throws it on the floor. We are even told what he said while engaged in this strange act. Is not this a flight of fancy? And what proof have we that he had taken out the money? Who heard what he said? The weak-minded idiot, Smerdyakov, transformed into a Byronic hero, avenging society for his illegitimate birth - isn't this a romance in the Byronic style? And the son who breaks into his father's house and murders him without murdering him is not even a romance- this is a sphinx setting us a riddle which he cannot solve himself. If he murdered him, he murdered him, and what's the meaning of his murdering him without having murdered him - who can make head or tail of this? "Then we are admonished that our tribune is a tribune of true and sound ideas and from this tribune of 'sound ideas' is heard a solemn declaration that to call the murder of a father 'parricide' is nothing but a prejudice! But if parricide is a prejudice, and if every child is to ask his father why he is to love him, what will become of us? What will become of the foundations of society? What will become of the family? Parricide, it appears, is only a bogy of Moscow merchants' wives. The most precious, the most sacred guarantees for the destiny and future of Russian justice are presented to us in a perverted and frivolous form, simply to attain an object - to obtain the justification of something which cannot be justified. 'Oh, crush him by mercy,' cries the counsel for the defence; but that's all the criminal wants, and to-morrow it will be seen how much he is crushed. And is not the counsel for the defence too modest in asking only for the acquittal of the prisoner? Why not found a charity in the honour of the parricide to commemorate his exploit among future generations? Religion and the Gospel are corrected - that's all mysticism, we are told, and ours is the only true Christianity which has been subjected to the analysis of reason and common sense. And so they set up before us a false semblance of Christ! 'What measure ye mete so it shall be meted unto you again,' cried the counsel for the defence, and instantly deduces that Christ teaches us to measure as it is measured to us and this from the tribune of truth and sound sense! We peep into the Gospel only on the eve of making speeches, in order to dazzle the audience by our acquaintance with what is, anyway, a rather original composition, which may be of use to produce a certain effect - all to serve the purpose! But what Christ commands us is something very different: He bids us beware of doing this, because the wicked world does this, but we ought to forgive and to turn the other cheek, and not to measure to our persecutors as they measure to us. This is what our God has taught us and not that to forbid children to murder their fathers is a prejudice. And we will not from the tribune of truth and good sense correct the Gospel of our Lord, Whom the counsel for the defence deigns to call only 'the crucified lover of humanity,' in opposition to all orthodox Russia, which calls to Him, 'For Thou art our God!'" At this the President intervened and checked the over-zealous speaker, begging him not to exaggerate, not to overstep the bounds, and so on, as presidents always do in such cases. The audience, too, was uneasy. The public was restless: there were even exclamations of indignation. Fetyukovitch did not so much as reply; he only mounted the tribune to lay his hand on his heart and, with an offended voice, utter a few words full of dignity. He only touched again, lightly and ironically, on "romancing" and "psychology," and in an appropriate place quoted, "Jupiter, you are angry, therefore you are wrong," which provoked a burst of approving laughter in the audience, for Ippolit Kirillovitch was by no means like Jupiter. Then, a propos of the accusation that he was teaching the young generation to murder their fathers, Fetyukovitch observed, with great dignity, that he would not even answer. As for the prosecutor's charge of uttering unorthodox opinions, Fetyukovitch hinted that it was a personal insinuation and that he had expected in this court to be secure from accusations "damaging to my reputation as a citizen and a loyal subject." But at these words the President pulled him up, too, and Fetyukovitch concluded his speech with a bow, amid a hum of approbation in the court. And Ippolit Kirillovitch was, in the opinion of our ladies, "crushed for good." Then the prisoner was allowed to speak. Mitya stood up, but said very little. He was fearfully exhausted, physically and mentally. The look of strength and independence with which he had entered in the morning had almost disappeared. He seemed as though he had passed through an experience that day, which had taught him for the rest of his life something very important he had not understood till then. His voice was weak, he did not shout as before. In his words there was a new note of humility, defeat and submission. "What am I to say, gentlemen of the jury? The hour of judgment has come for me, I feel the hand of God upon me! The end has come to an erring man! But, before God, I repeat to you, I am innocent of my father's blood! For the last time I repeat, it wasn't I killed him! I was erring, but I loved what is good. Every instant I strove to reform, but I lived like a wild beast. I thank the prosecutor, he told me many things about myself that I did not know; but it's not true that I killed my father, the prosecutor is mistaken. I thank my counsel, too. I cried listening to him; but it's not true that I killed my father, and he needn't have supposed it. And don't believe the doctors. I am perfectly sane, only my heart is heavy. If you spare me, if you let me go, I will pray for you. I will be a better man. I give you my word before God I will! And if you will condemn me, I'll break my sword over my head myself and kiss the pieces. But spare me, do not rob me of my God! I know myself, I shall rebel! My heart is heavy, gentlemen... spare me!" He almost fell back in his place: his voice broke: he could hardly articulate the last phrase. Then the judges proceeded to put the questions and began to ask both sides to formulate their conclusions. But I will not describe the details. At last the jury rose to retire for consultation. The President was very tired, and so his last charge to the jury was rather feeble. "Be impartial, don't be influenced by the eloquence of the defence, but yet weigh the arguments. Remember that there is a great responsibility laid upon you," and so on and so on. The jury withdrew and the court adjourned. People could get up, move about, exchange their accumulated impressions, refresh themselves at the buffet. It was very late, almost one o'clock in the night, but nobody went away: the strain was so great that no one could think of repose. All waited with sinking hearts; though that is, perhaps, too much to say, for the ladies were only in a state of hysterical impatience and their hearts were untroubled. An acquittal, they thought, was inevitable. They all prepared themselves for a dramatic moment of general enthusiasm. I must own there were many among the men, too, who were convinced that an acquittal was inevitable. Some were pleased, others frowned, while some were simply dejected, not wanting him to be acquitted. Fetyukovitch himself was confident of his success. He was surrounded by people congratulating him and fawning upon him. "There are," he said to one group, as I was told afterwards, "there are invisible threads binding the counsel for the defence with the jury. One feels during one's speech if they are being formed. I was aware of them. They exist. Our cause is won. Set your mind at rest." "What will our peasants say now?" said one stout, cross-looking, pock-marked gentleman, a landowner of the neighbourhood, approaching a group of gentlemen engaged in conversation. "But they are not all peasants. There are four government clerks among them." "Yes, there are clerks," said a member of the district council, joining the group. "And do you know that Nazaryev, the merchant with the medal, a juryman?" "What of him?" "He is a man with brains." "But he never speaks." "He is no great talker, but so much the better. There's no need for the Petersburg man to teach him: he could teach all Petersburg himself. He's the father of twelve children. Think of that!" "Upon my word, you don't suppose they won't acquit him?" one of our young officials exclaimed in another group. "They'll acquit him for certain," said a resolute voice. "It would be shameful, disgraceful, not to acquit him cried the official. "Suppose he did murder him - there are fathers and fathers! And, besides, he was in such a frenzy.... He really may have done nothing but swing the pestle in the air, and so knocked the old man down. But it was a pity they dragged the valet in. That was simply an absurd theory! If I'd been in Fetyukovitch's place, I should simply have said straight out: 'He murdered him; but he is not guilty, hang it all!' "That's what he did, only without saying, 'Hang it all!'" "No, Mihail Semyonovitch, he almost said that, too," put in a third voice. "Why, gentlemen, in Lent an actress was acquitted in our town who had cut the throat of her lover's lawful wife." "Oh, but she did not finish cutting it." "That makes no difference. She began cutting it." "What did you think of what he said about children? Splendid, wasn't it?" "Splended!" "And about mysticism, too!" "Oh, drop mysticism, do!" cried someone else; "think of Ippolit and his fate from this day forth. His wife will scratch his eyes out to-morrow for Mitya's sake." "Is she here?" "What an idea! If she'd been here she'd have scratched them out in court. She is at home with toothache. He he he!" "He he he!" In a third group: "I dare say they will acquit Mitenka, after all." "I should not be surprised if he turns the Metropolis upside down to-morrow. He will be drinking for ten days!" "Oh, the devil!" "The devil's bound to have a hand in it. Where should he be if not here?" "Well, gentlemen, I admit it was eloquent. But still it's not the thing to break your father's head with a pestle! Or what are we coming to?" "The chariot! Do you remember the chariot?" "Yes; he turned a cart into a chariot!" "And to-morrow he will turn a chariot into a cart, just to suit his purpose." "What cunning chaps there are nowadays! Is there any justice to be had in Russia?" But the bell rang. The jury deliberated for exactly an hour, neither more nor less. A profound silence reigned in the court as soon as the public had taken their seats. I remember how the jurymen walked into the court. At last! I won't repeat the questions in order, and, indeed, I have forgotten them. I remember only the answer to the President's first and chief question: "Did the prisoner commit the murder for the sake of robbery and with premeditation?" (I don't remember the exact words.) There was a complete hush. The foreman of the jury, the youngest of the clerks, pronounced, in a clear, loud voice, amidst the deathlike stillness of the court: "Yes, guilty!" And the same answer was repeated to every question: "Yes, guilty!" and without the slightest extenuating comment. This no one had expected; almost everyone had reckoned upon a recommendation to mercy, at least. The death-like silence in the court was not broken - all seemed petrified: those who desired his conviction as well as those who had been eager for his acquittal. But that was only for the first instant, and it was followed by a fearful hubbub. Many of the men in the audience were pleased. Some were rubbing their hands with no attempt to conceal their joy. Those who disagreed with the verdict seemed crushed, shrugged their shoulders, whispered, but still seemed unable to realise this. But how shall I describe the state the ladies were in? I thought they would create a riot. At first they could scarcely believe their ears. Then suddenly the whole court rang with exclamations: "What's the meaning of it? What next?" They leapt up from their places. They seemed to fancy that it might be at once reconsidered and reversed. At that instant Mitya suddenly stood up and cried in a heart-rending voice, stretching his hands out before him: "I swear by God and the dreadful Day of Judgment I am not guilty of my father's blood! Katya, I forgive you! Brothers, friends, have pity on the other woman!" He could not go on, and broke into a terrible sobbing wail that was heard all over the court in a strange, unnatural voice unlike his own. From the farthest corner at the back of the gallery came a piercing shriek - it was Grushenka. She had succeeded in begging admittance to the court again before the beginning of the lawyers' speeches. Mitya was taken away. The passing of the sentence was deferred till next day. The whole court was in a hubbub but I did not wait to hear. I only remember a few exclamations I heard on the steps as I went out. "He'll have a twenty years' trip to the mines!" "Not less." "Well, our peasants have stood firm." "And have done for our Mitya."

#BrothersKaramazov