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gegengestalt · 6 months

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Thinking about Mitya and Ivan

I think a lot about the unexplored dynamic of Mitya and Ivan. There is so much potential there, yet we only have the pieces.

Imagine being Ivan and meeting your half brother for the first time. You didn't know he existed until recently, he's practically a stranger. His manners are rough, he drinks, he makes scenes, he's debauched, just like your father, who made your mother suffer. He throws around money when you have to work to sustain yourself. It saddens me, but I can understand why Ivan dislikes Mitya so much.

But Mitya is no buffoon: he holds respect for Ivan and sees him as superior to him, even if part of it comes from his own self- pity. He's not the brightest, but he appreciates education and smarts when he sees them and wants to know what's on Ivan's mind.

Mitya is most likely eager to make a connection, but the obstacle is exactly the source of the personal pain in both of them and the only thing they had in common from the beginning, their father. Ivan pushes away those he cares about, but he can't escape Mitya, who will keep seeking attention from people and taking them for granted even when he knows they don't like him. And Ivan is too proud to not put up with it. This dynamic is a goldmine.

Ivan's relationship to both Pavel and Mitya is the answer to why although his idea has not been refuted, him as a person with prejudices had his downfall. In Mitya is the bestial man who was once one of those weeping children.

Mitya, a body aware of the mind, and Ivan, a mind aware of the body, as some critics say. Mitya, who would love God from the depths of Hell, and Ivan, who returns the ticket even in the face of salvation.

Perhaps they do have more in common than they think. I believe readings of Ivan as the rational one are very reductive, when his rejection of harmony is a question of his feelings towards the suffering of the innocent. His passions are bubbling under the surface. Both grapple with the tension between their pathos in front of reality and their unexplainable love for life, they have questions about sin and salvation expressed in different ways. Ivan presents the idea that if there is no God, everything is permitted, and Dmitri echoes it as a question that receives no answer. Even when Ivan became a representation of the intelligentsia and "Westernised" himself, he knows the eternal questions still plague his mind. Mitya barely thinks about God, loving God seems natural in him, and Ivan may think about God more than anyone else.

Despite their not- so- perfect relationship, it was Ivan who in the end dragged himself to court and claimed to be the guilty one, it was Ivan who came up with an absurd plan to free Mitya, and doing so he showed that he cared more than any of Mitya's relatives, who did absolutely nothing to help him (except for Alyosha, who could at least offer emotional support). It's almost poetic: the culmination of a relationship that was damaged from the start, as "Free the monster!"

Note: Their relationship to Katerina is also an essential piece to their dynamic, something that takes even more to explore and that I hope to see more clearly in future chapters of my fic, as well as the Ivan- Mitya dynamic I talked about here.

For now this is all I'll say about them.

#the brothers karamazov #ivan karamazov #dmitri karamazov #mitya karamazov #I..... love them so much........

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la-esmerqlda · 3 years

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Ivan Karamazov’s “Mental Illness”

Let’s face it, Ivan was not having a good time throughout “The Brothers Karamazov”. But while a general analysis of his mental state would be fascinating (and is, in fact, something I plan to do int he future), I pose something different; that is, if someone, let’s say Alyosha, were to take Ivan to a mental health facility during the time period the book was set in, what would he have been diagnosed with, if anything?

So first, when does the novel take place? It has to take place, at minimum, a couple of years after 1861, when serfdom was abolished in Russia. I will keep this simply and go with mid 1800s, and if I have to specify I will use the google result, 1866.

The overall understanding of mental illness around the time of the novel was rudimentary and extremely inaccurate to what we know now. Many symptoms and conditions were grouped together; as an example, those who exhibited traits of autism would usually be diagnosed with the equivalent of “childhood schizophrenia”. There were only a handful of diagnoses given at the time, mainly, melancholia, mania, dementia, and idiocy. The latter does not apply, considering Ivan is remarked upon as an intellectual. For reference, these four categories were taken from documents from an English asylum (Russia was far behind, so I am going with the assumption that Alyosha said “fuck it” and took Ivan to a place with mental institutions). Under these three main diagnoses, there were also “subtypes” that were usually used dependent on the institution. I will refer to these as well, since they do count if they were diagnosed during the time period of the book.

To start, it must be understood that the three main diagnoses correspond to three modern diagnoses; melancholia to depression, mania to, well, mania, a component of bipolar disorder, and dementia to schizophrenia.

The general understanding of mental illness in the 19th century was, well, confusing to say the least. The emerging field of psychiatry had realized that mental illness was not, in fact, the result of demonic possession, but could not agree on the actual cause. Theories ranged from social factors, to physical diseases manifesting as a mental illness, to head trauma and an abnormal amount of stress. I like to think they’d have a field day analyzing our brain fever afflicted atheist.

Melancholia, despite appearing pretty straight forward, has a lot of different definitions and applications. And while it is most similar to what is now known as “Major Depressive Disorder”, the differences are immense. The “depression of spirits”, as it was later called, corresponded with the “depression of the body”. These are your physical symptoms of depression; slower movement, overall dejected look, change in appetite and sleep patterns, more physical pain, etc. Another point of note is that around the time of the novel, many theorized that there could be a moral cause of this disease. That is, some sort of moral distress could cause an onset of melancholia. Psychiatry ended up putting melancholia on a spectrum. It was also referred to as partial insanity, after all. At the lowest of the fall, those afflicted with melancholia would experience delusion of thought, fraught with anxiety paranoia.

Another category going along with melancholia was monomania. Now, this one interests me. Monomania is the “partial insanity of the brain, but only in regards to one area”. This in of itself sounds confusing, until you realize that it is usually referring to a person’s specific delusion; thus, in modern terms, it would probably be akin to someone in psychosis who is not schizophrenic or experiencing mania. Psychosis can also be present in depression. It is characterized by preoccupation with one idea, and importantly, does not impact the intellect of those afflicted. To simplify this, here is a quote: “a psychosis characterized by thoughts confined to one idea or group of ideas.”

And there we have it, those are the two that I have concluded Ivan is most likely to be diagnosed with: melancholia and monomania.

I guess now I should probably discuss my reasoning. Since I am attempting (with another piece) to diagnose Ivan from the DSM, I will only give rudimentary information here. His belief in his own responsibility and preoccupation with his father’s murder would most likely be classified as a delusion of obsession, or an obsession with, and so considering he is also an intellectual, they would stray away from mania and dementia. Not to mention, Ivan portrays a fairly dejected mood throughout the novel. He makes multiple references to his planning to commit suicide. He exemplifies the Russian “тоска”, which is another topic for another time (it’s a Russian specific mood of melancholy, which is a huge oversimplification of things, by the way). So that would lean towards melancholia. Now, I do not know whether these disorders could or were diagnosed in tandem. Psychiatry could have placed his psychosis as resulting from melancholia, or his dejected mood at the end of the book from monomania.

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incorrectlit · 3 years

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How the Dostoevsky Protagonists celebrate Christmas (Merry Christmas everyone!)

Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov (Crime and Punishment): Raskolnikov pretends to hate Christmas. He gives his family gifts anonymously and refuses to take credit for them. He secretly loves hanging out with his mother and Dunya and sitting by the fire on Christmas Eve, though if you accuse him of seeming happier than usual, he’ll automatically get defensive. He secretly enjoys ice skating, and all of his close friends and family know this. They always “drag” him out to go ice skating, with him complaining and dragging his feet the whole way, but once he’s on the ice, he shuts up and enjoys himself. He and Dunya can get very competitive when skating.

Dmitri Fyodorovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov): Mitya loves getting HAMMERED on Christmas. He tries to get gifts for everyone, but he usually ends up going overboard on Grushenka and falling flat for everyone else. Mitya is absolutely the life of the Christmas party, even though you’ll have to deal with his drunk ass afterwards. He’ll go to church on Christmas Day, but he’ll only stay for half an hour.

Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov): Ivan refuses to acknowledge Christmas. He never accepts Alyosha’s invitation to go to church, and he ABSOLUTELY REFUSES to go to Mitya’s party. He begrudgingly gets gifts for his brothers and Katya, although Mitya’s gift will usually be a bit backhanded. After getting together with Katya, he’ll sit and read a book by the fire while complaining about God to anyone who’ll listen.

Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov): Alyosha LOVES Christmas. He definitely goes to church for a while on Christmas Day, and he’ll even go to Mitya’s party out of politeness. Every year, he invites is brothers to church. Every year, Mitya shows up late and leaves early. Every year, Ivan declines the invitation. Alyosha definitely bakes Christmas cookies for his gang of school boys, as well as Ilyusha’s family. He’s the only Karamazov brother who will have dinner their father on Christmas Eve. Alyosha always gives the best gifts.

Lev Nikolaevich Myshkin (The Idiot): Like Alyosha, Myshkin definitely goes to church on Christmas Day. He spends Christmas with the Epanchins, but he’s never allowed to help decorate the tree (for fear of the more fragile ornaments). He always tries to give thoughtful gifts, but he occasionally misses the mark. For some reason, he thinks that hanging mistletoe everywhere is a cute holiday tradition — this has led to many awkward situations. Aglaya takes him sledding once, and he loves it. He tries to take Nastasya sledding (with Rogozhin tagging along), which ends in Nastasya refusing to sled and Rogozhin crashing into a tree.

Nikolai Vsevolodovich Stavrogin (Demons): Stavrogin’s in it for the parties. He never gets gifts for anyone, nor does he expect to be given any. Every year, he sets his mother’s gift aside and refuses to open it. He makes it his goal every year to get drunk, get into as many fights as he can, and fuck as many people as he can. He’s remarkably good at ice skating, but he’s been banned from every rink due to his constantly terrorizing the other skaters.

Pyotr Stepanovich Verkhovensky (Demons): The younger Verkhovensky uses Christmas to his advantage! He spends way too much time researching what gift every influential politician and loyal follower wants in order to ensure their loyalty. His tree is always impeccably decorated in case he needs to entertain guests. When Verkhovensky’s done shmoozing and tucking people into his back pocket for later use, he goes out with Stavrogin and occasionally acts as a wingman (not that Stavrogin cares). Verkhovensky always throws his father’s gift to him in the trash.

The Underground Man (Notes From Underground): He mopes. He’s depressing to be around, so he’s never invited anywhere, which just makes him bitter. Though, even if he was invited, he would hate every minute of the celebration.

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emrys-rusts · 3 years

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pls do pavel 15, 25 and 28 for the ask game 😩

• Who is their best friend?

I'll just say it right off the bat- Pavel doesn't have many friends, if any at all. None of the brothers have many close friends at first actually, that is in their early childhood. But as the other brothers do get their somewhat very close friends, Pavel sort of stays alone in that aspect. Untill the age of 11-12 he spends most of his time with his brothers, (because reasons I wont talk about now jsbdjd) and as he finally enters school he realises he doesn't know how to make friends. Since this is school, a place with a bunch of hormonal pre-teens, Pavels expirience isn't very pleasent. He has epilepsy (caused by severe stress in childhood I wont elaborate on) so he looks rather sickly and ridiculous under teen standards, plus his heritage which everyone knows about thanks to Grigory (fuck you dude) so he gets...bullied (He starts applying womans perfume and other stuff which doesnt help with the name calling at all but he grows to like it and decides to not give a fuck) He is also deemed as stupid, which he can't stand. He grows extremely bitter towards people and this continues on (not the bullying per-say, mostly the social distancing) untill he enters university, where he is sort of friends with Katerina but he views himself more of a tag-along sibling of Ivans, who visits Katerina a lot. Also, Ivan has a cat, Polina and they share a funny love-hate relationship but in the end they respect and might even love eachother <3

Only after he bolts out of college he meets Antoine on the literal streets who drags him into a whole another personal mess. Antoine has friends of his own who grow to like pavel quite a lot and Pavel basically gets adopted by a bunch of almost homeless university people who live the Raskolnikov lifestyle. Pavel is the rich guy amongst them, he teaches them ✨style✨. And they dont mind his constant rambling/complaining. That's around his age of 22-23, the canon timeline.

Also Antoine and Pavel are like, super huge gay just so you know yeah.

• How do they handle being complimented?

Dude he will flip you off at first as if its nothing, play the cocky bastard or when caught unexpected, like if you compliment him and you are not Alyosha, good job, he is a bit flustered and stuttery now. (He looks very pretty when flustered, the rosy blush against his pale complexion is very gender). What he will always end up doing though, is repay you with a small favour, like taking care of your flowers, playing you a song with his guitar, simply conversing with you on your favorite topic etc.

He can't take being uncivil, he is a gentleman at heart, plus he always feels extreme grattitude and has the need to repay a tenfold because of his self-worth problems. (Its yet another thing he has in common with Alyosha). The most peculiar thing is that he would sometimes forget about a time someone complimented him, but still feel as if "yes! This person deserves a nice dish today or a gardening of flowers etc." because the grattitude is impaled somewhere in the back of his mind. He won't do this just for anyone though, if you are stranger who walks up to him saying "wow your hair looks great" he'd be all "why does this fucker think I dont know that already lmao"

• Are they very political?

I wouldn't say political on personal level, he just knows A LOT of political stuff, since he and Ivan like to have the most evil big brained discussions about God, politics, nature, and existence as a whole. They especially favour the subject of God and they do of course, almost always, mix political topics with the God ones. Pavel is neutral at first, whilst Ivan does have his few opinions, but this of course changes over time in the course of the story.

#four brothers karamazov au #classical literature #fyodor dostoevsky #russian literature #the brothers karamazov #pavel karamazov #pavel smerdyakov #dmitri karamazov #ivan karamazov #alyosha karamazov

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conradoneil · 3 years

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hilarioushilarity · 4 years

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(not) lost in translation pt 1

I have been doggedly writing away at an Alexei Mashkov/Kent Parson story for the past few weeks, but it’s slow going and I just know this is going to end up being another 20K fic I have stashed away that never got finished and thus never saw the light of the day. So to keep me accountable and to boot this firmly out the door, I’m going to try post one segment every 2-3 days on tumblr until it’s complete, and then I’ll post it on AO3 after I go back and edit it. This is Part 1.

They're tied at halftime against the Aces. Seconds are ticking down on the clock and the game's almost certainly going to overtime, when Kent Parson flicks the puck towards Snowy and promptly follows it into the net. A dogpile ensues, and Tater, incandescent with rage, drags Parson out by the scruff of his neck and reams him out a little (okay, a lot).

"I know you're better than this," he sighs, as he's turning away. He says it in Russian, just to be safe, because it'd certainly earn him a chirping of a lifetime and some very confused questions if he said it in English.

He doesn't see Parson's face as he skates off.

"Dude," Poots says as they go back to the bench. "What the hell did you say to Parson? He looks like you kicked his cat."

"What? I just say he an asshole." But when he turns around, Parson is still standing on the ice, a lost look on his face.

"You'd think he's used to that," Poots jokes. "I don't know how anyone could know him and not want to at least check him everytime he opens his mouth."

"Yeah," Alexei says, trying to push the flicker of doubt in his gut away. "Of course."

***

Because here's the thing: Alexei does know Kent Parson but does not want to check him every time he opens his mouth.

***

The first time Alexei meets Kent Parson is at the draft.

His parents are there, both perfectly poised even as spotlights shine down on all of them and the chatter of foreign tongues swells around them. Mama sits stoically beside him, while further down Papa looks completely unfazed.

The napkin in his hands is steadily being shredded to pieces. He finishes one, and reaches for another.

"Alyosha," Mama says.

Alexei puts his hands back in his lap. "Sorry Mama."

The hand she puts on his shoulder is warm. "No 'sorry'. Just be calm. You will be fine."

He resists the urge to clutch at her hand. "Okay."

An assistant comes by, then, harried. "Mr Mashkov?"

"Yes?" he says, because he does know his own name.

What they say next is completely lost on Alexei. He looks helplessly at his mother, who had become workably fluent at English after her time in international competition. "He says, can Kent Parson sit with you? His family could not attend."

Oh. "Is that okay?" he asks Mama and Papa.

"Of course."

His mother nods at the assistant, who looks relieved and immediately waves someone over. Seconds later, another assistant arrives, followed by a skinny-looking boy. They're deftly ushered into the empty seat beside Alexei. The first assistant says something to the boy, who nods and says something back. Both assistants hurry off.

The boy turns to Alexei. "Hi," he says. "I'm, uh, Kent Parson," he adds, which is a bit unnecessary.

I know, Alexei thinks. Was that a weird thing to say? Probably. "Alexei Mashkov," he says instead. He gestures to his parents. "Mama. Papa."

Kent Parson looks behind him and his eyes widen. "Irina Tunicova?"

Alexei stares at him, then turns around to gauge his mother's response. His mother raises an eyebrow. "Hello, Kent Parson."

Kent gapes a little. He says, rapid-fire. Alexei's mother says something in response, then signs a napkin which she slides across to Kent. All Alexei can catch is "Thank you" and "You're welcome." Then, to Alexei's horror, he hears his name, followed by Kent's eyes flicking towards Alexei.

"Mama," Alexei says.

She waves him off. "Kent Parson says, his sister knows of me. He asked for an autograph for her."

This is not the part Alexei is interested in. He already knows his mother is amazing. "What did he say about me?"

Mama looks at him quellingly. "That you are a good player, and he has seen your stats, and that he had heard you would go early in the draft."

Oh. That was a nice thing to say. Alexei looks back at Kent, who looks like he was trying and failing to follow the conversation. "Thank you," he says. His English was atrocious, but this was one of the first things he had learnt to say.

"You're welcome," says Kent. He says something else, but Alexei just tilts his head.

"He is asking, have you been in the US for long?" his mother translates for him. She says something back to Kent, which Alexei assumes to be about how they only landed a few days ago.

The back and forth continues, Alexei volunteering information when Kent asks something Mama doesn't know the answer to already. In turn, he learns that Kent is only a few months older than him, that he grew up in a state called Minnesota, that his mother and sister couldn't make it because of sudden work and school commitments, but that they're watching the livestream and will be flying in to celebrate with Kent tomorrow, and that Kent isn't sure if he'll go first in the draft, which is ridiculous.

Alexei tells Mama this, who crinkles her nose and says something to Kent. Kent blushes a little and shrugs.

Before he can overthink it, Alexei reaches forward to take Kent's hand in his. "You good," he says. This is hopelessly inadequate, but he doesn't want to have to get Mama to say this. "Best? Team lucky to have."

Kent meets his eyes. In the dim lighting, they're a strange shade of colour - grey? Blue? - and they look almost a little liquid. Alexei blinks.

"Thank you," Kent Parson says. "Alexei."

"You're welcome." Alexei hesitates, but then the announcers are speaking overhead and the draft is starting, and the moment is gone.

#kent parson #alexei mashkov #(not) lost in translation #patater #capichewrites

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elvisausten · 3 years

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tyronehugh · 3 years

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Timothy Wepner officiating.

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try to make it up to him by rescuing him when he ends up naked and stranded in Mexico. In New York.. But by the end of 2010, China was trying harder to get along with its neighbors and Clinton's warning seemed to have done well. She made the sign of the cross several papuci de casa din pasla times to bless me on my way, sent a special blessing to Natasha, and almost shed tears when I absolutely refused to come back again that evening, unless anything special had happened at Natasha’s. 11), Steve Maddock (Oct. I told him to come in. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot.

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dfrdrtfcty · 3 years

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legal promise of marriage in writing

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rf3r3r4g · 3 years

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Show me your king

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ahahwr · 3 years

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From time to time she stopped and waved her torch at them impatiently

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for cruelly scalding, wilfully cutting out the tongue, putting out an eye, and for any other dismemberment, if proved, a fine of one hundred pounds currency only is incurred in South Carolina; that, though in all the states the wilful, deliberate and malicious murder of the slave is now directed to be punished with death, yet, as in the case of a white offender none except whites can give evidence, a conviction can seldom, if ever, take place.—Stroud’s Sketch, p. It has not happened yet, but it will.” She gazed at Ghost. By then all of Castle Black had come outside to watch. Do that, Theon thought. On three sides the pavilions of the southron lordlings who had come north with Stannis surrounded it. If you are shopping for Security Systems For Home Use, please click right through to understand more about all of our website.. This Bubnov has long been notorious for some shifty doings in the same line. No. (I may ropa golf junior add that he never once suggested that I should go with them, which, from what I know of his character, he certainly would have done . Once you know and understand each of your athletes, their strengths, weaknesses abilities and skills, then I suggest you develop an approach to coaching them. The fashion conscious female doesn't overlook the Coach name while out shopping. The style is also very classic and of a simple elegance, allowing it to kimono long femme grande taillecomplete any outfit, regardless of the situation.. Then Tormund put his warhorn to his lips and blew a blast. “Please,” Dany said, but only Missandei seemed to hear. “You see, Katya has two distant relations, cousins of some sort, called Levinka and Borinka.

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sadzcv · 3 years

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Like any boy his age

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saturatedworld · 3 years

Text

The Drumbeat of War

A final rumble of thunder and Chizuru is soaked with rain. The sky clears. The storm departs, its invitation delivered. He shrugs. “Well then.”

“War!” shouts a lamia slithering out from the now roofless cottage. “It’s finally arrived at my lil’ old home. Maybe the bigger ‘Kings will recognise me as a real full-fledged royal serpent if I can defend it.” The golden-haired youth clings on the drenched man. “You will help me, won’t you? This land you stand on doesn’t come cheap.”

“No, Tiny, I already paid the price, don’t try that now. Remember, Robin doesn’t like greedy landlords,” says Chizuru – the Fingerking gasps. “Beside, the stormcloud said we will be on the side of London – I think it’s best if we act as a neutral party. And personally, I…” He trails off. No further words come from him, but he frowns. War…

“Chizuru-han?” Aleksei, dragging his hundreds of veils along the wet ground, asks, “This doesn’t seem to be within our purview. Do you think we can refuse it?”

“Aleksei, I…” He sighs. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea to carelessly refuse Parabolan powers, and we might get caught up in it anyway.”

A man arrives at the scene. He looks like Chizuru. He walks like Chizuru. He smells like Chizuru. The only difference is how he still has both of his eyes. Aleksei flinches at the new arrival. When Chizuru himself notices and stares at his double, the second Chizuru offers a deep bow toward the group. “Hello, my apologies for the lack of calling card! I came rushing when I saw the terrible weather all the way from the Chessboard.”

Tiny hisses. “Which Chessboard?”

“None of your business, little one.” He answers with the smile of a fox. He notices the veiled man whispering to his husband. “Now, if I may introduce myself, I am you.”

“You are my reflection,” replies Chizuru.

“That is one way to put it.”

“You are myself who becomes alive on a chessboard – in a game of struggles for intelligence and power.”

“Another way to put it – did you just hear that from your husband?”

A pause, then a single phrase: “I hate you.”

The reflection shrugs. “I hate you too.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I feel compelled to fill what my other self lacks.”

“What I lack? Me? I’d prefer you gone from my sight.”

“Rich, coming from you. Well, you see, I agree! I didn’t hide from you for this long for no reason. But I’ll always be in you. I didn’t come from nothing.”

“It would be better if you weren’t in me. You’ve caused me many regrets I still hold today.”

“And leave your people with no capable leader? Don’t be ridiculous.”

As the bickering continues, Aleksei bits his lip. Is this what it’s like in his husband’s head, with his melancholic airs filtered out? He only thought that telling Chizuru about his reflection would help smooth over the conversation. He steps forward. “Okay, Chizuru-han… both, you should take a step back and—”

“Quiet, Aleksei!” “Silence, Alyosha!”

“Wait, why do you get to call him that? That’s not fair.”

“Ha? Not my fault that you are so awkward you can’t even ask your own husband about his name.”

“I’m respecting his boundary! He doesn’t even know much about himself yet.”

“Me? I’ve been calling my Alyosha that since long.”

“Your Alyosha?!”

“The one that went missing since your Alyosha lingered on this side for too long! He’s terribly shy, don’t you know?”

“Your— Well, of course I know! He can’t do much without his cover identities, but we are working on changing that.”

“...So this is what Chizuru-han thinks of me,” says Aleksei to himself.

“Sounds like he thinks you’re a helpless wallflower of some kind,” replies Tiny.

“Anyway, we are getting sidetracked too far,” says the reflection at last. “Back on topic, you have heard from the stormcloud, right? The wars of Parabola are heading toward this direction. Now be honest, do you actually wish to be involved?”

“I think of all people, you’d know the answer to that without me saying it.”

“And that’s why I’m here. You, my peace-loving self, tired of bloodshed, may stick to diplomatic and strategic works. I shall take over the reign – defend the fort and lead the campaigns. Meanwhile you can stay in this nice little cottage—” He pauses as he remembers what the storm did to the area, and makes gestures with his hand. “It will be nice again very soon, and you can keep it as a safe resting space in your fight for our cause, as it has always been.”

“...Right.” Chizuru nods; his head feels heavy. “I know you – I’ve been you. I don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you too.”

“But you’re myself who is best at this work. You won’t… you won’t sacrifice people needlessly, right?”

“‘Need’ is something that will be defined as we go, but yes.”

“I will trust that our values are not too different, so without… well, what makes me me, you should be able to reach decisions faster, and I hope that will also lead to less casualties on both sides—”

“Both sides?” The reflection scoffs, “Come on, now. This is war.”

“Yeah, d__n those savage cats!”

“Tiny, again, we will be a neutral party.”

“Yes, but I’m a Fingerking.”

“Okay, but what is this for you?” Chizuru asks his reflection again, ignoring the serpent. “What do you want, suddenly showing up now?”

The reflection shrugs again. “Well, as I said earlier, I just feel compelled to help you toward your ideal, even if my very nature is the opposite of it. I can do what you normally lack the will for. Like it or not, I’ve helped in keeping you around for this long.”

“You don’t want anything else? This sounds too good to be true.”

“What? I’m not some kind of malicious spirit that causes damage without rhyme or reason. You know it’s not in our nature to.”

“It’s exactly because it’s not in our nature that I’m concerned.”

“You got me there. Well, you said I’m you who become alive on the chessboard, right? That’s correct, and with that I’m also the part of you who was born a ruler – the king of one chessboard, if you will. And I think, in order to become an effective ruler, one needs a semblance of power. Are you following me so far?”

“Regretfully.”

“I wish to fulfill my calling as a king.”

“Do you know how much I wish to shed that shell?”

“I do. But I’m your reflection. I will be the opposite of your desire in some manner, and we complete each other that way.”

“Aleksei?” Chizuru turns toward his husband and advisor. “What do you think?”

“...I’ve heard a saying in my stay in this land: one ought to be responsible for their reflection, what your reflection does will be accounted as yours.” A sudden breeze; Aleksei’s veils flutter. He continues, “I’ve never met mine, though.”

“Wise,” says Tiny.

“Alyosha is right. You won’t be able to escape the war completely; I’m still an extension of you, after all,” says the reflection. “Actually I was expecting you to check on me at some point. That’s what I would do.”

“...Right. Right. I understand now.” Chizuru sighs. “I don’t like the idea of relying on… on you, but I will take the offer. I have enough on my plate in the Is already, and I never wanted to be part of the conflicts in this land to begin with, so…”

Chizuru trails off, but his reflection doesn’t need him to complete his words to know. “Understood. Our feelings about our methods may differ, but I won’t betray you.”

With that concluded, his fox-like smile returns to his face. “Well, thank you for your time! I’m glad it turned out to be a productive conversation.”

“If I may ask…” Aleksei raises his voice again, “Are you still looking for your Alyosha?”

That one question was enough to melt the air around the reflection into a familiar melancholy. “Perhaps I am.” He turns and walks away.

The second storm is finally gone, and Tiny has left too, both their amusement and cosy cottage no more. With just him and Aleksei left, Chizuru is finally able to relax. He leans on his husband’s shoulder, whispering, “Tired.”

“Yes. But our cottage is gone.”

“I want to go home. To London. Eat Vera’s cooking.”

“Okay. I hope our mirror is safe.”

“I want to see Camellia.”

“Okay.”

“We will get dragged into this war anyway, right? Just like today.”

“Unfortunately, we probably will.”

“Stay with me.”

“Of course.”

#chizuru nishiooji #aleksei guskov #tiny

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thegreatantonchekhov · 3 years

Text

A Trifle From Life

By Anton Chekhov

Translated by Constance Garnett

“He was absorbed in his grievance and was oblivious of the boy’s presence, as he always had been. He, a grownup, serious person, had no thought to spare for boys.“

A WELL-FED, red-cheeked young man called Nikolay Ilyitch Belyaev, of thirty-two, who was an owner of house property in Petersburg, and a devotee of the race-course, went one evening to see Olga Ivanovna Irnin, with whom he was living, or, to use his own expression, was dragging out a long, wearisome romance. And, indeed, the first interesting and enthusiastic pages of this romance had long been perused; now the pages dragged on, and still dragged on, without presenting anything new or of interest.

Not finding Olga Ivanovna at home, my hero lay down on the lounge chair and proceeded to wait for her in the drawing-room.

“Good-evening, Nikolay Ilyitch!” he heard a child’s voice. “Mother will be here directly. She has gone with Sonia to the dressmaker’s.”

Olga Ivanovna’s son, Alyosha -- a boy of eight who looked graceful and very well cared for, who was dressed like a picture, in a black velvet jacket and long black stockings -- was lying on the sofa in the same room. He was lying on a satin cushion and, evidently imitating an acrobat he had lately seen at the circus, stuck up in the air first one leg and then the other. When his elegant legs were exhausted, he brought his arms into play or jumped up impulsively and went on all fours, trying to stand with his legs in the air. All this he was doing with the utmost gravity, gasping and groaning painfully as though he regretted that God had given him such a restless body.

“Ah, good-evening, my boy,” said Belyaev. “It’s you! I did not notice you. Is your mother well?”

Alyosha, taking hold of the tip of his left toe with his right hand and falling into the most unnatural attitude, turned over, jumped up, and peeped at Belyaev from behind the big fluffy lampshade.

“What shall I say?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “In reality mother’s never well. You see, she is a woman, and women, Nikolay Ilyitch, have always something the matter with them.”

Belyaev, having nothing better to do, began watching Alyosha’s face. He had never before during the whole of his intimacy with Olga Ivanovna paid any attention to the boy, and had completely ignored his existence; the boy had been before his eyes, but he had not cared to think why he was there and what part he was playing.

In the twilight of the evening, Alyosha’s face, with his white forehead and black, unblinking eyes, unexpectedly reminded Belyaev of Olga Ivanovna as she had been during the first pages of their romance. And he felt disposed to be friendly to the boy.

“Come here, insect,” he said; “let me have a closer look at you.”

The boy jumped off the sofa and skipped up to Belyaev.

“Well,” began Nikolay Ilyitch, putting a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “How are you getting on?”

“How shall I say! We used to get on a great deal better.”

“Why?”

“It’s very simple. Sonia and I used only to learn music and reading, and now they give us French poetry to learn. Have you been shaved lately?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I see you have. Your beard is shorter. Let me touch it.... Does that hurt?”

“No.”

“Why is it that if you pull one hair it hurts, but if you pull a lot at once it doesn’t hurt a bit? Ha, ha! And, you know, it’s a pity you don’t have whiskers. Here ought to be shaved... but here at the sides the hair ought to be left. . . .”

The boy nestled up to Belyaev and began playing with his watch-chain.

“When I go to the high-school,” he said, “mother is going to buy me a watch. I shall ask her to buy me a watch-chain like this.... Wh-at a lo-ket! Father’s got a locket like that, only yours has little bars on it and his has letters.... There’s mother’s portrait in the middle of his. Father has a different sort of chain now, not made with rings, but like ribbon. . . .”

“How do you know? Do you see your father?”

“I? M’m... no... I . . .”

Alyosha blushed, and in great confusion, feeling caught in a lie, began zealously scratching the locket with his nail.... Belyaev looked steadily into his face and asked:

“Do you see your father?”

“N-no!”

“Come, speak frankly, on your honour.... I see from your face you are telling a fib. Once you’ve let a thing slip out it’s no good wriggling about it. Tell me, do you see him? Come, as a friend.”

Alyosha hesitated.

“You won’t tell mother?” he said.

“As though I should!”

“On your honour?”

“On my honour.”

“Do you swear?”

“Ah, you provoking boy! What do you take me for?”

Alyosha looked round him, then with wide-open eyes, whispered to him:

“Only, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell mother.... Don’t tell any one at all, for it is a secret. I hope to goodness mother won’t find out, or we should all catch it -- Sonia, and I, and Pelagea.... Well, listen. . . Sonia and I see father every Tuesday and Friday. When Pelagea takes us for a walk before dinner we go to the Apfel Restaurant, and there is father waiting for us.... He is always sitting in a room apart, where you know there’s a marble table and an ash-tray in the shape of a goose without a back. . . .”

“What do you do there?”

“Nothing! First we say how-do-you-do, then we all sit round the table, and father treats us with coffee and pies. You know Sonia eats the meat-pies, but I can’t endure meat-pies! I like the pies made of cabbage and eggs. We eat such a lot that we have to try hard to eat as much as we can at dinner, for fear mother should notice.”

“What do you talk about?”

“With father? About anything. He kisses us, he hugs us, tells us all sorts of amusing jokes. Do you know, he says when we are grown up he is going to take us to live with him. Sonia does not want to go, but I agree. Of course, I should miss mother; but, then, I should write her letters! It’s a queer idea, but we could come and visit her on holidays -- couldn’t we? Father says, too, that he will buy me a horse. He’s an awfully kind man! I can’t understand why mother does not ask him to come and live with us, and why she forbids us to see him. You know he loves mother very much. He is always asking us how she is and what she is doing. When she was ill he clutched his head like this, and... and kept running about. He always tells us to be obedient and respectful to her. Listen. Is it true that we are unfortunate?”

“H’m!... Why?”

“That’s what father says. ‘You are unhappy children,’ he says. It’s strange to hear him, really. ‘You are unhappy,’ he says, ‘I am unhappy, and mother’s unhappy. You must pray to God,’ he says; ‘for yourselves and for her.’ “

Alyosha let his eyes rest on a stuffed bird and sank into thought.

“So . . .” growled Belyaev. “So that’s how you are going on. You arrange meetings at restaurants. And mother does not know?”

“No-o.... How should she know? Pelagea would not tell her for anything, you know. The day before yesterday he gave us some pears. As sweet as jam! I ate two.”

“H’m!... Well, and I say . . Listen. Did father say anything about me?”

“About you? What shall I say?”

Alyosha looked searchingly into Belyaev’s face and shrugged his shoulders.

“He didn’t say anything particular.”

“For instance, what did he say?”

“You won’t be offended?”

“What next? Why, does he abuse me?”

“He doesn’t abuse you, but you know he is angry with you. He says mother’s unhappy owing to you... and that you have ruined mother. You know he is so queer! I explain to him that you are kind, that you never scold mother; but he only shakes his head.”

“So he says I have ruined her?”

“Yes; you mustn’t be offended, Nikolay Ilyitch.”

Belyaev got up, stood still a moment, and walked up and down the drawing-room.

“That’s strange and... ridiculous!” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders and smiling sarcastically. “He’s entirely to blame, and I have ruined her, eh? An innocent lamb, I must say. So he told you I ruined your mother?”

“Yes, but... you said you would not be offended, you know.”

“I am not offended, and... and it’s not your business. Why, it’s... why, it’s positively ridiculous! I have been thrust into it like a chicken in the broth, and now it seems I’m to blame!”

A ring was heard. The boy sprang up from his place and ran out. A minute later a lady came into the room with a little girl; this was Olga Ivanovna, Alyosha’s mother. Alyosha followed them in, skipping and jumping, humming aloud and waving his hands. Belyaev nodded, and went on walking up and down.

“Of course, whose fault is it if not mine?” he muttered with a snort. “He is right! He is an injured husband.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Olga Ivanovna.

“What about?... Why, just listen to the tales your lawful spouse is spreading now! It appears that I am a scoundrel and a villain, that I have ruined you and the children. All of you are unhappy, and I am the only happy one! Wonderfully, wonderfully happy!”

“I don’t understand, Nikolay. What’s the matter?”

“Why, listen to this young gentleman!” said Belyaev, pointing to Alyosha.

Alyosha flushed crimson, then turned pale, and his whole face began working with terror.

“Nikolay Ilyitch,” he said in a loud whisper. “Sh-sh!”

Olga Ivanovna looked in surprise at Alyosha, then at Belyaev, then at Alyosha again.

“Just ask him,” Belyaev went on. “Your Pelagea, like a regular fool, takes them about to restaurants and arranges meetings with their papa. But that’s not the point: the point is that their dear papa is a victim, while I’m a wretch who has broken up both your lives. . .”

“Nikolay Ilyitch,” moaned Alyosha. “Why, you promised on your word of honour!”

“Oh, get away!” said Belyaev, waving him off. “This is more important than any word of honour. It’s the hypocrisy revolts me, the lying! . . .”

“I don’t understand it,” said Olga Ivanovna, and tears glistened in her eyes. “Tell me, Alyosha,” she turned to her son. “Do you see your father?”

Alyosha did not hear her; he was looking with horror at Belyaev.

“It’s impossible,” said his mother; “I will go and question Pelagea.”

Olga Ivanovna went out.

“I say, you promised on your word of honour!” said Alyosha, trembling all over.

Belyaev dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and went on walking up and down. He was absorbed in his grievance and was oblivious of the boy’s presence, as he always had been. He, a grownup, serious person, had no thought to spare for boys. And Alyosha sat down in the corner and told Sonia with horror how he had been deceived. He was trembling, stammering, and crying. It was the first time in his life that he had been brought into such coarse contact with lying; till then he had not known that there are in the world, besides sweet pears, pies, and expensive watches, a great many things for which the language of children has no expression.

#chekhov

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ospreyarcher · 5 years

Text

More Honeytrap

Previously on Honeytrap: Honeytrap introduction There’s only one bed!/Huddling for warmth Gennady goes to Daniel’s childhood home for Christmas Gunshot wound with hurt/comfort and stoicism Daniel gets drunk as a skunk and kisses Gennady

This week in Honeytrap, we’re going back to Gennady’s first POV scene in the book, where he contemplates the honey trap mission that he has been given. It does not fill him with joy.

Content warnings for implied/referenced sexual assault, workplace sexual harassment, general consent issues, drinking (let me just blanket content warn for the whole book on this one. Everyone is going to drink a lot), the generally distressing nature of totalitarian dictatorships.

***

After Daniel left, Gennady lit his cigarette and sat for a while, watching the lowering dusk as he smoked. As a matter of fact, Daniel’s drinking habits – or non-drinking habits, more precisely – seemed liable to undermine Gennady’s mission.

Oh, not his official mission: not the investigation into the assassination attempt on Khrushchev, not that anyone expected that to turn up much of anything anyway. “Now listen, Gennady, it’s obvious what actually happened,” Stepan Pavlovich had said. “Clearly the Americans tried to assassinate our Nikita Sergeyevich but failed through poor marksmanship, and now they’re trying to cover it up.’

Gennady did not think this was at all the obvious explanation �� surely the Americans weren’t that sanguine about their chances of winning a thermonuclear war? – but it was his experience that a few decades with the intelligence services turned people’s brains to paranoid mush, so he said, “Of course, sir.”

“The only reason they’ve agreed to allow a Soviet officer on the case because they want a chance to become better acquainted with our working methods,” Stepan Pavlovich went on, exasperated. “Really, this whole idea is – ” He paused for a long moment, then said, “Well, it’s the Chairman’s idea. It’s a brilliant opportunity for us to gather some more intelligence about the FBI’s methods, as I’m sure he foresaw. See if you can’t find out anything about their secret military installations. Of course that’s mostly farther west, but still, it’s worth seeing if there is anything your American partner won’t take you to see.”

“My American partner,” echoed Gennady, his soul expanding. His American partner: Ilf to his Petrov. (Gennady had read Ilf and Petrov’s travelogue One-Storied America approximately five thousand times since he was eight.) They would drive for days on the beautiful smooth American highways, listening to American radio and stopping at diners for coffee and doughnuts, and Gennady could get to know a real American and see what they were really like once you got past the fake smiles.

But these dreams lasted only until Gennady got back to his own office, where Arkady was pacing the floor in fury over Gennady’s reassignment. “Stepan Pavlovich is trying to undermine me again,” he fumed. “A joint Soviet-American investigation? He’s trying to frame us all as American spies, I know it. He’s always poaching my best people right when I need them!”

This was the first time Gennady had heard that Arkady placed any particular value on him at all.

“Well, if Stepan Pavlovich is going to try to undermine me, then the least I can do is take advantage of this opportunity to secure a new source – something that will give me an edge over him. Honey trap the American agent for me, Gennady.”

Gennady’s hopes for the trip collapsed. He did not want to go from being pawed by Arkady to being pawed (and probably worse) by an American.

But. But. “Wouldn’t it be better to send a woman?” Gennady asked.

Arkady waved an impatient hand. “It will be fine. All men want to fuck younger men.”

Gennady shifted in his chair. He had learned that Arkady’s pronouncements, no matter how absurd, where impervious to direct attack, yet he felt he ought to temper Arkady’s expectations somehow. “I’m not sure…”

“Listen,” Arkady interrupted. “I can see why you’re worried, Gennady, it would be better if you were younger and prettier. But after all, you don’t look nearly as old as you are – that baby face.”

He reached across the desk, cupping Gennady’s cheek in his hand, and turned his face from side to side. “Make sure you shave. And get an American suit. As for the rest, you’re a naturally seductive person, Gennady, it will be all right.”

He gave Gennady’s face a quick double pat, hard enough that it was almost a slap.

So Gennady went home and got drunk and sulked, because in the first place you couldn’t imagine Ilf blackmailing Petrov, theirs was one of the great friendships of literary history and they would never betray each other. And in the second place, if the American behaved like Arkady, it would spoil this trip which had been the dream of his life since he first marveled at Ilf and Petrov’s photographs.

He could just see it, they would be driving down a black tarmac highway, with the trees arched over it and the sunlight dappling through just like the photograph – and the American would grope him over the gear shaft. He would drag Gennady into bizarre perverted capitalist sex practices. He would probably sodomize him with a Coke bottle. Unfair, unfair.

Then the drunkenness began to ebb and Gennady realized that it was all more likely to go wrong in the opposite direction: it might be impossible to seduce the American. How did you seduce a man, anyway? All Gennady had ever done was exist in Arkady’s general vicinity, and in any case Arkady had shifted his attentions instantly when Nikolai – younger and prettier – got assigned to the department.

Gennady stumbled into the bathroom to vomit. Then he opened the window to stick his head out into the early October air. By Moscow standards October in DC was hardly cool, but it cleared his head, at which point the obvious solution presented itself.

Drunkenness.

Get a man drunk enough and he would do anything: piss icicles into snow banks in negative forty degree weather, brawl with traffic cops, kiss other men. Just look at Alyosha, Gennady’s cousin Oksana’s husband, who lived with them sometimes until Oksana got fed up with him and kicked him out. Then Oksana would leave too, going back to her mother’s room in another kommunalka, or staying with a friend so Alyosha wouldn’t know where to find her.

Inevitably Alyosha would come to the door, falling down drunk and crying about Oksana, Oksana, how could he live without Oksana, falling on Gennady’s neck and sobbing into his shoulder and kissing the side of his face as Gennady explained that Oksana had gone away, and no, he didn’t know where, and “Get off me, you oaf, I don’t even look like her.”

“You taste like her,” Alyosha said once.

“Everyone tastes like eau de cologne when that’s what you’ve been drinking!”

When Grandfather was home, Gennady would pin Alyosha down and sit on him till he went to sleep. If Grandfather was elsewhere, and Alyosha had brought something drinkable (“I draw the line at furniture polish, Alyoshka”), Gennady would drink with him and let Alyosha jerk him off, because why not? After all, Gennady didn’t get to see his girlfriend Galya often, and a hand was a hand was a hand; and it kept Alyosha from wandering back out into the night and maybe drowning in two inches of filthy water in the gutter.

So, anyway, although Arkady had probably overstated the case with all men want to fuck other men, most men would at least fuck around with other men if they were drunk enough. All Gennady had to do was wait for Special Agent Daniel Hawthorne to get bombed, then sit on his lap and let nature take care of the rest. None of this groping over the gear shaft or Coke bottle business. It didn’t have to be awful. It didn’t have to be like Arkady at all.

Whatever else happened, this assignment had gotten him away from Arkady. Maybe permanently. Stepan Pavlovich had dangled the possibility of a promotion into his department.

And now Gennady was on the road, which was just as wonderful as Ilf and Petrov’s photographs, miles of smooth tarmac and friendly attendants at all the gas stations, who were happy to give you road maps and discuss directions to any place nearby. (You could tell this was a nation that had not suffered a land war in nearly a hundred years.)

And Hawthorne wasn’t a bad travel companion. Certainly not the Arkady type. Of course the man had faults: too serious about his work perhaps, impatient for results, certainly too straightforward. The attempt to gather blackmail with the strip club suggestion had been laughable, although in a way Gennady was glad that the American was trying to gather blackmail on him as well. It evened things up somehow.

And really he wasn’t as stupid as the strip club ploy would suggest. In fact, Gennady suspected the strip club was only an opening gambit designed to put Gennady’s guard down in its incompetence, and really Hawthorne meant to talk him into slandering the Soviet Union. Devious, but clever, you had to admit. The strategy played to his strengths: he was likeable, good-looking, funny, easy to talk to. Just look at the way he got the witnesses talking, just by seeming so interested in what they had to say.

Gennady didn’t really want to blackmail him.

Not that it mattered much, given that Hawthorne didn’t drink. Oh, a beer with dinner sometimes, but beer was barely even alcohol, it didn’t count. No true drinker would turn down a flask just because he didn’t happen to like the drink – when it was schnapps, which was meant for human consumption, no furniture polish!

Well, after all, that solved the Ilf-and-Petrov problem, didn’t it? If Hawthorne never got drunk enough to honey trap, then Gennady would never be in any position to betray him. Unfortunate, of course (Gennady imagined explaining this to Arkady), but after all, it would blow the whole mission to push the seduction angle too hard, and the most important thing was to find out who tried to shoot our dear Nikita Sergeyevich, wasn’t that true, Arkady Anatolyevich?

That would be altogether the best solution. Except it didn’t seem likely they would find the shooter – and if they didn’t, there’d be no promotion out of Arkady’s department. So, so, so.

So he’d just wait and see. Perhaps the knot would untie itself one way or the other. And in the meantime, he had already seen more of America than he had ever expected to see.

***

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#honeytrap #writing

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londonlovinglinguist · 5 years

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Metro: Last Light Review

I just finished Metro: Last Light and ohhhhh my god the feelings! I was a good little Ranger and managed to get the “Redemption” ending. Which left me in tears. So, here are my thoughts:

The Dark Ones Oh, boy. The little Dark One (I named him “Alyosha”) was a lovely and actually helpful companion for some really rushed and therefore not so enjoyable parts of the game. I loved his naivety and wonder, which reminded me a bit of Artyom in the beginning of Metro 2033. Idealistic, naive and curious about the world around him. I also found the Dark Ones to be not that creepy in the first game and really disliked the fact that the canon ending for Metro 2033 was the one were Artyom nuked them.

Pavel Morozov Boy, this is a hard one. I get that Pavel was designed to be likable, to make the betrayal really hurtful for the player (and therefore Artyom) but I did not expect it to work that well. Mind you, I knew he was going to betray me before I played the game (Thanks, tumblr). But it hurt. God, I loved him as a companion. With his smirk, stupid jokes, charm and (probably, probably not so) fake admiration for Artyom. His teasing on the Red Square broke my heart. I was feeling so used and angry but at the same time I wanted him back. So, well done writing this character in particular. No one but Pavel will ever have me stuck in continuous loop of “I love you but I hate you.”

Anna Now, moving on to something that was done badly: Anna (or, to be more specific: her character). First of all, I’m glad that in Metro: Exodus Anna seems to be a lovable, totally badass character who loves Artyom very much. But, during Last Light, I developed quite a strong dislike for her. The whole “rabbit” nickname was ridiculous and downright annoying. It destroyed the serious topic of killing the little Dark One. Every time she showed up I had the strong urge to roll my eyes. Her views on the Dark Ones and almost everything else were dismissive and arrogant. She reminded me of her father a lot (so, well done), whom I do not really like, either. Also, we really do not need to talk about that very weird, forced and extremely misplaced sex scene, right?! I mean, that was just cringy.

Ulman Oh, my one true Metro love. I want to know who made the decision to kill this angel off, so I can kick his/her butt! But seriously, why? Loved the beginning with him, which placed him in the role of the companion again (at least a bit). And that was that. Revolutionary idea: Let him be the kidnapped one Artyom has to save. Place him in the swamp church and let him get injured by the blast. Artyom witnesses one of his closest friends being dragged away by asshat Lesnitsky (do not fight me on this, Ulman and Artyom are totally best friends!). Of course one of the highest-ranking rangers would be leverage against Miller. No need to drag Anna into this. Artyom saves Ulman, we are spared of the weird sex scene (or get a cuddle scene for Artyom and Ulman, because they both need someone to hold them) and this extra quality time with our favorite ranger would make his death much more tragic, since the bond between the player and Ulman would have been stronger. Also, can we talk about how his death is mentioned? In the credits?! Definitely not enough. One of the main characters of the first game and we do not even witness him dying? Big no no! So, if you want to kill a character like this off, at least give the player a proper death scene.

Level design and enemies My thoughts while playing Last Light can be summarized like this: F*ck, f*ck, f*ck! I felt constantly underpowered, overwhelmed and scared. “Sundown” and “Nightfall” were stupidly frustrating because the level design was confusing but then again, it got better after I played it second time. The second part of the game felt very rushed in general which greatly overwhelmed me but then again, story-wise this fast pace makes sense. “Red Square” annoyed me because it is close to impossible to play non-lethal here (I found a video for this but was way too impatient, so I just killed them all, apart from Pavel). When it comes to the enemies, I am torn. Some of the enemies I liked (the shrimp, for example). The demons were downright annoying and more than once successfully attacked me when I was inside or under something. The mutant bear was overkill and unnecessary. The whole level was creepy and tense enough. Big Mamma was okay.

Plot I actually liked it. A lot. Replace Anna with Ulman during the kidnapping and I would call this a 10/10. With Anna it is a 9/10. God, I’m glad she seems to be an amazing character in Exodus. The Reds as the main enemy were cool and interesting enough, Korbut was a disgusting and therefore good villain. Interestingly enough I pitied Moskvin in the end, seeing him talking to a picture of his brother.

This f*cked me up Oktyabrskaya station. I mean, it was just terrible. Not in the sense of “bad” but sincerely upsetting. The sheer mass of corpses, the fire, the smoke. This really got me. I felt so disgusted and angry and helpless. Just think about it: They brought the virus there, which resulted in people dying a painful and messy death and then (because the virus was not fast enough), they just killed the survivors and infected off. Burned them alive.

Memorable moments (things that made me laugh, cry or shudder)

Khan lecturing Ulman about the dangers of smoking (Khans amused tone)

Speech of the Fuhrer after escaping the Reich prison (made me sick)

The whole airplane sequence

Pavel standing next to a tied up Artyom and not even looking in his direction while taking orders (f*ck you, Pavel)

The fisherman who gets Artyom to Venice (Lovely guy)

Teddybear

Confronting Pavel in Venice (Jesus, the tension)

Level design in the catacombs (so very eerie)

Little Dark One as a kid while talking to Miller in Polis (I think he is actually waving at the surrounding rangers)

Being dragged to safety by Ulman during the firefight (I just love this guy)

#metro last light #metro exodus #metro 2033 #review #i guess #Artyom #pavel morozov #Ulman #Khan #video games

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