Yeah I just got home, had no clue you were actually starting that as a fic. I honestly started laughing when I read what you sent me.
May I have some Damian gets a pocket for WIP Wednesday please?
-MBT
“Damian,” Drake says slowly. “Did you just . . . wake up to him?”
Damian gives him an unimpressed look, because that deduction is so obvious as to be unworthy of even Drake’s skills.
“. . . okay,” Drake says, even slower. “And you brought him here because . . . ?”
“There are no other Pockets currently in residence at the manor,” Damian replies shortly.
“. . . right,” Drake says.
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Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering, do you have any pictures of baby polar bears? perhaps snoozing, eating, maybe frolicking idk
hi friend it is absolutely no bother whatsoever and your ask is certainly not a bother. We love providing people with bearotonin, so there’s never any need to apologize for asking (as long as it’s polite, which your request absolutely was) for it (and there’s certainly no need to apologize just for existing, so try your best to stop over apologizing for that too friend 💙) here’s some cute lil baby polar bearotonin
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13 years after the events of the book ivan is a somewhat famous journalist, probably due to some controversies. he's rushing off home after a dull work of editing.
he's been feeling overall depressed in the past few weeks. he's trying to write down the great inquisitor once and for all, but deep down he's concerned about the critics and his own skills. mitya and grushenka are nowhere to be found, alyosha is up in the mountains teaching little kids the abc. he's got no friendly faces in moscow.
he sighs and takes a turn, when all of a sudden he bumps into someone coming from the opposite direction. he ends up on the ground. the first thing he notices are flowers - yellow flowers scattered on the ground. then an all-too-familiar scent of milk and honey. the stranger apologises, lands out a hand, and before his eyes look up his heart has recognised her.
her face seems more tired, a few silver strands peek through her hair, but her charm hasn't left her. katerina is still as beautiful as the day he'd left her. screw the articles, he thinks, and in a matter of seconds he's invited her for a drink.
they catch up, talk about family business and reminiscence the past. she's married. they've been trying for a child but no use. he's all by himself in a big apartment on the sadovaya. seldomely gets visits, never from the people he'd like to see. some things are just meant to be this way.
she's read one of his articles. two, actually. maybe three. perhaps a bit more. there's even a possibility she's cut them out and kept them at the bottom of a drawer next to her bed.
well, if she knew he was in town all along, why didn't she drop by to say hi? they hadn't left on good terms. to be honest, their last goodbye was pretty cold - almost indifferent. she thought reaching out for a stranger was not right. and quite frankly, she was still way too prideful to make the first move, though she never would've admitted it. they were older now. one would expect them to be wiser too.
how about they try again?, he proposes. two seconds later he's already regretting it, but he decides to blame it on the alcohol he's barely touched. she seems hesitant, so he promises to show her a secret project he's been working on as a proof of their renowned friendship.
he leads her to his apartment and she's the second witness ever of his cursed poem. she reads the first page and he's sweating like a sinner in church. she makes herself at home and sits down on the divan, completely immersed. at page five she stops. could he read it out loud for her? it'd be much more impactful. matter of fact, why doesn’t he turn this into a play?
ivan doesn't answer, just complies. she's back with her tortures, but he can't understand why. when he's done he's almost afraid of looking back at her. she's staring at him in awe. she's always known he was one mess of a genius. to think that she'd always despised chaos... what exactly did he do to her?
he should turn it into a play, that's her final statement. a wonderful play with splendid costumes and the best actors of moscow. she can help with the money. she can even help with the editing. it feels good to help, to see right through and not to look away - and this time it's not martyrdom, no. it's something more genuine to inspire her. it's almost love.
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