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karamazovposting · 12 days ago

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go go gadget talk about the speech patterns and mannerisms that the brothers have (Alyosha, Ivan, Mitya, and Smerdyakov)

And to think I had made a post about this but never posted it and deleted the draft because I thought nobody would care, sigh.

I don't know if it's just me due to some sort of déformation professionnelle (I study theater among other things and sometimes I recite lines from books out loud to help with both memory and acting skills, and also because it's fun), but by the way Dostoevsky writes his characters speaking I can perfectly picture what they might sound like in my mind and that's insane (he's an insane writer all around) and not only that: you can tell what kind of person the character is not by what they say, but by how they say it. Again, insane stuff.

I'd say the brothers are the perfect example of this: they're the main characters so they talk enough for us to pick up on each individual's speech pattern and they have very distinct personalities that get to shine during the entirety of the book.

Dmitri is a mess and the way he speaks perfectly mirrors his behavior and Dostoevsky makes sure of showing that by writing his lines with lots of exclamation points and ellipses: he often jumps from topic to topic with no resemblance of coherent thought and speech pattern and has a tendency to ramble with passion for quite a long time. Even his insane amount of crying gets written down and integrated in his speech pattern; our Mitya has a lot of feelings and is not afraid to show them (good for him!). Given these little hints through the pages, I picture him as someone who speaks with lots of emotion (he's a dramatic person indeed and that definitely influences the way he speaks) but with no fixated pacing, volume and intensity because I feel like his voice and speech mannerism would shift a lot depending on his mood in a rollercoaster-like up and down motion if it makes sense, even though I do picture him as talking fast for the most part.

Ivan's feels similar but also completely opposite: he's dramatic and passionate and he feels a lot, but in a way more controlled manner and his voice is pretty much always described as being firm (which is shown by there being fewer ellipses and exclamation points in his lines), so I've never imagined it as showing much emotion, not even while talking to the devil; I feel like no matter what Ivan feels, his voice never fully shows it (his language might though, it's rude as hell). While his speech pattern can be all over the place because he is all over the place, it always remains coherent with who he is as a character and as a person (I've kinda talked about it somewhere in my bipolar Ivan Karamazov series) and never really gets rambly: even his spiral into madness is controlled. On that note, I've always found the way Ivan's lines are written in Pavel's confession's bit striking: our guy here is definitely going through a lot, this is the most important part of his arc, and yet he doesn't lose it completely. Lots of short sentences, lots of periods, little emotion: his voice is still as firm as ever. This leads me to think of him as someone who speaks in an effortlessly powerful manner and in a fixated pattern (not too fast but not too slow, not too loud but not too quiet; perfectly even and neutral) and with a voice that's almost monotone, except for when it doesn't have to be; he's used to speaking in public after all.

Alyosha is sweet, we all know that, and I think it reflects on the way he speaks as well: the use of punctuation and the length and pacing of his sentences suggest he speaks calmly, and personally I think sometimes it resembles the way Ivan speaks a little. His lines are written to never have any hint of hostility in them even in contexts where that would be expected (like when interacting with Rakitin) and even his sarcasm is written to sound soft; I'd say his speech pattern, while not as fun as Dmitri's or not as cool as Ivan's, is probably my favorite out of all four brothers': it's clear, straightforward and easy to follow and it feels fresh and balanced (no rollercoaster-like motions for example). He seems like someone I'd like to hear talk y'know, or a character with a way of speaking I'd like to be able to emulate; there seems to be a comforting and soothing element in it. Also, one thing that's lost in English translations is that Alyosha talks to children using the formal second person, which in my opinion is very indicative of his character and is also something I really like about him.

As for Pavel, I find his speech pattern interesting because it has a strange pacing, with lots of commas and longer sentences that suggest he speaks calmly just like Alyosha does or even slowly, but unlike Alyosha's lines, Pavel's are written in a way that conveys an almost ominous undertone due to the placing and frequency of the commas. One thing that stuck with me is how somewhere at the start of the novel Pavel's singing voice is described as "sugary" because honestly that's how I would describe his speech pattern as well: similar to Alyosha's somehow though not sweet but instead sugary, insincere, like a way of speaking that was fabricated with the sole purpose of fucking with someone's mind. And succeeds at it. I mean, most of the times we "hear" Pavel speak he's talking to Ivan, which I think is quite important because you can tell he articulates himself in a similar way Ivan does, but at the same time it seems his speech pattern has developed in a completely different direction, like mirroring Ivan's but not quite right. I feel like he's a person who knows what specific inflection is just right to use for a particular situation and I read his lines like that, without a fixated inflection but with the same constant slow cadence and smoothness. Also he's the only character we canonically know the vocal range of and not only do I appreciate Dostoevsky for giving me the chance to imagine what his voice might sound like, I also think specifying that he sings in falsetto instead of using his modal voice was a clever choice; it's kinda like a wordplay in a sense y'know.

I hope I made myself clear in this one lmao; it's just that when I think about this stuff I often have images in my mind that it's hard for me to put into words (like a particular speech pattern can be described with just one straight line while others can move in circles or have curves, or the rollercoaster-like thing I said earlier), but I couldn't just draw four different graphs and post them with no explanation so I just skipped the graphs part. Just know that in my head this is very clear and that if I could talk through pictures I would.

#do I have synesthesia? who knows #I wrote this while getting ready for a gig I have tonight and edited it in the car so bear with me #the brothers karamazov #asks

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killkaramazov · 4 months ago

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This will be my worst post but fuck it. If you’re absolutely DETERMINED to take it there then Smerdy/Ivan absolutely BODIES Alyosha/Ivan in terms of narrative/characterization/dynamic/motif and theme/basically everything else that matters. But it is really not about that for the vast majority of people who are deadass about shipping yaoi from a Russian novel published in 1879. All the IvanYosha stuff seems like it’s really more about getting your rocks off on AO3 and drawing two conventionally attractive anime twinks kissing. To which I wonder why you wouldn’t pick literally any two characters from any media for that unless you’re just into incest or something.

I really love the Grand Inquisitor kiss! And I don’t like seeing it interpreted that way!

On the other hand something that drives me insane about my personal interpretation of the book is the juxtaposition between the Alyosha Ivan kiss vs Ivan’s general disgust for Smerdyakov. Why is Alyosha kissing Ivan a pure, innocent expression of Christian love for all humanity but Smerdyakov’s gesture of love (killing Fyodor) is something so perverse and horrifying? It shows us something about their station of life through the roles and the acts that are even allowed to them in the narrative.

As far as SmerdyIvan goes I am reminded of the JSTOR article I read (that I now cannot fucking find) where the author mentioned an idea that all of Dostoevsky’s novels center around or contain one central taboo that is so unspeakable that it is scarcely even outright mentioned, and that the central taboo in question in TBK is that Smerdyakov is the fourth brother.

Incest is already gotten into in canon and much has been written about this, especially regarding Dmitry and Fyodor’s rivalry over Grushenka, but also with Ivan falling in love with Dmitry’s ex. So even though we are going far afield from authorial intent, it is really not that much of a jump to start looking at emotional incest from other angles within the family, as we already know literally every other type of abuse was already occurring within that (entirely fractured) family unit. As far as I am concerned regarding authorial intent, any claim you want to make about a work of fiction is fair game as long as you can justify it with evidence from the text, and people have been writing academic articles and essays making wild inferences from this text for the last 150 years, so I defend my right to make this interpretation. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if Freud can diagnose Dostoevsky as bisexual we can say whatever we want about this book.

We know from the canon indisputably that Smerdyakov is unhealthily attached to Ivan, and we know that some vague thing about Smerdyakov sets Ivan’s Geiger counter for rancid horrific disgusting vibes to 10 immediately, anytime they are on the page together. So we can infer a lot from that.

Smerdyakov was literally born of sexual violence, and is a pariah in terms of his gender expression and sexuality, so him taking on the role of someone with a warped sexuality in the narrative just sort of… follows, in terms of the novels concern with the idea of inherited sin.

There is something compelling to me about the idea that Smerdyakov would seek entrance into the Karamazov family in another, weirder way psychologically through attaching highly inappropriate feelings to Ivan. (‘If you think of me and my feelings toward you as incestuous, then that means you have acknowledged me as a family member’)

And regardless of what I literally just said about authorial intent, Dostoevsky outright tells us how gay Smerdyakov is like every single time he’s on page. So there is also that.

Their relationship appeals to me greatly insofar as it is utterly disgusting and that’s my jam. There is lots to explore in this dynamic but one indisputable thing baked into the text between them is that it’s literally impossible to imagine any truly romantic union between them simply because of the way they both are. They repulse each other far too much for any expression of that sort. The actualization of their inappropriate relationship is not a culmination through an even vaguely romantic or sexual encounter, instead, it is the fulfilling a murder pact.

They are like two oppositely charged magnets or something, in turns attracting and repulsing one another, pushing and pulling on each other’s gravitational pulls. Regarding the Tchermashnya-Moscow conversation, the way that their conversations are in doublespeak, with words said out loud and then literally entire other sentences written out in thought and illustrated through description of physicality, is incredibly fascinating to me. They seem to be literally communicating telepathically. I am reminded of another JSTOR article I read that mentions the Dostoevskian doubles “exerting influence over one other that cannot be explained in any literal sense.” The only reason they can communicate like this is because they are doubles, and this doublism is reinforced again in the narrative by their being fake twins, the same age but born to different mothers.

They are each other’s shadows, they share a consciousness on some level, or access each other’s consciousnesses at different times through this shared plot in a way that seems incomprehensible to both of them. And Smerdyakov, in my own interpretation and opinion, as someone who is completely starved for any kind of positive regard, takes this for love. Whether that’s familial or otherwise or both.

They engage in this mutual seduction towards an ultimate goal or realization: Ivan presents the idea, that “all is permitted” and that perhaps it would be for the better if Fyodor were dead, and Smerdyakov takes his lead from this and in turn pulls Ivan into the murder plot. Their relationship is romantic insofar as they are seducing one another in turn towards this unspeakable and forbidden act that they both desire: the murder.

They deny it right to each others faces, only Ivan’s is an earnest denial, to himself first and foremost, and to Smerdyakov it’s just sort of… foreplay. Like, “we’re just two clever people who are only saying this because we have to, and we get it, and you’re in this with me.”

There is something really compelling too in the fact that Ivan is on board with the murder plot in one scene on a subconscious level, but later will utterly deny that any of this ever happened or that he ever felt that way. He has expressed and betrayed a desire that is so deviant, so forbidden, and so distressing to him that he has a psychological break over denying that that could have truly been something he wanted. Ivan expresses overwhelming disgust and disdain through the entire book, mostly towards Smerdyakov, but finally towards himself when he is forced to the realization of the role he has played as the idealogical murderer. Whereas Smerdyakov, the more active pursuer in their relationship, is not ashamed of his desires and is the one who ultimately has the lack of inhibition required to carry out The Forbidden Act.

Ivan is attracted by Smerdyakov initially, despite himself, for reasons he can’t understand, like one is drawn to a cataclysmic disaster of fate in a Greek tragedy or something, and ultimately it descends into complete loathing on both sides, kills Smerdyakov, and mocks Ivan’s entire character by undermining his self concept and his entire value system and laying utterly bare his fatal flaws as a human being. Utterly doomed and hopeless relationship in every single way!

Alas, no one wants to match my freak about this and that is definitely for the better. If I had to see ship art of them kissing anime style I would kms. Whatever the fuck they had going on is way better.

#the brothers karamazov #ivan karamazov #pavel smerdyakov #fuck it im high. my worst post #george.txt #incest tw #tbk #pashaposting

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sutekooooo · 5 months ago

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how do you think ivan and alyosha's relationship would develop romantically and how would their other brothers & fiances react to it? would dimitri be horrified and try to discourage them or would he give them thumbs up and be supportive?

I think this is a difficult question to answer within a limited time. However, if we imagine romantic relationships, I believe the moment they recognized the beginning of their feelings was during the long conversation in the tavern. Neither of them seems to be the type to avoid discussing sexual desire, so it’s possible to assume that this aspect could develop further as their relationship deepens.

As for the reactions of the other brothers, I think Smerdyakov might find it uncomfortable lol, but Dmitry would probably be okay with it. He seems to enjoy seeing his brothers being close and getting along (I guess). After all, Dmitry is probably the type of person who would even support Katya and Grushenka being together :)

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thiagosrussianlitblog · 1 year ago

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10 Interesting Russian Novels

Crime and Punishment - Raskolnikov, a destitute and desperate former student, wanders through the slums of St Petersburg and commits a random murder without remorse or regret. He imagines himself to be a great man, a Napoleon: acting for a higher purpose beyond conventional moral law. But as he embarks on a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a suspicious police investigator, Raskolnikov is pursued by the growing voice of his conscience and finds the noose of his own guilt tightening around his neck. Only Sonya, a downtrodden sex worker, can offer the chance of redemption. (GoodReads)

Anna Karenina - Acclaimed by many as the world's greatest novel, Anna Karenina provides a vast panorama of contemporary life in Russia and of humanity in general. In it Tolstoy uses his intense imaginative insight to create some of the most memorable characters in all of literature. Anna is a sophisticated woman who abandons her empty existence as the wife of Karenin and turns to Count Vronsky to fulfill her passionate nature - with tragic consequences. Levin is a reflection of Tolstoy himself, often expressing the author's own views and convictions. (GoodReads)

The Brothers Karamazov - The Brothers Karamazov tells the dramatic story of four brothers Dmitri, pleasure-seeking, impatient, unruly… Ivan, brilliant and morose… Alyosha, gentle, loving, honest… and the illegitimate Smerdyakov, sly, silent, cruel. Driven by intense passion, they become involved in the brutal murder of their own father, one of the most loathsome characters in all literature. (GoodReads)

War and Peace - War and Peace broadly focuses on Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in 1812 and follows three of the most well-known characters in literature: Pierre Bezukhov, the illegitimate son of a count who is fighting for his inheritance and yearning for spiritual fulfillment; Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, who leaves his family behind to fight in the war against Napoleon; and Natasha Rostov, the beautiful young daughter of a nobleman who intrigues both men. As Napoleon’s army invades, Tolstoy brilliantly follows characters from diverse backgrounds—peasants and nobility, civilians and soldiers—as they struggle with the problems unique to their era, their history, and their culture. And as the novel progresses, these characters transcend their specificity, becoming some of the most moving—and human—figures in world literature. (GoodReads)

Dead Souls - Dead Souls is eloquent on some occasions, lyrical on others, and pious and reverent elsewhere. Nicolai Gogol was a master of the spoof. The American students of today are not the only readers who have been confused by him. Russian literary history records more divergent interpretations of Gogol than perhaps of any other classic. In a new translation of the comic classic of Russian literature, Chichikov, an enigmatic stranger and conniving schemer, buys deceased serfs' names from their landlords' poll tax lists hoping to mortgage them for profit and to reinvent himself as a likable gentleman. (GoodReads)

The Master and Margarita - An audacious revision of the stories of Faust and Pontius Pilate, The Master and Margarita is recognized as one of the essential classics of modern Russian literature. The novel's vision of Soviet life in the 1930s is so ferociously accurate that it could not be published during its author's lifetime and appeared only in a censored edition in the 1960s. Its truths are so enduring that its language has become part of the common Russian speech. One hot spring, the devil arrives in Moscow, accompanied by a retinue that includes a beautiful naked witch and an immense talking black cat with a fondness for chess and vodka. The visitors quickly wreak havoc in a city that refuses to believe in either God or Satan. But they also bring peace to two unhappy Muscovites: one is the Master, a writer pilloried for daring to write a novel about Christ and Pontius Pilate; the other is Margarita, who loves the Master so deeply that she is willing literally to go to hell for him. What ensues is a novel of inexhaustible energy, humor, and philosophical depth, a work whose nuances emerge for the first time in Diana Burgin and Katherine Tiernan O'Connor's splendid English version. (GoodReads)

Doctor Zhivago - This epic tale about the effects of the Russian Revolution and its aftermath on a bourgeois family was not published in the Soviet Union until 1987. One of the results of its publication in the West was Pasternak's complete rejection by Soviet authorities; when he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958 he was compelled to decline it. The book quickly became an international best-seller. Dr. Yury Zhivago, Pasternak's alter ego, is a poet, philosopher, and physician whose life is disrupted by the war and by his love for Lara, the wife of a revolutionary. His artistic nature makes him vulnerable to the brutality and harshness of the Bolsheviks. The poems he writes constitute some of the most beautiful writing featured in the novel. (GoodReads)

Fathers and Sons - Bazarov—a gifted, impatient, and caustic young man—has journeyed from school to the home of his friend Arkady Kirsanov. But soon Bazarov’s outspoken rejection of authority and social conventions touches off quarrels, misunderstandings, and romantic entanglements that will utterly transform the Kirsanov household and reflect the changes taking place across all of nineteenth-century Russia. Fathers and Sons enraged the old and the young, reactionaries, romantics, and radicals alike when it was first published. At the same time, Turgenev won the acclaim of Flaubert, Maupassant, and Henry James for his craftsmanship as a writer and his psychological insight. Fathers and Sons is now considered one of the greatest novels of the nineteenth century. A timeless depiction of generational conflict during social upheaval, it vividly portrays the clash between the older Russian aristocracy and the youthful radicalism that foreshadowed the revolution to come—and offers modern-day readers much to reflect upon as they look around at their own tumultuous, ever changing world. (GoodReads)

Notes from Underground - A collection of powerful stories by one of the masters of Russian literature, illustrating the author's thoughts on political philosophy, religion and above all, humanity: Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead. The compelling works presented in this volume were written at distinct periods in Dostoyevsky's life, at decisive moments in his groping for a political philosophy and a religious answer. From the primitive peasant who kills without understanding that he is destroying life to the anxious antihero of Notes from Underground—who both craves and despises affection—the writer's often-tormented characters showcase his evolving outlook on our fate. Thomas Mann described Dostoyevsky as "an author whose Christian sympathy is ordinarily devoted to human misery, sin, vice, the depths of lust and crime, rather than to nobility of body and soul" and Notes from Underground as "an awe- and terror- inspiring example of this sympathy." (GoodReads)

Heart of the Dog - This satirical novel tells the story of the surgical transformation of a dog into a man, and is an obvious criticism of Soviet society, especially the new rich that arose after the Bolshevik revolution. (GoodReads)

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la-esmerqlda · 4 years ago

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Imagine “The Brothers Karamazov” but instead of fighting it out at the monastery they go on the Dr. Phil show. Just imagine.

Dr Phil: so you left your children to the servant when they were only toddlers, neglecting them

Fyodor: yes I did

Dr Phil: and do you feel that that was the wrong thing to do

Fyodor: fuck them kids bro, I’ll do it again

#dr phil #classical literature #fyodor dostoevsky #russian literature #the brothers karamazov #alyosha karamazov #dmitri karamazov #ivan karamazov #smerdyakov #fyodor #dostoevksy #I cant stop thinking about this #just fucking imagine it #modern au but it’s them on the dr Phil show

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ask-octoberotto · 3 years ago

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Had a run-in with the Chameleon earlier today. Emjay and I are still trying to travk him down, but it got me wondering. Does Earth-2 have a Dmitri Smerdyakov, as far as you're aware?

-@ask-spider-man-61610

Short answer is yes. While I only met him once, but I have heard most about him from his half-sister and fellow survivor, Sonya Kravinova. This gets a bit lengthy so I will put it in a readmore:

To establish some context about Sonya: from our short interactions, I learned she’s a former member of the BSAA (or the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance).. which seems to be the closest equivalent to an “Avengers” we have here. Which explains her aptitude for multiple types of firearms and how she seems to already be fairly familiar with conditions brought about by an Outbreak such as this. I first met her during my brief encounter with what I would learn to be her half-brother..

Now.. she didn’t disclose much about what happened (well, to be honest, she rarely discloses anything about herself to begin with), what I understand is that Sonya and Dmitri weren’t particularly close due to their very different lives they chose to follow. According to Sonya, Dmitri was a talented impressionist, and even as a young child, he showed an incredible prowess for acting. But at one point, Sonya lost all contact with him after Dmitri began his final year at a drama school in Belgium. Last she heard from him before he disappeared was that he was approached by a talent agent who was impressed by his abilities and offered him a job shortly after seeing a performance of his. After excitedly telling his family about it over the phone, he was never heard from again.

… That is until recently. Though my interactions with Dmitri were brief, I know for a fact that he is no longer who he used to be. I hypothesize that, as the Chameleon, he was specifically developed to be an infiltrator and assassin.

Unlike most, you could be forgiven if you initially saw him as a human.. or, more accurately, as someone you know and care about. The Chameleon, unlike the others, can blend far too easily in a crowd, and he is able to take on the appearance of virtually any human so long as he’s given enough visual information to achieve accuracy and precision. And due to the acting talent he was known for, he is able to successfully impersonate them with little flaws. He may be physically weaker than most B.O.W.s, he is far more devious than them and is able to use various weapons with ease.

But the most disturbing thing about him (aside from imagining what monstrous procedures had to take place in order for Dmitri to go from a regular man to the Chameleon) is how he achieves his impersonations. He is able to physically alter his size and proportions so long as they remain in the humanoid category, change the shape of his vocal chords, and restructure his facial features to match up with who he’s impersonating. However, his true appearance looks like a pale, almost skeletal looking being. This is only seen when the flesh, hair, and skin of who he’s pretending to be starts to fall off from what looks like bone underneath.

#october otto #sonya kravinova #dmitri smerdyakov #the cluster #answered #body horror tw #spiderverse #spider man au

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wretchedvulgarian · 4 years ago

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so I was going to make a fathers day post about a good dostoevsky dad but then I was like…hey wait a minute they’re all terrible (not including roman raskolnikov). therefore I’m going to judge if different dosty characters would theoretically be good dads i guess…

Razumikhin: yes, absolutely. get him a best dad ever mug already

Raskolnikov: …don’t @ me but yes. he’s very sweet with Polenka. he would, however, let his kid do things they’re way too young to do like cut up vegetables by the time they’re 3 and watch horror movies at 4. but the kid would turn out alright anyhow

Dmitri Karamazov: i think he would. he would be super scared of ending up like his father so i feel like he would overcompensate by participating in every single fatherly activity possible with his child. i imagine him having a daughter just because i think they would have a very sweet relationship

Ivan Karamazov: hhhhhh yea even if he struggles with the emotional stuff

Alyosha Karamazov: awww of course

Smerdyakov: yea no

Stavrogin: no. i think he canonically proves that

Pyotr Verkhovensky: a hard nope

Shatov: yes of course he just didn’t get the chance *screams through tears*

Kirillov: …you know…maybe after a couple therapy sessions…

Prince Myshkin: he loves kids but i just can’t really imagine it sorry

Rogozhin: gosh no

Ganya Ivolgin: ok…y’all know i got soft spot for him…so I’ll just give a solid maybe

welp…happy father’s day

#sorry it’s a little late but i had to watch luca #fyodor dostoevsky #crime and punishment #the brothers karamazov #the idiot #demons dostoevsky

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bruisedribs · 3 years ago

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soo if Janus is a superhero do they go up against any of the comics villains?

They are firmly a vigilante; no hero status for them. Doesn't stop villains of course.

There are few of Spiderman's villains that are likely to show up:

Chameleon (Dmitri Smerdyakov)

Kingpin (Wilson Fisk)

Rose (Phillip Hayes)

and besides those, I imagine there will be some original villains as well.

#marvelau

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bealight1009 · 5 years ago

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Favorite Character Post: Ivan Karamazov

Name: Ivan Fyodorvich Karamazov

Book: Brother’s Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky (Dostoevsky is one of my favorite authors)

Position: Anti-hero/Protagonist

Age: 23/24

Family: Fyodor Karamazov (Father)

Alyosha (younger brother –share the same mother)

Dimitry (older brother –share a different mother)

Smerdyakov (brother –an affair (if you could call it that) of Fyodor Karamazov)

Katerina Ivanova (object of his affection, though she pretends to love Dmitry)

Nationality: Russian

Time Period: Mid-1900s.

Favorite Quotes: “I am too young and loved you too much…you’ve been tormenting me so consciously that I am unable to forgive you at the moment. Later I shall forgive...”

“And cherry preserve? They have it here. Do you remember how you loved cherry preserve at Polenov’s when you were little?

“No one, by the way, ever died of hysterics.”

“Me, laughing? I wouldn’t want to upset my little brother who has been looking at me for three months with so much expectation.”

“Though I’m terribly fond of one Russian boy named Alyoshka.”

“My dear little brother, its not that I want to corrupt you and punish you off your foundation; perhaps I want to be healed by you.”

“It’s not that I don’t accept God, Alyosha, I must most respectfully return him the ticket.” (245)

“You little plagiarist!”

Thoughts:

Ah, Ivan Karamazov, a favorite of mine. I could write a book about him, but, for your sake, readers, I will not. Ivan Karamazov is the middle brother in The Brothers Karamazov, and it seems every literary analyst has something to say about him. His epic poem “The Grand Inquisitor” is regarded as a work of geniuses, though it bears a frightening amount of totalitarianism. Throughout the book, Ivan is troubled by the suffering in the world, and a good God. Therefore, he refuses to accept God’s world. He is a great thinker, and proposes a theory that “everything is permitted,” since God does not step in for His people. However, when someone uses Ivan's ideology to commit murder, Ivan feels responsible . Ivan is racked with such guilt that he develops brain fever. He is a tortured anti-hero. He has been classified as a villain, an atheist, and a madman, yet, he is more.

Our Ivan is a middle child. His father is Fyodor Karamazov, a man who loves to give himself up to debauchery and buffoonery. Ivan lived with this man for eight years, yet his father hardly knew he existed. Having Fyodor Pavlovich would certainly not be a blessing, and I imagine that poor little Ivan suffered emotionally while watching his father bring loose women into their home and become drunk every night. As for his mother, she was abused as a young girl and married Fyodor to escape (so their relationship certainly wasn’t healthy). When Ivan was four, she had another son, Alexi (Alyosha). Around this time, she also started having mental attacks that would leave her insane and shrieking. I think the fact that both his parents would not (or could not, in the case of his mother) care for him, is often overlooked. I mean, imagine being young and watching your father humiliate your mother, who would then lose cognitive ability and shriek. This definitely impacted Ivan –he’d need to learn to be independent, which is so sad to see in young children. Perhaps he’d feel alone; there would be no one to comfort him or protect him.

Once his mother died, he and his four year old brother were taken to live with his mother’s benefactress. Though she took them in, it seemed to be not because she wanted to, but because she felt it had to be done. For example, she called them orphans, and only allotted them 1000 rubbles a piece for all their education needs –anyone who would give them more she deemed would be “wasting their money.” Ivan old enough to hear this, and being extraordinarily intelligent, would have picked up on her disinterest in him and Alyosha. I imagine this is where his “gloomy and taciturn” nature started to form, as now not only did he not have a supportive parental figure, but he was unwanted.

However, the two brothers did have a friend, a Mr. Polenov, who, when the grouchy old woman died, took the little boys under his wing. He didn’t touch their 1,000 rubbles wanting to save it for them when they came of age. It is mentioned that Ivan realized that he would forever be indebted to this man—which might have hurt his pride a bit. One important note is, while Polenov cared for both boys, he did favor Alyosha. Ivan went off to study out of town and lived with his professors. Speaking from experience, it’s a wounding thing to know that people like your younger sibling better than you. Poor Ivan!

He did make a very successful academic career for himself at the young age of 23, which is when the Brother’s Karamazov truly starts. Ivan has returned to his father’s house to act as a mediator between the old man and Ivan’s older brother Dimitry.

Honestly, Ivan’s relationship with his father is messy. At times, Fyodor seems to like Ivan: he calls him his Karl Moor, and at times heeds his advice. However, at other times, he despises Ivan; he insults his son going even so far as to say he hated Ivan, and encouraged Alyosha to hate Ivan as well.

Ivan’s relationship with his younger brother, Alyosha, is precious, despite what their father may want. Alyosha obviously likes Ivan, he is willing to defend him in front of their father, and in front of the prideful Katya. Ivan tells Alyosha that “I have no friends,” but he wants to try to be friends with Alyosha. (Though brothers, the two haven’t seen each other for about nine years). Ivan and Alyosha philosophize with each other and care for one another. Ivan even remembers that his little brother likes cherry preserve, and says that while he (Ivan) doesn’t like Russian boys, he is terribly fond of one Russian boy named Alyoshka. Aww! (He uses the diminutive of Alyosha’s diminutive!!!)

This post has been a lot, but it barely scratches Ivan. He a neglected genius, overshadowed by his younger brother, and terribly lonely. Yet, the story ends with a bit of hope; he has Alyosha, and he has Katya, who has finally admitted her love for him. Ivan’ suffering and his intelligence, not to mention the love of mankind , make him one of my favorite character.

#Favorite Character #Brother Karamazov #Fyodor Dostoevsky #Ivan Karamazov

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incorrectlit · 6 years ago

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A comprehensive ranking of Dostoevsky’s hottest men (by me, a lesbian)

1. Nikolai Vsevolodovich Stavrogin (Demons): this man is so fucking hot he borders on being too much. Dostoevsky dedicated an like an entire page to how hot Stavrogin is. His terribleness just makes him hotter, and everyone in the book agrees with me on this. Literally everyone wants this man. Liza fucks him. Marya Timofeevna marries him. 99% sure Verkhovensky would fuck him if given the chance. Even Shatov seems like he was once gay for Stavrogin. What can I say? Stavrogin is just Like That.

2. Dmitri Fyodorovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov): THIS ONE SEEMS TO BE CONTROVERSIAL. Mitya is a military man, and god dammit I really like military dudes. They’re buff. Dmitri’s recklessness honestly just makes him MORE attractive, and his devotion to Grushenka gives him a sweet side too.

3. Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov (Crime and Punishment): ANOTHER CHARACTER DOSTOEVSKY DEDICATED AN ENTIRE PAGE TO. Raskolnikov is fucking beautiful, but he’s as breakable as fucking glass. He’d probably be tied with Stavrogin if only he took better care of himself. Instead, he lets himself starve, constantly faints, and makes terrible decisions every single time he’s given the chance. Not to mention he’s kind of a dick to everyone. He’s good-looking, but his sickliness gets in the way of his attractiveness.

4. Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov): Similar to Raskolnikov. Ivan is hot at the beginning of the novel, but his religious breakdown and descent into madness sends him spiraling, so by the end he just looks sick.

5. Pyotr Stepanovich Verkhovensky (Demons): Verkhovensky is good-looking, but something about his description holds him back from peak hotness. Probably his “pinched face” (Dostoevsky’s words, not mine). I really like the idea of him having longer hair, like in the TV series (movie? help???) I found his cunning really attractive at the beginning of the book, but by the end he was more psychotic than anything. Not an awesome look.

6. Dmitri Prokofych Razumikhin (Crime and Punishment): Okay hear me out: I always imagined Raz as being kinda scruffy and disheveled. Couple that with the fact that he’s canonically tall, and you got yourself a hottie. He’s also so incredibly sweet but also very passionate, making him the ideal partner. Too bad he’s in love with the Raskolnikovs (take your pick of which sibling).

7. Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov): Alyosha is a major cutie, but he's not exactly hot. He’s described as being tall and good-looking, but his chaste nature holds him back from his true potential. DON’T GET ME WRONG ALYOSHA IS THE SWEETEST CHARACTER HE IS MY BABY AND I LOVE HIM but I wouldn’t fuck him.

8. Lev Nikolaevich Myshkin (The Idiot): Myshkin is a fucking angel. He’s a beautiful ray of sunshine and the light of my life, but like Alyosha, he’s too pure to really be hot. Also, I always imagined him as looking thin and sickly due to his epilepsy, being kind of perpetually sick, which detracts from his looks.

9. Gavrila Ardalionovich Ivolgin (The Idiot): I see Ganya as reasonably attractive, but god he’s such a dick. If only he was nicer. Still, he takes care of himself, which is more than I can say for others on this list.

10. Evgeny Pavlovich Radomsky (The Idiot): A polite, smart, handsome friend. Unfortunately, he’s kinda boring, which makes him forgettable to me.

11. Parfyon Semyonovich Rogozhin (The Idiot): A dark, roguish lad. His passion is really what puts him up here, but I never saw him as particularly hot. The fact that he kills his girlfriend and tries to kill his best friend isn’t helping his case. Bonus points for having distinctive eyes though, even if you can’t escape his gaze.

12. Pyotr Petrovich Luzhin (Crime and Punishment): Luzhin is a dilf (minus being a dad) until he opens his mouth. Then he speaks and becomes the biggest dick in the book (which is saying something, because Svidrigailov is also in this book).

13. Alexei Nilych Kirillov (Demons): I have no real thoughts on Kirillov. He’s of average looks, I guess. A bit too edgy for my taste. I also see him as being pretty disheveled and not really taking care of himself in his depressive state, but unlike Raskolnikov and Ivan Karamazov, Kirillov doesn’t have anyone to take care of him.

14. Arkady Ivanovich Svidrigailov (Crime and Punishment): I love to hate this guy. I see him as being reasonably attractive for his age (which goes with his canon description), but he’s such a fucking creep that he will never be truly hot. Unfortunately, he’s a pedophile/rapist, which would automatically put him at the bottom of the list if this list wasn’t based on physical appearance alone.

15. Porfiry Petrovich (Crime and Punishment): A man of average looks. I see him as being a bit paunchy and looking a little older than his age, but his cunning and sense of humor make him more attractive (he’d be near the top if this list was based on personality).

16. Ivan Pavlovich Shatov (Demons): Not particularly good-looking, but made better by the fact that he can see how ludicrous Verkhovensky’s plan is.

17. The Underground Man (Notes From Underground): A complete fucking wreck. Would look better if he was maybe a little less of a wreck.

18. Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov): Disgusting old man.

19. Pavel Fyodorovich Smerdyakov (The Brothers Karamazov): get this thing away from me this instant

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karamazovposting · 1 day ago

Note

How do you imagine the characters (the brothers (Smerdyakov included), Grushenka, Katerina Ivanovna, Rakitin etc etc or as many (or less) as you can do!) to be as children or toddlers? Sorry for annoying you 😭 but I do love talking about my favorite books & characters with people who also love them ❤️

You're not annoying me at all don't worry, I'm still sick and can barely leave my bed so it's nice to have something to do other than sleeping and suffering.

Since we already know what Alyosha and Pavel were like as children I'm not getting into that, I don't think I can do better than Dostoevsky himself lmao. But I can do the others from the main cast.

I won't say much about Ivan either because I kinda already went over that in part two of my bipolar Ivan Karamazov series and also because we are told bits and pieces about some of his childhood at the very beginning of TBK, like him having figured out his family situation at a very young age and how he feels about it. This lead me to think of him as an observant and intelligent child first and foremost; also I personally imagine him as a less arrogant and less annoying (but more traumatized) version of Kolya because I swear the way they're described by other characters is so similar, the thing that I found the most striking is that they're both described as masking deep insecurity.

As for Dmitri, I think he was a sad child. I mean, he was so neglected that he walked around barefoot and Grigory himself said that if it wasn't for him poor Mitya wouldn't have had anyone to wash him and take care of him. I think his personality as an adult reflects that very well, you can see he's constantly trying to fill the void his parents left and also he was so grateful to a complete stranger for giving him hazelnuts when he was a child that he still remembered it twenty years later. Heartbreaking and I'm sorry for bringing down the mood but this is about The Brothers Karamazov let's be real none of these people are happy.

On the contrary, I like to imagine Grushenka as a happy and lively child, like one of those children that are always up to something and are always smiling and chatting. A few years ago, when I was a teenager, I had a little girl with an empty pink plastic cup toddle towards me while I was sitting on a bench in the park enjoying a sunny day, her mother was behind her and she told me her kid wanted me to taste the "coffee" she had made; she gave me the cup and I pretended to drink from it, I told her it was good and she smiled, then she and her mother walked away and went on with their day. I kinda imagine little Grushenka like that y'know, a child that likes socializing and isn't scared of the world around her. Also considering she likes to dance as an adult, it's safe to assume she danced a lot as a kid too.

I guess I'm about to get oddly specific with Katya since I imagine her as being similar to myself when I was a child because for being a self-proclaimed Ivan kinnie (it's a joke it's a joke it's a joke), I actually have a lot in common with her personality-wise. To me she was one of those kids that act genuinely older than they are, serious and a little closed off, considered to be ahead of her peers and "mature for her age" (ew). I don't like the term "gifted kid" and I especially don't like what the Internet has made out of it but I guess that's the easiest way to describe what I'm talking about and her vibes, like a bright kid that spends a lot of time alone reading and playing the piano (I have this headcanon that she plays the piano for some reason, it's just her vibes idk), but I don't imagine her as being sad at all, just quiet.

Rakitin isn't part of the main cast but we all know he was very annoying as a kid and there isn't much to say about him.

I hope this answer doesn't come off as lazy and/or rushed but I'm fighting for my life here lmao.

#sorry for the late answer but I'm seriously exhausted this flu is kicking my ass #I keep falling asleep lmao #asks

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killkaramazov · 7 months ago

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I FORGOT ABOUT THIS SBSNDBJSBSM…. we simply must imagine Smerdyakov telling Dmitry the wrong time on purpose to fuck with him

#george.txt

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illegiblewords · 5 years ago

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5 Questions for Writers!

5 Questions for Writers

I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!

Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei, and @rivenroad. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I made long answers so have a cut!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.

Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.

(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)

There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.

People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.

Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.

I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.

Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Eff.

Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.

Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.

22 - A Batman Fanfic

He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.

***

On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.

***

I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.

Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic

She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.

As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.

He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.

Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.

Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.

It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.

Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.

When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.

***

“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.

The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.

And so he followed her.

She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.

***

In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.

Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.

Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.

Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.

***

He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.

He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.

Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.

They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.

And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.

He didn’t announce his departure.

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.

Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.

The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.

Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.

Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.

Don’t…

Don’t leave me like this…

***

Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.

And another.

Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.

These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.

He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.

“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.

The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.

The Warrior lets go.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.

Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic

"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"

"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”

"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.

"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"

"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."

"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”

"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”

"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”

And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.

The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic

To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.” His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.

It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.

Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.

“What is this?”

“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.

Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.

Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.

Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.

“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”

Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.

“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.

Elidibus sits.

Emet-Selch sits.

Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.

“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.

Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.

It is a long attempt.

It lasts several moments.

The other Ascians watch.

“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”

“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”

“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.

“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”

Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.

Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.

“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”

Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.

Elidibus sighs.

Refills his own glass.

“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”

“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”

A hard stare from behind the mask.

“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”

Emet-Selch sips.

“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.

So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:

- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.

- Moonfire Faire

- Thancred

- Conversations over mulled wine

- Silvertear Lake

Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.

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oleworm · 3 years ago

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@adelukshaitan

Ivan's glasses are a child of the collective mind of fans. No one knows where it comes from, but everyone sees Ivan as a nerd, so they draw glasses ahaha. In fact, Ivan doesn't even have a description of his appearance

@enitan-does-doodles

Someone once said that since Ivan isn't described, he could technically be bald. No. 💔

Thank you all! Guess I did adopt it through fandom osmosis. I did somewhat remember that there wasn’t much about Ivan, but at the same time I expected there to be, since we do get detailed descriptions for Dmitri, Alyosha and even Smerdyakov.

About the scene where he gets mad at Smerdyakov for using glasses to read... I think that’s the reason that I believed that he was using them. It would have made sense to me that he’d get so angry if he imagined that Smerdyakov was using them to copy him!

When I read The Brothers Karamazov earlier this year I remember very clearly that it was mentioned that Ivan had glasses, but when I tried to find a reference to his appearance a Ctrl + F of the document showed nothing of the sort. Did it ever say such a thing or did I make it up? Did my brain patch it from all the lovely fanart I've seen that gives him eyeglasses of some kind? Does anybody know?

#the brothers karamazov

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

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The Brothers Make Friends

IVAN was not, however, in a separate room, but only in a place shut off by a screen, so that it was unseen by other people in the room. It was the first room from the entrance with a buffet along the wall. Waiters were continually darting to and fro in it. The only customer in the room was an old retired military man drinking tea in a corner. But there was the usual bustle going on in the other rooms of the tavern; there were shouts for the waiters, the sound of popping corks, the click of billiard balls, the drone of the organ. Alyosha knew that Ivan did not usually visit this tavern and disliked taverns in general. So he must have come here, he reflected, simply to meet Dmitri by arrangement. Yet Dmitri was not there. "Shall I order you fish, soup, or anything. You don't live on tea alone, I suppose," cried Ivan, apparently delighted at having got hold of Alyosha. He had finished dinner and was drinking tea. "Let me have soup, and tea afterwards, I am hungry," said Alyosha gaily. "And cherry jam? They have it here. You remember how you used to love cherry jam when you were little?" "You remember that? Let me have jam too, I like it still." Ivan rang for the waiter and ordered soup, jam, and tea. "I remember everything, Alyosha, I remember you till you were eleven, I was nearly fifteen. There's such a difference between fifteen and eleven that brothers are never companions at those ages. I don't know whether I was fond of you even. When I went away to Moscow for the first few years I never thought of you at all. Then, when you came to Moscow yourself, we only met once somewhere, I believe. And now I've been here more than three months, and so far we have scarcely said a word to each other. To-morrow I am going away, and I was just thinking as I sat here how I could see you to say good-bye and just then you passed." "Were you very anxious to see me, then?" "Very. I want to get to know you once for all, and I want you to know me. And then to say good-bye. I believe it's always best to get to know people just before leaving them. I've noticed how you've been looking at me these three months. There has been a continual look of expectation in your eyes, and I can't endure that. That's how it is I've kept away from you. But in the end I have learned to respect you. The little man stands firm, I thought. Though I am laughing, I am serious. You do stand firm, don't you? I like people who are firm like that whatever it is they stand by, even if they are such little fellows as you. Your expectant eyes ceased to annoy me, I grew fond of them in the end, those expectant eyes. You seem to love me for some reason, Alyosha?" "I do love you, Ivan. Dmitri says of you - Ivan is a tomb! I say of you, Ivan is a riddle. You are a riddle to me even now. But I understand something in you, and I did not understand it till this morning." "What's that?" laughed Ivan. "You won't be angry?" Alyosha laughed too. "Well?" "That you are just as young as other young men of three and twenty, that you are just a young and fresh and nice boy, green in fact! Now, have I insulted you dreadfully?" "On the contrary, I am struck by a coincidence," cried Ivan, warmly and good-humouredly. "Would you believe it that ever since that scene with her, I have thought of nothing else but my youthful greenness, and just as though you guessed that, you begin about it. Do you know I've been sitting here thinking to myself: that if I didn't believe in life, if I lost faith in the woman I love, lost faith in the order of things, were convinced, in fact, that everything is a disorderly, damnable, and perhaps devil-ridden chaos, if I were struck by every horror of man's disillusionment - still I should want to live and, having once tasted of the cup, I would not turn away from it till I had drained it! At thirty, though, I shall be sure to leave the cup, even if I've not emptied it, and turn away - where I don't know. But till I am thirty, I know that my youth will triumph over everything - every disillusionment, every disgust with life. I've asked myself many times whether there is in the world any despair that would overcome this frantic and perhaps unseemly thirst for life in me, and I've come to the conclusion that there isn't, that is till I am thirty, and then I shall lose it of myself, I fancy. Some drivelling consumptive moralists - and poets especially - often call that thirst for life base. It's a feature of the Karamazovs, it's true, that thirst for life regardless of everything; you have it no doubt too, but why is it base? The centripetal force on our planet is still fearfully strong, Alyosha. I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring. I love the blue sky, I love some people, whom one loves you know sometimes without knowing why. I love some great deeds done by men, though I've long ceased perhaps to have faith in them, yet from old habit one's heart prizes them. Here they have brought the soup for you, eat it, it will do you good. It's first-rate soup, they know how to make it here. I want to travel in Europe, Alyosha, I shall set off from here. And yet I know that I am only going to a graveyard, but it's a most precious graveyard, that's what it is! Precious are the dead that lie there, every stone over them speaks of such burning life in the past, of such passionate faith in their work, their truth, their struggle and their science, that I know I shall fall on the ground and kiss those stones and weep over them; though I'm convinced in my heart that it's long been nothing but a graveyard. And I shall not weep from despair, but simply because I shall be happy in my tears, I shall steep my soul in emotion. I love the sticky leaves in spring, the blue sky - that's all it is. It's not a matter of intellect or logic, it's loving with one's inside, with one's stomach. One loves the first strength of one's youth. Do you understand anything of my tirade, Alyosha?" Ivan laughed suddenly. "I understand too well, Ivan. One longs to love with one's inside, with one's stomach. You said that so well and I am awfully glad that you have such a longing for life," cried Alyosha. "I think everyone should love life above everything in the world." "Love life more than the meaning of it?" "Certainly, love it, regardless of logic as you say, it must be regardless of logic, and it's only then one will understand the meaning of it. I have thought so a long time. Half your work is done, Ivan, you love life, now you've only to try to do the second half and you are saved." "You are trying to save me, but perhaps I am not lost! And what does your second half mean?" "Why, one has to raise up your dead, who perhaps have not died after all. Come, let me have tea. I am so glad of our talk, Ivan." "I see you are feeling inspired. I am awfully fond of such professions de foi* from such - novices. You are a steadfast person, Alexey. Is it true that you mean to leave the monastery?" * Professions of faith. "Yes, my elder sends me out into the world." "We shall see each other then in the world. We shall meet before I am thirty, when I shall begin to turn aside from the cup. Father doesn't want to turn aside from his cup till he is seventy, he dreams of hanging on to eighty in fact, so he says. He means it only too seriously, though he is a buffoon. He stands on a firm rock, too, he stands on his sensuality though after we are thirty, indeed, there may be nothing else to stand on.... But to hang on to seventy is nasty, better only to thirty; one might retain 'a shadow of nobility' by deceiving oneself. Have you seen Dmitri to-day?" "No, but I saw Smerdyakov," and Alyosha rapidly, though minutely, described his meeting with Smerdyakov. Ivan began listening anxiously and questioned him. "But he begged me not to tell Dmitri that he had told me about him," added Alyosha. Ivan frowned and pondered. "Are you frowning on Smerdyakov's account?" asked Alyosha. "Yes, on his account. Damn him, I certainly did want to see Dmitri, but now there's no need," said Ivan reluctantly. "But are you really going so soon, brother?" "What of Dmitri and father? how will it end?" asked Alyosha anxiously. "You are always harping upon it! What have I to do with it? Am I my brother Dmitri's keeper?" Ivan snapped irritably, but then he suddenly smiled bitterly. "Cain's answer about his murdered brother, wasn't it? Perhaps that's what you're thinking at this moment? Well damn it all, I can't stay here to be their keeper, can I? I've finished what I had to do, and I am going. Do you imagine I am jealous of Dmitri, that I've been trying to steal his beautiful Katerina Ivanovna for the last three months? Nonsense, I had business of my own. I finished it. I am going. I finished it just now, you were witness." "At Katerina Ivanovna's?" "Yes, and I've released myself once for all. And after all, what have I to do with Dmitri? Dmitri doesn't come in. I had my own business to settle with Katerina Ivanovna. You know, on the contrary, that Dmitri behaved as though there was an understanding between us. I didn't ask to do it, but he solemnly handed her over to me and gave us his blessing. It's all too funny. Ah, Alyosha, if you only knew how light my heart is now! Would you believe it, I sat here eating my dinner and was nearly ordering champagne to celebrate my first hour of freedom. Tfoo! It's been going on nearly six months, and all at once I've thrown it off. I could never have guessed even yesterday, how easy it would be to put an end to it if I wanted." "You are speaking of your love, Ivan?" "Of my love, if you like. I fell in love with the young lady, I worried myself over her and she worried me. I sat watching over her... and all at once it's collapsed! I spoke this morning with inspiration, but I went away and roared with laughter. Would you believe it? Yes, it's the literal truth." "You seem very merry about it now," observed Alyosha, looking into his face, which had suddenly grown brighter. "But how could I tell that I didn't care for her a bit! Ha ha! It appears after all I didn't. And yet how she attracted me! How attractive she was just now when I made my speech! And do you know she attracts me awfully even now, yet how easy it is to leave her. Do you think I am boasting?" "No, only perhaps it wasn't love." "Alyosha," laughed Ivan, "don't make reflections about love, it's unseemly for you. How you rushed into the discussion this morning! I've forgotten to kiss you for it.... But how she tormented me! It certainly was sitting by a 'laceration.' Ah, she knew how I loved her! She loved me and not Dmitri," Ivan insisted gaily. "Her feeling for Dmitri was simply a self-laceration. All I told her just now was perfectly true, but the worst of it is, it may take her fifteen or twenty years to find out that she doesn't care for Dmitri, and loves me whom she torments, and perhaps she may never find it out at all, in spite of her lesson to-day. Well, it's better so; I can simply go away for good. By the way, how is she now? What happened after I departed?" Alyosha told him she had been hysterical, and that she was now, he heard, unconscious and delirious. "Isn't Madame Hohlakov laying it on?" "I think not." "I must find out. Nobody dies of hysterics, though. They don't matter. God gave woman hysterics as a relief. I won't go to her at all. Why push myself forward again?" "But you told her that she had never cared for you." "I did that on purpose. Alyosha, shall I call for some champagne? Let us drink to my freedom. Ah, if only you knew how glad I am!" "No, brother, we had better not drink," said Alyosha suddenly. "Besides I feel somehow depressed." "Yes, you've been depressed a long time, I've noticed it." "Have you settled to go to-morrow morning, then?" "Morning? I didn't say I should go in the morning.... But perhaps it may be the morning. Would you believe it, I dined here to-day only to avoid dining with the old man, I loathe him so. I should have left long ago, so far as he is concerned. But why are you so worried about my going away? We've plenty of time before I go, an eternity!" "If you are going away to-morrow, what do you mean by an eternity?" "But what does it matter to us?" laughed Ivan. "We've time enough for our talk, for what brought us here. Why do you look so surprised? Answer: why have we met here? To talk of my love for Katerina Ivanovna, of the old man and Dmitri? of foreign travel? of the fatal position of Russia? of the Emperor Napoleon? Is that it?" "No." "Then you know what for. It's different for other people; but we in our green youth have to settle the eternal questions first of all. That's what we care about. Young Russia is talking about nothing but the eternal questions now. just when the old folks are all taken up with practical questions. Why have you been looking at me in expectation for the last three months? To ask me, 'What do you believe, or don't you believe at all?' That's what your eyes have been meaning for these three months, haven't they?" "Perhaps so," smiled Alyosha. "You are not laughing at me, now, Ivan? "Me laughing! I don't want to wound my little brother who has been watching me with such expectation for three months. Alyosha, look straight at me! Of course, I am just such a little boy as you are, only not a novice. And what have Russian boys been doing up till now, some of them, I mean? In this stinking tavern, for instance, here, they meet and sit down in a corner. They've never met in their lives before and, when they go out of the tavern, they won't meet again for forty years. And what do they talk about in that momentary halt in the tavern? Of the eternal questions, of the existence of God and immortality. And those who do not believe in God talk of socialism or anarchism, of the transformation of all humanity on a new pattern, so that it all comes to the same, they're the same questions turned inside out. And masses, masses of the most original Russian boys do nothing but talk of the eternal questions! Isn't it so?" "Yes, for real Russians the questions of God's existence and of immortality, or, as you say, the same questions turned inside out, come first and foremost, of course, and so they should," said Alyosha, still watching his brother with the same gentle and inquiring smile. "Well, Alyosha, it's sometimes very unwise to be a Russian at all, but anything stupider than the way Russian boys spend their time one can hardly imagine. But there's one Russian boy called Alyosha I am awfully fond of." "How nicely you put that in!" Alyosha laughed suddenly. "Well, tell me where to begin, give your orders. The existence of God, eh?" "Begin where you like. You declared yesterday at father's that there was no God." Alyosha looked searchingly at his brother. "I said that yesterday at dinner on purpose to tease you and I saw your eyes glow. But now I've no objection to discussing with you, and I say so very seriously. I want to be friends with you, Alyosha, for I have no friends and want to try it. Well, only fancy, perhaps I too accept God," laughed Ivan; "that's a surprise for you, isn't it?" "Yes of course, if you are not joking now." "Joking? I was told at the elder's yesterday that I was joking. You know, dear boy, there was an old sinner in the eighteenth century who declared that, if there were no God, he would have to be invented. S'il n'existait pas Dieu, il faudrait l'inventer. And man has actually invented God. And what's strange, what would be marvellous, is not that God should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man. So holy it is, so touching, so wise and so great a credit it does to man. As for me, I've long resolved not to think whether man created God or God man. And I won't go through all the axioms laid down by Russian boys on that subject, all derived from European hypotheses; for what's a hypothesis there is an axiom with the Russian boy, and not only with the boys but with their teachers too, for our Russian professors are often just the same boys themselves. And so I omit all the hypotheses. For what are we aiming at now? I am trying to explain as quickly as possible my essential nature, that is what manner of man I am, what I believe in, and for what I hope, that's it, isn't it? And therefore I tell you that I accept God simply. But you must note this: if God exists and if He really did create the world, then, as we all know, He created it according to the geometry of Euclid and the human mind with the conception of only three dimensions in space. Yet there have been and still are geometricians and philosophers, and even some of the most distinguished, who doubt whether the whole universe, or to speak more widely, the whole of being, was only created in Euclid's geometry; they even dare to dream that two parallel lines, which according to Euclid can never meet on earth, may meet somewhere in infinity. I have come to the conclusion that, since I can't understand even that, I can't expect to understand about God. I acknowledge humbly that I have no faculty for settling such questions, I have a Euclidian earthly mind, and how could I solve problems that are not of this world? And I advise you never to think about it either, my dear Alyosha, especially about God, whether He exists or not. All such questions are utterly inappropriate for a mind created with an idea of only three dimensions. And so I accept God and am glad to, and what's more, I accept His wisdom, His purpose which are utterly beyond our ken; I believe in the underlying order and the meaning of life; I believe in the eternal harmony in which they say we shall one day be blended. I believe in the Word to Which the universe is striving, and Which Itself was 'with God,' and Which Itself is God and so on, and so on, to infinity. There are all sorts of phrases for it. I seem to be on the right path, don't I'? Yet would you believe it, in the final result I don't accept this world of God's, and, although I know it exists, I don't accept it at all. It's not that I don't accept God, you must understand, it's the world created by Him I don't and cannot accept. Let me make it plain. I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidian mind of man, that in the world's finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, of all the blood they've shed; that it will make it not only possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened with men - but thought all that may come to pass, I don't accept it. I won't accept it. Even if parallel lines do meet and I see it myself, I shall see it and say that they've met, but still I won't accept it. That's what's at the root of me, Alyosha; that's my creed. I am in earnest in what I say. I began our talk as stupidly as I could on purpose, but I've led up to my confession, for that's all you want. You didn't want to hear about God, but only to know what the brother you love lives by. And so I've told you." Ivan concluded his long tirade with marked and unexpected feeling. "And why did you begin 'as stupidly as you could'?" asked Alyosha, looking dreamily at him. "To begin with, for the sake of being Russian. Russian conversations on such subjects are always carried on inconceivably stupidly. And secondly, the stupider one is, the closer one is to reality. The stupider one is, the clearer one is. Stupidity is brief and artless, while intelligence wriggles and hides itself. Intelligence is a knave, but stupidity is honest and straight forward. I've led the conversation to my despair, and the more stupidly I have presented it, the better for me." "You will explain why you don't accept the world?" said Alyosha. "To be sure I will, it's not a secret, that's what I've been leading up to. Dear little brother, I don't want to corrupt you or to turn you from your stronghold, perhaps I want to be healed by you." Ivan smiled suddenly quite like a little gentle child. Alyosha had never seen such a smile on his face before.

#BrothersKaramazov

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