#today we learn mikhail has no personality of his own

[cherriesink]

Sirius Artbook Vol 2

Here is an overview of the second and final artbook for Sirius. It’s 92 pages, just like the last one, and only has a few changes in format.

Volume Two includes vampires and some side cast.

Character bios are split between those with a full description page and those with a little blurb in the corner of setting material. 

Mikhail has 4 pages like his brother.

Iba, Ryoko, Bishop, Kershner, and Yevgraf have two pages each; Agatha, Klarwein, Larissa, Tamara, Alexei, and army hobo (because Sachi isn’t important but the bromance guy apparently is???) have only one page each.

The listed weapons are: daggers (Mikhail), handgun (Iba), katana (Ryoko), handgun (Bishop), rapier (Kershner), and wine glass (Yevgraf).

There are six pages of character drafts, all available on the designer’s twitter.

Episode 7-12 summaries get page spreads, adding episode 12′s summary that is still missing from the website.

Due to character bios, the rough keyframe section adds up to only 28 pages. The content noticeably focuses on Sato’s cuts of the rooftop fight and finale, unlike the first artbook that had a decent amount of other animators and non-action scenes. There are a few empty spaces, and overall feels less polished.

However, there are more storyboards from Ando, including one for the ED.

Interviews are exactly the same as in the first book, four pages each. The scriptwriter is absent, but apparently the producer had more control over the writing.

Not a full translation, but I’ll summarize a few points:

Takahiro Sakurai (Mikhail)

Voicing Mikhail was a fine line; he needed to be a tragic figure but not too depressing, and sound like an older brother but not too old (Sakurai is over 40 now).

But he didn't try very hard because he didn't want to overshadow Uemura.

It was decided to make the audience think “Mikhail hasn’t changed since the time he was bitten,” as he’s always fighting at the expense of himself to save Yuliy. It’s the core of his character.

Mikhail’s own feelings were less important than the movements of other characters and situations when deciding how his lines should be performed.

However, vocal expressions of age and life experience were essential. If Mikhail was honest when he was alive, then he’s contrary as a vampire, constantly struggling against Yevgraf and afraid he’ll be eliminated if he loses even a little bit.

Sakurai wonders if Yuliy is aware of the magnetism he has on other people. Staff call it his charm or humanity.

The ending might not be happy or easy to understand, but he thinks it’s convincing.

Kenjiro Tsuda (Yevgraf)

Tsuda saw Yevgraf as a fun role, someone who was suspicious but also gentlemanly. There was a tie between evil and innate characteristics, he likens it to villain-sided justice.

He was surprised when the episode 11 script revealed it spawned more from personal egotism rather than any sense of justice. He tried to compensate by swinging in the direction of “completely eccentric.”

Originally, Yevgraf’s feelings were supposed to overflow more when arguing with the elder vampires in episode 4.

He thinks Mikhail has the appeal of someone who doesn’t say the truth, since he’s an adult with complicated baggage.

The vampires’ impression was supposed to be a flowery evil, even amorous. The interviewer mentions the image of sucking blood from a beautiful woman and Tsuda agrees it’s like that.

Sirius the Jaeger felt like a foreign film to him because it was so different from mainstream anime.

Masaru Yokoyama (Soundtrack Composer)

The director originally wanted something weighty and cinematic like The Dark Knight, but Yokoyama felt it wasn’t flashy enough and would get lost under the fighting sfx, so the soundtrack’s style was rooted in Berlin techno.

He collaborated overseas on it with Julian Laping, a Berlin composer.

Even though the music was modeled after a western style, he used traditional Japanese instruments, like the shakuhachi and even chopsticks, to create a feeling of blended cultures for the Showa era.

Though most of the tracks are situational rather than character-specific, “One on One” and “Awake of Yuliy” are very much Yuliy’s themes.

Tencho was used for the suspenseful scenes, while emotional moments had a “more orthodox” style suitable for drama.

He had a hard time creating consistency within the album.

Masahiro Ando (Director) x Mitsuhito Tsuji (Producer)

Tsuji really appreciates Ando’s storyboards, calling them “100%” and “perfect.”

Ando appealed many times to have a TV series in the vein of Sword of the Stranger. He laughs and agrees when the interviewer calls that lofty/expensive, but replies that it’s important to have a high goal for oneself. Ando was more worried about finding enough staff than expenses.

The script was a trial-and-error experience.

They reaffirm the vampire element wasn’t there in the beginning, including Mikhail’s situation.

The original setting was Edo era, not early Showa era. There was also talk about doing it at the end of the Bakumatsu or Meiji, but the director felt that was too realistic and historically distracting. Early Showa was emptier and still held a whiff of romanticism.

However, this meant the setting production was difficult. Though there’s a lot of post-war materials, pre-war documents are limited. They did twice or thrice the usual amount of research to compensate.

Tsuji is conscious of overseas media, and really likes Marvel and the Avengers. He wanted to mimic Steve and Bucky’s “brotherhood” in Mikhail and Yuliy.

They talk about family being a major theme. If Yuliy thought only about “survival of the Sirius” in relation to himself, without including his father or extended family, they feel like the breadth of the work would be lost.

Ryoko was originally supposed to be bitten and turned into a vampire in ep 11, being the one beside Yuliy in the finale- not Tamara. It got cut because they thought it would detract from the brothers.

The coexistence ending is meant to be read as ambiguous whether it pertains to reality (WWII in the near future, etc) or not.

There is nothing planned after it, a.k.a. no second season.

The last section is slightly different. Instead of fully-colored background art, it consists of pencil sketches for backgrounds and objects. Most directly translated to screen, but there is an unused pedestal with flowers.

[lover-of-trash-and-people]

shadow and bone rewatch s1e6 while drinking mid-range scotch

I wish I have a face that is as unlined and pretty as Ben Barnes' when I'm 39

Arken you dirty dirty liar

the face Alek is making at his lies that he knows are lies firstly because he knows the art of lying so well and also because he can read people very well

okay Ivan is kind of a bad bitch with his smirk at Arken's lies

alek's eyes narrowing and his little smile when Arken says 'im an entertainer' bitch I love this show

*grabs hand, pulls up sleeve, and discovers Arken's hand is full of marks indicating successful passages through the fold* 'well, that is certainly entertaining' I love this man with all my heart

him screaming is so fucking hot, is that weird for me to say

Nina being the Darkling's spy is quite interesting

Ben giving the Darkling crazy eyes when Arken owns up to his guilt is so cool

also wtf is Arken a fool trying to negotiate with possibly the strongest man in the world

kind of loved the darkness literally eating him

also love Alina learning to use her powers better when she is alone than when she is with anyone else, wish we got to see the cut in this season as per the books, ah can't have everything I guess

the camera pan to Jesper's gun at his side, amazing

god Jessie is literally so beautiful I need to see her bring Alina to the peak of her power so bad

netflix you better renew this series to let the plot run to its completion

HOW THE FUCK DID THEY CAST THE CROWS SO PERFECTLY

INEJ FUCKING TREMBLING JUST THE TINIEST BIT AS SHE BOWS SLIGHTLY TO ALINA SGSHSBSJJSJSSJ MY TWO QUEENS

'And where is my Summoner?' my little Darklina heart ouchie I really wish you hadn't used and manipulated her like this Alek it was incredibly fucked up especially considering you actually caught feelings

'Ivan and I won't fail you' oh Fedyor my baby, my angel, you don't deserve what is coming

Helnik literally recreating Titanic lmao stop this is a joke

I too would jump off the raft if I came to consciousness to see a gorgeous woman with magical powers with her hand on my back

omg but why is ryevost so pretty though

'I know exactly how she felt. The King's soldiers treated me the same way... I'm not myself today.' why must you do this to me, why must you fuel my darklina soulmates agenda idiocy

I don't quite think I have a problem with the Zoya Darkling relationship as much as I have a problem with the line they chose to reveal it to use with.

my drink's over and I don't know if I should have another, considering that it's 7 am

the tenderness with which he looks at Zoya and takes her hand and then when he says 'I shall relax when I have Alina' makes me believe more that the man that is reduced to tears time and again in front of Alina could in fact be the master manipulator I know him to be

god I can't wait for Zoya's character arc

'I speak six languages, it's part of my job' why is Nina literally the fucking coolest

Alina blinding the oprichniki was so hot, I can't wait to see more of her power and her ruthlessness

I know I've said it before but good god is Jessie Mei Li gorgeous

HER LITTLE SMILE AMONGST ALL THE PANIC AS SOON AS SHE SEES MAL, THE AUDACITY OF THIS SHOW TO MAKE ME FEEL THIS WAY

THE SCORE COMING IN AT THE RIGHT MOMENT, THEIR HANDS MEETING, HER SMILE AGAIN DHDHSBSNSNSNSNAN IM IN PAIN

REALLY?! YOU'RE GONNA GO DIRECTLY FROM MALINA TO HELNIK WITH NO CONCERN FOR MY HEART?

I simply cannot get over Calahan's accent lmao it's really funny

'im not afraid of you' he says to the insanely gorgeous girl with magic

HIM HANGING HIS HEAD IN DEFEAT TO INDICATE NINA HAS MADE VALID POINTS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I CAN'T BREATHE

'You're just a man. Like all the others.' she says and then forgets her train of thought looking at him as he strips. god I love this

not sleeping all night and then scotch is not a good idea, I think

'I promise not to ravish you' 'I hate the way you talk' her hand on his chest, his hand gripping hers, my fucking heart feels like it's about to explode

good god these shooting locations and sets are so beautiful

Alina throwing the flask at Mal and Mal going 'OI!' I fucking can't, I guess I am a

simp for childhood friends to lovers, give me more of that banter and childhood friend energy, I am thriving

wow it literally seems like they took book! Mal sl*tshaming book! Alina and made show! Alina sl*tshame show! Mal, hmm, interesting

'They would have split us up!' MAL'S LITTLE SMILE AT THIS, and the 'You wrote me letters?' Mal's nod, the Malina yearning stare, the Malina hug, 'thank you for finding me' 'always. I'll always find you.' NO MALINA YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE MADE ME ABSOLUTELY FUCKING FERAL

I understand they had to split time between my ravkan babies and the crows and that is why there were several aspects that were sort of not reflected on enough but Alina's training at the Little Palace, Alina's cut, Mal's personality, a teensy bit of backstory for the crows, maybe one lockpicking scene from my boy Kaz

random note: we have far too many idols and paintings and pictures and whatnot of Hindu deities in our house apart from the specially designed temple (we are Hindus, so maybe it's not that weird but it's a little weird)

Kaz's cane is a literal star, it's so beautiful my heart wants to explode

'Why would Heleen get the Crow Club?' *literally fucking gets up and walks aways instead of answering the fucking question* I LITERALLY CAN'T BREATHE I'M LOSING MY MIND

'I know that voice' WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO MAKE ME FIGHT FOR PLATONIC SHIPS IN FANDOMS

'We won't starve' omg get you someone who packs food for you when you go on the run together hiding from your ex who wants to capture you and use your powers as a weapon against your consent

Mal looking surprised at her summoning sunlight, Alina looking cautiously at him waiting for him to disapprove or run for the hills in fear or smth like that, 'I'm sorry it took me this long to see you... But I see you now' my dumb little shipper trash heart ouch

they really said we're gonna feed you this part asian couple as the protagonists in this show in 2021 and guess what I'm eating it's really tasty I'm very satisfied as a south asian

NINA'S LITTLE SMILE WHEN MATTHIAS WAKES UP WITH HIS ARM AROUND HER

'I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me' 👀👀👀 BITCH SAID IMMA SPILL THE TEA AND THEN SHE DID

it's 8 am and guess what I'm getting another drink my parents have c*vid and are in govt qu*r*ntine centres there is nobody to supervise or stop me

I too say 'Why do you have to say things like that?' to my pretty crush when she flirts with me

Nina smiling at Matthias bragging about his conservative ways is my aesthetic

'No, it's not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall and yet, oh, there you stand.' MY FUCKING QUEEN

Matthias laughing uncontrollably at Nina saying something which isn't even that funny is a whole ass vibe

Kaz Brekker saying 'The Black General' ooh fuck yeah

YESSSS STEP OUT OF THAT CARRIAGE ALL SEXY BLACK GENERAL

isn't alcohol supposed to like kill germs? well, the amount in my system definitely will

I love my crows so much (always but this time particularly for setting that alarm in the stolen carriage)

ooh Polina recognising Inej by the knife yesss let's go writers

this Ivan Jesper showdown is all I needed from life and yet did not know about

Ivan taking off his cloak was, um, sexier than I wanted it to be

I just realised how thirsty I am going to sound in this post

'Has no one told you that keftas are Fabrikator-made and resistant to bullets, hmm?' 'Oh, I do love a challenge' LITERALLY EVERYTHING

im sorry to be pointing out flaws in a perfect show and adaptation but the line delivery on 'You robbed me of my brother, now I'll rob you of your life' from Polina was kind of weak

'You're a-' *gets knocked out with the back of a gun* LMAO we love the hints

got excited at the prospect of kaz v. zoya until I realised they will not be letting the opportunity of kaz v. darkling pass up

my goodness is Amita Suman a splendid actress

I AM NOT KIDDING WHEN I TELL YOU I SQUEALED WHEN I SAW DARKLES EMERGE OUT OF THE SHADOWS IN FRONT OF MY BABY BOY KAZ

THERE BEING ACTUAL FEAR OR ATLEAST DOUBT ON KAZ'S FACE, THE LITTLE BACK STEPS AS

THE DARKLING WALKS TOWARDS HIM, AAAAH I CAN'T

THE DARKLING STOPPING AT KAZ SAYING 'SHE FLED ON HER OWN' AND THE HINT OF TEARS THAT WE SEE IN HIS EYES

'IT WAS PRETTY CLEAR SHE WASN'T INTERESTED IN BEING A CAPTIVE ANYMORE' YOU TELL HIM, KING

*ACTUAL FUCKING TEARS IN THE DARKLING'S EYES AS THE SHADOWS APPROACH*

NOT ME YOWLING LIKE A HYENA THAT THIS CHILD OUTSMARTED THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN EXISTENCE WITH A FAKE MAGIC TRICK

'Are you sure you added enough cloves?' literally warranting a wide ass smile from my queen Alina making my entire fucking day

for some reason, no matter how much I push it from my mind, Ben Barnes dressed up as the Darkling, dancing to 'push it' keeps coming to mind, it's absolutely ridiculous

I got somehow distracted with interviews but good things came out of that as it gave my body the time for the booze to kick in

and I would just like to say that I love Leigh for all she has given me

Alina is so fucking compassionate, I have no much love for her. I can feel her guilt and her sorrow as Mal talks of Mikhail and Dubrov

don't particularly like how the stag plotline is woven in, could have been executed better

'You're afraid you might start to like me?' *flaps furs like a bird's wings in frustration*

'I DO like you' my fucking heart you idiots

the sexual tension is so palpable and the moment is so intimate I simply cannot

OMG SHE FUCKING FELL

that moment where you think he might let her fall despite having read the books and he doesn't and he tells her his name I- <3

YOU DARE TRANSITION FROM A HELNIK SCENE TO A KANEJ SCENE YOU REALLY HAVE NO MERCY FOR MY HEART HUH

people have talked about this endlessly but Freddie's little jaw tic after he says Inej because Inej is wounded and he can't physically bring himself to help her I fucking cannot

THE MUSIC PICKING UP AS KAZ LOOKS TO THE DARKLING'S CARRIAGE I CAN'T WITH THIS SHOW ANYMORE

and now for one of my favorite scenes in television and cinematic history, David Kostyk throwing a book at Jesper Fahey without even knowing who he is merely because he opens the door of his carriage and says hello to him before getting knocked out by Kaz Brekker while trying to run away

Immediately followed by another, the scene with David Kostyk raising his finger to put forward his point in front of the Darkling and the Darkling trying to let him know he doesn't have to before obliging is one of my favourite scenes in the world

also sir please stop being devastatingly attractive in your glorious appearance with your face and your black kefta and cloak because all that comes to mind is Ayesha Erotica's Emo Boy and I'm afraid that is terribly inappropriate.

'No, you look great.' *literally looks down from embarrassment or blushing* MALINA RIGHTS?

THE LOOK ON THE DARKLING'S FACE BEFORE HE SAYS 'NO ORDINARY TRACKER, NO ORDINARY GIRL' BITCH IM OUT OF BREATH

'ORPHANS OF KERAMZIN, REUNITED.' 'ADORABLE.' HE FUCKING SNEERED IRL I FUCKING CANNOT

GOD IT'S SO GOOD

[shielddrake]

Those Who Hurt You The Most Ch. 1 - Lull Before the Storm

Oh boy. So, like many others, I can't stop thinking about Psychonauts 2, and so I write fanfic for it. It's just that simple.

I usually outline a story before I start posting, but I'm outlining as I go for this one. I've got about nine chapters outlined so far, so this story will be at least that long. Suggestions for improvements and/or ideas are welcome and appreciated!

There's going to be quite a bit of family and friend interactions in here, both positive and negative, so be prepared for that.

Usual Disclaimer: I don't own the Psychonauts franchise. Also, I'm not a psychologist/psychiatrist, so I apologize in advance for anything that is inaccurate in regards to anything in those fields. I'm trying my hardest to be accurate, but I could miss things. Constructive criticism on this is also appreciated.

Lastly, spoiler alert for Psychonauts 2! You have been warned.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!

“Thank you all for coming today!” Truman Zanotto, the Grand Head of the Psychonauts, declared to the atrium of the Motherlobe. “I am pleased so many are here to celebrate the Psychonauts' twenty-first anniversary!”

“Psychonauts is old enough to drink!” Someone shouted from the crowd, bringing about a few chuckles from the rest of the agents.

Truman ignored whoever that was. “Now, we have a lot to go over tonight, and I’d like to start with going over a few advancements we’ve achieved in the past year.”

With a wave of his hand, Truman brought up a screen large behind him. It was big enough to completely cover the doors leading to the classroom, nerve center and agents’ quarters. He clapped his hands and the lights went down, allowing everyone to see the screen more clearly. Truman cleared his throat.

“First, we have Larry to thank for his work in the Telepathy Department,” he began. “His efforts have created a method to increase communication range two hundred percent…”

There was a long speech that went on for a good forty-five minutes, and to be honest Frazie tuned out most of it. While she was sure it was fascinating for the Psychonauts, and certainly for her younger brother Raz, she was not interested in hearing about this stuff. She had spent the last year in the Psychonauts’ intern program, learning a lot about her psychic powers and how to use them responsibly. But that was over and now Frazie was eager to get back home to the Aquato Family Circus on a regular basis.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Truman turned the lights of the atrium back on. Frazie blinked to help her eyes adjust.

“And now, I would like to invite our Second Head of the Psychonauts, Hollis Forsythe, to present our interns.”

There was a round of applause as Hollis took the stage, which was only a few steps higher than the center of the room. She briefly shook hands with Truman before turning her attention to the rest of the Psychonauts.

“Thank you. Now I know you’re all eager to get to socializing—”

“And food!”

Hollis paused, an annoyed expression on her face. “So I will keep this short. I would like to congratulate this year’s graduating intern class!”

As Hollis announced the names of each intern, they joined her on the stage to receive their junior agent badges. There was much more applauding and cheering this time around, possibly because a few of the interns were children of a few Psychonauts. Frazie recognized the name Mikhail Bulgakov, who not only was her fellow intern but also a friend of Raz from Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp. There was Autumn Harper, Gema Ayerbe, Sidney Marks, Barnaby Goldberg and Isaac Wright as well. Why they announced the names in non-alphabetical order was a mystery, but she wasn’t in charge and Frazie wasn’t about to question Agent Forsythe’s methods.

But finally, it came.

“And last but not least, Frazie Aquato.”

Thanking the stars that Hollis respected her request to not announce her full name, Frazie walked up to join the new junior agents. The crowd gave them a round of praise as they all took a bow together.

The noise emanating from where her family stood was particularly deafening. Frazie couldn’t keep the smile off her face at the proud expression on her parents’ faces. It had taken time, but both Augustus and Donatella had eventually (and with much prodding from her brother) had accepted her as a psychic and agreed to let her intern at the Motherlobe.

The applause slowed as they left the stage, with Hollis giving a few final claps once Frazie rejoined her family. She waited until the room was quiet again, or as quiet as it could get, before speaking again.

“Now, before we wrap up, I would like to announce a special award,” Hollis revealed, her hands behind her back. “In acknowledgment of both his achievements in the field as well as recognition as our most improved junior agent. Please give a round of applause for Razputin Aquato.”

The young man in question grinned as he walked up to the stage. Raz stood straight and proud she pinned another badge to his jacket. It was the same one he wore ever since his hazing at the beginning of his intern program a year ago. Frazie supposed that actually made it Sasha Nein’s jacket, but Raz seemed to have claimed it for his own. The older Psychonaut hadn’t asked for it back, so she wasn’t going to sweat the details.

Frazie noticed how her older brother Dion’s support was rather half-hearted. His clapping lasted only a few seconds before giving up entirely and crossing his arms over his chest. Gisu, Raz’s fellow junior agent, was whistling in celebration. She immediately stopped when she spotted Dion sulking.

“Is that really any way to congratulate your own brother?” Gisu asked. “Even Norma admits that the kid deserves it. He’s been working his butt off.”

Dion huffed. “Raz gets enough attention from everyone else. He doesn’t need me fawning over him too.”

Frazie stopped herself from slapping her only older sibling upside the head.

After that, the presentation ended and the socialization began. Most of the other Psychonauts avoided the Aquatos, as they were still quite…cautious about the circus family, to say it kindly. They accepted Raz eagerly enough after the whole Maligula incident, and Frazie as well to an extent. But the rest of the family? They were still an unknown. Frazier was sure their circus attire played a role in that too.

Among the number of cautious Psychonauts was not Hollis Forsythe. She kept to the Aquatos throughout most of the party, conversing with the occasional other agent who came up to them. Or perhaps she was supervising them to prevent another fire from breaking out. Frazie could never be certain.

“Augustus is not allowed in the Noodle Bowl after that incident,” Hollis explained to everyone. “The autumn decorations still need to be replaced.”

“I did offer to repair the painted pinecones,” Augustus protested, but only weakly. He still took responsibility for that. “And I haven’t had an incident like that since then.”

“Dad, what about the—” Mirtala started, but Augustus put a hand over her mouth.

“I don’t think the Second Head needs to know about that, Tala.”

Augustus smiled at Hollis, who rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. At least she knew he was trying. Augustus was actually one of her more enthusiastic students, as well as oldest. It was easy to see where Raz got it.

“In any case, it’s still good to see two of your children doing so well.” Hollis turned her attention back to Raz and Frazie. “Your family has produced psychics with…exceptional potential. I’m curious to see where they will go in the future.”

Frazie hummed. “Sorry Agent Forsythe, but I think I’m done with the Psychonaut thing.”

Raz spun around to look at his older sister. “What?”

“I’m going back to the circus,” Frazie explained. “I’m happy I’ve learned everything I have, but I prefer the acrobat life.”

“I thought we were going to be going on missions together,” Raz complained, giving her puppy eyes. “Two Agent Aquatos working together!”

“Raz, being a Psychonaut is your thing, not mine,” Frazie insisted.

“Come on!”

“Zip it, Raspy!” Her tone went harder as he opened his mouth to protest again.

“When do I get to join?” Queepie jumped in. Literally. He placed himself in the middle of the circle of adults and teens (and a few children) and started jumping up and down. “When’s it my turn?”

“Not for a while, young man,” Hollis answered. “You’re still too young.”

“How young is too young?” Queepie asked.

“How old are you?”

“Seven.”

“That young.”

“But Raz was ten when he became a Psychonaut!”

Raz’s eyes widened. Was his little brother trying to take the title of Youngest Psychonaut Ever from him?

“Your brother was an intern first, and there were…extenuating circumstances.” Hollis glanced at Raz out of the corner of her eye, and Raz tried to keep the grimace off his face. He knew very well what she was referring to. “An exception I’m not willing to make again.”

“You’ll be doing this soon enough, Son,” Augustus reassured him.

“There are enough Psychonauts in my family as it is,” Donatella declared, speaking up for the first time in the conversation. Frazie found this surprising since her mother was usually the most outspoken person in the room. She suspected it had to do with trying to keep the peace between her and Hollis. “Remember, we still have a show next week, Razputin. If your psychic business makes you late..."

She let her sentence trail off at the warning.

“I remember, Mom,” Raz said with a smile. He’d been doing all right balancing being a Psychonaut and performing in the Aquato Family Circus. Of course, having access to the Psychonauts’ jet made it much easier. “Next Sunday.”

"And don't forget to practice in the meantime!"

"I know, Mom!"

Donatello chuckled. “I hope so, Pootie.”

Raz somehow managed to keep the groan from escaping his mouth at the nickname. Dion, on the other hand, grunted and had to bite his tongue.

Two older guests walked up to the already rather large group. One stood far above everyone, lean as a sapling. The other was her opposite, being very short and barely taller than Raz himself. It never ceased to amuse Raz at their contrary appearances but not contrary personalities. They complimented each other perfectly.

“Congratulations on the award, Razputin,” Cassie said, giving the young man a hug. “If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

“Yes. Well done, young man,” Compton added. “I must say I’m rather impressed at the progress you’ve made in only a year.”

“Well,” Raz dragged out. “I’ve had some pretty awesome teachers.”

“Brownnoser,” came the voice of Raz’s (Sort of? Maybe?) girlfriend Lili, standing with her father Truman as she gave him a small punch in the shoulder. “You can brag about it more after you’ve perfected the Clairvoyance Jump of yours.”

“Clairvoyance Jump?” Truman inquired. Raz’s cheeks went a little pink.

“It’s a technique I’m working on that I started figuring out at the Rhombus of Ruin,” the acrobat described. “It allows for long-distance Clairvoyance through several brains in a row.”

“I’ve heard of some psychics doing that, but I don’t believe it’s been perfected into a teachable power yet,” Truman acknowledged. “It’s wonderful to see a young psychic working so hard to advance our knowledge.”

“That’s my boy,” Augustus said, rubbing Raz's hair with pride while his wife looked a little exasperated.

Donatella still hadn’t said much during the party, other than her pestering Raz about the future show. Frazie was starting to wonder if her mother was feeling ill. She did spot Donatella giving Hollis a few displeased looks, and according to Raz the two of them didn’t get along very well. Was she trying to keep the peace by keeping her mouth shut around Agent Forsythe? That didn’t seem much like their incredibly outspoken and extroverted mother.

This concern did not distract Frazie enough that she didn’t spot the small cheek kiss Lili gave Raz once Truman had turned his back. She held back a giggle at her brother's flush.

There was a sudden silence in the entire atrium. Raz raised his head to look around to see if he could find the cause, his mind immediately going to a possible threat. His guard went down when he saw exactly the cause of the Psychonauts staring at the entrance. Many of them dropped their jaws open.

Bob Zanotto stood there with a small, nervous grin. He appeared to have gotten around to at least trimming his beard, making him look not quite so old. He finally replaced his broken glasses, making his eyes look larger. He also looked like he had lost a little bit of weight, and he smelled much cleaner than Raz remembered. Raz’s eyes moved down Bob’s arm to his hand, which he kept enveloped by another.

That hand then led up to the arm of none other than Helmut Fullbear. He looked much like he did when Raz had recovered his mind from Otto’s lab. His coat was still as extravagant as ever, and he cut his hair ever so slightly. His namesake sat on his head, looking freshly polished.

Raz ran up to them. “Bob! Helmut! You found your body!”

“It certainly took long enough,” Helmut joked. He gave Bob’s hand a squeezed and the two continued into the main area of the atrium. Helmut's legs wobbled a bit in his stride. “And I’m still getting used to having my body back.”

“Brain re-integration going okay?”

“As good as it can be.”

“Bob! You’re looking well!” Cassie shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. She gave him a tight hug. “I haven’t seen you look this good in years!”

“Well, turns out that spending months digging in a frozen lake is good exercise,” Bob jested, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lost a bit of weight doing that.”

“Honey, you are perfect as you are, but we’re still getting you that treadmill,” Helmut teased. “I worry about your cholesterol at our age.”

The group laughed at the teasing until a stuttered cough rang out through the still-silent room. Truman slowly walked up to his uncle, looking more embarrassed than Raz had ever seen Lili’s father look. He waited until Bob finally walked over to him and slowly embraced his nephew. Truman immediately returned it, gripping the older man’s back with tight fingers.

“I’m so sorry.” Raz was only able to make out the whisper Bob said to Truman.

Truman shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I should have done more. I’m just happy you’re doing so much better.”

“Every day is a challenge, but I am doing better.” Bob released his nephew as Helmut walked up to them, and he and Truman firmly shook hands.

With that, the tension in the room dispersed. Everyone returned to their own conversations, which no doubt going to turn into gossip before the night was over.

The part continued, and Raz eventually made his way over to the buffet table. He could practically hear his mother’s voice telling him to eat something healthy and full of protein before he stuffed himself with candy or chocolate. As he was about to reach for the famous honey pepper boar bacon, Helmut walked up to him, followed by his father. Raz’s cheeks hurt from the smile that spread across his face. This was a night of joy, to be certain.

“Helmut! You’ve got to have this bacon!” he announced. He immediately tried to take it back. “But, uh, maybe a small amount at first?”

Helmut let out a big laugh. “Razputin, my boy, you have quite the heart. But I’m actually here for another reason.”

“Huh? And what’s that?”

“There’s someone else who wants to talk to you.” Helmut gestured to Augustus. “Both of you. A couple of someones actually. They’re outside by Otto’s lab.”

Raz glanced at his dad, who shrugged, looking as confused as he felt. Helmut returned to Bob’s side as father and son left the Motherlode. They hopped across the floating platforms to the building housing Otto’s lab. Even now, Raz felt a little uneasy going there, knowing that the inventor kept a vault full of deceased agents’ brains there. And the idea that Otto thought Raz’s brain would one day be in there as well…Ew.

Raz didn’t think twice about that though once he saw Ford Cruller and Lucrecia Mux, his Nona, holding hands. Both of them looked a little nervous, but they did manage to smile as the two other psychics approached.

“Nona! Ford!” Raz sprinted forward to grab Nona in a tight but still gentle hug. She patted the back of his head in response, closing her eyes as she felt her grandnephew in her arms again. Raz gave her one last squeeze before grabbing Ford around the waist. “I didn’t know if you were coming or not!”

“Sorry we’re a little late,” Ford said. “Lucy was taking her time doing her hair.”

“Oh hush, Crully,” Lucy teased back. “I had to spend half an hour convincing you to come at all. Don’t go blaming me.”

Augustus was keeping his distance, glancing back and forth between the ground and the couple. Raz watched his father with concern, knowing he still had a little trouble in regards to how Ford had modified his memories against his will as a child. Augustus had spent the last year on-and-off with the Psychonauts and their available therapists to come to terms with this and what transpired a year ago. Or at least that’s what Augustus told his family. Raz really wasn’t sure what kind of progress he had made, and he didn’t want to push the topic if his dad wasn’t up to it.

The one who finally broke the silence was Ford. He walked over to Augustus, followed closely by Lucy and Raz, and he bowed his head to the younger man.

“Augustus, I haven’t had the chance, or really the courage, to talk to you before now,” he began. He took a deep breath. “But I guess it’s better late than never to say how sorry I am—”

“Ford Cruller.” Augustus put his hand on the old man’s shoulder, prompting Ford to meet his gaze. “I have been through the gamut of emotions over the last year. I've been angry, sad, disappointed, confused, disgusted…and a lot of other things. But I have learned one very important thing: There is no point staying angry with someone who hurt you, especially if they show regret for it. It keeps bringing up old wounds when we should be able to move forward.”

Augustus put his hand forward, and Ford hesitated for a single moment before shaking it with his own. They both let out a breath that Raz was sure neither knew they were holding. Augustus then moved on to Lucy, who had stayed behind to let Ford have his say first. He didn’t even pause in kneeling and hugging her. After a moment of the two embracing each other, Augustus pulled away with a smile.

“Lucy, you may be my aunt, but the memories we made together when you were my mother, or my acting mother, were real,” he described. “You're my aunt-mother, and nothing will change that.”

The tears finally started falling from Lucrecia’s eyes, and she buried her face in her nephew’s chest. Ford hugged her from the other side, with one hand on Augustus’ back. Raz wiped away his own tears, and was taken aback when a telekinesis hand grabbed him and placed him smack in the middle of the family hug. Augustus released his son and grabbed his with his physical hand, not letting go of his family.

Once the four psychics had their fill of hugs, Raz jumped in front of Lucy.

“Nona! I have something really cool to show you!”

“Is it that…you know?” Augustus probed mysteriously.

Raz grinned. “Yup.”

“What’s that?” Ford asked.

“I’ve been practicing with Lizzie on this a lot, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” Raz headed to the edge of the platform. “Watch this!”

“Stay away from the—” Lucy began, out of habit, but stopped when Raz jumped over the edge and into the small lake below.

Or rather, he would have landed in the water if the Hand of Galochio hadn’t sprung up and held him in place. Raz did a couple of tumbles and flips with the Hand, followed by a matching handstand and handstand walk over the water, with flourishes of water sprays and streams going all over the place at the same time. He ended his little show a bit of juggling of small balls of water, which exploded into rain with a clap of his hands.

The three adults applauded as Raz gave a bow and used the water to step back down to the dock. He was wringing his hands as he returned to Lucy.

“Whatcha think?”

“That was amazing, Pootie!” she praised.

“A showstopper for certain!” Ford added.

Augustus patted his son’s shoulder. “He’s been working on that show for weeks.”

“You’ve obviously worked hard on it,” Lucy said. “How many hours a week?”

“Um, a lot?” Raz answered with a crooked smile. “I didn’t keep track.”

“It’s comforting to see you using water again,” she continued. “But remember how dangerous it can be, Razputin.”

The preteen nodded. “I know, Nona. I just don’t want water to be a bad part of our lives anymore.”

“We're all performing a few water acts in the circus now,” Augustus informed them. “Would you like to come see? We have a show next week.”

“It would be wonderful to see the family perform again.” Lucy looked up at her elderly boyfriend. “What do you think, Crully?”

“You don’t think they’d mind if I came?” Ford asked.

“Of course not!” Raz asserted. “I know mom’s been wondering about you. And Tala and Queepie have been asking about Nona a lot. They miss you.”

“We better not disappoint them then,” Lucy conceded.

“Even better, let’s go back inside. I think it’s about time our Nona formally introduced her boyfriend to the family,” Augustus teased. “By the way, Ford, we need to have a talk about your intensions towards my aunt-mother.”

“Gussy!” Lucy gave her nephew-son a pretend scandalous expression.

Raz groaned and rolled his eyes. “Now I know where he gets it from.”

Ford levitated the adults over the water back to the Motherlobe, while Raz did a few hops with the Hand of Galochio to join them. As they did so, a figure kept to the shadows as he turned off his psychic invisibility. He kept an eye on Razputin as he watched the boy return to the Psychonauts’ party. The figure bit his tongue to keep quiet until he was sure the psychics were out of both hearing and telepathy range. One he was sure they were, he put his fingers up to his temple.

“Minister, I have news to report,” he telepathically called. “I think you’ll be very interested to hear about this."

[hankwritten]

Litany

Gen, 2k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 1: Flag

“And what is the meaning of these?”

It was a good idea not to make Miss Helen pissy. She was the Boss around here, and not in the way Miss Pauling was the boss, but like the Boss with a capital B. I wasn’t exactly sure if she owned the building, or maybe the company, or maybe she was just our lawyer so we shouldn’t tee her off because of that, but the way Dell had explained it making her mad was a good way to have your desk packed by the end of the day.

So, I’d have to be very delicate about this. “They’re pins, Miss Helen,” I explained extremely politely. “It’s the first day of Pride Month; I thought everyone could do with a little company spirit!”

“Spirit?” The T on the end of the word popped like a firecracker. Miss Helen could make nice words like spirit or rainbows sound like she was actually saying dog doody. “And how exactly do these pins make you…prideful?”

“They’re fun!”

When she didn’t react, I at first assumed it was because she couldn’t hear me so well through my respirator, but then I considered what I knew about her and wondered maybe she simply didn’t know what fun was.

“Look,” I said, placing one in the palm of her hand. “It has a flag on it! I was thinking as people are coming in during the day, they can pick them out and wear them if they want to, just to show off a little color. See? This one is the bigender flag.”

She held it up and examined it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. “And you find this…fun?

“Yeah!”

She waited, as though expecting the fun to start radiating out of the pin like a hand warmer. “…You certainly have quite a few of these.”

It was true. Along with the usual lollipops and stickers I kept at the front desk (the former being exclusively for clients and never-ever for sneaking myself one, no siree), the scattering of buttons took up a good chunk of counter space, with as many varieties as I could find. I didn’t want anyone to feel left out, so I’d just kept on printing until I had over three dozen.

“Very well,” Miss Helen said finally. “If it is good for company spirit.”

I clapped my hands in delight, glad the party wasn’t going to get shut down before it even started. So palpable was my relief, I didn’t even notice that Miss Helen hadn’t given the button back.

I didn’t have time to worry about it though, since just then Dr. Ludwig came in through the glass doors. He was normally the first one after me, as he always liked to get an early start down in the lab, and we’d developed a morning routine as fellow early birds.

“Dr. Ludwig!” I said, waving my hand, partly to get his attention and partly to show off the new gloves Dell had gotten me. The rubber ones had been so hard to type in, but these were nice and concealing as well as colorful. “Happy Pride Month! Do you want a pin?”

“Guten Morgen,” he greeted warmly. “Ah, buttons?” He picked up the closest one. “Pride buttons, I see.”

“Here you go!” I said, shoving a bi pin in his general direction since he’d shown interest.

But, to my surprise, he didn’t take it immediately. “Ehrm…” he said, staring down at the circle of metal.

“…Is this not the right one?” I withdrew my hand. Was I misremembering? “I’m so sorry, I guess I forgot…”

“No, no I did say that, didn’t I.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending its usual prim style haywire. “It is just…” He coughed lightly into his fist. “…Would you allow me to confide with you for a moment?”

Immediately, I pulled out the spare footstool I kept behind the counter, patting it as Dr. Ludwig came through the counter doors and took a seat. Our early morning chats were normally something to look forward to, shared over a donut or coffee he’d brought into the office, but today he just seemed run down. As he tucked his heels onto the stool’s crossbar, he rubbed his face.

“You know I am not as…up on all of this as some of your generation, ja?” he began.

“Millennials scare you,” I nodded, pulling my legs into my swivel chair.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” he huffed. “It is…well when we had our first conversations, and it was explained to me, it seemed to fit. At the time. Having to reconcile beginning a relationship with Mikhail when I still was not quite over Frida, nor really sure why things had fallen apart with us there.”

I remembered. “At the time? But not anymore?”

He sighed, ruffling his hair even more. “Now…now I am not so sure. Being with Mikhail is…quite different than any of the thirty years Frida and I spent together. I am starting to wonder if it was more just that I held extreme affection for her, and I was inexperienced enough that I was able to mistake it for attraction.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I thought I was so in love with her, and that’s why I never even looked at another woman. Töricht.”

“I don’t think that’s dumb,” I shook my head. “Everybody’s learning new things all the time. You can’t be expected to have everything sorted right after coming out.”

“Yes, I suppose,” he said. “But I still feel…guilty I think. Several of our coworkers are proudly attracted to both men and women, and I am aware that treating such a label as a ‘phase’ is a crude stereotype they have to deal with. I’d rather not have anyone think I was making a mockery of them.”

“It’s not a stereotype if that’s what’s really happening.” I patted him on the shoulder. “No one’s going to see it like that. If you think that’s where your journey is taking you, then there’s no shame coming out a second time.”

Dr. Ludwig responded to my words with a hopeful, if not entirely convinced, look behind his spectacles.

“Here,” I said, handing him both a bi and a gay pin. “You don’t have to wear either of them, this is just for fun after all! But if you change your mind…”

He looked at the two pins in his hand, then smiled tiredly up at me. “…Thank you mein friend. You are always helpful to talk to.”

“I try to be!”

After a few more assurances, the Doctor did eventually leave for the lab. Right on his coattails, Dell and Marcel came through the front door.

“Hey there, firebug,” Dell greeted. “What are you gettin’ up to here?”

I gave the quick rundown, pulling my shirt to highlight my own pin since I’d forgotten to show it off to my first two customers. “Pick any one you like!”

“Bear in mind I am saying this as a queer person,” Marcel said, sniffing down at the massive mound of multicolored circles, “this is all quite tacky.”

“Aw, learn how to have some fun, Spook,” Dell said, elbowing him in the side. To show him up, he claimed a pansexual pin for himself, and shot me a wink.

Marcel did nothing but sniff; but, when he thought no one was looking, I saw him discreetly sneak one of the pins off the counter as he left.

After that, the morning’s influx picked up too much to greet every person individually, but during lunch people saw fit to swing by and check things out again.

“Hi buddy!” Miss Pauling greeted. “I heard you were giving out Pride pins and wanted to see if- why are there so many lesbian ones?”

“Well!” I said, ecstatic to launch into an information dump. “The oldest of these is actually the ‘lipstick lesbian’ flag which, in absence of a more generic one, was used without the kiss mark in the corner. The one with the orange stripes wasn’t created until 2018, to be more inclusive all different lesbian groups.”

“Okay, but why does this one have an axe on it?”

“That’s the labrys!” I took the purple and black pin from her hand, pointing as I described, “the double bearded axe was used by the Amazons in Greek myth, and reappropriated in 1999 for its symbolism in female empowerment.”

“Wow,” she blinked down at the five different designs. “That’s really cool, except for the fact I have no idea how to use an axe.”

“I bet Tavish could teach you, he loves his Skullcutter.”

“…I’ll think about it. I’ll just take this one for now.” She picked up the orange five-stripe variation and pinned it to her purple shirt.

“Looks good!”

“Thanks!” she grinned. “And it was really nice of you to do this.”

“Honestly, the pleasure’s all mine. I just like seeing everyone happy.”

And everyone was! At least it sure seemed that way, even if it was kind of hard to tell with Mikhail. After lunch, he lumbered past my desk, picked out a gay pin, and put it on without so much as a smile. I took the muted grunt to be that of satisfaction

Tavish was next, dropping off half a roast beef sandwich since I’d forgotten to eat today, and instantly becoming my favorite person. While I was chowing down, he swiped two trans and two bi pins from my collection.

“Wadda you need two of each for?” I asked, quite a feat with my mouth full of roast beef and my respirator hanging halfway around my chin.

“Haven’t you heard?” Tavish asked with a raise of his eyebrow. “They just dropped a new identity: double bi. It’s twice as potent as regular bisexuality.”

I tilted my head, blinking perplexedly from behind my lenses.

“Ah, just a joke duck,” he assured. “The spares are for the husband.”

“Oh, right.” I swallowed down my mouthful. “I actually haven’t seen Jane at all today?”

“Ach, he came in earlier than you. Left at five this morning.”

“What? How?” I shook my head. “I’m the one who unlocks the doors.”

“Said he was tired of waiting for your ‘lazy, unpatriotic behind’ to start the day at seven. His words, not mine.” Tavish smiled apologetically. “He broke into one of the lab side doors.”

“…I bet Mikhail had something to say about that.”

He sighed. “That he did. They’ve been at it for hours. If there’s another office-wide prank war tomorrow, you’ll know why.”

Oh no. That’s how we lost our last two coffee makers, and our last seven office hamsters. Tavish assured me that it wouldn’t get out of hand, but by the time Mick showed up near the end of the day, my mood was somewhat dampened.

“Everything alroight, Campfire?” he asked me. “Ya look glum.”

“Just thinking about the impending damage to all those nice posters I put up in the breakroom,” I said sadly. “But! If you’ve come here to pick out a pin, that might cheer me up a bit.”

Mick chuckled in that cute little way of his, and already I was smiling. “Might have.”

We were close enough that I was ninety-five percent certain which one he wanted, but I’d learned my lesson with Dr. Ludwig and didn’t try to pick it out for him. Still, I let myself entertain a self-satisfied grin as he picked up the aroace flag.

“Hey uh,” I said. “If that’s the one you like, and uh…since I know you’re into archery…”

Carefully, I opened one of my drawers and extracted the special pin I’d made earlier, Mick watching me curiously all the while.

“Someone on the internet made this design,” I explained. “It’s for an aroace, arrow-ace!”

The flag was blacked out in several places to make a bow and arrow shape, and Mick grinned as he took it from my glove. “Clever.”

“Do you like it?” I asked hesitantly.

“Well, let’s see.” He pinned it to his vest. “Looks pretty good ta me.”

I couldn’t keep my stomach from doing a little flip at that. When Dell showed up, the last to leave the office for the day, he could tell I was smiling even through the mask.

“Everything go well, partner?” he chuckled. “You look pleased as punch.”

“Everything went great! Even Scout came by, although all he did was say ‘hey, free crap!’ and dumped a bunch of pins into his pocket.”

“I’m glad to hear the attempt at company spirit was a success,” a voice from behind Dell said, making us both jump. Miss Helen emerged from the shadows, her purple jacket an entire mass of pride pins, nearly one of every kind. When had she gotten all those? Had she been paying Marcel to sneak them out while I wasn’t looking? “A happy work environment is a productive work environment, as I always say. Well done, secretary.”

“Can’t remember you ever saying that, ma’am,” Dell admitted blandly.

“…Why do you have so many?” I asked.

“These are…fun…are they not?” she sniffed. “I am having…fun.”

Huh. Maybe this is just what she looked like when she was having a good time. I shrugged. “Glad you enjoyed yourself Miss Helen! Does that mean it’s okay to do it again next year?”

“…You have my permission.”

With that, she strutted out, and Dell shot me a grin. I scooped the remaining pins into my bag and closed up the front office, chatting with him on the way to the parking lot about how we could mix things up next year.

[yourfavouritebella]

Theatre Techniques

#1 Post - Acting Tips through Meisner’s technique

After being self-isolated for so long, you’ve finished watching all of the Netflix shows and cook every possible dish in your fridge, now what?

Well, maybe it’s time to touch upon acting through Meisner’s techniques at home.

Sandy Meisner is a well-known actor based in New York. He was one of the curious actors along with Stella Adler that adopted Stanislavski’s technique (also known as Method Acting) til he felt the need to develop his own acting form, which is known as Meisner Technique that conveys naturalism and playing with the tension between acting partners.

Using these techniques, it will help you become a better actor by embracing yourself to be in the moment with your scene partners. You may have to create a zoom meeting with your scene partner for one of the exercises, but what could be a better way to make a reason to meet people again than to rehearse on your own!

The Meisner technique has three main components that all work hand in hand:

Emotional preparation

Whilst reading the line, learn to delve into a given circumstance that will generate real emotions. Be in the character’s shoes and think how would you react when the situation happened.

Repetition

By repeating your lines, it can make you rely on their organic instincts.

Improvisation

As you are getting used to the flow of the lines, it will encourage spontaneity and reduce an actor’s self-consciousness.

1st Exercises:

Actor 1: Your hair is long.

Actor 2: My hair is long.

Actor 1: Your hair is long.

Actor 2: My hair is long.

A: (Noticing B scratched their arm) You scratched your arm.

B: I scratched my arm.

From this exercise, it removes the over-thinking part of acting that after even a short period of time, one realises the ‘text’ becomes essentially irrelevant, and it is the subtext and relationship that really matter. It lets you be more observant of your acting partner and being able to be more perceptive in the body language of each other.

2nd Exercise:

When reading the lines, recall a memory where you were in that circumstance and apply that emotion to the scene.

If it’s not a circumstance you had any experience of, you can draw external sources of research, eg. asking friends or family, watching interviews, reading books, and people-watching, to gather a library of additional material to provide inspiration.

In conclusion, as you try out these exercises, you will feel differently when acting because you’ll be facing the “given circumstances” of the character with different points of view. It gets you to be more observant and analyse the tension between you and your partner to be inspired and provoke your acting decisions. Hence it will make you listen and react with clarity.

#2 Post - Acting Tips through Adler’s Acting Technique

With so many acting techniques nowadays, how will you be able to choose? It’s like contemplating which crisps do you want to eat, sometimes you feel like getting Tangy Cheese Doritos and sometimes you’re feeling for Flamin Hot Cheetos. The choices are endless, but don’t fret! In the end, it’s always good to give a try of each technique to see which suits your taste.

As we had previously touched on Meisner’s technique, today we’re going to go through Adler’s acting techniques that you can try out yourself! :)

Stella Adler is a daughter of two professional actors, hence debuted her acting career at the age of 4. She is regarded highly in the industry due to her professionalism and proficiency in her acting as she learned and earned through experience. After learning Stanislavski’s and Strasberg’s acting technique, she evolved her own acting technique that has more involvement in imagination.

Now, shall we delve into her techniques? whispers yes, we shall!

Here are the three main components of Adler’s techniques:

Analysing Text

She has a great emphasis on script analysis and respect for the playwright. When teaching, she, “gave young actors more responsibility by asking them to understand the play themselves rather than relying on a director to interpret it.” Actors must look into the script to analyse the character’s personality and lifestyle then align their actions with the character’s circumstances. When reading text, you need to ask yourself, “What is my character going through that would produce that experience?”

Cultivating Imagination

As an actor, there is a need for constant observation and curiosity when developing an actor’s imagination. Rather than drawing up your own personal experience, Adler implies to actors to use real observations to fuel their imagination and create in-depth characters.

Elevating Characters

Adler famously told her students, “Don’t be boring”. In context, there is the need to think seriously about human nature and communicate important ideas to let actors reflect something larger than life within the characters.

Since you got the idea of what she aims for actors to achieve, let’s look into exercises that can help cultivate your acting skills.

Exercise #1 - Imagination

Pick an object and describe it. You can talk about the texture, colour, shape, anything just to describe the object. It may be awkward at first, but once you practice on describing things, you will find yourself to be faster in developing your imagination. Then take this exercise to next level by letting your thoughts travel through your mind. For example, a red lamp can remind you of ruby earrings a woman wore at a party you went to which reminds you of the music that was playing and so on and so on.

Exercise #2 - Paraphrasing

Pick a book and write down one idea from the book in your own words, then present it onstage to others. This lets you understand the idea, then respond to it and make it your own until you feel a real need to communicate it.

Exercise #3 - Inner-Justification

Randomly pick a simple line from a play you don’t know and bring it to life by imagining in details the reason why you’re saying that line. Try to make a strong choice, something that stirs you and creates conflict. This exercise helps actors experience their lines instead of just saying them.

In conclusion, Adler constantly challenges her students to think imaginatively and her techniques require a lot of hard work and dedication. All of these techniques are easily done at home whenever you have time and keep yourself occupied when being in the same room starts to bore you.

#3 Post - Acting Tips through Chekhov’s Techniques

Now that you have Meisner’s and Adler’s acting technique in the bag, why not learn one more and get yourself well rounded with techniques! As Michael Chekhov said, “Don’t we have the freedom to make the most of the best in all techniques? There are no prohibitions against it. All it takes is a little wisdom, imagination, and courageous experimentation.” I think you guessed it, but we’re going to teach you some Chekhov’s Techniques that you can try out yourself! :)

Mikhail Alexandrovich Chekhov was a Russian-American actor, director, author, and theatre practitioner born in Saint Petersburg. He was a nephew of Anton Chekhov who collaborated with Konstantin Stanislavski to do production of his plays. He was called Stanislavski's brightest student and was invited to join the prestigious Moscow Art Theatre. It was until 1927, when he did a production of The Case, he was "denounced by Bolshevik officials as an 'idealist' and 'sick artist'", so he forced himself to leave Russia and the Moscow Art Theatre to dodge arrest. He then came to Hollywood, where he taught film stars including Ingrid Bergman, Clint Eastwood, Marilyn Monroe, and Gregory Peck.

The aim is to find truthful moments onstage in a “psycho-physical” approach that develops your imagination while establishing emotion in physical action. This technique relies upon drawing emotion from both the mind, and the body as it helps for actors who are beginners because “psycho-physical” focuses on connecting their body more when saying their lines.

When approaching a script, these are the following steps using the “psycho-physical” technique:

Step 1: Create a gesture in your mind.

Your body is considered as an instrument and trained your body like a musician, constantly learning to move and portray with virtuosity. As an example, let’s look at the line, “Please don’t go.” Think about how your body will react to the line.

Step 2: Begin to rehearse the gesture. Make it huge, full of energy, and abstract.

Now that you got the gesture in mind, this time you got to test it out and give your 100 percent! Also, there’s no one way of doing the gesture, so it’s good to explore your body to find the intention of the gesture. Always be mindful of the intention in the gesture, so that it lets your mind remember physically.

Step 3: Continue doing the gesture in a large, non-realistic way, while saying the line.

When doing naturalistic acting, it always limits you to how you should express yourself as a character, so it’s best to be exaggerated as much as possible.

Step 4: Begin to make the gesture more realistic, while saying the line. Keep the energy!

Now you can tone down the actions, but make sure to keep the same energy when doing it exaggeratedly because the gesture should represent this desire of the character’s intention.

This is not part of the step, but always make time to reflect your experience on what you had experiment and see if the gesture is working out or not. Chekhov always makes his students question whether the gesture is helpful or not. The purpose of this technique is to make a bridge between your body and mind requires a lot of practice, but it does portray your character in an organic sense because the gestures come in naturally once you understand the significance.

In conclusion, Chekhov repeatedly challenges his students to use their body to find the intention of the character and build a strong relationship with your imagination. Hopefully, this technique works for you and you don’t scare off your friends or family when rehearsing at home (I will not be responsible for the weird looks :)

[architectnews]

Ten ways in which architecture is addressing climate change

To honour Earth Day, we've rounded up 10 ways architects are reshaping the built environment to benefit both people and the planet.

Architecture has a large environmental impact, with the built environment accounting for 40 per cent of the UK's carbon emissions in 2019, according to the UK Green Building Council.

With a 2018 United Nations report warning that humanity now has less than 10 years to slow down global warming, the architecture industry is one of many to have been forced to reassess the ways in which it works.

From reducing waste and maximising urban greenery to collaboration and lobbying for change, solutions to reduce pressure on the planet are now taking centre stage.

Read on for 10 ways in which architects can contribute to a healthier planet:

Building with timber

Wood has been used to build structures throughout history. However, there has been a recent resurgence in its popularity as a construction material, due to its sustainability credentials and improvements in engineered timbers such as cross-laminated timber (CLT).

One of the biggest benefits of building with timber is that it can sequester large amounts of carbon from the atmosphere and store it within a building for as long as it stands. This can help achieve carbon-negative buildings by offsetting the carbon emissions generated through construction and operation.

It is for this reason that 3XN will use wood as the primary material in its extension for Hotel GSH in Bornholm (above) while Feilden Clegg Bradley Studios will use CLT for an office in London.

Going carbon-neutral

Making buildings carbon-neutral or, better still, carbon-negative architecture is a key concern for many architects today.

The terminology around this push is confusing but, generally speaking, a net carbon-neutral building is one that does not contribute any CO2 to the atmosphere over its lifetime, taking into account its construction, the materials used to build it plus the resources required to run it and decommission it.

A carbon-negative building is one that removes more carbon from the atmosphere than it emits over its lifetime, including the operational carbon generated by the heat and power the building consumes as well as the embodied carbon released by the extraction, manufacture and transportation of construction materials.

Confusingly, the term "carbon positive" is also used to describe the same thing as "carbon negative".

Examples of carbon-neutral architecture include Mikhail Riches' housing project in York that will utilise air-source heat pumps and solar panels to reduce emissions when complete.

Carbon negative buildings include Snøhetta's Powerhouse Telemark office (above), which will generate enough surplus energy during its operation to more than compensate for both the operational and embedded carbon emitted over its lifetime.

Rewilding

Rewilding has seen a surge of interest recently as people realise that natural ecosystems are disappearing, taking with them the biodiversity that supports life on earth.

Rewilding is an approach to restoring ecosystems that let nature get on with the work itself with minimum human interference.

For architects, this offers the opportunity to take biodiversity into account both when landscaping their projects and when choosing materials, to ensure their extraction and manufacture do not lead to the depletion of natural resources.

Projects that support rewilding include architect Carl Turner's DUT18 creative retreat in the Cotswolds region of England, which will sit in a partially rewilded landscape.

Writing for Dezeen last year, architect Christina Monteiro called for a strategy to rewild cities both to increase biodiversity and to improve the health and wellbeing of citizens.

Meeting Passivhaus standards

Since its origin in the 1990s, the Passivhaus energy performance standard has become one of the best-known ways to create sustainable architecture.

Awarded by the non-profit organisation the Passivhaus Trust, the standard encourages buildings that have high levels of insulation and airtightness so that they require minimal artificial heating and cooling.

Mikhail Riches and Cathy Hawley won the RIBA Stirling Prize in 2019 with its high-density Goldsmith Street social housing scheme (above) after designing it to meet Passivhaus standards. The win was celebrated widely, with London studio Architype stating the win "puts Passivhaus in the spotlight – exactly where it needs to stay".

Speaking to Dezeen, Sophie Cole of Mikhail Riches said that Passivhaus design can also provide "a great basis for [zero-carbon architecture] because Passivhaus already really reduces that energy requirement".

Reversible design

Reversible architecture ensures entire buildings can be deconstructed at the end of their life and their components reused meaning no components go to waste.

Adam Strudwick of Perkins and Will described this to Dezeen as making "every building as a kind of DIY store for the next project".

Recent examples include Triodos Bank by RAU Architects and Ex Interiors (above), a "large scale, 100 per cent wooden, remountable office building" and a pavilion built by Overtreders W and Bureau SLA made from reusable construction materials.

BakerBrown Studio recently turned heads with its proposal to build a reusable pavilion for the Glyndebourne opera house using timber, mycelium and discarded champagne corks and seafood shells, all of which are reusable, recyclable or biodegradable.

Creating reversible architecture aligns with the aims of a circular economy – a closed-loop system where all materials are reused to eliminate any waste. Creating buildings that can be dissembled means that their components can be reused on other projects.

Encore Heureux, a studio that built a pavilion from reclaimed doors, said the idea is that "one person's waste becomes another's resources".

Non-extractive architecture

Non-extractive architecture is a term coined by Italian research studio Space Caviar to express the idea that buildings should not exploit the planet or people.

"Non-extractive architecture questions the assumption that building must inevitably cause some kind of irreversible damage or depletion somewhere – preferably somewhere else – and the best we can do as architects is limit the damage done," explained Space Caviar co-founder Joseph Grima in an interview with Dezeen.

The idea is expanded upon in a manifesto written by Space Caviar that calls on architects to design buildings that do not deplete the earth's natural resources.

An exhibition alongside the manifesto is currently being held at cultural foundation V–A–C in Venice and Grima is joining Dezeen later today to further expand on the ideals of non-extractive architecture.

Biomimicry

Another way in which architecture could help combat climate change is by making use of biomimicry, an approach that emulates natural systems such as coral reefs (above).

This can lead to extremely efficient structures that minimise the use of materials as well as potentially replicating beneficial processes such as the way plants use photosynthesis to turn atmospheric carbon into cellulose and other compounds.

According to architect Michael Pawlyn, entire cities could help stop climate change by removing carbon from the atmosphere by mimicking the process of bio-mineralisation, by which lifeforms such as micro-organisms in the sea turn carbon into limestone and other carbon-rich minerals.

"We need to find ways of using materials that take carbon out of the atmosphere," he told Dezeen. "Can we learn from biology to design a built environment that has a net positive impact?"

Restorative architecture

Restorative architecture, also known as regenerative architecture, refers to structures that have a positive impact on the environment.

Biomimetic architect Pawyln cites this as a key way that architects can help tackle the multiple environmental challenges of today, believing that architecture that "just mitigates negatives" is not going far enough.

His studio, Exploration Architecture, has demonstrated these ideals through The Sahara Forest Project in Qatar (above) – a seawater-cooled greenhouse that replicates a Namibian fog-basking beetle's physiology to harvest fresh water in the desert. Any excess water it makes is used to revegetate the surrounding landscape.

Retrofitting

Retrofitting, or upgrading, is typically carried out to improve the energy efficiency and thermal performance of a building, reducing its dependence on heating and cooling, or to update a structure that may otherwise be torn down.

By prioritising the improvement of existing building stock over demolition, architects can keep materials – and the embodied carbon they contain – in use for longer, delaying the additional emissions produced by demolition.

Last month French architects Lacaton & Vassal, who are key exponents of retrofitting, won this year's Pritzker Prize for Architecture for their "commitment to a restorative architecture".

Other exponents include Sarah Wigglesworth, who proved the value of retrofit in the recent overhaul of her straw bale house in London (above), which has resulted in a 62 per cent reduction of its annual carbon dioxide emissions.

Elsewhere, architect Piers Taylor retrofitted his own off-grid home by upgrading all of its external fabric to meet Passivhaus standards in response to improvements in technology.

Establishing climate action groups

Architects are also addressing the impact of the built environment on the planet through grassroots initiatives such as climate action groups, in which they can raise awareness and share knowledge about climate change.

At the forefront of the industry is Architects Declare, which a group of Stirling Prize-winning architecture firms launched to call on all UK architects to adopt a "shift in behaviour". It has a growing network of signatories across the world that collaborate through virtual events.

Another example is the UK-based group Architects Climate Action Network (ACAN), which is lobbying for more demanding legislation in the UK.

It recently launched a campaign demanding embodied carbon regulation and founded a student-focused arm that is helping combat climate negligent teaching in architecture schools.

The post Ten ways in which architecture is addressing climate change appeared first on Dezeen.

[geekywritings]

Rise of a Queen - Nikolai Lantsov x OC PART 12

The end of the war could have marked the perfect beginning of a fairytale for Nikolai and Taya. He was Tsar, the Darkling had been defeated, Ravka could finally breathe again and the couple could start focusing on their relationship. But the reality was no fairytale.

Only days after the crown had been placed on Nikolai's head, he became swept up in the responsibilities of a ruler. Endless meetings, balls, travels, and negotiations began, along with the much-needed rebuilding of the cities that had suffered during recent times. Whenever he was in the palace, there was always someone there requesting his attention or calling him to a meeting or following him with paperwork. Though more often than not, Nikolai was absent from the capital, traveling around his kingdom to meet his people and mend relations with West Ravka. It felt as if sleep or a peaceful meal had become a luxury a king could not afford.

Taya wasn't fairing much better. She tried to help Nikolai whenever she could, but she was soon also swept up in the Saadovska affairs. She had inherited the family fortune, but also her father's businesses. And there were more of them than she had ever expected! Not only did her family own several remarkable fabric businesses in Ravka, they also held shares of companies in Fjerda and Shu Han and had close business ties with Kerch traders. Furthermore, there was more land in her family's possession than anyone in all of Ravka could even imagine, including large estates and even simply lands for agriculture. It was so much that Taya spent a good few weeks trying to wrap her hand around it all before starting correspondence with her father's former business partners. Some of them were kind and understanding, but there were also those, who refused to work with a woman or tried to cheat her. For Taya this meant a lot of studying. She would spend many nights in the library, reading up on economics and business practices or former contracts until Nikolai would come and carry her back to bed after she had fallen asleep. Whenever he was not around, this task fell to Andrej or one of the twins.

Ultimately, the couple didn't have much time for romance. Ravka was like a child that required constant attention and within the first years, Nikolai and Taya felt burnt out. Yet at the same time, they couldn't feel happier. The country was flourishing, steadily gaining stability, military strength and even some recognition. So although Taya was usually the one pushing them to work more, it was her who announced one morning: "We need a break."

Nikolai had returned from a long journey to the West just the day before and still looked incredibly tired even after a good night of sleep. "What do you suggest?", he asked, his face still half-buried in the pillow. "That we run away?"

Taya chuckled, as she sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think we'd get very far.", she admitted. "But I do think we can take a vacation for a couple of days without Ravka falling apart again. Besides, there is this small estate by the sea I want to visit."

"Estate by the sea?" Now Nikolai's curiosity had been piqued and he slowly half sat up as well, hazel eyes staring at her full of interest.

"Yes, apparently it has been in my family's possession for quite some time. My great great grandfather bought it for easier business with the local fishing industry. And it would be my chance to see the ocean for the first time."

Although she had joined Nikolai on several of his journeys, none of them had taken her all the way to the sea, which she longed to finally visit. "Let's do it.", Nikolai agreed, suddenly fully invested in the idea. "We will tell everyone today and be on our way by the evening."

Taya loved his enthusiasm and spontaneous nature and she nodded enthusiastically. "I will take care of packing.", she said, already mentally going over everything they would need for the short trip.

It was with a newfound energy that the two started their day, making sure that everyone knew about their departure, while also preparing for the journey. Tolya and Tamar insisted on coming along, but Nikolai refused. He wanted some time alone with Taya and where they were going, they would need neither servants nor bodyguards, he figured.

Everyone was so taken aback by the Tsar's sudden decision that nobody had much time to argue or raise concerns. And by evening, Nikolai and Taya were ready to depart. They hadn't packed much and could easily take one of Nikolai's smaller aircrafts, where he took care of navigation, while Taya kept the airship going. Traveling at night was difficult, but also much safer.

The sun hadn't even risen when they arrived at the small estate on a hill, overseeing the sea and the nearby fishing town. It was a two-story building beaten by the rough coastal weather, but still in good condition. Surrounding it was a garden full of wildflowers and tall grass. It was clear that nobody had tended to this place in quite some time. Using the key she had found in her father's study, filed correctly to the matching estate, Taya opened the door, revealing a dusty hallway, smelling of sea salt and stuffy air. At least they found that the place was equipped with working lights.

Leaving their luggage in the hallway, Nikolai and Taya just explored, opening all windows to air out the place. There was a parlor downstairs, as well as a study, a kitchen, three servant rooms, and a storage chamber. Upstairs were bathrooms and generous bedrooms, offering a stunning view of the ocean. The sunsets from this place would be quite the sight, Taya thought.

The furniture had been covered in sheets to prevent them from dusting, but they would still need to air out all linens, pillows and covers the next day. "Seems like your ancestors were quite the passionate sailors", Nikolai announced, as he joined Taya upstairs. He had found some old photographs and paintings in the study, showing her grandfather and great grandfather in this estate together with sea captains or standing in front of ships themselves.

Taya looked at them with interest, seeing them for the first time. "I didn't know that. But maybe it explains why I always wanted to go to sea.", she ran a finger over one of the photographs, realizing how much her grandfather resembled her father. A pang of pain shot through her, but she didn't allow it to take over. She would make her family proud by doing her best to carry on their legacy instead of shedding tears.

_____________________

After two days, Nikolai and Taya had settled into their little sea estate. Seeing as the linen had continued to smell of stuffy room, Taya had simply brought fresh ones in town. Not wanting any servants to disturb their peace, the couple took care of everything themselves and Taya discovered that she knew nothing about actual housekeeping. But it was fun to learn and try, even though the first meal she attempted to cook ended up being more burnt than edible.

Nikolai caught some fish, which they roasted over a fire and that tasted better than anything Taya had eaten in a while. Still, they decided to start eating in town to be among people and see what they lived like. Taya had bought some local clothes, allowing the two to blend in and for Nikolai to go unrecognized. It was lovely, living a normal life without duties or burdens.

"One day, when we are old and grey, I hope we can sit here and watch the sunset as well.", Taya said on the last evening of their stay, when the two were sitting in front of the house by the cliff, waiting for the sun to turn the ocean into the stunning shades of orange and purple Taya admired.

Nikolai smiled at her. It would be a lovely future indeed. "And who will be running Ravka?"

"Not us, for sure.", she replied with a laugh. "I suppose it would be our son."

A son. Nikolai had never thought about children before. He had been too busy being Sturmhond, getting the crown, fighting a civil war or just being Tsar. But now that she had said it, the vision would not leave his head. What would their son look like? Would his hair be darker? And whose eyes would he inherit? He hoped it would be his mothers, for he loved the blue more than he could put into words. He also hoped he would have Taya's personality, far more suitable for a ruler.

"If we do have a son, let's name him Mikhail. After my father.", she suddenly added. It was common for a prince to carry the name of a former ruler, an ancestor from the father's side, but Taya was ready to break with that tradition.

"Mikhail... I like it.", Nikolai said finally, his arm sneaking around Taya, as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Though if he ends up anything like us as children, I feel sorry for us already." Both laughed and then just enjoyed the spectacular colors of the sunset before them.

________________________________

After the trip, Nikolai returned to work with newfound purpose and energy. He wanted to build a strong Ravka for the people and for the future. He wanted a stable country should he and Taya indeed have a son one day. He was also more determined than ever to finally marry the woman, who had been by his side for so long.

"I have an important task for you.", he announced, as Genya entered his office one afternoon. "But I must ask for utter discretion."

"Of course.", the redhead vowed, looking more and more intrigued.

"I need you to plan something"

"A Wedding?!", Genya almost squealed. "Your wedding?!"

Nikolai didn't even have a chance to answer before Genya rushed forward, both hands slamming on his desk. "I have everything thought out already.", she announced. "I have been planning this since your coronation. It needs to be a grand affair, of course. Worthy of a Tsar. But it definitely needs personal elements. I'm thinking of a lot of blue highlights to symbolize your time at sea and Taya being a Grisha and..."

"Genya... Genya.. slow down.", Nikolai spoke, even though he felt almost guilty interrupting her. She seemed so excited and he was glad to know that he had so many people behind him.

"Oh, I apologize."

Nikolai smiled, shaking his head. "No need. But what I specifically want from you is a design for a ring. Traditionally, Taya would get the Lantsov Emerald, but that is off the table.", he explained. "But I don't just wanna choose something from the treasury. I want something especially made for her. Something meaningful."

So it wasn't a wedding, but Genya was still excited nevertheless. "Oh, I will think of something!" It would be blue, she thought, but it definitely needed elements of green to hint at the traditional emerald. Without a second to waste she got to work, while Nikolai went back to planning on how he could ask Taya to marry him again.

The last proposal had been a lousy one, he thought. Absolutely not worthy of a future Queen and especially not worthy of someone like Taya. She wouldn't like an over-the-top gesture, he figured, but it had to be special nevertheless. Perhaps the finished ring would offer more inspiration.

He had no idea that he would not be asking Taya for quite some time...

[master-sass-blast]

Price Well Worth Paying.

THIS IS IT, FOLKS!!! IT’S WEDDING TIME!!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!! I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!!

Summary: Before he can marry you, Piotr must undergo a vykup nevesty to prove his worthiness. Will he be up to the task?

(The answer is yes.)

Rating: G for MAXIMUM FLUFF!!!

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Set after “Of House and Home.”

This fic was inspired by @nebulous-leo‘s own Piotr x Reader vykup nevesty fic, “Ransom”!!! Y’all should absolutely check it out, in addition to her blog @leo-writer where she posts all her OC related content (which is absolutely delightful and wonderful and is the best thing on earth) and her Ao3 account, where she posts all the major works for said OC content; she currently has several works for Kurt from the Ant-Man movies and her OC, Jenna, on there; I can’t recommend reading them enough!!!

(Also, many thanks to @leo-writer for proofing this fic to make sure it wasn’t too matchy-matchy to her own fic!)

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

Piotr doesn’t often find himself nervous.

Some might doubt it, but it’s true. As rigid as he seems –and, admittedly, is—about some things, he seldom gets nervous. Frustrated, maybe, or tense, perhaps, but rarely downright, outright nervous.

He supposes, though, that the sensation coursing through him right now isn’t nervousness, precisely. Giddiness would be a better way to describe the butterflies thrumming in his stomach, how he has to keep himself from smiling nonstop so his cheeks don’t start hurting, and the way delighted, slightly nervous giggles keep bubbling up in his throat.

He’s getting married. Today. He’s getting married to you today, after so many obstacles and setbacks and arguments and makeups and planning and scheduling—

It’s here. It’s time.

Save for one last thing, which Piotr had wanted and then his family had borderline insisted –as much as they insisted on things—on doing: a vykup nevesty.

A vykup nevesty, as Piotr’s father had described it to him when he was very young, was for the family’s entertainment at its core. The groom would provide a payment for the bride –money or jewelry were traditional—and then the family would bring out a different man or a woman dressed as the bride to try and trick the groom. Once the groom realized that the person in question wasn’t his beloved, he would ask for his bride again and provide a higher payment for his spouse-to-be before he was finally bequeathed his bride, thus allowing the ceremony to start. Over time, the process had expanded to include various riddles, dares, and other shenanigans in the ransom process, and generally amounted to a great deal of fun.

He knows you helped write questions and answers for a “trivia” portion of the vykup nevesty. He also knows that he’ll have to deal with Mikhail’s dramatics –which normally would be nothing short of headache inducing, but between his elation over the fact that it’s his wedding day and the generous wad of cash tucked in his pocket, Piotr’s feeling borderline unstoppable.

He gives himself one final glance over in the mirror –he’d spent the night at the house your two’s friends and family had chipped in on—to make sure that his suit and tie are in good order –Nikolai had ushered everyone out at his son’s request so he could have a moment to himself just to think and process—before heading downstairs and out the front door—

And nearly walks smack into Mikhail and Ellie.

“Good morning, baby brother!” Mikhail chirps in Russian, grinning broadly. “Are you ready for the challenge of a lifetime?”

“I grew up with you; I doubt this will be worse than that,” Piotr fires back, feeling a twinge of misgiving at the slight grimace that creases his older brother’s face. Switching to English, he says, “I take it you two are here for vykup nevesty.”

“Yep,” Ellie confirms, popping the ‘p.’ “There’s gonna be three stages to this. You ready?”

He rolls his shoulders, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “I am ready.”

“Excellent. Before we get started—” Mikhail produces an empty plastic coffee grounds container –which, upon closer inspection, has a label taped to it that says ‘motorcycle repair fund’—and wiggles it expectantly. “A little donation, if you please.”

Piotr refrains from rolling his eyes as he extracts his wallet from his inner jacket pocket, then drops about forty dollars in the container.

“Alright, first question,” Ellie says, casting a glance at her phone screen before looking back up at her mentor. “What is the most commonly recurring, non-serious argument in your relationship?”

Piotr blinks, borderline shocked. “What?”

“What do you guys play-argue about the most?”

“I understood that, just… she put that down as question?”

“She told you she was making these hard, right?”

“She did, she did,” Piotr says, grinning to himself as he rubs thoughtfully at his chin. “I just thought there might be progression of difficulty.”

“Eh, they’re all about this difficult.”

“Bozhe moi.” He quirks his mouth to the side as he thinks; you’re particularly cantankerous on your best of days –some might even say your best days, period—and while he’s learned to just go with some of it, there’s also so much the two of you playfully banter about…

“Tick, tick, tick, tick,” Mikhail says after about half a minute of silence, grinning like the cat that got the canary.

Piotr casts a dull glare at him. “Quiet. I am thinking.”

“Time is off the essence, baby brother! You would not want some dashing rogue to swoop in and sweep your bride away, no?”

Piotr ignores his brother’s dramatics –though he does roll his eyes—and gets down to thinking. Okay. Play fight means it is not serious enough to cause problems, but still something we are different on… “Food,” he says finally. “We argue about what foods should be eaten and not.”

“Correct,” Ellie says, scrolling further down on her phone. “Okay, next question—”

“Least favorite bad habit,” Mikhail says, reading over Ellie’s shoulder.

“Which bad habit of yours is Y/N’s least favorite,” Ellie clarifies.

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. “O, chudesno. Ah…” His voice trails off as his mind works, running through a mental list of various possible habits of his that probably drive you up a wall.

‘Being controlling’ hits him first, but something feels off about it; while, in all likelihood, it’s the most accurate, he doesn’t think you’d pull out something that had been a contributor to so many bad fights the two of you have had on such a special day –or wave that in front of Mikhail’s nose as possible teasing material, either.

‘Rules happy’ also fits that category, along with ‘too serious’…

Habit, Piotr, he tells himself when Mikhail starts mimicking a clock again. Not character flaw. Habit. Think smaller. “Workaholic. Or having to put everything away between tasks.”

“You have to pick one,” Ellie says while Mikhail starts ‘tick-tock-ing” louder.

Piotr mulls it over, then eliminates ‘workaholic’ since it fits closer to a character flaw –for him, at least—than it does a bad habit. “Having to put everything away between tasks.”

“Correct,” Ellie says. “Next question: mutual favorite nighttime activity.”

Mikhail lets out a raucous whistle and waggles his eyebrows at Piotr. “Damn, baby brother, are you into nasty shit I didn’t even know about? What, do you—”

“I do speak Russian; please stop,” Ellie says, completely monotone, while staring at her phone screen.

Mikhail cuts himself off with a grimace and a muttered “sorry.”

Piotr lets out a heavy sigh and rubs at his eyes; he suspects you slid that question in there just for that kind of reaction.

He’ll just have to pay you back for it later.

The thought makes him smile a little, but he quickly pushes it down and gets to thinking before Mikhail can start making clock noise again –or, worse, ask why he’s smiling. Mutual favorite nighttime activity…

Sex is an entirely feasible answer. Plausible, even. The two of you both enjoy sex, and he doesn’t doubt for a moment that you’d put that answer in there just to embarrass him a little…

Except it seems just a hair off. While you’d definitely take the opportunity to rib him a little, he knows you wouldn’t put Ellie in such an awkward position –or whoever else wound up reading the questions out.

“Snuggling,” he decides, which gets an annoyed groan from Mikhail. “Each night, we try to take time to just snuggle and talk about our days.”

“Correct.”

Mikhail rolls his eyes. “That is stupidly vanilla.”

“No one asked you,” Piotr mutters, letting some of his annoyance show through.

“Next question,” Ellie interjects before an argument can break out between the two brothers. “What is Y/N’s biggest pet peeve?”

“Scott Summers,” Piotr fires off automatically.

Ellie snorts and claps a hand over her mouth. “Okay, that’s technically wrong, but I’m counting it because she’ll like that you answered that.”

“I think I am missing something,” Mikhail says, glancing between Piotr and Ellie.

“He’s a douche and Y/N doesn’t like him,” Ellie supplies quickly. “Also I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on his girlfriend.”

“No!”

“Yeah. And she’s a telepath.”

Mikhail smirks. “So, he is idiot, too.”

“Basically.”

“Be nice, NTW,” Piotr admonishes his trainee, even though the corner of his mouth is turning up in a smile. “What did Y/N have for original answer?”

“Slow walkers,” Ellie says—

Which makes him snort because of course.

“Alright, last question: who is Y/N closest to in her family?”

A contemplative frown tugs at his lips as he flips through his mental rolodex of who you consider family.

Wade and Nate immediately spring to the top of the list. You connected with Wade first, but you view Nate as a father –and, granted, you’re close to Russell and Ellie and Yukio and Neena and countless other members of the Institute, but Wade and Nate are definitely closest to you. They know more of your darkest secrets, at least.

He mentally derails when he remembers your uncle and factors him in, and then it becomes a game of mental shuffles as he switches from Wade to Nate to your uncle and then back through again, over and over, until Ellie starts pointedly looking at the time display on her phone and Mikhail starts acting like he’s falling asleep on his feet. “Nate. She’s closest to Nate.”

“Wrong answer,” Ellie says. “You have to pay up for that one.”

Piotr frowns while he fishes a few bills out of his wallet and drops them in Mikhail’s plastic container. “What was right answer?”

“You. She said she’s closest to you.”

He blinks –and then smiles, because of course the two of you are family. You’ve been family to each other for a long time, and after today you’ll legally be family as husband and wife.

“Alright,” Ellie says. “That’s it for round one. Ready for round two?”

“Absolutely,” Piotr says, completely confident. He’s never been more ready for anything in his life.

***

 They take the path that connects your two’s new home to the rest of Xavier’s property and stroll across the back lawn to where everything’s been set up –well, Piotr and Ellie stroll. Mikhail insists on teleporting himself every few feet because “walking is for fools.”

Once the chairs and the guests and the wedding party and all the decorations come into view, Piotr’s pulse skyrockets and his splits into a massive grin. Seeing everything and everyone there, even though the rehearsal had been last night and he’d helped set everything up, makes it all more real.

And then he sees a woman in a white dress and veil standing adjacent to Charles at the altar, and it takes all his willpower not to sprint the remaining distance between him and the ceremony site.

Mikhail stops him before they reach the little tent where Charles and the wedding party and the woman in white are set up and waggles the “motorcycle repair fund” jar in his face once more. “I’m afraid there’s a toll to pay before you can enter, baby brother.”

Piotr shells out a few more twenty dollar bills –then mouths a silent “thank you” over Mikhail’s head when their mother prevents the eldest Rasputin from asking for more via making a stern, mildly disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

“Alright!” Mikhail says, gesturing grandly towards the altar. “Toll has been paid! Piotr, you may have your bride!”

He steps under the cover of the tent –and has to stop to remind himself that this is likely a trick, if the rules of the vykup nevesty are anything to go by.

Correction: it’s definitely a trick. First, the height and size of the woman are all wrong. Second, she’s clearly wearing a purple colored dress underneath the white dress –which, on closer inspection, isn’t a wedding dress but some white bedsheets sewn together. Third, the “veil” over her face is a deconstructed pillowcase with lace hot-glued to the edge. Fourth, the “bride” is laughing, as are several members of the wedding party and the crowd of guests.

“This is not Y/N,” Piotr says, turning back to face Mikhail and Ellie.

“What? How can you not recognize your own beloved!” Mikhail exclaims –overly dramatic, which further reinforces that the woman standing in front of him is not his bride. “Have you been drinking, Piotr? Are you drunk?”

“This is not Y/N,” Piotr repeats as a few more chuckles go up in the crowd. He quickly scans the guests and wedding party, and manages to deduce who’s under the veil based on who’s missing and the relative height and size of the white-clad woman. “Kitty, thank you very much for coming, but I would like to marry Y/N today.”

“Damn!” Kitty laughs and whips off her “veil,” tossing aside while everyone else chuckles and claps. “That was fast!”

Piotr shrugs. “Not hard to tell when you are missing from crowd.”

“Touché.” Kitty phases out from under her makeshift white dress, then smooths out the purple cocktail dress she’d worn underneath before offering Piotr a fist bump. “Congratulations, dude.”

He fist bumps her back, corner of his mouth turning up in a smile—

Then is immediately accosted by Wade as Kitty goes to sit down in the crowd.

“Alright, Google Chrome’s Russian Cousin, how’re you feeling?” Wade asks, microphone in hand –who thought that was good idea?—and clad in a dress that matches the bridesmaids but has been tailored for a man’s body and genuinely looks flattering on him. “Ready for the last part of your however you say it?”

“Very ready,” Piotr says enthusiastically. “I have been ready for long time.”

“Aw, that’s so adorable. Unfortunately, before we can start the final phase, I think your broski over there needs some more dough for his repair fund.”

Piotr shells out the last of the money he’d set aside for the vykup nevesty –it’s not like he’ll be needing it for later, at this point—and drops into Mikhail’s container, then turns back to Wade. “Alright, what is last phase?”

“Well, as the older brother in every way but biological to your future wifey,” Wade says with theatrical seriousness. “I do need to make sure that you’re of suitable marriage material before the ceremony starts. Can’t have my little sis shacking up with a slouch.”

Piotr rolls his eyes good naturedly. “You have known me for several years. And you have been around entire time Y/N and I were dating.”

“Hush, metal grasshopper, this is my moment,” Wade says as he pulls a piece of paper out of the bust portion of his dress. “So, just to make sure that you meet the mark, I’ve drummed up a few eensy-teensy questions to ask.”

Piotr grins and shakes his head; he’s not getting out of this, so there’s no point in being upset about anything. “Very well. Ask your questions.”

“Thank you. Question one: what makes you think you’re worthy to marry my sister?”

Piotr chokes, more out of shock than anything. “What kind of question is that?”

“The one I’m asking, Chrome Dome. Which means you have to answer it. Start talking, we’ve got a list to get through,” Wade says, angling his microphone at Piotr.

Piotr nudges Wade’s hand back so the microphone isn’t right in his face, then considers the question for a few second before answering. “Because she chose me. Marriage is many things, but at core it is choice to commit to living life with partner and work through whatever hardships and challenges arise as team. It is choice to keep loving and communicating. I could be exactly who I am, but if Y/N did not choose me, I would not be worthy. But she did choose me, which is what makes me worthy.”

“Ooh, going from the consent angle! Wade like-y!” Wade says a few guests nod, impressed.

Off to the side, Nikolai beams like the proud papa he is and Alex shoots her youngest son a thumbs up.

“Alright, you pass the first question. Second question: if three mini-lion robots broke into your house and formed into a super-lion robot, what would you do to protect your lady from any and all harm?”

“Anything I had to,” Piotr answers automatically.

Wade mimics a buzzer noise. “Lame answer. Cop out.”

“It is truth,” Piotr insists. “No one ever really knows what they would do in moment until they are there. I will not commit to idea I may not follow through on in moment because my instincts might wind up being different. What I do know, however, is that I will do whatever I have to in order to keep Y/N safe, and that will not change regardless of what moment faces me.”

Wade studies him for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll take that. Next question!”

“How many questions are there?” Piotr asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper.

“As many as I need,” Wade says angling the paper away from Piotr’s line of sight. “Okay, big question here: what do you love most about my sister?”

“Everything,” Piotr says earnestly, tone dreamy and lovestruck. “She… she is everything to me. She helps me step back and appreciate day to day. She makes me laugh and smile –and over things I never thought I would, which has been… interesting.” He chuckles along with everyone else. “She has helped me grow so much as person, and challenges me on how I think and act and do things… She is beautiful, and kind, and smart, and funny, and I am so lucky that I get to marry her.”

Several “awws” go up in the crowd, and more than a few people dab at their eyes with tissues or hankies.

Wade, however, lets out a dramatic sob and blows his nose noisily into a lace edged handkerchief. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry!”

Piotr merely smiles and shakes his head.

“Alright, big guy. Now that you’ve made everyone here cry, you ready to get married?”

“Yes,” Piotr says eagerly, excitement coiling in his stomach once more. “More than.” He feels someone tap on his shoulder, and he turns, expecting to see Mikhail holding out the “repair fund” container in a last ditch attempt to get more money—

Except you’re standing behind him, dressed in your wedding gown and holding onto Nathan’s arm and beaming up at him like he’s the most important thing in the world. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Tears of joy well up in his eyes, and he presses his hand against his mouth to try and contain himself. “You look so beautiful.”

“You look very handsome yourself.” Your eyes sparkle as you gaze up at him. “Ready to do this thing?”

“Very ready,” Piotr says with an excited giggle.

Nathan hugs you and presses a fatherly kiss to your forehead before handing you off. “Take good care of her.”

“Always,” Piotr promises as he makes to help you over to your side of the altar.

You have other ideas, though, going in for a hug first.

Piotr wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head –careful not to mess up your hair—while the guests and wedding party make noises of delight and appreciation and Aiden and his team snap pictures.

Once the hug ends, he helps you get over to your side of the altar, then Wade takes your bouquet for you and helps you straighten out the skirt of your dress—

And then everything’s genuinely a blur. Charles makes a speech about the relationship as he’s witnessed it and the healthy love the two of you model for the students –which has both of you tearing up—before talking about the value of commitment and communication, you two exchange your vows and the rings, and then Charles pronounces the two of you as husband and wife, and then Piotr’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and—

It’s everything, as it always has been.

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

If scientific discoveries and technological developments split humankind into a mass of useless humans and a small elite of upgraded superhumans, or if authority shifts altogether away from human beings into the hands of highly intelligent algorithms, then liberalism will collapse. What new religions or ideologies might fill the resulting vacuum and guide the subsequent evolution of our godlike descendants?

The new religions are unlikely to emerge from the caves of Afghanistan or from the madrasas of the Middle East. Rather, they will emerge from research laboratories. Just as socialism took over the world by promising salvation through steam and electricity, so in the coming decades new techno-religions may conquer the world by promising salvation through algorithms and genes.

Despite all the talk of radical Islam and Christian fundamentalism, the most interesting place in the world from a religious perspective is not the Islamic State or the Bible Belt, but Silicon Valley. That’s where hi-tech gurus are brewing for us brave new religions that have little to do with God, and everything to do with technology. They promise all the old prizes – happiness, peace, prosperity and even eternal life – but here on earth with the help of technology, rather than after death with the help of celestial beings.

These new techno-religions can be divided into two main types: techno-humanism and data religion. Techno-humanism agrees that Homo sapiens as we know it has run its historical course and will no longer be relevant in the future, but concludes that we should therefore use technology in order to create Homo deus – a much superior human model. Homo deus will retain some essential human features, but will also enjoy upgraded physical and mental abilities that will enable it to hold its own even against the most sophisticated non-conscious algorithms. Since intelligence is decoupling from consciousness, and since non-conscious intelligence is developing at breakneck speed, humans must actively upgrade their minds if they want to stay in the game.

Dataism says that the universe consists of data flows, and the value of any phenomenon or entity is determined by its contribution to data processing. This may strike you as some eccentric fringe notion, but in fact it has already conquered most of the scientific establishment. Dataism was born from the explosive confluence of two scientific tidal waves. In the 150 years since Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species, the life sciences have come to see organisms as biochemical algorithms. Simultaneously, in the eight decades since Alan Turing formulated the idea of a Turing Machine, computer scientists have learned to engineer increasingly sophisticated electronic algorithms. Dataism puts the two together, pointing out that exactly the same mathematical laws apply to both biochemical and electronic algorithms. Dataism thereby collapses the barrier between animals and machines, and expects electronic algorithms to eventually decipher and outperform biochemical algorithms.

For politicians, business people and ordinary consumers, Dataism offers groundbreaking technologies and immense new powers. For scholars and intellectuals it also promises to provide the scientific holy grail that has eluded us for centuries: a single overarching theory that unifies all the scientific disciplines from literature and musicology to economics and biology. According to Dataism, King Lear and the flu virus are just two patterns of data flow that can be analysed using the same basic concepts and tools. This idea is extremely attractive. It gives all scientists a common language, builds bridges over academic rifts and easily exports insights across disciplinary borders. Musicologists, political scientists and cell biologists can finally understand each other.

In the process, Dataism inverts the traditional pyramid of learning. Hitherto, data was seen as only the first step in a long chain of intellectual activity. Humans were supposed to distil data into information, information into knowledge, and knowledge into wisdom. However, Dataists believe that humans can no longer cope with the immense flows of data, hence they cannot distil data into information, let alone into knowledge or wisdom. The work of processing data should therefore be entrusted to electronic algorithms, whose capacity far exceeds that of the human brain. In practice, this means that Dataists are sceptical about human knowledge and wisdom, and prefer to put their trust in Big Data and computer algorithms.

Dataism is most firmly entrenched in its two mother disciplines: computer science and biology. Of the two, biology is the more important. It was the biological embracement of Dataism that turned a limited breakthrough in computer science into a world-shattering cataclysm that may completely transform the very nature of life. You may not agree with the idea that organisms are algorithms, and that giraffes, tomatoes and human beings are just different methods for processing data. But you should know that this is current scientific dogma, and that it is changing our world beyond recognition.

Not only individual organisms are seen today as data-processing systems, but also entire societies such as beehives, bacteria colonies, forests and human cities. Economists increasingly interpret the economy, too, as a data-processing system. Laypeople believe that the economy consists of peasants growing wheat, workers manufacturing clothes, and customers buying bread and underpants. Yet experts see the economy as a mechanism for gathering data about desires and abilities, and turning this data into decisions.

According to this view, free-market capitalism and state-controlled communism aren’t competing ideologies, ethical creeds or political institutions. At bottom, they are competing data-processing systems. Capitalism uses distributed processing, whereas communism relies on centralised processing.

Capitalism did not defeat communism because capitalism was more ethical, because individual liberties are sacred or because God was angry with the heathen communists. Rather, capitalism won the Cold War because distributed data processing works better than centralised data processing, at least in periods of accelerating technological changes. The central committee of the Communist Party just could not deal with the rapidly changing world of the late twentieth century. When all data is accumulated in one secret bunker, and all important decisions are taken by a group of elderly apparatchiks, you can produce nuclear bombs by the cartload, but you won’t get an Apple or a Wikipedia.

There is a story (probably apocryphal, like most good stories) that when Mikhail Gorbachev tried to resuscitate the moribund Soviet economy, he sent one of his chief aids to London to find out what Thatcherism was all about, and how a capitalist system actually functioned. The hosts took their Soviet visitor on a tour of the City, of the London stock exchange and of the London School of Economics, where he had lengthy talks with bank managers, entrepreneurs and professors. After a few hours, the Soviet expert burst out: ‘Just one moment, please. Forget about all these complicated economic theories. We have been going back and forth across London for a whole day now, and there’s one thing I cannot understand. Back in Moscow, our finest minds are working on the bread supply system, and yet there are such long queues in every bakery and grocery store. Here in London live millions of people, and we have passed today in front of many shops and supermarkets, yet I haven’t seen a single bread queue. Please take me to meet the person in charge of supplying bread to London. I must learn his secret.’ The hosts scratched their heads, thought for a moment, and said: ‘Nobody is in charge of supplying bread to London.’

That’s the capitalist secret of success. No central processing unit monopolises all the data on the London bread supply. The information flows freely between millions of consumers and producers, bakers and tycoons, farmers and scientists. Market forces determine the price of bread, the number of loaves baked each day and the research-and-development priorities. If market forces make the wrong decision, they soon correct themselves, or so capitalists believe. For our current purposes, it doesn’t matter whether the theory is correct. The crucial thing is that the theory understands economics in terms of data processing.

[…] Dataism naturally has its critics and heretics. As we saw in Chapter 3, it’s doubtful whether life can really be reduced to data flows. In particular, at present we have no idea how or why data flows could produce consciousness and subjective experiences. Maybe we’ll have a good explanation in twenty years. But maybe we’ll discover that organisms aren’t algorithms after all.

It is equally doubtful whether life boils down to decision-making. Under Dataist influence, both the life sciences and the social sciences have become obsessed with decision-making processes, as if that’s all there is to life. But is it so? Sensations, emotions and thoughts certainly play an important part in making decisions, but is that their sole meaning? Dataism gains a better and better understanding of decision-making processes, but it might be adopting an increasingly skewed view of life.

[…] Of course, even if Dataism is wrong and organisms aren’t just algorithms, it won’t necessarily prevent Dataism from taking over the world. Many previous religions gained enormous popularity and power despite their factual mistakes. If Christianity and communism could do it, why not Dataism? Dataism has especially good prospects, because it is currently spreading across all scientific disciplines. A unified scientific paradigm may easily become an unassailable dogma. It is very difficult to contest a scientific paradigm, but up till now, no single paradigm was adopted by the entire scientific establishment. Hence scholars in one field could always import heretical views from outside. But if everyone from musicologists to biologists uses the same Dataist paradigm, interdisciplinary excursions will serve only to strengthen the paradigm further. Consequently even if the paradigm is flawed, it would be extremely difficult to resist it.

- Yuval Noah Harari, The Data Religion in Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow

[rovvboat]

Painting Trip - Reader x dad!Colossus

Summary: You and Piotr take a family trip down to the art gallery for some bonding time with Misha - and though being together like this was nothing short of wonderful, you wonder if moving back into the mansion would be a good idea.

 A/N: Lotsa Dad!Colossus moments that makes me melt to just think about aljdhjdnfjbdjkfdjn all fluff!!

Word count: 2.9k

  “Tickets for 2 adults, please.”

 Piotr hunches down to ask the ticketing booth attendant through the small opening of the counter – holding onto a squirming Misha, disgruntled from having been woken up by the sudden bouts of movement conversation around the convention hall.

  His white knit baby beanie sits snugly over his head – the one with small bear ears that made you feel mushy on the inside whenever you saw Misha with them – and there were hundreds of pictures of Misha in that very beanie that you had saved in your phone; so much so that you had to buy extra storage for them.

His feathery soft, jet black hair sat in a messy awoken fuzz; Piotr takes off his beanie before tenderly pushing his little tuft back into a more settled state. ‘’Are you up, myedvyezhónak moya?’’

Are you up, my little bear?

 “Oooo…” Misha purrs as he brings one hand to rest up on his mouth. You bring out a damp napkin to wipe his face and clean the area around his eyes. He scrunches them closed at the touch of the cool wet fabric, and promptly flips his head away from the sudden darkness.

  “Hmm looks like someone’s come back from la la land.” You remark at Misha, brows furrowed and smiling, as your little one looks back for the sound of your voice.

 “Misha! You ready for a good and artful day?” You switch into your slightly more high-pitched baby talk voice.

Misha’s mouth opens, gums and all, as he beams at you; and the appearance of his one baby tooth makes you laugh. He squeals in delight as his arms wave about in your direction.

 He stops to give a heavy yawn – his thin pink lips stretched as far as he could, before his hand once again moves back to its favourite position; into his wide-open mouth, gently gnawing at it as his saliva gets all over.

You instinctively use your fingers to move his small hand away; a habit that you’d soon learn you’re better off to just let be.

 “That’ll be $24.” The attendant recites the total, and notices Misha’s head turn, his large innocent eyes curiously staring from his papochkas’ arms behind the glass panel – focused entirely on the person in uniform.

 The attendant gives a broad smile, “Well, aren’t you just the most adorable thing. Cute babies get free entry, y'know?”

 Misha returns a toothless grin, eyes bright and hopping in place, his arm flailing about – gurgling at the attendant in assumed conversation.

 Piotr chuckles as he watches Misha’s unabashed glee – and so do you and the attendant.

 Piotr brings up Misha’s hand and waves at them – “Misha, skazhý privyét. Say hello! skazhý, kak tyebyá zavút. My name is Mikhail!“

 Misha watches the attendant intently, then looks back to his papochka with a giggle.

 "Well Misha, you’ve just made my day.” The attendant cheerily passes you the tickets once you’ve made the payment.

 “Hope your family has a great day with us today! And for having such a lovely kid, I’ll even give you guys free entry for the children’s painting class we’re having this afternoon.”

 “Oh? Thank you so much for that!” You express with a smile, before turning to Piotr.

 “See? He has your dashing good looks, but all of my charisma.” You jest, as you both make your way down to the hallway into the exhibition hall.

 “Is that so?” Piotr hums, as he turns to face Misha. “Ty tak dumayesh, Misha?”

do you think so, Misha?

 Misha observes his papochka for a moment, before offering another one of his flashy smiles.

 Piotr presses a warm kiss on the side of Misha’s cheek and remarks, “Always smiling, this one.”

 Piotr adjusts Misha’s body, holding him faced forward, with Misha’s little bottom seated on his forearm, as his other hand holds him steady and upright against his chest.

  You hover alongside your two boys, one hand placed comfortably on the side of Piotr’s waist, watching the way Misha’s cute little button nose pokes up into the air at the sound of his papochkas’ deep utterances.

 Piotr exhales in awe as he surveys the studio filled with abstract paintings.

 “Bhoze moi… these are truly beautiful.”

 He walks over to one particular piece – a painting with a black and white background, split down diagonally, with a gold paint splatter around the edges that mark the silhouette of a mountain.

 “Misha, look. These are paintings by your papochkas’ favourite artist!”

 Piotr raises Misha’s tiny form, clothed in his comfiest light blue baby coat – nice and warm from the chill of the approaching winter months – and up towards the painting.

 It was endearing, the way your husband would make it a point to include Misha in every and all activities you partake in together – “it will help him grow strong and smart!” He would say when you’d commend him for it, followed by a peck on the cheek.

 Misha stares at the painting for a while, but starts squirming and grunting around as he looks back to his papochka.

 “Maybe he doesn’t like abstract art, babe.” You giggle as you adjust Misha’s beanie, gently pulling his hand away from his mouth, before wiping away the shiny saliva painted around his mouth. “This one just loves his own hand right now.”

 Piotr lifts Misha to his face, humming a kiss onto his cheek. – “Hmmm. Is mamochka correct? tyebyé nrávitsa?”

Do you like it?

 Misha twists towards him and grunts in response, mouth held loosely closed; his baby blues innocently watching his papochka.

 “Maybe you’ll like some landscape paintings, huh, Misha?” You prompt, you and Piotr making your way into the other section of the exhibition.

   Piotr holds Misha up towards the paintings, slowly maneuvering around the walls; giving time for Misha to take in the paintings.

 “Ah, Misha look.” Piotr points at a picture of a beautiful off-white cathedral, stark against the setting amber hues of the sun.

 “This is a white – byélyj – cathedral. And the sun is orange – aránzhevyj.”

 Misha coos at the painting, and you watch as Piotr repeats the colours in Russian, and Misha’s cooing turns into drawn out vowels.

 “Ahhh… Buh buh buh.”

 “That’s right, Misha.” Piotr encourages, giving you a wink. “You are doing well! maladyéts.”

 Well done.

 Your head tilts into a smile, and it was moments like these that you knew you’ll have etched into memory. But for the moment, you’ll live them as they came and –

 A familiar voice breaks your thoughts; and both you and Piotr turn at the sound.

 “That is about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard and seen and felt in my entire fuc–”

 “Wade!” Piotr chides as he covers Misha’s ear on one side, pushing his head against his chest to cover his other ear.

 “Oh right, okay, entire fudging life. How’s that?” Wade corrects himself.

 You laugh at Wade’s switch up, as you notice Nate walk up to your group right behind him.

 “Wow, I didn’t know this was going to be an X-Force outing.” You say as you give both Wade and Nate a hug.

 Nate gruffs a laugh. “This ass–”

 Piotr’s head swivels to Nate – set in a comically displeased stare.

 “Sorry, I meant Wade here had a gift for our little Misha. Gotta admit though, I miss hearing this one crying all night when we first brought him home to the mansion.” Nate turns to Piotr, and smiles at Misha. “You’ve grown since I last saw you, haven’t ya?”

 Misha squeals when he hears Nate speak; hopping in place as his papochka holds him close, his small chubby arms outstretched towards Nate and calling at him through gurgles, asking to be held.

 Nate laughs, before taking Misha into his arms with a deep exhale of breath. “You really don’t play hard to get, do you kid?”

 It was a wonder how unafraid and daring Misha could be – what baby squeals with glee at the sight of a rough looking man with a glinting eye?

To Nate’s credit, though, he would always smile and be an absolute fatherly figure to Misha.

 “Oh lookie here! There’s a kids’ painting class.” Wade points out the separate room; which had parents and children filtering in and out. “Hey, Misha. You wanna go for a painting class, buddy?”

 Misha coos from his spot in Nate’s arms.

 “Fine by me!” Wade turns to you and Piotr. “Well, if you’ll excuse us, we have some catching up to do with our little polar bear over here.”

 “You guys alright if we brought him in? Maybe you could take some time off for a little bit. Catch a breather.” Nathan offers.

You and Piotr give each other a questioning look.

 “Well, I suppose…” Piotr begins

 “Yeah, I’m sure he’d love to spend some time with his God-dyádyas.” You affirm. “If he gets fussy later on, bring him to us.”

 “He hasn’t had his bottle yet, has he?” Nate inquires knowingly, looking over at Misha in his arms.

You hum an affirmative, before saying goodbye to Misha by way of a kiss on his baby soft cheek, as the smell of baby lotion latches onto you.

 “You guys are taking way too long! Come on Misha–” Wade gently carries Misha from Nate before taking quick strides towards the art room, “We’re gonna have a God damn great day – Shhh don’t tell papa bear over there that I said that.” Where Misha only grunts back at Wade. Nate follows close behind as Misha watches from Wade’s shoulder.

 You and Piotr finally give out a huge sigh of relief. Being a parent – rewarding though it may be – was tough, and any reprieve you could get felt like a God-send.

You hold your gaze over Piotr, as you let an arm snake around his thick waist, pulling him closer to you. You tiptoe to speak into his ears, whispering as you do.

 “What do you say we get out of here for a bit, Daddy?”

 Piotr’s cheeks flush a quick redish tint, before regaining his composure as you giggle at his reaction.

“That was very cheeky, Y/N.” He playfully scolds, before you made your way out onto the back garden.

 You had planned to have a picnic lunch, but having Misha tended to meant that you could take this time to have a leisurely walk through the large back garden – where other families also had the same idea as you did.

 You interlock your smooth fingers against Piotrs’ – thumb purposefully rubbing over the back of his hand as you walk along the dirt path.

It was a much-needed moment of silence, neither of you speaking; content to just listen to the rustling of the wind in the trees – punctuated with the ruffling of feathers, as you both watch the ducks glide back onto the pond surface.

 “Feels good to be relaxed like this, huh? It’s been a while since we took some time for ourselves.” You remark, wistfully glancing over the wide-open greenery.

“Da.” Piotr squeezes your hand in agreement. “But a part of me… doesn’t really want to be away for too long either.”

 “Yeah, it’s kinda odd right? I mean, maybe not too odd, but still… it’ll be healthy for us to step away from time to time. You know how we tend to go overboard with things.” You smile sheepishly over at Piotr; who snorts as he catches your drift.

 “Well, not without good reason, myshka…” He voices, almost to himself.

You knew, though he had this fatherhood thing on lock, he also wanted to return to some semblance of being an X-Man. You knew Pete better than astronomers knew the stars, and you knew he felt guilty about wanting to get back to his duties. You mentally decide that your next decision was going to help Piotr out through all of that.

 You find a serene spot next to a tree, picking out an area where the sunlight had pooled onto the grass. You spend the rest of your time sitting next to Piotr. You tap at his shoulders, and when his kind eyes meet yours, he somehow still looked troubled.

You pat at your lap expectantly, as you place a hand to the back of his neck, signaling him to lay down; he obliges with a tired smile, and gently reclined his head, as your legs lay outstretched onto the picnic mat you had laid out.

Your fingers occupy themselves with Piotr’s silky black hair, wading through them without a worry. His eyes were closed, relishing the familiar grazes of your fingertips over his forehead, up and through his hair. His breathing slow and uninterrupted, listening to the world around him, with you.

You watch as families and children giggle and laugh around you. Running about with childish carefree reign across the garden, falling and tripping over each other as they do.

 A few moments later, you speak up about one thing that’s been on your mind ever since Misha started being more and more vocal, clearly heading fast into his next developmental stage, not to mention, ever since Piotr seemed to overly exert himself into the fatherhood thing.

 “Pete? I feel like… maybe we should move back into the X-Mansion.”

 His eyes opened instantly.

 “Really? I was going to say the same!”

 You breathe a laugh at his excitement. “I know we said Misha would be safer out of the mansion… but I think it might be better for him right now if we moved back in. I mean, look at how loved and cared for he is. Even when he’s not living there. Plus, it has a big garden that I know he’d love. And Misha absolutely adores his dyádyas and syestrás. What do you think?” You pause for Piotr’s input.

 He looks up at you from your lap, lips stretched into a loving smile.

 “I agree. But whatever you wish, I know it will be the best. Though, we might want to move in slowly, Misha might not like the sudden change.”

 He was always thinking about Misha first and foremost, and you adored him for it.

 You hum at him as you cup his face in your warm hand, smiling as you dip into a quick, gentle kiss.

 ‘’Yeah, once he gets used to it, we might even have the time to make another one. It’s been a while since we last fuc–‘’

 Your sentence gets cut-off just as you saw Piotr’s ear perk up, his eyes already scolding you for your language.

“We give you a few minutes to relax, and you lovers just use that time to smooch it the hell up, huh? Get a room!”

 Wade’s bellowing makes you shift your regard to his direction, as he saunters over to you with Misha in his arms. The moment Misha’s eyes set on you, he’s wriggling and whimpering to be held, arms finding you in the air.

 You hold both hands up towards Misha – who immediately shifts his torso towards you, as you grab him under his arms and carry him close to you.

 “Somebody’s missed me, huh?” You smooth out his coat, which you just then notice, has paint stains all over it. “Um… I don’t think he’s meant to have painted his own clothes, though.” You laugh, trying to wipe away the stains – which had already made their mark and made no effort to disappear.

 “Sorry, Y/N. He had too much fun.” Nate reasons, as he brings up a small circular canvas-like painting. “Besides, I think it’s worth it. Look what came out of it. He made it himself.”

 You and Piotr look at the painting in awe, the blues and yellows and reds blended, dashed and patted and smoothed over by your little one, into one amazing painting. Misha gurgles at the painting, and it makes you laugh.

‘’Bhoze…’’

‘’’Like father, like son.’’ You state proudly, when Wade chimes in.

 “You know where this would look great? At the X-Mansion over by the stair wall!” Wade recommends, hinting at something else entirely, when he gives himself away with “Misha would look great there, too. Won’t you, bud?” – as Wade curls a finger at Misha’s chin.

 “We’ve been thinking the same, actually.” You finally let on.

 The look on Wade’s face was priceless, “What? You mean it? You won’t regret it, Y/N! I’ll breastfeed him myself if I have to!”

 You immediately look to Piotr, who has the most horrified expression plastered on his face, before mellowing it out with a facepalm.

 “Perhaps this is not that great of an idea.” He whispers to you.

 “Too late, papa bear.” You smile.

 “Come on, Misha! Nate! Grab him before they change their minds, I’ll go get the car!” Wade hurries off into the carpark up ahead.

 “I’m with Wade on this one, surprisingly. If I may–” Misha happily obliges as Nate carries him off from you “– we have a mansion to get to, don’t we Misha?”

 You chuckle at their enthusiasm to get Misha back to the mansion, when you feel Piotr’s large hands joining yours – the both of you following behind Nate.

 ‘’You know, this might even mean you could get back to being a hero sooner… I know you miss doing hero stuff, Petey. And I want you to do the things that make you happy as well.’’ You give a heads-up to Piotr – who looks to you, wide-eyed and laughs at the encouragement.

 ‘’Perhaps… But I would like to spend as much time with the both of my treasures for as long as I can before I begin again.’’ He pulls your face to him, placing a soft kiss on your temple. ‘’Even if I miss being an X-Man… I know I would miss the both of you more.’’

 A loud screeching of tires makes the both of you stop in your tracks, followed by repetitive honking, and a Wade yelling “GET IN THE CAR BINCHES! I SAID BINCHES, NOT THE OTHER BAD WORD!”

 You only chuckle at the thought of having to readjust to Wade’s shenanigans, and though this meant you needed to make some moving works, there’s nowhere else you’d rather Misha be, growing up, than with your found family back at the mansion.

  Taglist!

 @emma-frxst @fluffymadamina @candle-light-writings

 (ask to be tagged if you want more of this aslkdjaslkdj)

[existentialrebel]

DO ANARCHISTS DEMAND THE IMPOSSIBLE?

Disclaimer : I’m not an anarchist nor anarchist theorist, this is part of engagements and getting to know anarchists better without hearing it from Marxist-Leninists and equally this is a brief and incomplete overview and besides I feel like all theories that emanated from French’s enlightenment, British empire or German, are just European essentialism.

The voluble of ideas, attitudes and beliefs which can be defined by the term anarchism have not received much attention from political theorists or activists There are a number of reasons for this neglect which we will discourse about in this paper or possibly beyond.

The name anarchism is often associated with disorderly, hysterical, irrational or a group of people who don’t have the capacity to wage any political struggle, Marxist-Leninists would even at some point in history lobby each other in the Revolutionary party to oust anarchists.

In this short paper, I’m not going to repeat what other students have said on this question but I want us to unlearn a few myths about anarchocommunists. I’m not going to dwell much on personalities rather on the ideological side or political side.

Of course, it’s important to note that anarchists didn’t just reject everything Marxist-Leninists proposed but they disagreed ideologically and politically, so today we can’t say anarchists were intellectual thugs who rejected without understanding Marxism, for example on Bakunin seemed to agree with Marx on factory workers being the vanguard of revolutionary activity.

I think it’s also important to note that, Mikhail Bakunin was at some point a member of the Young Hegelians in the 1840s before its dissolution, that’s where they(with Hegel and Marx) took separate ways on the emancipation of the working class and the proletariat.

For starters, Anarchists are social revolutionaries who seek a stateless, classless, voluntary, cooperative federation of decentralizated communities based upon social ownership, individual liberty and autonomous self-management of political, social and economic life, the poor working class first and everything else shall follow, that’s one of their ideological principles.

Anarchists reject Marxism suppositions in many cases, for example on organization building, they were vehemently against the Marxist-Leninist vanguard party, dictatorship of the proletariat and democratic centralism. They saw them as tools or ways to further keep the proletariat at the very position they were under anti-socialist state and this led to Marxist-Leninists being referred to as “State Socialists”, Kropotkin at some point calls it unbridled oppression of the proletariats.

Even on women and people of color or black people anarchists were more tolerant, unlike Marxist-Leninists, anarchists were eager to learn a thing or two from feminists, they believed in taking jurisdiction from the state to the body and studied Wilhem Reich ideas on sexual liberation. Marxist-Leninists viewed this in economic terms as if women were forced into prostitution due to financial pressure. Anarchists wanted to address sexual morality which was made of the existence of prostitution, to me this makes Anarchists one of the most imaginative and outstanding thinkers of our time.

For Anarchists, for a revolution to take place you need large-scale and coordinated movements so to drive the revolutionary agenda of the masses on the ground, they were opposed to hierarchical, power-tripping leadership (elite) which suppresses the masses and forces their own agenda. This is evident in all Marxist-Leninists parties, the abuse of internal party democracy or democratic centralism, development of cults, Anarchists were Mass-based and believed that to reach every decision, there must be wide consolidation and consultation.

The supercillious or imperious Vladimir Lenin and his conceptualization of a vanguard party was very condescending and what’s common (all vanguard parties) is that the revolutionary party is portrayed as the only party that can take the masses to liberation and that dictatorship of the proletariat means dictatorship of the revolutionary party not the masses which anarchists strongly opposed.

In Anarchist groups, proposals are talked about by members (none of whom have authority over another), dissenting minorities are respected, and each individual's participation is voluntary. Everyone has the right to agree or disagree over policy and actions, and everyone's ideas are given equal weight and consideration. No decision may be made until each individual member or affiliated group that will be affected by that decision has had a chance to express their opinion on the issue. Individual members and affiliated groups retain the option to refuse support to specific federation activities. In true democratic fashion, decisions for the federation as a whole must be made by a majority of its members.

Trotsky once attempted to give an inane critique to anarchists, he alluded to anarchists as people who weren’t much of political active or were against activism, very false, anarchists opt for direct action because they don’t want to be like Lenin who wanted to take power and put it in the Bolshevik party which will still largely be oppressive towards the working class through its “eternal transition state”

Anarchism also appealed to a lot of intellectuals in Europe and all over the world, you have Zapata movement of the Mexico in 1900s, American anarchists, the Asian anarchists (Japan, China and other Asian states) and Spain(Spanish anarchist revolution) as well, one of the places where anarchists really found expression amongst the poor.

Of course we can’t deny the decline of Anarchism in the 21st century, the west together and the authoritarian Socialists made sure the theory and its advancers is/are buried forever hence why people have been reluctant to even bother reading or learning about the movement but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have the theoretical teeth to evoke a people’s-led revolution.

In Addition, I posed this question because I was looking at my party, the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), particularly the Student’s wing (EFFSC) where there’s an emergence of anarcho-communists who can be characterized by an radical appeal compared to Marxist-Leninists who want to worship the state led by Cyril Ramaphosa whilst the latter is demanding total obliteration of the state.

The emergence of Anarchists within the EFF is a good thing or rather positive or a sign of intellectual development, but I’m afraid a Marxist-Leninist party is the same as the bourgeoisie when it comes to annihilating those who have a different view, we have seen the usage of the party’s secret police or militia called Defenders of the Revolution (DOR) who brutally beat up the working class for sinister reasons under the auspices of the Senior party leadership and as well as the apprehension of internal political dynamics, especially for Julius Malema.

Henceforth why I’m off the view or quarell that anarchists do not demand the impossible, all their submissions not limited to this opinion piece are not being mystified with getting the impossible, let other schools of thought flourish and be tested.

It will be the anarchists who will sharpen the consciousness of the membership against such bourgeoisie-like traits and subsequently the poor masses of our people and this is very important since there’s never been anarchists in Africa looking at an African perspective or some of its proposals being utilized.

Therefore, hypothetically, Anarchists build organizations in order to build a new world, not perpetuate domination over the masses of people. We must build an organized, coordinated international movement aimed at transforming the globe into a mass commune and the center of it is liberation of black people, I think Such would be a great overleap in human evolution and a gigantic revolutionary stride. It would change the world as we know it and end the special problems long plaguing humankind. It would be a new era of freedom and fulfillment.

[crimethinc]

Love, Anarchy, and Drama: The Classical Anarchists’ Adventures and Misadventures in Polyamory

Like many contemporary anarchists, many anarchists of the 19th and 20th centuries maintained relationships with multiple romantic partners, or were involved with partners who did so. Just as it does today, this often precipitated gossip, heartache, jealousy, and interminable emotional processing. A complete history of anarchist polyamory drama would be nearly as ambitious as a comprehensive history of the anarchist movement itself. Here, we’ve limited ourselves to a few poignant anecdotes from the lives of a handful of classical anarchists. There is a great deal more to be told—for example, the love triangle involving Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, and Johann Most, or Voltairine de Cleyre’s writing about ownership and possessiveness in relationships.

Why revisit all this, you ask? Certainly not just for the salacious thrill of letting the skeletons out of the closet to dance a little on holidays. No, we return to these stories because our antecedents were just like us, flawed and fallible yet capable of greatness. They were responsible for both heroic acts and gross stupidities (let’s not forget Bakunin’s anti-Semitism). In studying their lives, we might recognize some ways to improve ourselves.

A membership card for Emile Armand’s “International Association of Combat against Jealousy and Exclusivity in Love.”

“We want freedom; we want men and women to love and unite freely for no other reason than love, without any legal, economic, or physical violence. But freedom, even though it is the only solution that we can and must offer, does not radically solve the problem, since love, to be satisfied, requires two freedoms that agree, and often they do not agree in any way; and also, the freedom to do what one wants is a phrase devoid of meaning when one does not know how to want something.”

-Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

Mikhail and Antonia Bakunin and Carlo Gambuzzi

One of the most influential anarchists of the 19th century, Mikhail Bakunin famously asserted “I am truly free only when all human beings, men and women, are equally free.” In his Revolutionary Catechism,1 he devoted a section to the abolition of compulsory relationships, marital or otherwise:

Religious and civil marriage to be replaced by free marriage. Adult men and women have the right to unite and separate as they please, nor has society the right to hinder their union or to force them to maintain it. With the abolition of the right of inheritance and the education of children assured by society, all the legal reasons for the irrevocability of marriage will disappear. The union of a man and a woman must be free, for a free choice is the indispensable condition for moral sincerity. In marriage, man and woman must enjoy absolute liberty. Neither violence nor passion nor rights surrendered in the past can justify an invasion by one of the liberty of another, and every such invasion shall be considered a crime.

There was a 24-year age difference between Mikhail’s father and mother; they had become engaged when his mother was 18 and his father was nearly 42. This was not particularly unusual in Russia at the time. Mikhail grew up surrounded by four sisters, from whom he learned a variety of intellectual pursuits and, above all, the importance of women’s autonomy and self-determination. He came of age fighting alongside them against pressure from their parents to get married to men who did not share their philosophical or artistic interests.

When Mikhail was living in exile in Siberia after being sentenced to death in three countries for participating in the revolutions of 1848 and 1849, he met Antonia Kwiatkowki, the daughter of an exiled Polish teacher. When they married, she was 18 and he was 44.

A few years later, Mikhail pulled off a daring escape from Siberia, circumnavigating the globe to arrive in Western Europe, where there was not yet a price on his head. Antonia joined him, and the two lived together in Sweden, Italy, and Switzerland.

At this point, Antonia was in her twenties, while Bakunin was in his fifties, prematurely aged by years chained up in solitary confinement. Antonia began a tempestuous relationship with one of Bakunin’s young Italian comrades. In the following letter to his Russian friend Nikolaj Ogarev, Bakunin describes the considerable challenges that ensued. His complicated feelings will be familiar to anyone who has struggled to set boundaries regarding a partner’s volatile relationship or struggled to balance the demands of two very different relationships.

Mikhail Bakunin.

December 16, 1869 Locarno, Switzerland

Antosja arrived. I went to meet her in Arona, the first Italian city at the end of Lake Maggiore, and I spent two and a half days in great anxiety, expecting her at any moment. Contrary to date on the telegram I had received from Naples, she arrived two whole days late, as a result of the storm in the Mediterranean. She traveled by sea, on account of the low price. The poor woman was quite shaken. Imagine yourself in this situation: alone at sea with an eighteen-month-old child, eight months pregnant and of an ideal disposition for seasickness. She spent days without moving on the boat until Gaeto, despite terrible sea turbulence. She arrived to me exhausted and sick. The child is also sick. I took them to Arona with great difficulty. Antosja took a little rest, the little one as well. But in four, three, or perhaps two weeks, she will deliver. You understand that in these conditions, my head is spinning.

Dear friend, I want once and for all to explain to you my relationship with Antosja and her veritable husband. I did a terribly stupid thing, even more than that, I committed a crime by marrying a young girl almost two and a half times younger than me. I could, to justify myself, invoke many extenuating circumstances, tell you that I pulled her out of a vulgar provincial dump, that if she had not married me, she would have become the wife of a monster, of a Siberian police chief. But a fact is a fact, a mistake a mistake and a crime a crime. Antosja is a kind person and a beautiful soul, I love her as much as a father can love his daughter. I managed to wrest her away from the world of trivial ideas, to help her human development and save her from many vulgar temptations and loves. But when she met true love, I did not believe myself to have the right to enter into a struggle with her, that is to say, against this love. She loved a man who is completely worthy of her, my friend and my son in social-revolutionary doctrine, Carlo Gambuzzi. Two and a half years ago, Antosja came to tell me that she loved him and I gave her my blessing, begging her to see me as a friend and remember that she had no better nor more sure friend than I.

A few months later, at the Congress of Geneva, after a long struggle not only on her part, but also on the part of Gambuzzi, a struggle in which furthermore I did not interfere in any way, that I deliberately ignored, Antosja found herself pregnant. Due to lack of confidence, she hid her pregnancy from me, she endured terrible torments, deceived everyone and, under the pretext of going on a trip, went to give birth in a village near Vevey, exposing herself, as well as the child, to great danger. Informed of this without my knowledge, Gambuzzi arrived and took the child with him to Naples. Antosja recovered; as for me, I still suspected nothing.

One year ago, in October 1868, an incident revealed everything to me. The fact that I did not learn this earlier is not the fault of Antosja but of Gambuzzi. From the beginning, she wanted to tell me everything, but he demanded of her and pleaded with her not to talk to me about anything. In this respect, as in many others, he showed himself to be below her. Raised in the bourgeois world of Italy, he still can’t free himself from the cult of propriety and from the point of honor, and often prefers small winding paths to the long straight road. I will say in his defense that the thought of aggrieving and offending me actually terrified him. He has a filial attachment for me and an undeniably warm friendship.

Anyway, having learned the essence of things, I repeated to Antosja she was entirely free and asked her to decide her own fate, without any consideration of me, in the manner that she believed best: to stay with me as a wife—a wife of course only insofar as the public is concerned—or to separate from me and live in Naples openly as the wife of Gambuzzi. She decided on the first option for the following reasons: above all, she is accustomed to me, and the idea of living apart seemed unbearable to her; second, she feared being a burden for Gambuzzi, feared to put him in a situation that he would not know how to extract himself from with honor, given his social prejudices.

So all three of us decided that everything would remain the same as before. The child would spend the winter in Naples (this decision was made in October 1868) and, in autumn, Antosja would travel to Italy, supposedly with a sick Polish friend who would “die” in the summer and entrust her son to Antosja. This fall, Antosja traveled to Naples with the child, and what happened was what was to be expected and what I had predicted: once again, she became pregnant.

She was in despair. So Gambuzzi proposed that she come to give birth in Naples and leave the new child entirely to his guardianship; renouncing him completely, she would return with me after the birth, with the son, our adopted child of the deceased Polish friend (of course a myth). Antosja rebelled against this proposal and stated categorically that for nothing in the world nor for any consideration whatsoever would she abandon her child. A fight began between her and Gambuzzi. They appealed to me as judge. I took the side of Antosja, of course, and wrote to Gambuzzi that his plan was monstrous, that a mother capable of abandoning her child simply for social considerations would be a monster in my eyes.

So Antosja addressed this entreaty to me: leave Geneva, come to Italy and recognize the two children as my own. I did not reflect on it for long and agreed. I felt obliged to accept, because I could see no other way to save Antosja; and having committed a crime against her, it was my duty to assist her. That took place in July or August of this year, precisely at the moment when I announced to you that I had to leave Geneva.

After the Congress of Basel, Antosja pressured me. I hastened to leave and, as agreed, I went down to Locarno, began looking for a home, a nursemaid, and telegraphed Antosja that she could come, that I was waiting for her. For over two weeks, I received no word of reply to my telegram, nor to letters sent after it. I realized that the struggle was continuing between them; I wrote them a synodic letter in which, while describing our mutual situation to them in its true light, I indicated two options for them and demanded that they choose one or the other, namely: either Antosja, renouncing once and for all the love of Gambuzzi and contenting herself merely with his friendship, return immediately to me with my son and my future child, or else she should remain in Naples as the wife, known to all the world, of Gambuzzi, with the two children of their relationship also recognized by him. I offered my stamp of approval for either decision, but I demanded they choose one or the other without delay and stated that I would only agree again to do the first provided that it come into effect immediately.

Antosja arrived. Gambuzzi offered to stay, but she declined the offer.

Friendly relations on my part, as well as on the part of Antosja, continue with Gambuzzi. Their romantic relationship is over. I adopted the children of Gambuzzi, without denying his incontestable right to take charge of and lead their education alongside Antosja. Life here is inexpensive. He will pay 150 francs per month into the common fund and I will do the same. We will stay together, Antosja and I, as long as the revolution hasn’t called me. Then I will belong only to the revolution and myself.

In fact, after this letter was sent, Antonia maintained a romantic relationship with Carlo Gaumbuzzi and gave birth to a third child with him. Mikhail and Antonia continued to live together, and Mikhail participated in raising all three children as if they were his own. Antonia stood by Mikhail even when political conflicts and financial mismanagement alienated him from many of his other comrades and created considerable difficulties for their household. After his death, she finally moved in with Gambuzzi, and the two had one more daughter together.

Errico Malatesta, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, and Giovanni Defendi

While still a teenager, Malatesta met Mikhail Bakunin and joined him in helping to organize the First International and other early anarchist efforts, including armed uprisings in 1874 and 1877. Targeted by the Italian police forever afterwards, he was compelled to spend a great part of his life in hiding or in exile, especially in London.

Around the same time that he met Bakunin, Malatesta had begun a romantic relationship with the anarchist Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli. Little is known about their relationship, but they likely began seeing each other as early as 1871,2 as Malatesta was involved alongside her brother in the Mazzinist student movement and then the Neapolitan section of the First International. Emilia followed her brother to London in 1879 and began working as a seamstress.

A comrade of theirs, Giovanni Defendi, had gone to France in 1871 to participate in the defense of the Paris Commune, for which he was imprisoned for eight years. After his release, in 1880, he moved to London. That year, he and Emilia announced that they were entering into a union libre:

The undersigned make it a point to announce to you that, on May 8, 1880, they will enter into a free union, in the presence of some socialist friends invited and gathered simply to receive communication.

The reasons that determined them to dispense with legal marriage, as well as religious marriage, are that they view them as bourgeois institutions created for the sole purpose of settling questions of property and inheritance, not offering any serious guarantee to proletarians of either sex, consecrating the subjugation of women, committing wills and consciences for the future, without taking into account the characters involved, and opposing the dissolubility which is the basis of any contract.

The question of children will be settled later in the manner most in accordance with justice and according to the situation that bourgeois society imposes upon them.

Fraternal greetings.

-Giovanni Defendi, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli

Malatesta had already been living with Emilia before this; he joined the couple at their residence in London in 1881. He lived with the Defendis for much of the next four decades. The British police, scandalized, reported that there were rumors that Malatesta was sleeping with Emilia despite her relationship with Giovanni.

Errico Malatesta.

The house and the business of the Defendi couple, where Malatesta lived, 112 High Street in Islington, was a convergence point for everyone that arrived in London. How many stormy and brotherly discussions were had in the little kitchen through the grocery store of the good Defendi family, which served as an Athenaeum!

-Luigi Fabbri’s Life of Malatesta

Emilia had six children, some of whom she may have conceived with Malatesta—including her son Enrico, born in 1883, who accompanied Malatesta when he went to Italy in 1897, and her daughter Adele, born in 1892. When Emilia fell ill in the aftermath of the First World War, Malatesta stayed by her bedside for months, nursing her until she passed away.

In contrast to the dramatic difficulties that beset Mikhail and Antonia Bakunin and Carlo Gambuzzi, the relationships of Errico Malatesta, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, and Giovanni Defendi appear to have been healthy and stable, providing a solid foundation for their decades of political activity. Knowing that Mikhail Bakunin mentored the young Malatesta, we can’t help wondering if the two ever discussed affairs of the heart. Could Malatesta’s graceful conduct in relation to his partner’s marriage have been informed by advice or anecdotes from Bakunin? We know they discussed the political and martial aspects of liberation, but we know less about their discussions regarding its personal aspects, which are just as fundamental to the anarchist project.

Likewise, though Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli was an important participant in the Italian anarchist movement in diaspora across several decades, we have little documentation with which to understand the substance of her contributions. On the basis of what we do know about her role in organizing, though, we know they were considerable.

“Let’s eliminate the exploitation of man by man, let’s fight the brutal pretention of the male who thinks he owns the female, let’s fight religious, social, and sexual prejudice. In any case, [in the anarchist future] the ones with bad luck in love will procure themselves other pleasures, since it will not be as it is today, when love and alcohol are the only consolations for the majority of humanity.”

-Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

América Scarfó, Severino di Giovanni, and Émile Armand

If we don’t know as much as we might wish to about the perspectives of Antonia Bakunin and Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, we have a full record of the thoughts of América Scarfó, an Argentine anarchist who began a romantic relationship with a married man while she was still a teenager.

Born in a middle-class immigrant family, América already shared anarchist ideas with her brothers Paulino and Alejandro by the end of her adolescence. Their family rented out a room to an Italian anarchist who had fled with his wife and three children to Argentina on account of the rise of Mussolini. He and América began a vibrant intellectual exchange that blossomed into romance. But then a police raid forced him to go into hiding along with Paulino and Alejandro.

Frustrated by the interference of the state, her parents’ opposition and, worst of all, the criticism of other anarchists, América wrote the following letter across the Atlantic Ocean to Émile Armand, an interanationally known anarchist proponent of “revolutionary sexualism” and camaraderie amoureuse. Armand had revived Zo d’Axa’s individualist anarchist publication L’En-Dehors, largely as a vehicle to promote what today we might call relationship anarchy.

In sending this letter, América was publicly declaring the legitimacy of a relationship not sanctioned by the church, the state, or her parents, just as Giovanni Defendi and Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli had done before her. But more than that, she was taking revolutionary measures on the terrain that was available to her as a young woman in Buenos Aires: challenging the norms around intimacy, gender, and affective relations in society at large, in her birth family, and in the social circles of her fellow anarchists.

Revolution is not something that the party implements in the parliament or the workers carry out in the factories—it is a project that concerns every single aspect of life, and therefore, every single person, wherever she is situated.

América Scarfó.

Buenos Aires, December 3, 1928 To comrade E. Armand

Dear Comrade,

The purpose of this letter is, first of all, to ask your advice. We have to act, in all moments of our lives, in accord with our own manner of seeing and thinking, in such a way that the reproaches and criticisms of other people find our individuality protected by the healthiest concepts of responsibility and liberty, which form a solid wall weakening their attacks. For this reason, we should act consistently with our ideas.

My case, comrade, is of the amorous order. I am a young student who believes in the new life. I believe that, thanks to our free actions, individual or collective, we can arrive at a future of love, fraternity, and equality. I desire for all just what I desire for myself: the freedom to act, to love, to think. That is, I desire anarchy for all humanity. I believe that in order to achieve this, we should make a social revolution. But I am also of the opinion that in order to arrive at this revolution, it is necessary to free ourselves from all kinds of prejudices, conventionalisms, false moralities, and absurd codes. And, while we wait for this great revolution to break out, we have to carry out this work in all the actions of our existence. And indeed, in order to make this revolution come about, we can’t just content ourselves with waiting, but need to take action in our daily lives. Wherever possible, we should act from the point of view of an anarchist, that is, of a human being.

In love, for example, we will not wait for the revolution, we will unite ourselves freely, paying no regard to the prejudices, barriers, and innumerable lies that oppose us as obstacles. I have come to know a man, a comrade of ideas. According to the laws of the bourgeoisie, he is married. He united himself with a woman as a consequence of a childish circumstance, without love. At that time, he didn’t know our ideas. However, he lived with this woman for a number of years, and they had children. He didn’t experience the satisfaction that he should have felt with a loved one. Life became tedious, the only thing that united these two beings were the children. Still an adolescent, this man came to know our ideas, and a new consciousness was born in him. He turned into a brave militant. He devoted himself to propaganda with ardor and intelligence. All the love that he hadn’t directed to a person, he offered instead to an ideal. In the home, meanwhile, life continued with its monotony relieved only by the happiness of their small children. It happened that circumstances brought us together, at first as companions of ideas. We talked, we sympathized with each other, and we learned to know each other. Thus our love was born. We believed, in the beginning, that it would be impossible. He, who had loved only in dreams, and I, making my entrance into life. Each one of us continued living between doubt and love. Destiny—or, better, love—did the rest. We opened our hearts and our love and our happiness began to intone its song, even in the middle of the struggle, the ideal, which in fact gave us an even greater impulse. And our eyes, our lips, our hearts expressed themselves in the magic conjuring of a first kiss. We idealized love, but we were carrying it into reality. Free love, that knows no barriers, nor obstacles. The creative force that transports two beings through a flowery field, carpeted with roses—and sometimes thorns—but where we find happiness always.

Is it not the case that the whole universe is converted into an Eden when two beings love each other?

América Scarfó in 1929.

His wife also—despite her relative knowledge—sympathizes with our ideas. When it came to it, she gave proofs of her contempt for the hired killers of the bourgeois order as the police began to pursue my friend. That was how the wife of my comrade and I have become friends. She is fully aware of what the man who lived at her side represents to me. The feeling of fraternal affection that existed between them permitted him to confide in her. And he gave her freedom to act as she desired, in the manner of any conscientious anarchist. Until this moment, to tell the truth, we have lived really like in a novel. Our love became every day more intense. We cannot live altogether in common, given the political situation of my friend, and the fact that I have still not finished my studies. We meet, when we can, in different places. Isn’t that perhaps the best way to sublimate love, distancing it from the preoccupations of domestic life? Although I am sure that when it is true love, the most beautiful thing is to live together.

This is what I wanted to explain. Some people here have turned into judges. And these are not to be found so much among common people but in fact among comrades of ideas who see themselves as free of prejudices but who, at bottom, are intolerant. One of these says that our love is a madness; another indicates that the wife of my friend is playing the role of “martyr,” despite the fact that she is aware of everything that concerns us, is the ruler of her own person, and enjoys her freedom. A third raises the ridiculous economic obstacle. I am independent, just as is my friend. In all probability, I will create a personal economic situation for myself that will free me from all worries in this sense.

Also, the question of the children. What do the children have to do with the feelings of our hearts? Why can’t a man who has children love? It is as if to say that the father of a family cannot work for the idea, do propaganda, etc. What makes them believe that those little beings will be forgotten because their father loves me? If the father were to forget his children, he would deserve my contempt and there would exist no more love between us.

Here, in Buenos Aires, certain comrades have a truly meager idea of free love. They imagine that it consists only in cohabiting without being legally married and, meanwhile, in their own homes they carry on practicing all the stupidities and prejudices of ignorant people. This type of union that ignores the civil registrar and the priest also exists in bourgeois society. Is that free love?

Finally, they criticize our difference in age. Just because I am 16 and my friend is 26. Some accuse me of running a commercial operation; others describe me as unwitting. Ah, these pontiffs of anarchism! Making the question of age interfere with love! As if the fact that a brain reasons is not enough for a person to be responsible for their actions! On the other hand, it is my own problem, and if the difference in age means nothing to me, why should it matter to anyone else? That which I cherish and love is youth of the spirit, which is eternal.

There are also those who treat us as degenerates or sick people and other labels of this kind. To all these I say: why? Because we live life in its true sense, because we recognize a free cult of love? Because, just like the birds that bring joy to walkways and gardens, we love without paying any attention to codes or false morals? Because we are faithful to our ideas? I disdain all those who cannot understand what it is to know how to love.

True love is pure. It is the sun whose rays stretch to those who cannot climb to the heights. Life is something we have to live freely. We accord to beauty, to the pleasures of the spirit, to love, the veneration that they deserve.

This is all, comrade. I would like to have your opinion on my case. I know very well what I am doing and I don’t need to be approved or applauded. Just that, having read many of your articles and agreeing with various points of view, it would make me content to know your opinion.

Her letter was printed in L’en dehors on January 20, 1929 under the title “An Experience.” Émile Armand printed his answer alongside it:

“Comrade: My opinion matters little in this matter you send me about what you are doing. Are you or are you not intimately in accord with your personal conception of the anarchist life? If you are, then ignore the comments and insults of others and carry on following your own path. No one has the right to judge your way of conducting yourself, even if it were the case that your friend’s wife be hostile to these relations. Every person united to an anarchist (or vice versa), knows very well that she should not exercise on him, or accept from him, domination of any kind.”

Severino di Giovanni.

The lover that the 16-year-old América Scarfó refers to in this letter was, of course, the anarchist Severino di Giovanni, Argentina’s most wanted criminal. When she sent this letter, he was living underground, accused of carrying out a string of bombings targeting the Italian Consulate, the US embassy, the Ford Motor Company, and a monument to George Washington, among other targets. By the time he was captured in January 1931—along with América and her brother Paulino—he was also accused of the most dramatic robbery in contemporary Argentine history and the shootings of various police officers.

At that point, a military coup had taken place in Argentina, Hitler was headed for power in Germany, and the whole world seemed to be sliding rapidly towards fascism. In such a context, we can understand Severino’s actions as a rational attempt to carry out much-needed revolutionary measures on the terrain that was available to him, just as he and América were doing in their romantic relationship.

When the police captured Severino, they rushed him to a doctor to treat his wounds, so as to be sure he would die at precisely the hour they decreed, after the proper show trial. The police reportedly tortured Severino, but none of the arrestees cooperated with the state by informing against their fellows. After the trial, Severino’s lawyer was arrested, dismissed from his post in the armed forces, imprisoned, and deported.

The novelist Roberto Arlt witnessed the scene of Severino’s execution:

He looks stiffly at his executors. He emanates will. Whether he suffers or not, it is a secret. But he remains like this, static, proud.

Only after the execution did they call over a blacksmith to unfasten his fetters—and another doctor, this time to make sure he was dead. Then they executed Paulino Scarfó, too, for good measure.

They had released América, deeming her unfit to stand trial on account of her age.

Severino di Giovanni under arrest.

On July 28, 1999, after 68 years, the Argentine government finally returned Severino di Giovanni’s letters to América Scarfó. América passed away on August 26, 2006 at the age of 93. Her ashes were buried in the garden beside the headquarters of the Argentine Libertarian Federation in Buenos Aires.

There are many different risks to loving fiercely and outside the prescribed lines. Perhaps the only thing worse than these terrifying risks is the deadly certainty that comes of not daring to love.

“For us, love is a passion that engenders tragedies for itself.”

-Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

Further Reading and Viewing

Anarchist Individualism and Amorous Comradeship, Émile Armand

The Knights Errant of Anarchy: London and the Italian Anarchist Diaspora (1880-1917), Pietro di Paola

Anarchism and Violence: Severino di Giovanni in Argentina, 1923-1931, Osvaldo Bayer

Daiana Rosenfeld and Anibal Garisto have produced a documentary about América Scarfó’s relationship with Severino di Giovanni entitled Los ojos de América (“The Eyes of América”).

Thomas Nast cartoon attacking Victoria Woodhull, advocate of free love, member of the First International, associate of anarchists, and, incidentally, the first woman to run for president of the United States.

Bakunin’s Revolutionary Catechism is distinct from Sergey Nechayev’s Catechism of a Revolutionary, which is often mistakenly attributed to Bakunin. In fact, there were serious differences between the politics of the two Russian revolutionists, as Bakunin set forth in this letter to Nechayev. ↩

See Errico Malatesta da Mazzini a Bakunin, la sua formazione giovanile nell’ambiente napoletano (1868-1873) by Misato Toda. ↩

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Havenhill 7

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Havenhill 7

[ Previous | First | Next ]

It takes a couple of days to get the two houses ready for occupants. The remains of Monday and the entirety of Tuesday are spent cleaning both houses from top to bottom. They remove the personal belongings of the Benford family, while ensuring that most of the furniture is in usable conditions. Tables and couches are kept, but beds are replaced with ones that smell fresh and are suitable for the number of occupants. Alia requests that the houses be placed back on their tiny electrical grid, and by late Tuesday night the lights are on and refrigerators hum. The water runs dark at first, but once they let it go for an hour, it’s hot and clear, the pump functioning perfectly to pull water up from the well.

On Wednesday they bring over fresh linens from the main house, then go into town to trade services for goods so that they can have food. They need to be out of the houses while the Mages of Havenhill take care of the cleansing ritual.

While in town, they stop at the school, and Nikolai finds a potential place to fit in within Havenhill. He and Seth agree to tutor a group of teenagers in survivalist skills, and in return those teens will work as a group to teach them the basic history, math, and science that they’ve missed during their years on the road. Seth finds the school library and stuffs his backpack full of books to borrow.

Alaric proves popular with the younger children, letting them climb on his hound’s back, giving them rides around the playground. Mac sits on a bench, quietly grinning as she watches. “He’s so gruff,” she says, “but so good with kids. I’ve seen it before, but every time it makes me smile.”

“It seems like he’s the one with the most to offer here,” Nikolai replies. He feels so inadequate, without any real skills to help keep Havenhill going. Maybe someday, after they’ve learned how to fit in. Maybe they’ll be able to do more than teach survival skills then.

“He grew up here, but in our own world.” Mac pulls her feet up, sits cross-legged. “He was raised to live like this, in an independent society that was halfway to cut off from the world. It wasn’t nearly as big, and they did still have access to stores and they went out into the world for education. But in the end, they all came back and lived in their own little commune. It worked for them. So Alaric fits in because this is what he always thought he’d be doing.”

“It’s easy for him.” Nikolai envies that, in a way. It seems like Alaric was raised in a way that was ready for the calamity of the Split. He wonders if Alaric’s mother is more like Alia than Alia realizes. If she’s preparing for something there that has already happened here.

Mac nods at his words. “It’s harder for all of the rest of us, not just you. We all have to shift our paradigm in some way. For us, it’s realizing that we might be stuck here, and that we can’t just go out and get jobs like we thought we would when we finished college. There’s no government, no big engineering firms, no hospitals. This place is not like we remember. And for you, it’s moving away from running and finding a way to live again.” She smiles slightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’ve found a home. Nikita’s been a wreck worrying about you ever since she started remembering the dreams. I’m glad we came to save you.”

“Even if it means never getting home again?”

Mac makes a face, drawing her knees up to hug them tight to her chest. “I’m still coming to terms with that part, and I can admit that I’m not entirely sure I’m thrilled trading my life for yours. But I’m not going to say your life isn’t worth it. I was a soldier, once upon a time. I had an entire life built around doing things I didn’t like in order to make sure other people survived.” There’s a darkness in her voice, the way the vowels lengthen and her tone goes soft; Nikolai knows she’s not telling the whole story there.

Still… Nikolai gets it. He knows what it’s like to have his known life suddenly ripped away and not be sure he’d ever get any of it back. He got lucky now. He found Mikhail and Josef, and he thinks he’s on his way to finding his happy ending. “You’ll get home,” he says firmly. She has to believe that, just like Nikolai’s held to the belief that Havenhill exists for all these years.

“Mm.” Mac slowly relaxes, letting her knees fall back down. She leans back, hands behind her head, still watching Alaric and the kids. “If you had the chance to come with us when we leave, would you?”

No.

Yes.

Maybe.

“I think it would depend on a lot of things,” Nikolai says slowly. He doesn’t want to give a gut instinct answer, because he assumes that the question isn’t just idle curiosity. “If Seth would come with me. If I’d have a way back. If you needed me there, or if it’s just Nikita trying to save me again, because in the end, this is my home. It would feel wrong to just abandon it. I might not know exactly what to do with my life yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Mm,” is all Mac says in reply, which doesn’t help.

“Nikolai!”

He turns at Nikita’s shout. He leaves one hand outstretched, and Mac takes it, coming to her feet easily beside him. Nearby, Alaric returns to human form and the kids rush off towards the school. “What?”

Nikita runs to meet him, her gait uneven but her ankle mostly recovered from the injury now, thanks to Genevieve’s healing. Heather and Carolyn trail behind her at a brisk walk. “Marybelle radioed to say they’re done with the cleansing rituals.” She raises the small radio to illustrate, tucking it back into a pocket after. “She said Alia and Val are waiting for us at the houses, along with Pawel. We want to try something, and we need you and Seth.”

“Do I even want to know what we’re doing?” Mac asks dryly. She fishes a bandana from her pocket, ties it around her curls to pull them back from her face. “Because after the last time—”

“Exactly. After the last time.” Nikita leans back into Heather’s touch, gestures between herself and Nikolai. “I think we need both of us involved in a ritual to get us back.”

Mac glances at Nikolai; he realizes that this is what she suspected was coming. He knew Nikita wanted to do it, he just wasn’t expecting it right now.

“What if I don’t want to go with you,” he says slowly and it’s not a question. He’s not ready to say yes to that; there are too many factors to make that decision right now.

“We’re not actually planning on going anywhere today.” Nikita swipes that thought away with a flick of her fingers. “We just want to try a ritual to see if we could get through. Alaric won’t be there, so we can’t go through without him, anyway.”

“It’s not like we meant to go through last time,” Alaric mutters. “You didn’t even plan a ritual last time, because if you had, I wouldn’t have been there.”

“Huh? Oh.” Nikita sags towards Heather. “I think that had more to do with me and Del.”

“And you think you can get back without Del?”

There’s a small pause before Nikita stands a little taller, hands on her hips as she disengages from Heather’s hold. Despite being as tall as Nikolai, she still seems small next to Alaric. “I think we have to at least try. I mean, I figured—don’t you miss Chris?”

Alaric takes a step back, and for a moment it looks as if he’s been struck. His gaze drops, and he growls low under his breath. “Meet you at the cars,” he mutters.

“That was rude,” Mac says.

“I didn’t mean—they’re… whatever it is they are.” Nikita turns to watch Alaric walk away, her hands spread in apology. “I’m sorry!” she calls after him. Alaric doesn’t respond as he shifts into the hound and lopes away.

Nikolai is positive he missed something. He’s not sure it’s worth asking what.

Besides, he’s far more worried about this ritual that Nikita is proposing. “Why do you think you need me involved for your ritual? You got here without my help.”

“We had Del,” Carolyn says. “Who isn’t exactly a Dreamwalker, but she’s… something. Several of us are something, which is what’s so complicated. I’ve been doing research on how different traveling Talents could be linked—Teleporters like Mac and Dreamwalkers like you seem to be at opposite ends of a spectrum, and then strange intermediary Talents like me, Del, and Nikita fall between those two poles. Even the Shadows might be linked.”

“That clears up nothing,” Nikolai admits. These people are so intertwined socially that they seem to keep assuming he’s one of them, just because he’s been on the other side of Nikita’s dreams. And while they all seem familiar, in that dreamlike way, he doesn’t actually know them. Or have any idea what Carolyn’s talking about.

“What’s wrong?” Seth’s calm is a familiar wash over his skin, his touch something that Nikolai can relax into as Seth places his hand against the small of Nikolai’s back.

“I’m so confused that I don’t even know if I can explain.” Nikolai glances at where the cars are parked, where Alaric’s hound lies in the sun, one paw over his nose. The back of two cars are open, while Mikhail, Amaranth, and Josef load crates into them. “How did it go getting food?”

“With your family to vouch for us, we have staples for both houses, and some fresh foods as well. Plenty of preserves. Last year’s canning and frozen foods come cheaper than current, so we went with that for the most part,” Seth says. He nudges his glasses up his nose. “It’s all better than what we had on the road, and we’ve got plenty of ingredients to be able to make baked goods on our own. Also, Amaranth and Josef picked out a few basic cookbooks so we can learn how to cook for real since that’s something we’ll want to know.”

“The houses are ready for us, cleansed and everything, and Pawel’s waiting for us to get back,” Nikita says. She takes a step toward the cars, pausing when Heather stops her with a hand. She licks her lips, looks at Nikolai. “Maybe we can make better sense of the ritual when we’re there. When all of us can talk.”

“It’s getting complicated and weird,” Nikolai says, trying to forestall Seth’s questions. Seth’s response is a disgruntled noise, but he lets it go until they’re in the Jeep and alone, aside from Mikhail driving.

“Give me the rundown,” Seth orders, so Nikolai does, to the best of his ability. Seth doesn’t seem any less confused than he does. “Do you think there’s a risk to us?” he asks when Nikolai is done.

“I’m not one for traditional ritual, but it sounds to me like there is,” Mikhail says. “I’ll be blunt: I don’t want to lose you.” He pulls up at the new house to park next to the two other cars that went into town, and Val’s van. He turns around before they can get out of the Jeep. “Be careful, Nik,” he says quietly. “And don’t do anything that’s going to call attention to Havenhill. This is a safe place, and I don’t think Val and Alia want to see the wards broken open just because your friends want to get home. That might be something that needs to be done outside the groves.”

Nikolai makes a sound of agreement, because that all sounds valid. The problem is, he can’t speak for the others, and they haven’t listened to logic before now. He’s not sure they’re going to start.

Seth leans over the seat, his shoulder pressed to Nikolai’s. “When do we get to learn to drive?”

“I can come back and take you out late tomorrow morning,” Mikhail offers. “We’ve got a meeting early so that the Weather Witches can look at the patterns that are building and see what we’re needed for this week, but after that I’m free. Josef and Amaranth need the Jeep to ride the borders first thing in the morning anyway. And eventually we’ll need to look at getting you a car; someone in your group needs transportation.”

Seth runs his hand along the back of the seat. “I like your Jeep. It feels… comfortable. It has a good aura.”

“It’s not human.”

Seth rolls his eyes, elbows Nikolai. “I’m not saying it is. But sometimes objects resonate, and this Jeep is old enough that it does.”

“Josef’s always saying it’s got personality,” Mikhail says dryly. “So you might be right. Still. I’ll teach you to drive in the Jeep, but I’m not giving it to you. We’ll find you something of your own eventually.” He points at where Pawel stands in front of the main house, arms crossed, glaring between Alia and Val and the arriving cars. “I think someone’s waiting for you.” A moment’s hesitation, then, “Be careful. I want you be here when I bring the Jeep over tomorrow to teach you to drive.”

“We will.” Nikolai answers with conviction, refusing to think that it could work out differently. He has no plans to leave, and if the ritual is going to risk that, he won’t help.

Mikhail gets out long enough to pull Nikolai in for a rough hug and one more whisper of, “Be careful,” before he heads out, the Jeep rattling down the road.

Ethan and Alaric come out of the main house, and Ethan waves cheerily. “Everyone’s stuff has been put in their respective houses and rooms. Seth, Nikolai—we washed what we could, and replaced what we couldn’t. Alaric’s already agreed to work with our textiles group to pay that off. Everyone needs clothes anyway, since your friends arrived with just the shirts on their backs.”

“It’s too much,” Nikolai says. It’s too generous when they don’t know him, and when he’s done nothing for them yet. They already owe Havenhill so much.

“It’s what we do for all new arrivals,” Alia assures him. “We have been taking in newcomers for a decade, Nikolai. You are welcome, and you will find your place here.”

“Havenhill is a place for strays,” Val adds. “Don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to be here,” Alaric grumbles. He only makes it two steps before he turns back. “Not Havenhill; I’m grateful for that,” he mutters. “Thanks for taking us in. I don’t want to be around for your ritual. It reeks. Don’t know how you can stand it.” He looks at Alia.

She smiles tightly. “You say you are my child in another world. Am I so strict that you are unable to tolerate magic?”

“I tolerate it better than you,” Alaric says curtly. “But your husband hates Mages and he always taught us that we should, too.”

“Luckily her wife here is a Mage, and that probably helps,” Val replies with a grin, twining her fingers with Alia. “You should stay. It took time for Alia to get used to the feel of magic on her skin, and the scent of it, but most Clan here do fine with it now. We’ve become one community.”

“I’m getting used to it. M’best friend back home is a Mage. One of my best friends, anyway,” Alaric grumbles. “But I still don’t like it. It makes my skin itch, like I can feel it crawling all over me when Rory’s designing rituals. So as long as you aren’t leaving without me, I’m not sticking around.”

“This is just a fact-finding ritual,” Pawel says quietly, arms still crossed and stance tight. “No one is going through.”

“That’s what you said the last time,” Alaric points out. “And look where we are.”

“If we do happen to go through, we know how we did it, so we’ll come back for you,” Nikita says quickly. “No one will be left behind.”

Somehow Nikolai doesn’t find that reassuring. There is this assumption that nothing will happen, but at the same time, there is an underlying understanding that it went wrong before, and it could easily go wrong again. He reaches blindly for Seth’s hand, tangles their fingers tightly when he finds him.

“I want all the travelers involved,” Carolyn says. She points to the space in front of her. “That means Nikita, with Heather to anchor her, and Nikolai, with Seth. Me. Mac. Mattie.”

“Sakura and I will hold the wards,” Val says. Nikolai hadn’t even noticed Sakura until Val mentioned her, standing on the edge of the clearing in front of the house. She’s close to the edge of the grove, which, if she’s doing something with the wards, makes sense. Just like on the first day they met, Sakura is dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, with mid-calf boots on her feet, but no jacket. Her feet are spread, her arms loose by her side, and her gaze narrows when she hears her name. She nods once.

“And Jefferson will be out soon,” Val adds.

Nikolai isn’t positive why there’s a Giver of Pain involved, although he can make a guess. Jefferson is probably a failsafe, in case something needs to be violently disrupted.

It doesn’t help the unease he feels about the whole situation.

“Alaric, come with me,” Ethan says, gesturing toward the edge of the grove, past Sakura, where a path leads through the trees. “Let me show you around the grounds some more, so you can see how this place is different from where you grew up. It might help settle the beast under your skin.” He flashes a quick grin. “A little help settling can’t be a bad thing, right? Let’s get you relaxed.”

Ethan tilts his head, and Alaric growls softly at the line of throat exposed.

“Ethan,” Val says quietly, and Ethan shifts his posture back to something more neutral.

“It’s just a walk,” Ethan assures Alaric. “We’ll get you away from the magic, then you can relax. Right?”

Nikolai isn’t sure what Alaric’s more nervous about: the feel of the magic, or the idea that he might be left behind. “No one’s going anywhere,” Nikolai says, his hand tight in Seth’s, just in case that’s the bigger worry. “We need to stay here. We belong here.” He tries to sound confident, despite his own worries.

Alaric huffs, and takes a step back, head ducked. He exhales, then stands up straight, crossing his arms. He makes a noise low in his throat, before dropping to all fours to become the bear and lumbering away.

“I’ve got him,” Ethan says, following quickly after.

“And we’ve got this,” Nikita says cheerfully.

Nikolai isn’t sure, but he doesn’t contradict her. Someone has to believe it’s going to work out the way they need it to.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Want to support me? -- Patreon | Ko-Fi | Reblog & Comment

[storyofauke]

@timejourneytales sent me some great thoughts and questions. Sharing with their permission:

timejourneytales said: Like lol wow sweetie it has been a loooong time. I read some of your recent posts and again it sucks that some of the anons have turned troll on ya. Oh and this isn't a anon ask it just probably a bit too long for the ask lol. Where do I start? So many things I wanna say.... Well first the whole Fei and Mik fiasco that started the trolls. You know me I am a straight up lover of the long-haired beauties. With Feilong and who he is to be shipped with I just go with the flow because in the past you made good points on it either being Mikhail or Yoh. At first I wanted neither but then you explained how either could be good. Mikhail as you once said has this glamour to him and Yoh has this solidness to him, basically one has what the other lacks to make a perfect match for Fei. I am kind of rooting for Yoh yet sometimes have my fingers crossed for Mikhail too because the man is a goofball sometimes. But as you mentioned in a recent post it might not be what sensei has planned. And I think that is what is causing the trolls they sense that Ayano-sensei may get rid of Mikhail later and they don't want to even think of that. All you're doing is voicing you're opinions, and saying what YOU THINK is gonna go down. That is the reason why I have come to love your blog. That and how you clear things up. 

Me: Aw, thank you. I get that people are passionate about the characters they love. What I still don’t get is getting angry at me for not agreeing with them. Ship away to your heart’s content, but why flip out because I refuse to get on that particular ship with you? Honestly, if we could all learn to bear dissenting opinions with a little more equanimity, the world would be a better place.

As to wanting someone for Fei, I feel pretty detached, personally. I’m very interested in Fei’s current arc because it’s so emotionally complex and unusual. I’m much more invested in seeing how that plays out. I am interested enough in him as a character to want him to have someone. I think he deserves happiness and I think it’s in his nature that happiness for him would come in the form of a life partner. Fei needs to be loved. He should be loved. All that fabulousness should not be wasted on the desert air.

timejourneytales said: But yeah I think, as fun as it may sound, Fei and Mik may not be. Because to me I feel Mik has been all chase and fling with Feilong. Yea he likes to flirt with the guy because it can throw him off and hey tactics are tactics right. Basically more of a physical attraction and interest in the hunt. 

Me:  I agree. And I get that on the surface, Mik presents a very sparkly option (to borrow sensei’s own word.) They are awfully pretty together. But is Mik really what Fei needs or more importantly, what Fei wants? I mean, it’s pretty much been spelled out that Fei wants a daddy figure. Not just adoration and security but a firm support from which his fabulousity can flower. I just don’t think Mik is suited to that role. They’re too much alike to make a long-term relationship work. 

And back to what Fei wants: to this point in the manga, I haven’t seen any evidence that Fei is at all attracted to Mik. In fact, what I see is active dislike. To argue otherwise undercuts the sacrifice Fei is making for Asami. I see a lot of Fei fans celebrating that and wondering what Asami will think when he finds out. But if Fei is attracted to Mik, then it’s not a sacrifice, is it? Then the whole arc is shot to hell.   

timejourneytales said: And also the whole thing with Akihito. Why is it so easy for people to point out that yeah Feilong rapped Aki and call him a baddie but say otherwise with Asami who did the same? I mean I am actually the same. How easy it is to overlook that Asami did what he did and be fine but when think of Fei I think how he kind of got his in Finder No Rakuin or in the one nightstand chapter with Mik. 

Me: Okay, I do not want to excuse what Asami did to Aki (the rapes and the rotten things he said to wreck Aki’s confidence,) but I do think there is a difference in Asami’s motives vs Fei’s motives for raping Aki and that this is why many readers give Asami a pass. 

With the understanding that this is a fantasy and that rape is bad in real life blah blah, the argument can be made that Asami did not consider what he did to Aki in chapter one as rape but rather as ravishment. And I don’t think he initially abducted Aki with the intent to rape him. I think he intended to just scare Aki off but was overcome with desire (which is the classic ravishment fantasy) and then couldn’t help himself. And he was careful to see that Aki felt pleasure and--if you read the novelization of the first chapter--even practiced aftercare. (Again, I am not excusing this behavior, just laying out the argument.)

But Fei raped Aki out of revenge. Over a long period of time. There was no desire involved, no care for what Aki might or might not feel. For Fei, Aki was an object, a means to exact his revenge and vent his anger. But for Asami, Aki was always a person, even when he was just toying with him. 

HOWEVER, what Asami did was still wrong. How Asami undermined Aki’s understanding of their relationship was, IMO, even worse. Where Fei proves himself a better human being capable of growth is in understanding that what he did was wrong and apologizing. And now, against his own lingering desires--albeit grudgingly, reuniting the two.

Asami has some major ground to make up in this respect and I’m not at all sure we’re going to see him even try. (Is he even capable of understanding and acknowledging that what he did was wrong?) By that measure, Fei would come out of this story the real winner.

timejourneytales said: And I yeah I loved the omake's. Which of three would you say was your favorite? And I agree how brilliant sensei is in including the struggles of her characters in them. 

Me: Yeah, I’ve said before that sure, this isn’t War and Peace, but sensei does put thought into what she’s doing, and that she can make the omakes light, fun, super sexy AND thematically relevant is no small trick.

I think the vampire one is my favorite because I love these glimpses into the soft, gooey center of Asami’s subconscious. He’s all giving and caring in his perception of himself! I wish he would put that into more open, active practice in his waking moments because Aki still ain’t getting it.

I was intrigued by the brief moment of Asami toying with the idea of fighting on the right side of the law in the hero show extra, and that leads into your last comment:

timejourneytales said: And that is a good question, in the end will Asami come to the light or Akihito to the dark. I wanna say the latter most likely because any chance at a "normal" life for a Asami is easier said than done. Especially when. You consider his "popularity" in the criminal world. Anyway that is all I wanted to say today:)

Me: And that is a very good point. It would be enormously difficult for Asami to leave the underworld and live an entirely “normal” life. However, I don’t think it would be impossible. And since he’s supposed to be this highly educated genius and everything, I would think it would be within his scope to plan for such a thing. And after what we learned about him in FnS, it would be believable that he has planned for such a thing, now that we know that a criminal lifestyle is not what he wanted and that at one point in his life, he very much wanted to live as a normal person. 

Now he has a new reason to want that life: Akihito. As a smart, powerful man, I believe he could make it happen. The question is, how much has he changed in the eighteen years between FnS and now? Is he too much a prisoner of the dark? It certainly seems that the manga is leaning towards Aki merely being a light within the darkness and not a beacon to lead Asami out of it. More realistic that way, yes, but...sigh. Don’t we all, as fans, have things we know sensei will not give us?

[woozapooza]

So when I was looking at reviews of Enter 77 and getting mad because some critics weren’t giving it the praise it deserved, it got me thinking about how my standards for what makes good tv are just really different from those of a lot of real critics. The real critics are way better than I am at analyzing an episode, seeing if it makes sense, seeing how it fits into the show, seeing whether characters are acting out of character, etc., but in addition to all that, I feel like I’m much more willing to love an episode based on its own merits (as opposed to how it fits into the context of the show) and based on how it allows the characters to shine (as opposed to how it moves the plot forward). Not that I don’t think an ideal episode would play an important role in the show as a whole, but I think my standards for what constitutes a significant episode are just...so different that a lot of real critics’ perspectives just don’t make sense to me.

Like, to take Enter 77 as an example, it was the flashbacks in particular that were mainly being criticized, but the flashbacks are precisely what made the episode so good to me. A lot of people seem to think that the flashbacks didn’t add anything either to Sayid’s character or to the present-day part of the plot, but I don’t agree on either point. To start with Sayid’s character: yeah, we already know that he was a torturer and that he has a lot of angst about it. It’s true that we’ve already seen him be confronted by one of his victims (Sawyer) and repent to them. But while the Amira/Sawyer parallel is interesting, there are so many differences (Amira forgives Sayid, Sawyer doesn’t; there’s no indication that Sayid thought he was doing the right thing by hurting Amira whereas with Sawyer he was trying to save Shannon; the Amira encounter simply features a younger Sayid who presumably has never been at the mercy of one of his victims before, etc.) it’s impossible for me to see Enter 77 as a retread of the relevant scenes in Confidence Man and All the Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues. As for how the episode fits into the main plot, it’s enough for me that Sayid has to choose whether to continue the cycle of mercy with regards to Mikhail. A huge, absolutely fundamental part of the show is that being on the island forces the characters to revisit key moments in their lives and confront the lessons they learned, and that’s exactly what we see Sayid do. Another major element of the show is its themes of sin, forgiveness, and what morality really is. We see these themes in the whole thing from season one about whether they’re being punished (I feel like it was Claire and Sun who had this conversation but I’m not sure), in the Others’ insistence that they’re the “good guys,” in the presence of the concept of dharma, in Eko’s final speech, perhaps in Mikhail’s claim in the following episode that Kate, Sayid, and Locke are “flawed” (I can’t say for certain because I don’t yet know what he meant), and so on. Amira is important because she simply provides a philosophy we haven’t seen before. But more fundamentally, I just really, really liked seeing such a fantastic character as Sayid in such an emotional and captivating story! It’s as simple as that! I guess what we’re really disagreeing on is whether it’s inherently worth it to see Sayid in a new situation, to give Naveen Andrews a new challenge as an actor, and to put Sayid’s character arc and its themes (and the themes of the show) in new words. I think it’s obvious which side I come down on.

P.S. I’m not touching on the few comments I saw that were like “this show sucks so obviously this episode sucks” because obviously I disagree with those people on such a fundamental level there’s really no point in arguing.

P.P.S. Yeah, this episode was clearly based on Death and the Maiden. What of it?

P.P.P.S. It just occurred to me that these flashbacks add resonance to the Sayid vs. Sawyer plotline of season 1. Not that this resonance is necessary to make the s1 plot work, but it does make it even better and more meaningful in my opinion. Sayid’s guilt over having hurt Sawyer and his line “what I did today, what I almost did, I swore to do never again” make perfect sense on their own, but I find that there’s an additional “ohhhh!” factor now that we’ve learned that Sayid had already been confronted by one of his victims once and made to acknowledge his remorse.

P.P.P.P.S. I encountered one person who thinks that Sayid’s confession was false and that Amira was wrong. Hmm. No.

P.P.P.P.P.S. This post is really just a long-winded way of saying that I really love Sayid Jarrah.

[professionallyprocrastinating]

The Murder Mystery, part 2

Oh @aelphaba1...

It looks like there will be a part three, but have this to keep you going.

Detective Esperanza Rodrigues was un-surprised to see a few of her co-workers reading the latest hit crime novel in the break room.

The Police Force, much like most front-line services, had a somewhat twisted sense of humour, and liked to share a laugh about how much people got wrong. Cop and legal shows were another source of hilarity. She sat down, pulling a sandwich out of her bag. “How bad is it this time?”

Detective Mikhail Pietrov, who had a flair for dramatic readings and was therefore the top choice for reading aloud to everyone else, put down his coffee. “Not as horrible as it usually is, actually. They clearly did their research, at the very least, and maybe even some in-person interviews to get the characters right.”

Sargent Amy Peters, who had been quietly reading her own copy in the corner, possibly so she could threaten them with spoilers when they started goofing off, glanced up from the pages and fixed all of them with a stern glare. “Just finish it and get on with your breaks. Pietrov, Rodrigues, I want to see you before you leave today.”

The two detectives exchanged confused looks, wondering what they had done to deserve a private meeting. The attempt at a precinct-wide paintball war had been a flop...

The Sargent ignored their obvious bewilderment, and merely added another sticky tab to the multitude already scattered through the pages. Mikhail shrugged, then put the book down, to a chorus of groans. “I’ve got a case to wrap up the paperwork on, guys. We can continue tomorrow.”

Esperanza and Mikhail engaged in a brief, half-hearted shoving match to determine who knocked to announce their presence. It was rendered pointless when her slightly exasperated voice came through the door. “Whenever you are ready to stop being children and act like the detectives you are...”

They entered, trying to project a professional attitude, with mixed success. “You wanted to see us, Sarge?”

Amy pushed the book across the desk. “I want a second opinion. Think of the unsolved murders that you worked on, the ones that we think are the work of a serial killer, then look at the pages I’ve marked.”

Esperanza picked up the Sargent’s copy, while Mikhail pulled out the one he had been reading from earlier, checking the pages against Amy’s tags. After about five minutes of reading, Esperanza put her book down, face pale, letting out a slow whistle. “Damn.”

Their Sargent nodded. “I hoped I wasn’t right. Whoever this author is, they somehow know details that were never released to the public. Get on it, and for the love of whatever you consider holy, do not approach without backup.”

Mikhail’s pale face gave lie to his cheerful. “Aw, Sarge, I knew you loved us.”

If the Sargent was amused, her face showed no trace of it. “Out, the both of you!”

By mutual agreement, the two detectives waited until they had actually slept before pitching in to work on the  case.

They didn’t want to miss any details because of lack of sleep.

Esperanza, the faster reader, focusd on the book itself, taking notes on the parts that were relevant to the case files. Mikhail went over the files themselves with a fine-tooth comb, trying to figure out how the author, R J Bates, had managed to find all of these details. At the end of the second day, he put the files down with a groan. “OK, this author is either the serial killer we’ve been looking for, or personally knows them.”

Esperanza nodded. “I think we’ve actually learned new details about several of the cases from reading this book - and believe me, that’s not something I ever thought I’d say.”

Mikhail chuckled faintly. “My cousin is an aspiring author. I always thought she was joking when she said that some of her group chats would land her on a Federal Watch List someday.”

Esperanza shot him an odd look. “You think authors are inclined to be serial killers?”

He blinked and shook his head. “No, not all of them, but most have probably looked up enough research sources to have come into contact with one accidentally.”

Esperanza shook her head. “I’m wondering if the Killer has reached the point where they want notoriety, and is using this R J person as a mouthpiece under the guise of providing research links.”

Mikhail sat up, sharply. “Potential accomplice, or potential victim, do you think?”

She groaned, then jumped as Sargent Peters appeared behind them. “Any progress, detectives?”

Regaining her composture, Esperanza nodded. “Three possibilities, Sarge. The author is either the serial killer themselves, a possibly-unwitting accomplice, or potentially the next victim.”

The Sargent frowned, as deadly serious as they had ever seen her. “Find out the author’s real name, and set up a stakeout. If they’re in danger, or are the danger, I want to know.”

By lunch the next day,  Esperanza triumphantly brought a file into Sargent Peters’s office, placing it carefully on the desk. (No-one threw files down onto any surface, even for dramatic effect, unless they wanted a lecture on proper treatment of important and official documents.) Her superior officer raised an eyebrow as Mikhail followed her in, “I take it you have results?”

Esperanza nodded, pleased with herself. “Real name Ramona Jane Bates, resident of Queens, recently listed one Joshua Ryan as a co-resident, and the registrar says she was wearing an engagement ring.”

Mikhail frowned, taking a closer look at the picture of the two, picked up from a security camera outside the Hall of Records. “Oh, crap.”

Both woman looked at him sharply. “What?”

Mikhail pointed at Joshua. “I dated that guy about eighteen months ago. Just a few dates, we didn’t quite click, but if he’s in danger...”

Sargent Peters fixed him with a serious look. “Detective Pietrov, do I need to remove you from this case for personal connections?”

Mikhail shook his head. “No, Sarge, but it might give us an in, if we need to investigate more.”

The Sargent looked like she wanted to bury her head in her hands, but refrained. “Well, this is shaping up into a bigger mess every time we discover something new. See if you can make contact with your ex-, but be descreet.  If the Author is the Killer, we don’t want to put them in danger.”