#Verses about Moscow

[gennsoup]

I lift you up like a sapling, my best burden: for to me you are weightless.

Marina Tsvetayeva, Verses about Moscow

[kingkat12]

quelle jolie chose (marquis de gramont x reader)

WARNINGS: mentions of bodily harm, violence, intimidation, humiliation

summary: as the new owner of The Continental in Moscow, you should've known better before helping John Wick escape Russia-- what will the Marquis do when he finds out you've been in contact with the excommunicado he's been after all along?

word count: 1,714

a/n: this is chapter one of a quite long Marquis fic i'm writing, so don't you worry... there's much more to come!!! and there are some french words here and there, i am NOT french lol so do correct me if i'm wrong, and there is a vocab at the end!! enjoy<33333

I hadn't planned on facilitating John Wick's escape from The Moscow Continental-- nothing was going as planned, these days. That was truly dawning on me as the Marquis' guards gripped me harder, forcing me down on my knees in front of him as I glared up at the statuesque man before me. 

I was well-versed in the rules of the High Table, having grown up in the order. It was only recently that I had taken over the hotel, almost immediately after my father's untimely death. I had suddenly found myself at the center of the operation I had watched from afar my whole life, and had the truth about my father's work unveiled to me during a time when I should've been mourning him. It had been terribly hard, but I had gotten myself together for the sake of the hotel. For the sake of my life, my family, and our legacy.

However, nothing had been more important than the debt I owed John Wick. Funnily enough, that was exactly what had gotten me into this situation.

"You should've known better than to succumb to such foolishness," The Marquis took another step towards me, his eerily green eyes drilling into me with intimidation unlike anything I had ever seen before. "We know your father was weak when it came to Mr. Wick, but you? That you would be helping an excommunicado evade us? That was certainly unexpected from the newly instated owner of The Moscow Continental."

I hated that this was happening in my penthouse. Had I stayed at the hotel tonight to tend to business, I would've at least been sure he wouldn't kill me. The grip the guards had on me, the force in which my knees were being pressed against my newly polished wooden floors, nearly had me wincing-- but there was no way in hell I'd show him how scared I was. My gaze only hardened, trying to wry myself out of the strong hands holding me down; "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the Marquis rolled his eyes. It was almost as though he was bored with me. "We have it all on video," he grumbled, unimpressed with my attempts of denial. "Him at the hotel, him in one of your cars, and videos from the shootout at Sheremetyevo airport. It seems you're good with a gun, miss... Actually, it's probably good to find out whether you have one on you right now." With a wave of his hand, the guard next to him stepped toward me, and it didn't take long before I was pressed face-down to the floor as I yelled out in protest.

With tears pressing upon my eyes, I could only curse as they managed to find the knife in my boot and continued to search me-- my eyes widened when they moved up my thighs, finding the gun I had stuffed down the side of my hip before having gotten dragged into this room, ambushed in my own home. I let out another yell, kicking with the best of my abilities, as my pants were dragged down my thighs and my hands were held tightly at my back.

I heard a hum coming from the Marquis, who had stepped away to make himself a cup of tea by the table I had set up a few weeks ago. Everything about his nonchalance angered me further-- I couldn't believe this was happening to me in the room I had set up to focus on the one thing that gave me a sense of purpose and peace; my paintings. They were hung up on the tall walls, and I caught a glimpse of Vincent admiring the one to his left.

My head pounded with fear, not used to this sort of humiliation. These feelings were new-- I knew I was the only one who could save me now that John Wick was out of the country. I looked away, pressing my forehead against the floor, still fighting my captivity. 

I didn't need to look at the well-dressed Marquis to know that he was watching the whole ordeal play out before him. Then again, I didn't know a single man who wouldn't watch a woman get undressed, unwanted or not. So there I was, splayed out on the floor of my atelier, the cold winter air of my penthouse hitting my bare thighs with my red panties on display. I wanted to cry, embarrassed beyond belief about being in my underwear in front of all of these men, but also scared like never before-- would they take it further than this? Would this be the moment where what I had dreaded all my life was about to happen?

Thankfully, my pants were quickly put on, but my favorite gun was confiscated. My cheeks were still bright red, remnants of tears pooling in my eyes as I was propped back up on my knees. "Aren't you supposed to be of nobility?" I asked, speaking through gritted teeth as my head hung between my shoulders in shame. "Did no one teach you to treat ladies with respect?" I couldn't remember a time when any other member of the order had been strip-searched-- sexist fucker. 

The Marquis let out a short chuckle, the arrogance evident even in his laugh. "What makes you believe you deserve my respect after helping John Wick? You're quite rightfully on your knees now, and hopefully, you'll start begging for your life soon. For your own sake, of course," 

"I would rather carve out my own eyes than beg you for anything," I said, a low growl building in my throat along with my anger. "And you know that you need me alive. The whole of Russia will go to war against you if you kill me, and you can count on Bratva and Rusko Roma to avenge me!"

It didn't take long for the Marquis to change his mood once more-- his pompous sneer disappeared off his face with one twitch of his eye, and within the snap of a second, he threw the cup of tea across the room, shattering the glass against the wall with a crushing sound that echoed through the halls. "You will obey!" he yelled, coming towards me with loud, booming steps. Blinded by anger, he crouched down to grab my face in his hand, his grip on my cheeks making me wince. "It doesn't matter to me who your father was or how important you think you are, because you work for me!" 

"And that is where you're wrong," I continued to struggle around the grip his guards had on me, wanting nothing more than to be freed and strike him right across the face. However, a sense of calm washed over me when I realized he wasn't here to kill me-- he couldn't. "I don't work for you. I work for the High Table. You're simply a code in the software, and right now you're pissing off the highest-ranking official in the biggest country in the world. Are you trying to wage a war on Russia, Vincent?"

The mention of his first name had him squeezing my face even harder in his large, rough hands. But this time, I didn't react-- I simply stared back at him, watching the way his pupils shrunk as he focused on me like I was prey. Up close, I could see the deep scar on his cheek, the way his lips pursed with anger, and it suddenly dawned on me that he smelled like a mix of tobacco, amber, and leather. Very manly, very expensive; enticing. 

"War," he echoed, another twitch of his eye ensuing. "Pas de souci. That is not what I want. But what I do want, however..." The Marquis let go of my face, getting up from the ground. "I want John Wick dead, along with his allies. And since I can't kill you yet, it seems I have to make use of your friendship with the excommunicado." With another wave of his hand, the guards let me go-- I pressed my palms against the floor in relief, letting in a shaky heave of air. 

I looked up at him through my brows, feeling my anger pulsing through my veins. "He's long gone, Vincent. He's not coming back to Russia,"

The Marquis hummed; "Get him back, then,"

"He won't--"

"Do it, or I'll put your mother's head on a spike!" His voice boomed through the room, leaving behind an echo that made me want to wince once more. "If he's not here within a week, I will have you bound and forced to watch me rip her limbs apart!" 

My lips parted in shock, feeling as though my body had frozen over. Everything about his threat made me terrified out of my mind-- I couldn't risk it. I knew that the Marquis was dangerous and that he could easily follow through with his words; I needed to get myself together, for the sake of my family. It took a lot of power for me to get up from the ground, balling my fists as I met his threatening gaze. I watched as he stood before me, clad in a ridiculously expensive grey-ish suit, visibly ready for any fight I might want to put up. 

I wasn't stupid-- I realized I was surrounded by his guards with no other choice than to obey. I didn't even have my gun anymore, nor did I have my trusted bodyguard; I wondered whether his body still lay lifeless in the hallway, bleeding out all over my new carpet. 

I was cornered, and I knew it. Which is why I got down on one knee and put my hand over my heart, accepting my reality; "I will be of service,"

The Marquis snickered at my pledge, clearly pleased. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes rounding out in victory at the sight of me willingly kneeling. "Quelle jolie chose," he breathed, nodding to himself. "Good. Very, very good."

I wanted nothing more than to shoot a hole through his face. I couldn't wait for the day I'd get that opportunity.

vocabulary:

pas de souci: no worries

quelle jolie chose: what a pretty thing

[leiandroid]

otayuri week | day five - workplace au

otabek works the nightshift of a movie store, and yuri is a film and photography student that comes to rent&buy movies.

@otayuriweek22

canons and scenes of this verse discussed at length under the cut >>

as usual, i can't write for shit and bridge ideas to anything cohesive or create dialogue that isn't cringe and unnatural so have this list instead (i need y'all to get the full picture ya know) >>

yuri is a film & photography student (more interested in photography over film, which ended up meaning he has a lacking knowledge of movies and the programme requires him to know and watch a lot of them)

otabek is the night shift worker of the movie store. georgi works the day shifts.

yuri started going there to rent/buy movies. at first he went during the day and had initially asked georgi for suggestions but after his third time coming back with georgi's recommendations, which was another over dramatic and terrible romance, he stopped asking. one day, he was late going home from university so he stopped by the movie place at night and that's when he first met otabek on his night shift.

otabek is a semi-pretentions "film not movies" kind of guy, when he saw the stack of films yuri intended to leave with he didn't say anything, only had a look on his face which yuri straight up asked "what's that look for asshole?" to which otabek said nothing and just rang up the tapes and asked "you buying or renting?"

when he returned the movies the next time it was during the day, and yuri went back to rent movies some nights later after evening classes. this time, when he entered the shop otabek was digging through a box of new arrivals and was stacking them on the shelves. yuri browsed whatever movies were on display til curiosity brought him to the box and he asked otabek if there was anything interesting to watch in there.

otabek, finally puts his largely useless (but in this case, useful to yuri) movie knowledge to action. he rifles through the tapes and hands him a film. yuri looks at it with with pursed lips but takes it anyway "this better be good" he warns. otabek just shrugs. yuri adds 2 other movies to take with him from the new arrivals.

this time yuri intentionally returns at night to catch otabek, he puts the tapes on the counter and says "i liked it" then turns away to go peruse the movies. he comes back with 3, and otabek rings them up as yuri watches with mild interest. then asks if he has another recommendation to which otabek stops what he's doing, bites into the lollipop (cherry) he was sucking on, and chews on it as he goes around the counter and walks towards a specific shelf and grabs a tape off of it and rings it up without consulting or showing it to yuri. yuri rolls his eyes before leaving.

yuri takes notice of several things: otabek has a barbell piercing on his left eyebrow, an eagle tattoo on his neck with the wings wrapping around the sides (the lattice of the kazakhstan flag is a band tattooed around his left upper thigh, but yuri doesn't know of it), and a small hoop earring on his right ear. (the gay ear). (also this is set in the 90s). yuri momentarily wonders if he's gay but immediately dismisses it because otabek seems painfully straight and concludes he probably just didn't know about it. it's more ironic than a rule anyway.

yuri has both ears pierced with black studs. he likes to wear rings on both hands and carries his camera with him everywhere. he develops his own photos, has developed them for a long time. he had a bugdet redroom he made in his wardrobe at home in moscow (with blackout curtains, drilling a hole into the back to put in a bulb he painted red, and lined the floor of it with a basin and enlarger). now he uses the university's lofty development studio and practically lives in it. (they are in st petersburg).

otabek smokes and when he isn't smoking he sucks on lollipops and hard candies, his preferred flavour is cherry but he fucks with cola flavour too. he bites lollipop sticks to shreds through the course of his shifts. he tries to keep it to 2 smoke breaks maximum during his shift. the nights are slow so if he doesn't have that self imposed restriction he could spend the entire night on the curb outside the shop smoking till someone came in.

there are bins of candy and snacks on the counter of the movie store, otabek helps himself to the hard candies and lollipops regularly. he drops in a weekly tenner in the register to cover the cost of what he takes (it doesn't, but he deems it close enough).

weeks pass by in similar fashion, otabek's movie recommendations keep making their way into yuri's purchases, they talk about the movies every time yuri comes back to exchange tapes for new ones. yuri rants about the arthouse movies, deciding he hates the genre. he cites that photography is for telling fragmented stories, movies are for telling complete ones. those pretentious films that tell nothing but drone on and on with useless imagery and jarring soundtracks make him furious with hate. otabek drops in an especially awful film of that genre just to piss yuri off and hear the epic rant that yuri will no doubt have prepared for the next visit.

up until that point, all of their interactions have been in the movie store. one day whilst otabek was driving through the streets on his motorbike, he spots yuri and pulls up to him to say hello. yuri had just finished class and was going to grab a bite to eat and asked otabek if he wanted to come with. they become friends. they hang out frequently.

otabek is a hacker by trade. he learns code and hacking shit and does odd jobs for companies to test their security networks by breaking into them and giving them a rundown on their weaknesses and what they need to lock their shit down better. he lives on energy drinks and cigarettes and thinks working out offsets his unhealthy lifestyle.

a handful of times otabek and yuri go into the backroom to watch a movie together from the pile yuri intends to rent. otabek keeps the door slightly ajar, plus there's a small cctv set up of the store in case a customer walks in whilst they're in there.

otabek discovers two things: one, yuri does not shut the fuck up during a movie, and two, his commentary is hilarious. yuri also discovers two things: one, otabek tastes like candy sweet ashes, and two, the earring was definitely a signal.

EXTRA

some details about the shop itself since they wouldn't leave my head and it's hard to represent it in 1 drawing. the shop in the art looks way more clean and official than it does in my head. in reality it's a more dilapidated back alley shop with shitty lighting, old movie posters and sellotape marks littering the walls. the walls have some stains from previous water damage. it smells of air freshner, dust, and a hint of cigarette smoke.

i'm operating on 0 knowledge of a russia in the mid 90s and just borrowing details from unofficial/pirating dvd stores from my home country, but the place makes copies of movies to sell. original vhs tapes are for rent, whereas copies are sold. the backroom is a work station for downloading movies on shitty dial up and copying vhs tapes. the backroom smells of stale smoke since otabek sometimes smokes in there whilst running the recording machines and downloads, etc. he was hired because he knows how to rip files and find movies and hack his way into movie databases to get new/old/obscure releases.

if they don't carry a movie that a customer wants then they can request it and otabek will click around the internet to find and download it and put it on a tape. in the picture, otabek is holding empty vhs tapes that he plans to record movies on to. the shelves have the legit movie copies, but if you want to buy them, a copy is made and you're given a regular tape with its factory sleeve and the movie title written on the label.

they sell and rent originals of russian movies bc they're not hard to obtain and are in demand, especially ones that star russia's heart throb viktor nikiforov (he is especially popular amongst mothers). christophe and the crispino siblings are actors in this verse.

yuri primarily rents the original movies and comes back to buy copies of ones he really really likes after returning them.

the shop is owned by yakov, georgi works the dayshift, and otabek works the nightshift. yakov mostly leaves them to their own devices bc they do a good job. georgi and otabek think he really should hire one more person so they can have some liberty to switch around their shifts when needed but yakov is a stingy old fuck that does his best to not have money leave his pockets. they are open from 8AM to 12AM. they're one of the more popular movie stores in the area since they carry a lot of western movies that aren't easy to find elsewhere and for so cheap.

10pm to 12am are pretty dead hours which otabek uses for pirating shit. similarly the early hours of the dayshift have light traffic so that's when georgi finishes otabek's work from the night prior.

[ciderbird]

cringe napalex-themed playlist is done!

I know this is a MIXED bag but I just kinda put everything that reminds me of them here so I want to elaborate:

1. Just one yesterday - Fall out boy: I can NOT listen to it without thinking about them, literally every verse fits: “Angels choking on their halos” - Alexander losing at Austerlitz, “I don’t have the right name or the right looks but I have twice the heart” - Alexander has the perfect name and looks for a monarch but it’s Napoleon that everyone admires. And then there’s the chorus about wanting to teach someone a lesson but still longing for the time when things were good? And the bridge?? “If I spilled my guts the world would never look at you the same way” - bro. It’s their song. To me.

2. Rewrite The Stars - The Greatest Showman: Do I even need to explain this one? They’re star-crossed! Napoleon sings Zafron’s part, obviously.

3. Улыбки сфинксов - Flëur: I had to put in at least one russian song. And come on, Napoleon and Egypt? Alexander literally being called Northern Sphinx? And the whole song is about two people talking in riddles and being unable to communicate? Yeah.

4. Hot n Cold - Katy Perry: Yes, really. Look I know it’s silly but it also just perfectly encapsulates Napoleon’s frustration with Alexander not committing to the alliance while also not breaking it off.

5. Irresistible - Fall out boy. Yes, another FOB but listen, it’s the BRIDGE! The bridge is about them, it even has french in it! “I’m coming for you and I’m making war”? And it goes both ways!

6. Everybody wants to rule the world- Lorde: it’s cliché, but it still fits them “So glad we’ve almost made it, so sad they had to fade it” just hits different

7. Gold - Imagine Dragons: This one I associate specifically with Napoleon but it’s also about the corruption of power in general so I included it anyway.

8. Teen Idle - Marina and the Diamonds: Since I have one for just Napoleon, this one is what I most associate with Sasha. It just fits his deformed psyche growing up in court with two opposing influences so well

9. We are never ever getting back together - Taylor Swift: Yeah. This is another silly one, but tell me you can’t just picture them bickering listening to it, especially with all the unanswered letters from Moscow.

10. Recovery - James Arthur: Unexpected, I know! I don’t know why I connected it to them so strongly but I think it works for how they ended up? Napoleon sick in exile, Alexander disappointed with his reign and apathetic. They’re both ‘recovering’ from endless wars, one in isolation, another in mysticism, they are shadows of who they once were. Very tragic end to this playlist as well as their relationship. Oh well!

[elsalouisa]

"She was then a little past her seventeenth birthday; she had only just left the young ladies’ institute, from which her mother had withdrawn her after some unpleasantness with the headmistress. The unpleasantness arose over the circumstance that at the public graduation celebration Irena was to have addressed the patron with some verses of welcome in French, but immediately before the function she was set aside in favor of another girl, the daughter of a very rich liquor licensee. The Princess could not stomach this affront, and even Irena did not forgive the headmistress her injustice; she had been dreaming of how, with all eyes on her, the center of attraction, she would rise and say her verses, and how Moscow would talk about her afterward.... And she was right, Moscow would certainly have talked about Irena. She was a tall and graceful girl, with virgin breasts and angular shoulders, a pale, velvety complexion unusual for her age and as clear and smooth as porcelain, and thick, fair hair with very distinctive mingled darker and lighter strands. Her features were exquisitely, almost artificially regular and had not entirely lost the artless expression of early youth. But the deliberate movements of her beautiful neck, and her smile, a rather abstracted or rather weary smile, suggested that she was a highly strung young lady; and the very outlines of her fine, faintly smiling lips and her small, aquiline, rather firm nose expressed a self-willed and passionate quality —a quality dangerous both for others and for herself. Astonishing, truly astonishing were her eyes, which were a very dark gray shot with green, with a languishing look, and unsually long, like those of Egyptian goddesses, with radiating lashes and boldly sweeping brows. There was a strange expression in those eyes: they seemed to be attentively and thoughtfully looking out from an infinite depth and distance. At the institute Irena had had the reputation of being one of its most intelligent and capable pupils, but also of possessing an uncertain, ambitious character and a mischievous head. One class mistress prophesied of her that her passions would ruin her — “vos passions vous perdront” — whereas another class mistress chided her for her coldness and insensibility and called her “ane jeune fille sans ceeur.” Her friends found her proud and secretive, her brothers and sisters were afraid of her, her mother did not trust her, and her father felt awkward when she fixed her mysterious eyes on him, but in both father and mother she inspired a feeling of involuntary respect, not because of her qualities, but because of the peculiar, vague expectations that she aroused in them, for no obvious reason".

Ivan Turgenev "Smoke".

The prototype of Irena Ratmirov (princess Osinin) was Alexandra Sergeevna Dolgorukova, maid of honour to the court of Grand Duchess (later Empress) Maria Alexandrovna since 1853 to 1862. Mistress of Tsarevich Alexander Nikolaevich (later Emperor Alexander II).

[imjustagirl247]

Bill P2

Bill responded, his grin never wavering. He leaned over to kiss the tip of your nose, making you giggle. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing together.The warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. You felt the weight of the week ahead lift slightly, replaced by the comfort of his presence. "You know, you're pretty good at making Mondays better," you admitted, nuzzling closer to him.Bill's smile grew as he wrapped his arm around you once more. "Is that so?" He whispered, his voice still playful. "What else can I do to sweeten your day?"You thought for a moment, watching the way the light danced in his eyes. "I don't know," you said coyly. "But I'm sure you'll think of something."He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck. "How about breakfast in bed?" he suggested, his tone hinting at something more than just pancakes and orange juice.You felt your cheeks flush as you pulled away to look at him. "Breakfast in bed, huh?" You raised an eyebrow. "That sounds… tempting.""Good," Bill said, his eyes gleaming. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Give me twenty minutes," he instructed, planting a quick kiss on your forehead. "I'll whip up something special."

Nothing was going as planned, these days. That was truly dawning on me as the Marquis' guards gripped me harder, forcing me down on my knees in front of him as I glared up at the statuesque man before me. I was well-versed in the rules of the High Table, having grown up in the order. It was only recently that I had taken over the hotel, almost immediately after my father's untimely death. I had suddenly found myself at the center of the operation I had watched from afar my whole life, and had the truth about my father's work unveiled to me during a time when I should've been mourning him. It had been terribly hard, but I had gotten myself together for the sake of the hotel. For the sake of my life, my family, and our legacy.However, nothing had been more important than the debt I owed John Wick. Funnily enough, that was exactly what had gotten me into this situation."You should've known better than to succumb to such foolishness," The Marquis took another step towards me, his eerily green eyes drilling into me with intimidation unlike anything I had ever seen before. "We know your father was weak when it came to Mr. Wick, but you? That you would be helping an excommunicado evade us? That was certainly unexpected from the newly instated owner of The Moscow Continental.

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

30 years since Bloody May in Moscow, May 1, 1993.

This is our true story of the struggle, the struggle of the Soviet people against the counter-revolution -- for their homeland, for Soviet power, for socialism.

The song "May 93" was written about those battles by Alexander Kharchikov. The first few verses of this song:

Once again the batons of OMON are above us

Crushing Russians on Russian soil,

And we welcome the first of May

Not in the colors, but in the blood on the forehead.

Red flags are our weapons,

Under which we went to battle.

And stood for the homeland in a friendly manner,

And in the hearts they carried with them!

The Soviet people did not surrender their country without a fight. It was Bloody May, it was Black October.

To remember those events, about the heroes of the battles in Moscow, means to continue the cause of the Revolution, means to carry the Red Flag high.

Via Nadezhda Sablina

[purplesigebert]

Thanks for tagging me @forasecondtherewedwon 💜!

rules: list 5 of your favourite books on a poll, so your followers can vote which book they think captures your vibe the best

Tagging: @the-road-betwixt, @austennerdita2533, @galvanizedfriend, @orlissa, and @cbk1000.

Book summaries from Goodreads below the cut:

A Murder for Her Majesty by Beth Hilgartner

Horrified at having witnessed her father's murder and fearing that the killers are agents of Queen Elizabeth I, eleven-year-old Alice Tuckfield hides in the Yorkshire cathedral by disguising herself as one of the choirboys.

The Way Lies North by Jean Rae Baxter

This young adult historical novel focuses on Charlotte and her family, Loyalists who are forced to flee their home in the Mohawk Valley as a result of the violence of the 'Sons of Liberty' during the American Revolution. At the beginning, fifteen-year-old Charlotte Hooper and her parents begin the long trek north to the safety of Fort Haldimand (near present-day Kingston).

The novel portrays Charlotte's struggle on the difficult journey north, and the even more difficult task of making a new home in British Canada. In the flight north, the Mohawk nation plays an important role, and Charlotte learns much about their customs and way of life, to the point where she is renamed 'Woman of Two Worlds.' Later in the novel she is able to repay her aboriginal friends when she plays an important part in helping the Oneidas to become once again members of the Iroquois confederacy under British protection.

Strong and capable, Charlotte breaks the stereotype of the eighteenth-century woman, while revealing a positive relationship between the Loyalists and aboriginal peoples.

The Romanov Prophecy by Steve Berry

Ekaterinburg, Russia: July 16, 1918. Ten months have passed since Nicholas II’s reign was cut short by revolutionaries. Tonight, the White Army advances on the town where the Tsar and his family are being held captive by the Bolsheviks. Nicholas dares to hope for salvation. Instead, the Romanovs are coldly and methodically executed. Moscow: Present Day. Atlanta lawyer Miles Lord, fluent in Russian and well versed in the country’s history, is thrilled to be in Moscow on the eve of such a momentous event. After the fall of Communism and a succession of weak governments, the Russian people have voted to bring back the monarchy. The new tsar will be chosen from the distant relatives of Nicholas II by a specially appointed commission, and Miles’ job is to perform a background check on the Tsarist candidate favored by a powerful group of Western businessmen. But research quickly becomes the least of Miles’ concerns when he is nearly killed by gunmen on a city plaza. Suddenly Miles is racing across continents, shadowed by nefarious henchmen. At first, his only question is why people are pursuing him. But after a strange conversation with a mysterious Russian, who steers Miles toward the writings of Rasputin, he becomes desperate to know more–most important, what really happened to the family of Russia’s last tsar? His only companion is Akilina Petrov, a Russian circus performer sympathetic to his struggle, and his only guide is a cryptic message from Rasputin that implies that the bloody night of so long ago is not the last chapter in the Romanovs’ story . . . and that someone might even have survived the massacre. The prophecy’s implications are earth-shattering–not only for the future of the tsar and mother Russia, but also for Miles himself.

Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies by Jared Diamond

In this "artful, informative, and delightful" (William H. McNeill, New York Review of Books) book, Jared Diamond convincingly argues that geographical and environmental factors shaped the modern world. Societies that had a head start in food production advanced beyond the hunter-gatherer stage, and then developed writing, technology, government, and organized religion—as well as nasty germs and potent weapons of war—and adventured on sea and land to conquer and decimate preliterate cultures. A major advance in our understanding of human societies, Guns, Germs, and Steel chronicles the way that the modern world came to be and stunningly dismantles racially based theories of human history.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by JK Rowling

Harry Potter, along with his best friends, Ron and Hermione, is about to start his third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry can't wait to get back to school after the summer holidays. (Who wouldn't if they lived with the horrible Dursleys?) But when Harry gets to Hogwarts, the atmosphere is tense. There's an escaped mass murderer on the loose, and the sinister prison guards of Azkaban have been called in to guard the school...

[vikvahl]

𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐇𝐋.

— BASICS

Name: Viktoriya Vahl Age / D.O.B.: 50 (1974) Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cisfemale, lesbian Hometown: Moscow, Russia. Moved to the UK in her early years, then the US in her 20s. Affiliation: Media / Civilian Relationship status: Single Job position: Journalist at the New York Times + University Professor

— BIOGRAPHY

To those well versed in journalism, Viktoriya Vahl has always been familiar. Made her name back in the late 90s, by scoring exclusive breaks that no one else was bound to get access to. Throughout the years, the ethics behind it began to be questioned; surely it wasn’t as easy as being at the right place, at the right time. Famously predicted elected Presidents for the past two decades. Famously, also, hasn’t revealed who she’d voted for any of those times. Through her intense, no-bullshit approach to heavy topics, and exclusive coverage of the most controversial shattering news of the early 2000s, Viktoriya Vahl became synonymous with unbiased reporting. Accolade central. When it comes to Vikoriya’s journalism, she’s collected appraisals as though she needed awards to survive. Journalist at the New York Times for three decades. As of recent years, has been lending her knowledge as a professor to the top NYC universities. Her classes are exclusive, and intense. Students who got in looked down on those who didn't. Rumored to have had affairs with students in the past, but it was just that — rumors, every time. (And God, how many men have done it, unapologetically so?)

Can be bought… but not in the way you might think. Viktoriya wants not money, she wants accolades. She wants as many statues on her shelf as one could possibly have — forever cement her name as the best of the best. Pulitzer short-listed a few too many times for her liking. A win, her ultimate goal — which hasn't happened yet. She’s unorthodox. Subtle as a heart-attack. Her students tell each other to trust the process — that she’s the best for a damn reason.

— CAREER OVERVIEW

1991 — Journalism @ Oxford Brookes University

1995 — Begins work as a journalist at The Guardian

1995 — Masters @ Imperial College London

1998 — Moves to New York to pursue a Doctorate @ Fordham University. Begins work with the Associated Press, writing about international conflicts. Her breaking of the news that presidents of North and South Korea signed peace accord, and at least symbolically, end a half-century of antagonism on June 13 2000 earned her a bigger and better offer to switch to the New York Times.

2000 — Accepts a position at The New York Times. Continues to write about international conflicts, but adds on American coverage — which that year, most importantly the Bush-Gore dispute for the presidency; one of the closest elections in U.S. history.

2001 — Becomes a war journalist, based in the Middle East. With her experience writing about international conflict matters, Viktoriya was the obvious choice to follow The War on Terror, on the field. Started when she was 28, and left at 35. Returned a few time over the years for specific periods of time.

2009 — Upon her return, Viktoriya receives the Martha Gellhorn Prize for Journalism, and attends IWMF's Courage in Journalism Awards ceremony to collect an award she'd worn five years priror but missed by being on the field. At the Martha Gellhorn Prize ceremony, she Viktoriya was famously introduced as 'this decade's best female Journalist', which she took great issue with. That, in itself, made headlines of its own.

2010-Present — Continues to write for the New York Times, further cementing her name in the world of political and societal journalism.

2018-Present — In contrast to her once-chaotic journalistic schedule, Viktoriya finds that she's earned her place in the podium and that she doesn't need to 'hustle' the way younger journalists do. With a complex web of connections spanning across decades and different continents, the big and worthy stories come to her — instead of her having to run after it.

2018-Present — Starts teaching. Now cherry-picking her journalistic work, Viktoriya dedicates her time to teaching at the best Journalism and Media programs in New York City. She has also been writing more, in the form of traditional literature.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

— STUDENTS or PAST STUDENTS: What it says on the tin. She teaches mostly graduate students, but we can talk and make it work! — PROTEGEE(S?): A very, very rare position to be in — and she knows it. Knows that choosing one is like starting a war in the classroom, or wherever they are. It might just inspire her in her choices. (For the girlies <3) — SUBJECT OF HER (JOURNALISTIC) ATTENTION: What it says on the tin. If you look like you could win her a Pulitzer, you're the one! — JOURNALISTIC ENEMIES: Either you’re in media, or maybe you’re the target of the media and she’s taken swings at you in print before. + Open to ideas! <3

[karamazovposting]

On the peasant in the snow

Okay so I've been reading and rereading Book Eleven for a while now, which is why this blog is gradually becoming even more Ivan-centric than it already was, for multiple reasons (partially because of my bipolar Ivan essay, but mostly because it's my favorite book out of all of them, it's so interesting to me and gives me so much to think and write about so I don't want it to end) and Ivan does a lot of strange things in there that I've always been able to find an explanation to, mostly because poor guy's going through dysphoric mania and psychosis and I get where he's coming from, but there was one thing that I didn't understand. Until I thought about it a little harder because I felt that it was very important.

The thing is, even if his mental state isn't the best in those moments, the things he does never really striked me as out of character (I'll talk about it in the last part of my aforementioned, and at this point quite famous since I'm constantly mentioning it, essay in the future) because again, I get it, but I felt weird about the way he acts when he encounters the drunk man on his way to Smerdyakov's for his last visit: he's walking in the snowstorm and he sees a drunk peasant who later falls on him, Ivan pushes him away violently and he falls unconscious to the ground; Ivan then thinks to himself that the man will freeze do death and walks away. I didn't really get it at first, but when I did I had to close the book for a few minutes because Ivan Karamazov you bastard you'll drive me mad.

As the man, a short peasant walking in zig-zags while swearing and singing to himself in a husky drunken voice, walks in his direction Ivan feels a very deep hatred towards him and even feels the impulse to knock him down and okay, just Ivan being Ivan, he's like that all the time, but then he leaves him there and wait a fucking minute. Ivan is definitely not someone who lacks empathy, and even if he is more empathetic towards children than he is towards adults by his own admission, he would never let a stranger die just like that, and in the end he indeed doesn't. I decided to go over the description of the man and on the particular verse of the song Ivan hears him sing again, which also echoes in Ivan's head after he hears Pavel's confession: Vanka's gone to Petersburg / I won't wait till he comes back. The man is described in a way that resembles Fyodor; and Ivan (Vanka) went away (to Moscow, not to Petersburg, but still) and Fyodor didn't wait for him to come back because he died and Ivan didn't even make it in time to attend the funeral. And that's when I closed the book; please please please don't tell me Ivan almost left a stranger to die in the snow because he saw his own father in him.

What made me want to scream even more than I already did is how that ends: as I already mentioned and as we all know, on his way back to his place he picks the man up, goes to the nearest house to ask for help and saves the man's life; he even calls and pays for a doctor to make sure he's okay. That is who Ivan truly is and that's why I always say that his words are rarely reliable; he said he was going to kill Smerdyakov, yet we're shown that once again he's just putting up an act and that Father Zosima was (of course) right about him: he's a struggling soul with a noble heart, as he tells Ivan in Book One. He's not like Pavel described him to be during that last visit; he tells Ivan that he's more like Fyodor than any of his children and Ivan agrees, but Ivan's perception of himself is already skewed on its own and Pavel is just another person who didn't understand Ivan. Ivan's actions redeem him and show us his true colors while his words condemn him; he's going to testify against himself at the trial and he decides to save the life of that stranger that reminded him too much of his father, that he wanted dead. Or did he, really?

This was supposed to be a short post but I talk too much, especially when it comes to Ivan; I can't believe the first meta I post that is not part of my bipolar Ivan Karamazov agenda in months still turns out to be about him. I swear that I have things about other characters in my drafts, I just want to be done with that essay first but at the same time I needed a break from it so yeah. The thing that drives me insane about this novel is that it's made of parallels and metaphors and I love stuff like that, so my metas are often about parallels and metaphors. Expect more of them in the future (it sounds like I'm threatening you but I swear I'm not) (maybe).

[mariacallous]

In the summer of 2023, a poet by the name of Gennady Rakitin began publishing his “patriotic” works on VKontakte, Russia’s version of Facebook. He wrote about war, mercenaries killed in action, the Fatherland, and Russia’s “leader.” Russian lawmakers and senators soon began following his page en masse. And his poems were entered into competitions, celebrated at festivals, and shared on channels dedicated to “Z-poetry.” 

But it turns out that Gennady Rakitin doesn’t exist. According to Russian journalist Andrey Zakharov, some of his acquaintances are behind the account — and these anti-war activists have actually been publishing translations of poetry written in Nazi Germany during the 1930s and 1940s. 

The Gennady Rakitin page has an AI-generated profile picture and includes only sparse details about the “poet,” describing him as a 49-year-old who graduated from the Philology Department at Moscow State University. But this was enough to fool dozens of Russian senators and lawmakers, who added Rakitin as a “friend.” 

Rakitin’s friends list includes Russian senators Dmitry Rogozin and Andrey Klishas, State Duma deputies Dmitry Kuznetsov and Nina Ostatina, Putin’s cultural advisor Elena Yampolskaya, and pro-Kremlin “war correspondent” Yuri Kotenok. Zakharov counted a total of 95 State Duma lawmakers and 28 senators among Rakitin’s followers. The account’s creators said that they started out by adding “various public figures and just random people” as friends. “When a critical mass of well-known names was reached, we went after lawmakers and other celebrities,” they explained. The activists also claimed that they “didn’t invest a dime” in promoting the page. 

The works published on Rakitin’s profile include, for example, a translation of Eberhard Möller’s poem “The Führer” — accompanied by a photo of Vladimir Putin emblazoned with a pro-war slogan. Zakharov described Möller as a “committed Nazi and anti-Semite, who became a member of the Nazi Party even before Hitler came to power.” On February 23, 2024, a VKontakte group called “SVO. Quotes from Vladimir Putin. Russia” shared the translation of Möller’s poem to its 112,000 followers. 

The Rakitin page also shared a translation of a poem by Herybert Menzel, a German writer who joined the Nazi Party in 1933 and later became a Stormtrooper. The original poem in question was inspired by a portrait of Adolf Hitler and includes reflections on “what it means to be a son of Germany.” Another Rakitin poem takes a work by Nazi songwriter Heinrich Anacker and replaces the title “Faceless Stormtrooper” with “Faceless PMC Soldier” (a reference to Russian mercenaries fighting in Ukraine). 

Rakitin only “wrote” 18 poems in total, but they’ve made a splash in pro-war poetry competitions and festivals. In early June, one of Rakitin's poems won a prize at an All-Russian Patriotic Poetry Competition held by the Kaluga branch of the Professional Writers’ Union, reaching the semifinals in the “Poems about war and defenders of the Motherland” category. The magazine Moskva entered another one of Rakitin’s poems into a “Patriotic free verse” competition. 

[threehuskiesinatrenchcoat]

rant

if someone tells me “why don’t you leave if it’s that bad” or “you deserve what’s happening to you” im gonna flip my shit. leave to fucking where, how? have you seen the average paycheck of a russian? and don’t fucking count moscow, i dare you. look at all those people barely scraping $300 a month for food and a roof over their heads with nothing else left and tell them that buying plane tickets and saving up enough to last god knows how long while waiting for a job permit AND searching for a job is EASY. oh, of course refugee programs are SO easy to get into, and everybody is just so excited waiting for russians to come (except european countries are considering closing borders because they’re tired of russians running). cuz everyone is so fucking hyped to have us there, right? same people that are gonna go on the internet later and say how much they wish russians would stop whining and leave, except, well, not to my country, to somewhere else, i wouldn’t want to live next to a ~terrorist~. speaking of, everyone is so fucking punk and immune to propaganda, yet believe when putin and his little circlejerk say that everybody fucking LOVES him? that people sign up for army willingly? that everyone "allowed" all this to happen? i’ve been to the fucking protests, i’ve seen people bloody & bruised getting hauled off into paddy wagons, i’ve seen people get a prison sentence for throwing a plastic cup at a cop on a riot, i've seen young men get jumped by authorities at metro stations and outside grocery stores so they could be given a drafting letter with no chance to escape, i’ve seen people getting ridiculous fines for standing outside with a PLAIN FUCKING SIGN because “we know what this is SUPPOSED to be about”. sasha skochilenko got 7 years in prison for replacing price tags at a store with anti-war messages, FUCKING STICKERS. get off your high horse and tell me, full fucking honesty, would you be protesting if you knew for sure, 100%, you’ll be going to prison when, WHEN, they catch you? and yet people STILL DO. and people still GET CAUGHT. and people get hunted and tortured and receive insane sentences for the stupidest things. “russians don’t do shit to stop the war” FUCK YOU. im tired of always being nice about this and trying to explain shit in hopes that someone will get it. fuck you for making this all about yourself (“yeah i feel bad for you but also can you imagine if this happened in the usa? oof”), fuck you for only caring when it’s convenient to paint yourself as a good person (why continue to spread awareness about ukraine when it’s not the hot topic of the day anymore?), fuck you for believing in lies and putin’s propaganda. everyone is so fucking aware and well-versed in politics on the internet. but it’s easy to be when your country cares about fucking human rights at least A LITTLE, right? it's easy to assume that free speech is everywhere and available to everyone, right?

[littleshploinka]

so i recently really got hooked on Sting, specifically his 2022 cover of his song "Russians". and it got me thinking

with his decision to cover this song again in response to the russian invasion of Ukraine he suggests what the lyrics state at the end of every verse: "the russians love their children too"

yet for one cannot for the life of me make that idea fit in my head

it's march of 2024, more than two years since the beginning of the invasion. the ukrainian civilian death toll is in the tens of thousands, the armed forces' reportedly close to hitting a hundred thousand. meanwhile, russias military death toll is nearing half a million.

did you know that if you're the target of a russian missile you won't hear the air raid sirens, because it takes the missile less than 20 seconds to get from its launch site in Crimea to anywhere in western Ukraine? did you know that if that russian missile is heading directly towards you you wont hear the missile itself, because it's moving faster than sound?

no last glance out the window at your city. no last tight clasp of your loved ones hands. no last words, no goodbyes. no warníng. now you're there. the next moment you simply aren't.

TO PUT THAT INTO PERSPECTIVE: had a rocket been launched the moment you started reading this post, you would now be dead.

"we share the same biology regardless of ideology"

and now an attack has happened in a concert hall in moscow. about 130 people died. and President Macron expresses his condolences. fuck off

meanwhile Kharkiv didn't have any electricity whatsoever for four days after a russian strike last Friday and are still recovering from it, Mariupol, Bucha and Marinka look like fucking Verdun and thermal imaging of the fields in eastern Ukraine look like footage from the moon. and I feel the urge to tear at the walls until I rip out my nails and scream until my throat gurgles blood.

"believe me when I say to you, I hope the russians love their children too"

i am so tired

[lesser-mook]

I've always liked Balalaika, lightning in a bottle.

A character been worthy of her own show (OVA) Not oversexualized. Mature & with class, no high school bullshit.

Grownfolk business.

Coulda did without the creator's TMI about her scars being his "fetish", the world didn't need to know all that buddy, really didn't.

But in the end, regardless of his hack (made the boss of Hotel Moscow a woman allegedly because -"I thought it'd be better to see a woman's butt") reasons- she's pretty much the modern standard of lady characters rocking scars, it looking good and functioning with it's own lore & history (her being tortured as a POW) and the character herself owning the scene without it being forced or that infantile "girl boss" goofyness.

It's part of the reason why Black Lagoon is decent, there's less girls and it's full of women.

I like that in the Omake-verse, she's married to Chang and the twins are her hellspawn children. lmfao.

Pure Alpha energy, a professional with a code, ruthless but has a system, she has respect. Rarely has there been a character like Balalaika in the way that Balalaika works, you'd think Tsunade could've been one of those but nope;

Author's/Mangaka in general, limitations in skill & maturity prevented another gem like Balalaika in the mainstream. Not as a "female" character, but as a character period.

This woman Balalaika was a hard 80s femme fatale created in the post-modern era.

And again- has been/long deserved a prequel OVA.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Friday, June 28, 2024

june 15_june 29

SAINT MICHAEL, FIRST METROPOLITAN OF KIEV AND ALL RUS' (992)

Saint Michael the first Metropolitan of Kiev, according to the Joakimov chronicle, was a Syrian by birth, but according to other chronicles, he was a Bulgarian or Serb. In the year 989, he arrived at Korsun with other clergy for holy Prince Vladimir (July 15), not long after Vladimir’s Baptism (988).

As first metropolitan of the Russian Church his service was difficult, but grace-filled. He zealously made the rounds of the newly-enlightened Russian Land, preaching the Holy Gospel, baptizing and teaching the newly-illumined people, founding the first churches and religious schools.

In Rostov he established the first wooden church in honor of the Dormition of the Most Holy Theotokos and installed Theodore the Greek there as bishop. Saint Michael was a wise and gentle, but also strict hierarch. The Russian Church has preserved the memory of the saint’s praiseworthy deeds. In the Synodikon of the Novgorod and Kiev Sophia cathedrals he is rightfully called the initiator.

Saint Michael died in the year 992 and was buried in the Desyatin-Tithe church of the Most Holy Theotokos in Kiev. In about the year 1103, under the Igumen Saint Theoctistus (afterwards Bishop of Chernigov, August 5), his relics were transferred to the Antoniev Cave, and on October 1, 1730 into the Great Church of the Caves.

Formerly, his memory was celebrated on September 2, along with Saints Anthony and Theodosius of the Caves. There is a trace of this earlier celebration in the service to Saint Michael. In the second verse of the “Praises” we sing: “Having begun the new year, we offer you our first songs, O blessed one, for you were the beginning of the hierarchy in the Russian land.”

Saint Michael is commemorated twice during the Church year. His principal Feast Day is on June 15 (his blessed repose in 992). He is also commemorated on September 30 (the transfer of his relics).

SAINT JONA, METROPOLITAN OF MOSCOW AND WONDERWORKER OF ALL RUSSIA (1461)

Saint Jonah, Metropolitan of Moscow and Wonderworker of All Russia, was born in the city of Galich into a pious Christian family. The father of the future saint was named Theodore. The youth received monastic tonsure in one of the Galich monasteries when he was only twelve years old. From there, he transferred to the Moscow Simonov monastery, where he fulfilled various obediences for many years.

Once, Saint Photius, Metropolitan of Moscow (May 27 and July 2), visited the Simonov monastery. After the Molieben, he blessed the archimandrite and brethren, and also wished to bless those monks who were fulfilling their obediences in the monastery.

When he came to the bakery, he saw Saint Jonah sleeping, exhausted from his work. The fingers of the saint’s right hand were positioned in a gesture of blessing. Saint Photius said not to wake him. He blessed the sleeping monk and predicted to those present that this monk would be a great hierarch of the Russian Church, and would guide many on the way to salvation.

The prediction of Saint Photius was fulfilled. Several years later, Saint Jonah was made Bishop of Ryazan and Murom.

Saint Photius died in 1431. Five years after his death, Saint Jonah was chosen Metropolitan of All Russia for his virtuous and holy life. The newly-elected Metropolitan journeyed to Constantinople in order to be confirmed as Metropolitan by Patriarch Joseph II (1416-1439). Shortly before this the nefarious Isidore, a Bulgarian, had already been established as Metropolitan. Spending a short time at Kiev and Moscow, Isidore journeyed to the Council of Florence (1438), where he embraced Catholicism.

A Council of Russian hierarchs and clergy deposed Metropolitan Isidore, and he was compelled to flee secretly to Rome (where he died in 1462). Saint Jonah was unanimously chosen Metropolitan of All Russia. He was consecrated by Russian hierarchs in Moscow, with the blessing of Patriarch Gregory III (1445-1450) of Constantinople. This was the first time that Russian bishops consecrated their own Metropolitan. Saint Jonah became Metropolitan on December 15, 1448. With archpastoral zeal he led his flock to virtue and piety, spreading the Orthodox Faith by word and by deed. Despite his lofty position, he continued with his monastic struggles as before.

In 1451 the Tatars unexpectedly advanced on Moscow; they burned the surrounding area and prepared for an assault on the city. Metropolitan Jonah led a procession along the walls of the city, tearfully entreating God to save the city and the people. Seeing the dying monk Anthony of the Chudov monastery, who was noted for his virtuous life, Saint Jonah said, “My son and brother Anthony! Pray to the Merciful God and the All-Pure Mother of God for the deliverance of the city and for all Orthodox Christians.”

The humble Anthony replied, “Great hierarch! We give thanks to God and to His All-Pure Mother. She has heard your prayer and has prayed to Her Son. The city and all Orthodox Christians will be saved through your prayers. The enemy will soon take flight. The Lord has ordained that I alone am to be killed by the enemy.” Just as the Elder said this, an enemy arrow struck him.

The prediction of Elder Anthony was made on July 2, on the Feast of the Placing of the Robe of the Most Holy Theotokos. Confusion broke out among the Tatars, and they fled in fear and terror. In his courtyard, Saint Jonah built a church in honor of the Placing of the Robe of the Most Holy Theotokos, to commemorate the deliverance of Moscow from the enemy.

Saint Jonah reposed in the year 1461, and miraculous healings began to take place at his grave.

In 1472 the incorrupt relics of Metropolitan Jonah were uncovered and placed in the Dormition Cathedral of the Kremlin (the Transfer of the holy Relics is celebrated May 27). A Council of the Russian Church in 1547 established the commemoration of Saint Jonah, Metropolitan of Moscow. In 1596, Patriarch Job added Saint Jonah to the Synaxis of the Moscow Hierarchs (October 5).

HEBREWS 7:26-8:2

26 For such a High Priest was fitting for us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and has become higher than the heavens; 27 who does not need daily, as those high priests, to offer up sacrifices, first for His own sins and then for the people's, for this He did once for all when He offered up Himself. 28 For the law appoints as high priests men who have weakness, but the word of the oath, which came after the law, appoints the Son who has been perfected forever.

1 Now this is the main point of the things we are saying: We have such a High Priest, who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens, 2 a Minister of the sanctuary and of the true tabernacle which the Lord erected, and not man.

MATTHEW 5:33-41

33 Again you have heard that it was said to those of old, 'You shall not swear falsely, but shall perform your oaths to the Lord.' 34 But I say to you, do not swear at all: neither by heaven, for it is God's throne; 35 nor by the earth, for it is His footstool; nor by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. 36 Nor shall you swear by your head, because you cannot make one hair white or black. 37 But let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and your 'No,' 'No.' For whatever is more than these is from the evil one. 38 You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' 39 But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. 40 If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. 41 And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Why Navalny was hated in the Kremlin and in some Western circles

The late Russian opposition politician had a unifying spirit that threatened the beneficiaries of conflict.

[Leonid Ragozin :: Leonid Ragozin is a freelance journalist based in Riga.]

It doesn’t matter what caused the death of Russian politician Alexey Navalny; he was killed by Vladimir Putin’s regime.

It was a slow execution that started with his poisoning with the Novichok chemical agent in 2020 and proceeded with sadistic torture in prison after his insanely daring move to return to Russia in January 2021.

The official version about a blood clot suddenly killing the 47-year-old politician on Friday may or may not be true, but the blame for his death still remains squarely with the Russian president.

Navalny was outstanding in every sense. Head and shoulders above all Russian and likely all contemporary European politicians in terms of charisma and bravery, he was a figure of hope that exuded immense optimism and displayed an irresistible sense of humour until his very last days in prison in the Arctic.

He was a character akin to the Hummingbird in Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, a charismatic politician trying to prevent the spilt of the newly independent India. Navalny was a highly inspiring and unifying personality that was capable of bringing together what was breaking apart in this current epoch of conflict and polarisation.

With his anticorruption crusade that exposed the illicit riches of top regime figures in a series of brilliantly produced YouTube videos, he built a vast support base and Russia’s biggest regional opposition network. He brought together liberals, nationalists and left-wingers – everyone who was tired of the corrupt securitocracy that has ruled Russia for a quarter-century.

Navalny took opposition politics out of Moscow and St Petersburg into distant regions and small towns. Internet-savvy and very well versed in contemporary culture, he brought about a generational shift in the ranks of Russian opposition. His following to a large extent comprised 20-somethings or even teens who have never experienced any other political regime than Putin’s.

He embodied the hope that changes could be brought about by non-violent resistance in the style of the velvet revolutions that brought down the communists in 1989-91. Born to a Ukrainian father and having spent some of his happiest childhood days in Ukraine, Navalny could have also potentially helped mend the rift between the two neighbours currently locked in a bloody war.

Although his death is squarely on Russia’s political leadership, the hope he represented was shattered by the renewed geopolitical confrontation between Russia and the US-led West. He was a thorn in the eye of the beneficiaries of this conflict – first and foremost among them being Putin himself.

But Navalny and his movement were also an object of incessant bashing by anti-Russian troll farms and hawkish pro-Ukrainian figures linked to the military-industrial complex and securitocratic blobs in the capitals of NATO countries.

Accusations thrown at Navalny boiled down to him being a Russian nationalist who would have done the same thing as Putin – but perhaps even more efficiently because he would have clamped down on corruption.

In the beginning of his political career, Navalny indeed flirted with far-right politics, but he drifted away from it to straightforward pro-Western liberalism a long time ago.

There is no straightforward answer to the question of how Navalny would have acted had he indeed become the Russian president instead of Putin. It is indeed difficult to say to what extent all that happened between Russia, Ukraine and the West was about personalities. It is important to remember Putin himself underwent an evolution from a West-backed nominee of the Russian liberal elite to a murderous authoritarian – a process in which the West’s frivolous and arrogant attitude to Russia’s core security interests played no small role.

A few weeks into Russia’s full-out invasion of Ukraine two years ago, one of the main spokespeople for the Ukrainian government at the time, Oleksiy Arestovych, said that a Russian liberal-democrat president would have also invaded Ukraine in the same manner – such was the logic of geopolitical confrontation.

That kind of thinking presumes that the US-led West was intent on humiliating Russia in the way no Russian leader would have ever accepted – delivering a strategic defeat upon it. That’s indeed something that many hawkish commentators in the West are calling for today.

Navalny was first and foremost a Russian politician, which is why he made what felt like a suicidal choice to return to Russia after surviving the poisoning.

That was the only way to remain politically relevant in Russia. He didn’t want to be anyone’s stooge. In the West, he would have been at best like General Charles de Gaulle in London during World War II – mistrusted and isolated. How would have he managed the insane xenophobic attacks on social platforms his exiled allies are being subjected to on a daily basis now? How would have he reacted to visa and travel restrictions that harm anti-Putin Russian exiles to a much greater extent than the supporters of the regime?

Unlike de Gaulle, he would have had few chances of returning and playing a role as the geopolitical conflict was strengthening Putin’s regime and threatening to usher another half a century of cold war and iron curtains in Europe.

In Russia, he thought he could at least gamble on the growing war fatigue and become an East European version of Nelson Mandela, waiting for the hour of freedom.

Had he miraculously succeeded in coming to power, he would have still faced a very hostile West inclined towards defeating and humiliating Russia rather than finding a common language and an uneasy compromise.

Yet, he was a very different man than Putin in that he was simply not the kind of politician who thrived on conflict. He was not a man from the current epoch of confrontation and polarisation. He perhaps belonged to the better future that Eastern Europe may still attain after years of misery.

Would he have succeeded in finding compromise-leaning interlocutors in the West and sidelining trigger-happy hawks? He would have had a fair chance. This is why he was such an unloved figure in those circles.

Navalny is a tragic figure and in that sense perhaps only comparable to Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelenskyy – initially a highly unifying pro-peace figure who is now forced to wage an increasingly hopeless battle against the grand master of conflict, Vladimir Putin.

But Navalny has nurtured a generation that may have dozens or hundreds like him in its ranks who can work to achieve the “beautiful Russia of the future” as he famously called it in his main political manifesto.