#congratulations fellow warriors but oh the things i have lost

[florida3exclamationpoints]

Not that 911 post saying "it seemed so blatantly obvious you were being played" . Oh network television you have taken everything from me..... but you give everything to everyone else......... how was I played with a straight ship 😔

[megumisbimbo]

- One -

megumi fushiguro x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

summary: (y/n) was nothing special. A human being who had no idea that curses walked the same earth they walked. But then they locked eyes with Megumi Fushiguro. Can Fushiguro focus on the task ahead or will he be distracted by the king of curses and his new love interest?

series masterlist

©️ @megumisbimbo — all rights reserved. Please do not repost, modify or translate my work. Reblogs and likes appreciated!

Credit for the main storyline and characters goes to Gege Akutami.

the songs are indicated throughout the story at certain points!

songs used:

sunflower - vampire weekend

turn back time - wayv

humble - kendrick lamar

look at me! - xxxtentacion

———— sunflower - vampire weekend ————

It was a normal school day. You sat through each of your classes bored out of your mind. If only something interesting would happen, maybe then you’d enjoy your day. Classes felt longer than usual and all you could think about was getting to the occult club and opening whatever Itadori found last night.

Classes had finally finished. You raced to the other end of the school and walked into the club room and greeted your two classmates.

“Where’s Itadori? Shouldn’t he be here with the thing he found yesterday?”

“We thought it would be cooler if we broke into the school late at night and opened it then!” Sasaki says with a bright sinister smile. Iguchi sat next to her and nodded his head in agreement.

Just then, Itadori walked into the room with a bright smile and greeted you three.

“(y/n)-senpai here’s the thing I found yesterday. Sasaki-senpai said to give it to you so you guys can open it tonight. I’m not gonna be able to make it.”

“No worries Itadori, we’ll make sure to take pictures when nothing shows up.” You say glancing at Sasaki.

You had always been skeptical when it came to ghosts and monsters. Iguchi and Sasaki were your best friends so they always ended up dragging you on their haunted adventures. Itadori was the newbie first year who recently joined. He was happy to take the pair on their ghostly escapades when you weren’t available.

Sasaki ruffled through her bag and pulled out the ouija board you four regularly played with. Itadori turned to you and asked if you were ready to call on the spirit of the day. After asking your fellow club members, he called upon them.

“Spirits! Spirits! Please reveal an animal that the school council president is weaker than!” Itadori said giggling slightly.

You watched as the small coin shaped object wiggled underneath your finger.

Ku

Ri

O

Ne

“A sea angel?!?” Itadori roared.

Your giggles were interrupted by the door suddenly sliding open revealing the sea angel himself.

“OCCULT RESEARCH CLUB!” The council president yelled, startling you.

“Your club did not submit an activities report! We don’t have room in this school for such irresponsibility!” He yelled, anger dousing his tone.

He explained that the club was going to be used as a changing room starting today and your club was to find somewhere else to play.

“I wouldn’t mess with our members council president.” Itadori said smirking at you and your friends. Sasaki slams a book onto the table and pushes her glasses up onto her nose.

“Here’s your proof council president! As you know, our rugby field has been closed off. The students who used it started getting sick and some were even hospitalized. Don’t you think that’s strange? I mean we’re talking about tough rugby players here. WELL. Just before the players began getting sick, they stated that they heard strange noises and voices on the field.”

You stand up and flip through the book that had rested under Sasaki’s hand.

“That’s where this newspaper article comes in.” You say showing the president an old newspaper clipping from many years ago.

“Mr. Yoshida, a construction man, went missing and he was last seen here at this school during construction.”

Sasaki interrupted, finishing the riveting story you four had discovered.

“Which means. Mr. Yoshida’s body is buried in the rugby field and the sickness was caused by the lingering spirit!” Sasaki said with stars in her eyes. Itadori and Iguchi stood on either side of you two giving jazz hands for dramatic effect. The council president looks at you four with a blank stare, dumbfounded at the ridiculous story.

“No...” He started.

“They were caused by ticks.”

You felt Sasaki wilt beside you while Itadori argued with the council president, explaining that either way this was club activity. The council president interjected and rudely pointed out the fact that neither you nor Itadori were registered with the occult club, leaving the club with too few members.

“Itadori, (y/n)... I thought you said you put your names down.” Sasaki said with an evil glare plastered on her face.

“Sorry Sasaki... I lost the paper ehehe...” You said, staring down at your feet with regret and a bit of fear hidden behind your eyes.

“I did put down the occult club senpai! I swear!” Itadori announced.

“Then who changed it?”

“I DID.” A voice barked, alarming all the students present.

“Coach Takagi?!” You all yelled in unison.

“Itadori, we need your speed and strength on the track and field team.”

“I ALREADY SAID I WASN’T JOINING!” Itadori wailed, hoping the coach would get the hint.

“No can do. However I’m a fair man so I will let you go if you beat me in a fair fight.”

“You’re on!”

You all ran down to the track to see Itadori battle it out with the coach.

“You think he’ll win?” You say skeptical of Itadori’s strength.

“I’ve heard he won the Ninja Warrior contest and he’s the incarnation of Mirko Cro Cop!” Iguchi explained.

“But he’s not dead...”

You watched as Itadori threw the heavy ball the same way a pitcher would. It whizzed through the air landing at about 30 meters from where he started, demolishing the Coach’s record of 14 meters.

“He’s like a gorilla.” Sasaki says behind you.

Itadori then walked up to the three of you and you congratulated him on his impressive upper arm strength.

“You know you don’t have to stay in this club Itadori.” Sasaki said.

“Thanks Senpai, but as much as you guys love haunted places, you wouldn’t go if (y/n) or I didn’t go with you.”

“Being scared is what makes it fun.” Sasaki says, laughing nervously.

Itadori checks his watch and realizes that it was time for him to leave. He speeds down the stairs and out the gates of the school, dust collecting behind him from how fast he was going. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a tall, handsome ravenette. You stare at him a little and hear him call out to Itadori trying to stop him. Do they know each other? Maybe he’s a first year too. “I’ve never seen him. He seems interesting, and cute.” You think to yourself. He notices your stare and sharply turns away giving off an egotistical aura. You break your gaze and scoff. “Interesting, cute...and cocky.”

————— turn back time - wayv —————

The room was dark, lit only by the light of a single candle resting on the table that Sasaki, Iguchi and you sat around. You handed Sasaki the wrapped object and she began fiddling with the stained paper. There were weird symbols on the paper, it kind of looked like a talisman.

“This is creepy, I’m gonna turn a light on.” Iguchi said timidly.

“No no we need to keep the ambience.”

Sasaki finally gripped on to a corner of the paper and began unraveling. The unraveled paper revealed a dark crimson finger.

“Is it real?” Sasaki asks.

“Probably not. Someone must have put it there as a joke.” You say, the skeptical side of you hiding the real fear you felt.

Suddenly the room shook and the candle went out. You were frozen with fear. In all the times you’d gone out to haunted places, you’ve never caught anything, but this time felt different. A faint screeching noise startled you three. Slowly you looked up and noticed a giant monster coming straight for you. You grabbed Sasaki’s hand, the finger stuffed into her pocket, and ran for dear life, Iguchi trailing closely behind. You hear the wall of the club room burst, and glancing behind you a huge creature was seen, hot on your trail. Iguchi turns a corner separating himself from you and Sasaki. You pull her behind a wall and sit with your hand pressed firmly against her mouth. You wait there for what feels like hours. Iguchi walks toward you ever so slowly.

“Iguchi! Thank goodness!” Sasaki says naively.

As he walks closer to you two, you notice the small monster that has latched onto his face. Your heart drops.

“H-el-p m-e..”

Iguchi’s voice rang through the hall alerting the creature that followed you and Sasaki. Almost instantly, the monster picked you, Sasaki, and Iguchi up. You felt the monster feel you all over, as if it was searching for something. Your mind starts going blank. Thoughts of your childhood, your family, the memories you made at school, flood your head. Thick, hot tears stream down your face. You faintly hear the voice of a person yelling. Your vision faded and soon you blacked out completely.

Megumi pov:

————— humble - kendrick lamar —————

Running down the halls I find one of the curses that Sukuna’s finger attracted.

“Out of my way! Divine dogs! You can eat it.”

The curses were getting closer together.

The finger was close.

I turn the corner and find Itadori’s friends. The curse is trying to eat them and the finger?!

Wait.

I recognize one of them. The one that was staring at me on the field.

“I’m not gonna make it!”

A loud crash echoes through the hallway. The window was smashed by someone.

Itadori?!

I watch in shock as he scoops up his friends. The one I’d seen before suddenly falls from his grasp. I run over and catch them in my arms. My heart beats faster.

What was this feeling?

I hold them close to my chest as my divine dogs run over and eat the curse.

“Normally I’d be pissed.. but good job.”

“Oh thanks, but what are those munching on the curse?” Itadori asks.

“Those? You can see them? They’re my shikigami. Normally you can’t see curses, unless you’re facing your death or in special places like this.”

Itadori stands and Sukuna’s finger drops from the girl’s pocket into his hand.

“This what your looking for?” Itadori asks.

I drop the feet of the unconscious person, still holding them upright. I reach my hand out to grab the cursed object. Itadori reaches out to take his senpai from my arms. A loud gurgling comes from the ceiling, startling me.

“RUN!”

I cling tightly to sleeping body and protect it from the curse as I try to call for Nue. The curse picks me up and throws us both against the wall, waking them up slightly. The curse gets ahold of us once again and blows the whole side of the school out, exposing us to the cold night air.

(y/n) pov:

You wake up with a pounding headache. You feel two arms around your waist and the cold night air blowing on your face. Were you flying? You look up and see a different monster heading your way.

“Hang on!” A voice calls behind you.

You turn slightly and see the same black haired boy from this morning. Why was he holding you? And why were you flying through the air? Where is Iguchi and Sasaki?

Slipping from the boy’s grip, you land on the hard concrete behind him. He glances over to you, checking to see if you survived the landing. You looked at him with big tear filled eyes. He struggled to put his hands together to form a bird shadow puppet. What is he doing?

“Damn I can’t focus.” He says, frustration written in his defined features.

Itadori flies through the air and whacks the monster on what looks like the head.

“Are you guys ok?!” He screams aiming his worry at you.

“I thought I told you to run.” The boy asks with a harsh tone.

“No can do, You were in trouble and you still had (y/n) in your arms.”

He jumps back onto the monster and starts beating it ruthlessly.

“Stop! You can’t defeat it without cursed energy!” The boy says.

Itadori doesn’t stop fighting it. The monster grabs him tightly and pushes him closer to his mouth.

“Itadori!!” You scream, heart beating out of your chest.

“Then all I need is cursed energy right Fushiguro?!”

He throws the crimson finger into the air and swallows it in one swift motion. Your jaw drops as the black haired boy, who Itadori referred to as Fushiguro, screamed at him. Fushiguro turns to you and, noticing your shock, runs over. He uses his entire body as a shield over you while his eyes are locked on Itadori’s changing body. Your eyes peek over his shoulder giving you a clear view of Itadori. Dark tattoo like marks form on Itadori’s tan skin. He looked like himself, but different. His nails grow long and sharp. He turns to the monster and swipes his hand upward, causing it to disintegrate. Itadori, or what looks like Itadori, turns back to you and Fushiguro with burning scarlet eyes.

————— look at me! - xxxtentacion —————

“Finally! A cursed spirit’s flesh is no fun! What a wonderful age it has become, women and children crawling around like maggots! It’ll be a massacre!”

His voice is deep and there is no trace of Itadori in his tone. Your breathing is heavy against Fushiguro’s neck. His arms are wrapped protectively around you as you’re both crouched down on the floor. The strange man’s eyes lock onto you.

“You don’t look like a sorcerer, maybe i’ll kill you first!” He says laughing maniacally.

Fushiguro’s grip tightens out of anger, squeezing so tight it hurts. A familiar voice exited the tattooed man’s body.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing with my body? Give it back.”

The soft, sweet voice of your kohai calms your nerves ever so slightly.

He’s still there.

Fushiguro lets go of you and stands in front of Itadori.

“Don’t move! You’re no longer human. Under jujutsu regulations, I will exorcise you as a curse, Itadori Yuuji!”

tags: @xreemie @noyakura

big thank you to @noyakura for the banner :’)) ily

[liron-ao3]

Both sides

A Castiel Oneshot

Castiel leans on his sword. It's splattered with the blood of his father's enemies. He can't remember how many he slew. It doesn't matter. He can't even remember the count of the battles he fought. That doesn't matter either.

He's a soldier. He battles wherever his superiors send him, and he leads his battalion onto the battlefield and to victory. That's the way of the angel Castiel. That's what he had been created for, aeons ago.

"Castiel," a voice comes from behind.

He turns and nods his head. "Uriel."

"Your section fought well."

Castiel's face shows no emotions. He knows it's a fact. Just like the fact that they lost many good fighters today, some that were created just a blink before or after him.

A blink. Angels may have many eyes, but not as fragile as those of humans. Castiel doesn't need eyelids to protect them, nor eyelashes. He doesn't need to blink to keep them wet. What a fragile creation humans are. Why his father loved them so much, he'll never understand. And still, the human way of thinking—so inferior to that of the angels—seeped into the Enochian language with idioms and sayings like this. Must be those stray angels who remained on earth, and love to meddle with heavenly and earthly matters alike.

"You will receive a promotion," Uriel says.

Castiel's eyes shoot up. A promotion is a rare thing. And he already achieved the position that he thought was the highest that he ever could. Maybe it's a special mission, one not everyone could conduct.

"I'm not worthy," he answers because pride doesn't beseem an angel. They are only messengers of God, warriors, guardians. They receive orders, and they follow them. And Castiel is content with that.

"No, you're not," Uriel says matter-of-factly, but Castiel can hear a sliver of mirth in his voice. "Nevertheless, you'll be the designated angel of Thursday."

"Thursday?" Castiel asks, frowning.

"A thing those human weaklings invented. Just yesterday, our father gave them the Sabbath, and now, they gave all the other days in between weird names."

Castiel can see how ridiculous Uriel thinks that is. "Anyway. After the angels who check on keeping the Sabbath, you are the fifth to receive this honour."

Castiel lays his grace-cleaned sword to the side and moves. He can't keep his six wings from flattering for a second.

Uriel chuckles. "Expect many more prayers from now on."

Prayers. Sure. He hears the constant stream. But as a warrior, it's more background noise, nothing he cares about unless it is a big, heavenly announcement.

He just hopes that the prayers won't distract him from his real work. He has no time for low things like that.

 

A few centuries later

Castiel looks out of Baby's side window. They've been driving for a while now. He likes it—Dean's music loud over the speakers, the airstream ruffling his hair, the fake sun warming and tanning his skin.

He doesn't need much more. He's content. It's perfectly imperfect. Just like him.

Dean turns into a forest road. It's a part of Heaven where Castiel has never been. Strange if you think of it. Did Jack hide it from him? Why would he?

Maybe because God has other plans. There he stands on a clearance surrounded by friends and family. Castiel frowns and squints his eyes. Everyone is wearing party hats, and a big banner states "Happy birthday, Cass!"

"Dean?" The former hunter smirks at him. "What is this all about?"

"It's a birthday party."

Castiel narrows his eyes. "I can see that. But I was created, not born."

"And?"

"A - You need to be birthed to have a birthday, Dean. And B - When I was created, the calendar wasn't even invented."

Dean frowns. "How did you become the Angel of Thursday then?" Castiel murmurs something under his breath. "Come again?"

Castiel lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I was a war hero, and my title was a reward."

Dean stares at him for a long moment before he catches himself. "Awesome! About that birth thing. You're right. I just realised—now that everyone we left behind died of old age..." He clears his throat. Castiel knows that Dean still tries to adjust to how time works in Heaven. He nearly jerked Baby's wheel when Claire thumbed a lift at the roadside. She had died aged 92. As a hunter! Dean couldn't believe it. Kaia popped up right behind her.

"Well, I could convince Jack to give us proper seasons again. And now that the years gonna go by, we can celebrate birthdays," Dean explains.

"That's a lovely idea, Dean. I know you missed birthday cake."

"Yeah." Dean runs a hand over his face. "Listen. We thought we start with yours because we never celebrated anything about you back on earth."

"Because I don't have a birthday," Castiel states, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

"Yes. And that's why we chose the day we first met. I hope that wasn't too presumptuous." Dean, honest to Jack, blushes.

Castiel chuckles and shakes his head. "You didn't need to."

"Oh, hell, we had to. About time. Are you fine with it?" Castiel nods, and Dean's face lights up. "Happy birthday, buddy."

Castiel gives him a private smile before he pushes the car door open and accepts the congratulations of everyone he learnt to love—Sam and Eileen, Kelly and Jack, Hannah, Claire and Kaia, Jody, Charlie, Mary, Bobby, Donna, Ellen, Jo, and many, many more.

He may have guided troops, acquired the respect of his fellow angels, but it's the first time in Castiel's very long life that he has a family and friends. And he's as happy as he could ever be.

[inglourious-imagines]

Overprotective Captain (Ronald Speirs x Male!Reader)

Requested by: @jussipogideonlaufeyson

Summary: You get shot in the arm while taking over German guns. Let's just say, Speirs is a bit overprotective.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing for a male reader so tell me please how I did. Hope you enjoy, let me know if you wanna be tagged in these.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @stressedinadress @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox  

.

.

.

"With such a hell in your heart and your head, how can you live? How can you love?" - F. Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Normandy, 1944

Y/N thought it would never happen to him.

Then it changed into 'it will happen to me'. 

But what he didn't expect was for it to happen so quickly. 

•••

The order was clear - take over the German guns near Brecourt Manor so their fellow Marines can be relieved from the slaughter at Utah Beach.

Y/N trusted his leader Winters completely, he'd follow him everywhere, to hell even. But there was this unpleasant feeling in his chest that he had to look out for a certain D Company leader every other minute to make sure he's safe and sound. Luz along with Joe noticed his nervous behaviour and teased him for it so he was now a blushing mess with a M1 in his hands.

Easy Company was about to move out to their mission when he caught a glimpse of the ruggedly handsome and brave soldier. Ronald Speirs was in all his glory nonchalantly smoking his Lucky Strike while his rifle was resting on his arm. He looked so calm and serene that it almost seemed impossible to Y/N to be in such a state in the war, for his hands were trembling like some old man's.

Of course, Y/N was afraid of combat, of shells, of bullets but what made his heart beat faster and his mind twist was the possibility of Speirs getting hurt. His soul wasn't able to reconcile with this dangerous thought that didn't want to leave him and seemed to occupy his head for a long time.

For a moment, their eyes met. Ron gave him a firm nod. Y/N sent him a reassuring smile. Without words, they expressed their undying love, comprehension and support in just one look.

The butt of Speirs' cigarette fell on the ground as the soldier stepped on it. Y/N fought an immense urge to run to his Airborne officer and hold him dearly and tightly in his arms. Instead, he turned away from him without any other glance.

Because if Y/N looked at Ron any longer, he wouldn't be able to let him go.

•••

The unspeakable pain pulsed through his left arm, from his cold fingers to his shoulder, as he groaned in agony. Y/N knew Doc isn't around any near and there wasn't definitely time for bandaging the wound. He somehow managed to climbed out of the trench and crawl over to the rear. 

When Y/N finally found Winters shouting some orders, he didn't even get to speak.

"Get your ass over to the aid station, Y/N!" Ronald Speirs' voice was firm although the nervousness, a fear almost, was audible for every soldier that was near them. The officer didn't even call him by his rank and last name or 'trooper' as he often enjoyed and that raised a lot of question marks in the eyes of their fellow paratroopers.

But Speirs didn't seem to care about all that. His eyes were fixated on Y/N's and his blood as he made a few steps toward his other half.

Ronald Speirs knew it wasn't a fatal wound, actually it was far from it, but he was terrified to death. He hadn't endured such emotion before, this was completely new to him - his heart pounding in his ears, his hands trembling while holding his dear M1 and his mind imaginating the worst scenarios.

"Just relax. It's not that bad, Ron. Doc will patch me up later." Y/N tried to reassure him and show him how unnecessary this fuss is. 

But none of that mattered to the officer. "Stop being a fucking hero. I can't have you bleeding out here."

Y/N, as inappropriate as it sounds, blushed a little at his comment - this man right in front of him, the mysterious and dangerous officer of Dog Company was completely, from head to toe, in love with him, Y/N Y/L/N. 

"I'm needed here and I shall stay here." Y/N stood behind his words as it hurt him to say them to his soulmate. 

"I've lost many good men during this day. I can't afford losing my love too!" Speirs almost shouted as he was looking directly in Y/N's eyes. At this time, even though the last bits of the assault were happening, soldiers were glancing from Ron to Y/N trying to comprehend the whole situation.

The secret was out. After two long years of hiding, short glances and light touches, the world finally heard about the forbidden love the two young souls were treasuring in their hearts.

"Don't want to interrupt," Dick Winters' voice broke the tension, "but your boyfriend here is right. Get back to the aid station, private Y/L/N. The wound is not deep but we don't want to have it infected now, right?" 

Ron gave him his 'I told you so' look but a slight smirk was shining on his face. To him, it felt like a huge burden was finally taken off his heart.

"Yes sir." Y/N replied to Winters' question but his eyes were still fixated on the Dog Company officer. 

"Good," Dick nodded in satisfaction, "we'll talk about this whole thing going on between you two later."

"Yes sir."

"Oh and Y/N? Congratulation."

And their hearts exploded with happiness and love that painted the sky in all the colours the world has to offer.

[krowfics]

A Spider’s Shadow Chapter 2

Fandom: Warrior cats/Sander Sides

Ships: Prinxiety, Logicality, Dukeceit, (Probably eventual) Remile, otherwise platonic LAMP, familial Creativitwins+Thomas

Plot: Spiderpaw is the sole witness to a murder, due to this, he is no longer safe in Shadowclan. He soon finds himself amongst a group of secret rebels who disagree with the Warrior Code.

Words this chapter: 2643

Notes: Mentions of death and blood, self deprecation, unsympathetic/morally gray Janus, panic attacks, flashbacks, hunting

Chapter 1

~~~

Spiderpaw stopped to see a river in front of him, where was he? He didn’t know but there was something soothing about just walking and thinking, so he bunched up his hind legs and leapt over the steady flow of water seeping into the lake. He managed to pass with it only getting his paws wet, he wasn’t the best at pouncing.

He loved clan life, even if he was distant at times, he didn’t want to be a loner, or worse, a kittypet. But what was left for him in Shadowclan? Clan life, of course, but his mother had just joined his father and littermates in Starclan and his mentor was a murderer. His fellow apprentices were nothing but mean to him and the warriors weren’t much better. The elders had made it clear that he should’ve become a medicine cat, assuming he couldn’t fight as well because of his small body, not that they were wrong. He scoffed at that at the time but now his own inability to fight hurt him much more to think about. If he was bigger, if he was stronger, if he could fight, he would’ve been able to kill Snakeface before he could even let out a hiss.

He stomped forward and into something wet, he hissed as he was forced out of his thoughts by the stream trickling into the lake beside him. He smelled the air. Thunderclan. How far had he traveled? He looked up, he’d certainly left the pine forest but he hadn’t reached Thunderclan's oak trees yet, so why did he smell Thunderclan? He stepped toward the territory and was overwhelmed with a disgusting mix of Riverclan and Windclan, drowning out the scent of Thunderclan completely. In the distance, he could see a twoleg structure, he guessed it was Horseplace from what his clanmates had told him.

He was right on the border of the two clans. He’d walked right past Riverclan and passed the gathering island as well. He’d planned on going to Riverclan. He wasn’t sure why though, would he tell them what happened? Would they believe him? Why was there scent of Thunderclan?

He stepped forward, breathing deep and nearly gagging at the marking’s scent, but he was able to pick up the Thunderclan scent again, just barely. He followed it into Riverclan territory, grimacing as the ground beneath him was wet. Was all Riverclan territory wet like this? It was a disgusting feeling to have to walk on, but he continued on, following the border scents, he lost and found the Thunderclan scent a few times but eventually heard meowing.

No longer needing to focus on smelling, he stepped toward the voices. There were at least two cats mewing happily and laughing. After a moment, he’d heard a third more reserved meow, but it sooned joined in, chuckling at something one of the others said.

Spiderpaw stepped around a shrub that stunk of Riverclan and peered at the cats. As he heard, there were three, he recognized the first two, likely from the one gathering he went to, but gasped at the familiarity of the third. “Lionpaw.” he breathed.

All three cats practically jumped out of their pelts, turning to stare at the unwanted guest with pure fear. But then Lionpaw’s eyes widened, “Spiderpaw!” He exclaimed, almost running forward, “And you weren’t at the last gathering,” The ginger stated, “It’s Lionbright now!”

“Congratulations!” Spiderpaw grinned, instantly temporarily forgetting his woes. Lionbright was his only friend outside of Shadowclan, well really only friend in general, despite having only met one night. When Starkpaw and Talonpaw ditched him at his first and only gathering, only to insult him to the other clans’ apprentices, Lionbright defended him before they’d even met. He then spent the rest of the night with Spiderpaw, talking together after the leaders’ announcements had ended. Lionbright had said it was a sign, not that he’d have any of the medicine cat training to understand a sign, that Starclan had allowed the gathering to continue even though every cat thought it would end early due to Skyclan and Shadowclan’s arguing again. A sign from Starclan that Lionbright and Spiderpaw were meant to be friends. He thought it was silly and impossible for such a thing to happen, but now, he almost believed that it was a sign.

“What are you doing here?” A much more serious voice said from behind his friend.

“Don’t be rude, Riverberry.” The cream cat next to him mewed fondly.

“I’m not being rude.” The dark brown tabby defended, “It is a logical question, what is a Shadowclan cat doing in Riverclan territory?”

“Well whatever it is,” Lionbright turned, “There’s no way he means trouble for us, though I do admit my curiosity has peaked.” He purred, stepping back to his other friends and flicking his tail, inviting the apprentice to follow.

Spiderpaw carefully stepped over the border and jumped over the stream in front of him that had widened from it’s thin line of water near the lake. He pawed toward the group and sat a bit away, closer to Lionbright than the other two.

“So what are you doing all the way over here, kit?” The cream one asked.

His ears pinned back, “I’m not a ‘kit, I’m a ‘paw.”

“Frogleaf calls almost everybody kit,” Lionbright rolled his eyes with a laugh.

Spiderpaw nodded, “Oh.” he said, it was quiet for a moment, they still wanted his answer but he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to believe he could trust these cats, or at least Lionbright, but he also thought he could trust Snakeface, “What are you all doing here?” he said instead.

“He’s deflecting.” Riverberry stated but he was promptly ignored.

“Why, my dear friend, we all have one thing in common!” Lionbright declared, “We think that friends should be able to see each other more than once a moon even if they’re all in different clans.”

“We have other issues with code as well.” Riverberry stated, “Most of mine come from the fact that it can easily be argued against and has contradictions. Reject the soft life of a kittypet but that doesn’t clarify much, challenge all trespassing cats but help a kit no matter their clan, the leader’s word is the code-”

“You can’t have mates in other clans.” Frogleaf cut into the ramble with a sad mew, pressing his cheek against the tom beside him.

“Exactly. I’ve never even heard the warrior code specify not to have mates in other clans, just that our loyalty must be to our own clan first and foremost as we may see our friends in battle, but every leader believes that this means no mates, and because their word is the rules, we have to suffer.”

“Are you saying you’d fight me?” Frogleaf gave a mock shocked gasp.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t?” The serious cat teased back. The two stared at each other for a moment but soon the cream cat was pinning the other down and the two began fighting like kittens.

“I swear, sometimes I feel like a bird’s third wing.” Lionbright laughed at his friends, “How about you? Why’re you here?”

“I was…” Spiderpaw’s mouth was dry, these cats trusted him with information that would surely get them punished if they were found out, he should be able to trust them. He fought to keep his pelt from prickling, he didn’t trust them, “I was taking a walk by the lake when I smelled Thunderclan.” That was technically true. He bit his lip, Snakeface was the one who taught him to avoid the truth like that whenever he was in trouble. They can’t get mad at you for lying if you never technically lie.

“Oh,” Lionbright said, “I didn’t expect anybody to be on lake shore, I was a bit careless.” He sighed, “Well, luckily it was you and not some other cat. I assume you’re not going to tell anybody about this?” He asked, though the answer was clear.

“Not unless I wanna get in a lot of trouble myself.” More trouble than the others could probably fathom, considering he’d have to go and tell a murderer that he’d broken the rules. Lionbright laughed at that, he laughed a lot, the sound put the anxious apprentice’s beating heart at ease. 

The four spoke about everything and nothing. Lionbright had told a story about how he witnessed a squirrel falling out of a tree earlier that day, making itself remarkably easy to catch. Frogleaf talked about how the elders in Riverclan had let their medicine cat apprentice hideout in their den for a nap when he was supposed to be finding birch sap and that Frogleaf covered for him by finding the birch sap himself. Spiderpaw mentioned that the other apprentices stuck him on tick duty again that day. Riverberry reported that his mother was having a second litter, and though he didn’t sound that excited, the others could tell that he was.

Long after Spiderpaw had allowed himself to completely ignore the horrid situation that led to him being there, Riverberry stood suddenly, “We should head back now.”

“Ugh, but it hasn’t been that long.” Lionbright whined.

“It has, unfortunately. We need time to start on our hunt.” He said matter of factly, he turned his attention to the apprentice, “I advise you to hunt as well and perhaps fall into a patch of garlic if you need a stronger scent to cover ours.”

Lionbright’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion, “You have rats in Shadowclan, right?” Spiderpaw nodded, “Just catch one of those and I’m sure your scent will be covered.” Spiderpaw nodded again, biting his tongue on the fact that he wasn’t that much bigger than a rat himself and that they tasted really bad.

Frogleaf pressed his side to Riverberry’s, a solemn expression on his muzzle. Riverberry leaned over and rested his chin on the other cat’s head.

“We’ll take our leave first.” Lionbright said, nudging Spiderpaw to follow him.

“Bye, kits.” Frogleaf purred.

“We’ll discuss our next meeting at the gathering, try not to get in trouble before then.”

“Will do.” Lionbright said.

Spiderpaw begrudgingly stood, “Bye.” he said, following after the Thunderclan warrior. This means he has to go back, but he couldn’t. By now, the future leader could have the entire clan twisted around his claws, going back could mean death.

He walked silently alongside Lionbright, his eyes on the ground below him. Within the time it takes to eat a mouse, they were within three fox lengths of the lake and the stream had once again returned to a steady trickle of water flowing into the lake.

“Well, this is where we must part, dear ‘paw.” Lionbright sighed.

“Yes.” Spiderpaw confirmed but neither made any move to leave, instead the older tom lowered his head to look at Spiderpaw’s eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

There was of course, but what could he say? That he was soon going to be dead? That he needed to leave if he wanted to survive? That he might end up a loner or a kittypet or another star in Silverpelt? Will he join his kin just as his mother had? He flinched, the vision of Nightstar’s body filling his thoughts again.

“Spiderpaw, you need to breathe.”

Spiderpaw looked to his friend, how long had they been standing there? He stared into Lionbright’s vibrant amber eyes for a long moment and tried to slow his breathing.

The ginger tabby spoke again once he calmed a bit, “What’s wrong?”

“My mother’s dead.” His voice cracked into what was barely a whisper, “Snakeface killed her and I think he’s going to kill me.” He shook from finally admitting his fears.

Lionbrights eyes widened with a gasp, “Nightstar’s dead?” Spiderpaw nodded, his breathing quickened. What was he going to do? Where was he going to go?

“You’re not going back there.” Lionbright stated, “You’ll come with me to Thunderclan and we’ll tell Redstar what happened.” He stepped closer, his tail resting on the smaller cat’s shoulders.

Spiderpaw could only stare wide eyed at Lionbright. It seemed so simple, it couldn’t be that simple. “No.” He said, “Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in? We don’t even share borders, you’ll have to tell them that you were near Riverclan.”

“Nonsense,” he stated, “I go on morning hunt almost every day, I decided to hunt near the lake today but was cut off by the scent of Shadowclan.” He crouched down beside Spiderpaw, “I readied myself to attack the intruder” He pounced on nothing, pressing his paws into the sand below him like it was an enemy, “But found that he was within the three fox lengths from the lake that our borders required. And he was just so scared and shaken up that I had to console him, frankly, it’d be wrong of me to leave him there without a safe clan, so I brought him to camp!” He turned dramatically, “Believable?”

Spiderpaw let out a short laugh despite himself, “I guess.” but he couldn’t shake the doubt in his meow.

Lionbright stepped closer, “It’ll be fine, trust me.”

Spiderpaw stared at the tom in front of him, he could trust him, he had to. He nodded, “Thank you.” He said.

“Not at all! I’m just doing what a warrior should.” He grinned.

They stepped quickly around the lake, Spiderpaw following Lionbright’s lead as he seemed to have walked this path many times before. They stayed close to the lake, almost running in order to get to Thunderclan’s camp before sunrise. The scent around them shifted from the rabbit filled mores to the oak forest, they slowed as the scent of Thunderclan became clear.

Lionbright stepped away from the lake and Spiderpaw hesitantly followed, he’d never been to another clan’s camp before, he’d barely ever left Shadowclan’s territory before tonight. Lionbright slowed his pace and rested his tail over Spiderpaw’s shoulders again, “It’ll be okay.” he said quietly.

“Right.” Spiderpaw breathed, wanting to believe him.

“I need to catch something and cover my scent.” He said, “You’ve been wandering around the lake all night so I think your mangled scents are excusable.” He winked, causing the apprentice to relax a bit, “Wait here, I’ll be quick. I’m quite the hunter.” He boasted.

“I’m sure you are.” Spiderpaw rolled his eyes at his friend.

Lionbright vanished into thick bracken moments later. Leaving Spiderpaw to pray to Starclan that no Thunderclan cats would show up to find him alone on their territory. The warrior returned with a robin soon enough, bits of leaves on his fur that helped aid in hiding unwanted scents, “Nice catch.” Spiderpaw said.

“Thank you,” Lionbright gleaned happily, words muffled by feathers.

The two made their way around trees’ roots, bracken patches and the occasional boulder. Spiderpaw took in his surroundings, it was really beautiful. The way the sun made the tops of the trees glow with orange hues against a swirling purple sky. It was no Shadowclan, filled with shadows and pine, but the trees did a good job hiding the light away from the creatures below, the shadows they left would be easy enough to hide in to catch unsuspecting prey. 

The Shadowclan cat breathed in the air, the scent of cats getting stronger the further they walked into the forest, they eventually came upon thorn bushes that smelled so much of Thunderclan that it had to be the camp. 

He pressed himself a bit closer to Lionbright, who once again rested his tail one the smaller tom’s back. The light pressure helped ease the nervous feeling in Spiderpaw’s belly as they approached. There was a tunnel, an opening in the bushes, Lionbright took the lead walking through it and Spiderpaw entered closely behind. Trying to mentally prepare himself for the worst.

~~~

Lionbright=Roman, Riverberry=Logan, Frogleaf=Patton, the main squad’s here~

Fun fact, i got Frogleaf in a name generator and realized it fit Patton and the next thing I knew I’d made all the sides into cats and now here we are

Chapter 3

Tags! @perfectly-princely-emo-nightmare

[dailyaudiobible]

05/01/2019 DAB Transcript

Judges 13:1-14:20, John 1:29-51, Psalms 102:1-28, Proverbs 14:15-16

Today is the 1st day of the month of May. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It is great to be here with you as we step into this 5th month of the year. And oh, the stories we have talked about in our first four months together. And we are now one third of the way through the Bible. So, congratulations well done making it here to May 1. And we’ll do what we always do, no matter what month or week or whatever day it is that we’re in, we’ll take the next step forward because that's how we move through these months and weeks and get to the end of the year and the end of the Bible. So, we’ll pick up where we left off yesterday, which will take us back into the book of Judges where we’re learning of the different judges and the different generations that came after Joshua’s leadership. And today we will begin another very famous story, the story of the judge Sampson. So, we’ll red Judges chapters 13 and 14 today.

Commentary:

Alright. So, as we begin this brand-new sparkly month that we're moving into, this fifth month of the year, let's just take stock of where we are. So, obviously, in the world we are in the transition of seasons, at least we are around here but when is that not happening, we’re always in transition and we’re always transitioning from books and stories in the Bible to the next one and we’ve found this fascinating Sunday school story of Samson who was one of Israel's judges. And as his story unfolds we’ll not only get a glimpse into how volatile the situation was at that time, we’ll get a pretty good hard look at our own selves and a look into our own soul’s motivations. Samson will teach us much in the days ahead as we move into this new month.

And we've also just recently began the final gospel. So, we’re moving through the last gospel, the gospel of John. So, today we found ourselves at the Jordan River and Jesus is beginning His ministry and a loose band of brothers are coalescing around Him. And once again, we get to look at the counterintuitive way that Jesus chose His inner circle, right? He didn't set up a sign somewhere and host job interviews, He didn't review their education, He didn’t call up their former employers, He wasn't looking for the strongest people or the smartest people, He didn't choose anyone with marketing experience, He didn’t hire anybody write His speeches for Him. His invitation was open for anyone with an open heart and eyes to see, and ears to hear and thankfully He's doing the same thing. We all fall into the category, we’re not equipped…we’re not equipped to change the world, but we are, and we’re supposed too. And, so, let's remember that as we go into this month. We’re supposed to be revealing God's kingdom. It is the same spirit and we’ve talked about this so many times and we'll talk about it so many more times. According to the Scriptures, it’s the same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead, it’s the same Holy Spirit that empowered Jesus that lives in us and we are supposed to be doing the work of Christ in this world. And, so, we see when Jesus came, He didn’t pick the people who could figure out how to get it done with or without God, He picked the people with eyes to see and ears to hear and who could do nothing without faith and who weren’t trying to rationalize everything way.

Prayer:

Father, thank You for sending Your Holy Spirit among us. We confess and apologize and repent for how often we ignore, how often it's not even a category for consideration, how often we do talk to You but we just are telling You what we want You to do for us and what we need and then we say Amen and just think that somehow You’re to gather all that up together and plop it in our lap when actually You would lead us toward those answers if we would listen to You. And, so, we’re listening Father. We’re moving into this new month. We’ve come through a busy month of April. We’ve moved through the resurrection story and found new life in You and Your word is filling us up every day feeding our souls. We’re listening. So, come Holy Spirit as we move forward into this year. Lead us we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what’s going on around here. So, be sure to stay tuned and stay connected in any way that you can.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible in the common mission that we share, which is to bring the spoken word of God read fresh every day and offer it to the world to anyone who will listen to it anywhere on this planet, anytime of day or night and to build and foster community around that rhythm so that we know that as we’re going through this year we’re not going to this year alone. We may feel physically alone or isolated, but we are not alone, we’re in this together. If that brings life and light and good news to you and into your life and into your world, then thank you for your partnership. So, there's a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that is it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I’ll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning everyone this is Kristi and Tim from Kentucky. We are doing a little traveling today and I just wanted to call and wish China and Ben a beautiful wedding day. I’ve been thinking about you all week and I’m excited for you. We are praying that you have a beautiful day weather-wise and that everything is perfect, and I know that it will be. So, just wanted to let you guys know that we love you very much. And Brian, and Jill, today you were talking about a bittersweet day, but let me tell you something, you are gonna be her daddy and her mama forever. And, so, this is just opening a new chapter into your lives but always remember that China will always be your little girl. Alright everybody. I love you guys and I pray each of you are having a most blessed and lovely day.

Hey family this is Malisa from Albertville Alabama. China, I hope your day is beautiful. I know you’re going to be a beautiful bride and I wish you and Ben much happiness and love. Hey, Brian. Hey Jill. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Anyway, I need you all the pray for me. I’m having surgery on Tuesday. I have gallstones and it’s really painful and my families been going through a lot lately. My mom was in CCU about a week ago and she’s doing better, and my brother-in-law was in a pretty bad wreck, in __ Georgia and he’s not saved, and his name is Nino. Please pray for him. Pray for Gabby. She’ll be going into high school next year and she won an award the other day. And pray for my other daughter Darion, we call her pudding. She’s in China. I love you all so much. Pastor Gene, I hope your rash is clearing up. Mark Street, I love you. Brother, you keep getting’ up. Every time you fall, you get back up. God’s gotcha. I love this whole family. Johnny, I pray for your friend Nick. Bless you my little brother. I love you all so much. Y’all have a great day. Bye-bye.

I’m now outside my comfort zone headed places Lord unknown I’m trusting You to lead the way trying to focus not to stray yet looking back with longing Lord I see many warnings that I ignored Like Lots wife I’m stuck again I love You Lord but I often bend Your will for me I don’t now really know but my love for You can only grow You comfort me in times of stress the more I stray the more You bless help me Lord to give You all and though I stumble not to fall help me do the things I say and hear me lord each time I pray I’m now outside my comfort zone headed places Lord unknown I’m trusting You to lead the way Lord please hear these words I say and let me not be lost in sin I know Your way is right please bless. Amen.

blindtony1016@gmail.com. Like to give congratulations to China and Ben on their marriage. I pray that you have many, many, many, many years of oneness in the Lord and in each other. And once again, Brian and Jill, the rest of the Hardin family, thank you for this wonderful podcast for God’s Holy Spirit flow keep in flown’ y’all. All right. Bye-bye

Hello Daily Audio Bible, this is Irish Ian in London. I’ve been a listener for 13 years but this is my first call to the prayer line. Each time I listen I pray along with a prayer requests. In my 13 years listening to DAB there’s been significant testimony of prayers from DAB prayer line having positive effect for the subject of the prayers. I consider this situation to be a suitable challenge to request intervention for my fellow DAB prayer warriors. My 72-year-old mother Joan is having a second spinal operation on May the 2nd. I should like to enlist your help in praying for this to be a successful operation without complication. Father God, thank You for the magnificent abundance of this world You’ve given to us. Thank You for the amazing growth and success of Daily Audio Bible as a vehicle for spreading Your word. Thank You for encouraging the Hardin family to build the DAB prayer lines. We ask that You send the Holy Spirit to Joan and those supporting her through the days of her operation, to bring peace and healing and tranquility around her coming up to her operation. We ask that You build a hedge of protection against any efforts of the evil one surrounding Joan’s operation. We ask the medical staff be supported by the wisdom of the Holy Spirit and that You use these people as a means by which You can achieve a complete healing of Joan. We pray that the Holy Spirit and Your will facilitate complete convalescence and the outcome of the operation. I instigate this prayer on my authority as Jones Younger son and by Jesus words in Matthew 18:19, “again truly I tell You, two of You on earth agree about anything they ask for will be done for them by my Father in the heaven.” In Jesus’ holy name. Amen. While I’m here I’d like to congratulate Ben and offer best wishes to China on their wedding and say hi to all the other DABbers out there. May God bless us, everyone. Amen.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family. This is Teresa Ray from Fort Worth Texas. I’m calling on behalf of two things, first a confession and then a prayer. My confession is that quite some time ago a gentleman called in, a quadriplegic, that was going in for surgery. He was very worried about him making it through the surgery. And I should’ve called in then, was prone to, and didn’t, and been convicted ever since. I’ve been praying for you and I’m continuing to pray for you but I would love to hear from you. So, please reach out to us and let us know that everything went well. But just know that I have been praying for you. And I’m sorry Lord for not following Your thoughts at first. So please take care of him. In Jesus name I pray. Amen. By guys. Have a blessed day.

[ruleandruinrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, LEXX!

You have been accepted for the role of DMITRI ALEKSEEV. Admin Rosey: First of all, Lexx, I’m so sorry for the wait! I was so enthralled by your application that I lost track of time reading it, and truthfully, it took me longer than it should have to put what I loved about it into words, because there was so much! Your plot points were amazing and so well thought-out; as if they alone weren’t enough to show how well you know him, your samples blew me away. You captured his voice perfectly, and with your words, you painted a picture of Dmitri I’d never seen before. Well done! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER        

ALIAS: Lexx        

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: she/her        

AGE: 21+        

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: 6 -7: Typically I am around for plotting/chatting daily, as for IC interactions, it might depend on how RL affects my muse, but even so, once 1-2 days I should be able to write at least one reply.  This is sort of a worst case scenario, because on top of having a full-time job, I typically leave town most weekends during the summer months, and I have a holiday coming up between the 14th and 24th of July, but things should slow down after that, and my activity should stabilize to at least 7/10. My timezone is GMT+2, which could also affect my real time responses as I’m 7+ hours ahead of American RPers.       

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: n/a - they’re inactive          

IN CHARACTER        

DESIRED CHARACTER: Dmitri Timofey Alekseev    

DMITRI– like the earth goddess he was named after, his mood swings have the capacity to influence all around him. He gives, and he takes away.  He dabbles in people, rather than nature, but like entire harvests are crushed by hail, so too can he bring immense devastation with the flick of his fingers. If he’s unhappy, everyone suffers. When he is content, others may be, as well.    

TIMOFEY – “honoring god” and there’s no greater one worthy of worship than him. He is the first in his family in generations to be Grisha, what further proof would he need of his significance, of the importance of his role in shaping what is to come? He is designed for critical and magnificent things, he is a creature capable of affecting the very molecules that keep humans together, and that can be nothing other than further evidence of his preeminence.    

ALEKSEEV – a family name, a human name, but it suits him, as at the Ravkan court one’s ancestry is vital, and his is exemplary. A noble, strong household. Diplomats and politicians and advisors, people versed in manipulating others for their own ends, of twisting the situation to their advantage, people whose subtlety of thinking brought them as close to power as anyone without royal blood could get. But they are not him, of course, for he is altogether more. Where they did not excel in a country at war, where their silver tongues did not turn to bullets, and they had to flee in order to maintain their relevance, Dmitri would show the rest of the world that he can be a warrior, he can be a killer, he can be the worst monster of them all – as calculating as he is cruel.    

DESCRIBE THE SAME CHARACGTER TWICE      

TO FALL IN LOVE WITH THEM      

There is no indulgence he refuses himself, he knows what he wants and he knows how to get it. He turns hedonism into an art form. He’s suave, confident and sultry, unafraid and uninhibited. He’s his own blessing, he is the only god he worships, and such supreme aplomb turns everything he does into a game only he knows how to win. He’s deliciously amoral, unencumbered by sentiment, or personal attachments. He’s the center of his own universe, and he makes all around him dance to his tune.      

TO BE REPULSED BY THEM      

With confidence, comes vanity, but that is, perhaps, the least among the plethora of mortal sins he dabbles in. His gluttony is devastating enough to eat the whole world raw, the force of his lust would bring angels to their knees. He thirsts for blood, for the rush he feels when he has another’s life at the tips of his fingers. He’s both sides of the coin, capable of bringing maddening pleasure, and cause immeasurable pain, and indeed, more often than not, a coin toss is all he needs to decide.      

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?    

A deity born of unworthy clay, and oh, how they knew it. If blame could be placed on anyone but himself, then his parents are responsible for much of his pitilessness. Adored and spoiled rotten from the first moment he drew breath, Dmitri grew up with all the advantages of a privileged birth, with all the gifts nature could bestow on a creature. Beautiful and charming, and so incredibly cruel. He isn’t weighed by principles. His disregard for other people is fascinating. He is a rotten thing with an angel’s face, and he thinks the world is his. That it was made for him. He’s never suffered hardships, what he wanted he got, always, and he’s smug and self-serving and greedy.      

He takes everything for granted and he takes everything as his due. Even his power, which is why he uses it so freely, so carelessly, taking when others aren’t willing to give. People are his playthings, the world is his stage, and he’s never known the taste of refusal.    

As someone who has no ideal in the world but himself, he lacks consistency and has no worthy goals. Whether the world ends in fire, or in ice, he does not care as long as he sits atop the pile of bodies. The future is a distant, unimportant detail to him, the legacy he seeks to leave has a more immediate effect. He wants his name to be on people’s lips now, and he doesn’t quite care how it gets there. There is no negative publicity in his mind, which is why he does not care that people whisper “the Darkling’s bitch” as he walks by. At least they’re talking about him, and he sees whatever attention they grant as his due, even if it will never be enough to satisfy.    

I think a significant part of his character is his absence of feeling, and this is something I would like to delve into further. He can be brought low by circumstances, and he’s capable of negative emotions, but there is no denying he is almost enamored with himself, and he has the ability to find precedence in things, he is aware enough of his surroundings and how to put them to use to achieve maximum satisfaction, but this is done in a distant, conniving way, and he is maladroit at considering anyone else a ‘person’. He sees people as a means to an end, sometimes for a minor purpose – for pleasure, or his own amusement – and others as steps to climb on in order to reach greatness.    

He’s empty, he is a beautiful lie, his eyes are ice, he’s covered in blood, his skin is silk kissed by worms and if they were given a choice, if they could see him for what he truly is, no one would touch him. But he is the flame, and people are just moths. Even the devil was an angel once – the most beautiful angel of them all. He is Conquest, their bodies are his battlefield. He is Famine, always hungry, leaving them starved and begging for more. He is Pestilence, he would find his way into their blood, and he would waste them away from the inside out. He is Death, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS.      

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?          

[Disclaimer: these are only suggestions as it is far from my intention to GM anyone else’s characters and I would be happy to discuss these plot bunnies further and adjust them where needed]  

ZERO SUM GAME – Dmitri’s been using his power longer than he could talk, longer than he understood that he was different, or had a notion of right or wrong. It comes as naturally to him as breathing, it’s a sense he’s never been without, and he doesn’t know – nor does he want to – how to turn it off. He sees the world through the sound of hearts beating, through feeling someone before touching them. And while at first it’s been crude and inelegant, the reactions he caused too strong, leaving signs of his presence in their bloodstream, he’s had years to hone his skill, to perfect his craft to the point where he’s almost unnoticeable. There is no denying he has a superiority complex – especially when it comes to the otkazat’sya. When it comes to fellow Grisha, he’s more reluctant to unleash his power against them, based on his belief that they are not to be quite so easily discarded. The Sun Summoner, though, is untrained, untested and raising too quickly above her station that it grates at him. He wants to drive a wedge between her and the Darkling, and for the time being, while she’s fresh and gullible, there are a number of options. Should he incite her to betrayal by pushing her into Anton’s arms? Once that happens, he could tell the Darkling that Viktor plans to supplant his brother, the information would surely hold more weight then, than it does now.

Or rather, should he befriend her, seduce her, make her believe he’s indispensable to her, and use her as the way back in the Darkling’s inner circle? His resentment of her is quite great at this point, but ultimately Dmitri  won’t be easily swayed by personal feelings if he has more to gain by ignoring them. If he finds himself back in a position of favor, will he grovel and apologize and worship the Soverenyi, or will he still nurse his wounded pride, and plot against him? If, or rather when, he finds out the Darkling is looking for the amplifiers, will he want to get to them first, and if he succeeds in that, will he hand them over or keep them for himself – will he, once he figures out what Aleksander wants, involve Viktor in his quest to improve his odds? He needs time to break Lantsov’s will, to wear down his resistance, if he wants his work to last, he has to be subtle and rushing a job, especially this job comes with great risk. For the moment, he prefers weighing his options, testing the waters, tugging at strings in one direction or another just to see which would be the easiest path to getting his due.

THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS – to look upon the Darkling was to look into a mirror. At least on Dmitri’s part, seeing all the things he thought he was, laid bare. To see people gaze at the Darkling, was to finally, finally find a definition for the black hole inside him. The mix of fear and respect, awe and wariness – it was all he fancied himself he was and more – because it was real, it was acknowledged and reinforced by others. He became one of the many shadows dancing around him, at least for a little while. He took those first steps willingly, accepting him as his lord and master. He had his taste of real power as the devil on his shoulder, whispering everyone’s darkest secrets in his ear. Everyone’s but his. Even as he exposed others to the judgement of the Darkling, he suppressed, hid, kept himself to himself. He thought he belonged with Aleksander, but he could not quite convince himself he belonged to him. He imagined the Darkling would understand a creature such as him, a fellow god, could only ever be on the same footing, never on his knees. He was wrong, and the taste of failure is bitter in his mouth. He lacked his experience, his skill, something akin to wisdom and Dmitri had never been wise. His restlessness, his constant hunger for more, everything, always scrapping for a bigger piece of the pie drove him towards the wider world, seeking what the Darkling wouldn’t provide. Entertainment, meaningless and crude, a game with no stakes other than his own amusement. The weight of his own discontent, the Darkling’s disapproval could only be displaced by surrounding himself with lesser beings where his superiority was plain for all to see. He craves the idolatry of the masses, and the Darkling is so distinctly apart from all the humbug that his distant approval never could have  been enough to fill the emptiness inside him. He is still the best chance he has of seeing his ambitions realized, of seeing his name carved in flesh and blood on the surface of the earth, of having his name turned into a curse, of being seen for the famished, cruel god he is. But he’s drifting, untethered, away from his sphere of influence, each moment pushing him further away from meeting his goals. He’s rootless and simmering in the depths of his own resentment – at himself, at the Darkling, at all he holds in higher regard than him. He still collects secrets, hoards them like the selfish dragon he is, overflowing with the seductive, poisonous power of those things he holds close to his chest: Viktor plots against his brother; have you noticed how that Fjerdan prowls like a wolf? The king’s advisor is guilty of regicide, she stalks the Lantsov bastard like a bitch in heat; the princess is hiding something and I’m not the only one on their trail – he’s drowning in secrets that aren’t his, drowning as he watches his opportunities ever dwindling, pulling him, kicking and screaming, into obscurity. Can he do anything about any of those things without the Darkling’s help? Can he assert his own power without assistance? Or is he already doing it, and all he’s good for is fucking confidences out of people? The thought rankles, it sounds unjust, and if he could only untangle one of these knots without help, perhaps he can prove he’s been misjudged. But his pride, his bitterness, keep him languishing on the edges while others take precedence in the Darkling’s plans. He fails to see the appeal of Altan – nothing but a butcher, with as much finesse in his whole being as Dmitri could scrap from his perfectly polished shoes. He dismisses the oprichniki out of hand – they’re only human, and so easily replaceable for all they might think otherwise. And the Sun Summoner is getting a little too friendly with the crown prince. But then again, what else could one expect from a mere peasant when she finds herself in the presence of royalty, tarnished or not? She must be a bastard herself. Truth is that Dmitri believes that he alone can help the Darkling with the finer points of his plans, and it bothers him that the other man doesn’t think likewise. Exposing everyone else's deficiencies to Aleksander is beginning to sound more and more tempting. He would start with the Pavlova girl, and bide his time until she missteps. And keep his eye on the petty power grabs of humans and their silly, meaningless crown, as well.  A fact made easy by having placed himself in a Lantsov’s bed. His manipulation is subtle, thorough, taking small steps to extract information from him, planting ideas in Viktor’s head, though he really doesn’t think the bloodhound would require much of his assistance to turn to fratricide.

FOR KING & COUNTRY – and of course, the questions are which king and why should he restrict himself to just one country, when he can have the whole world? But he is quite impatient, and impulsive. He’s never learned to be persevering, not really, so far no objectives he’d set himself have been really that difficult to surmount.  Learning to deny himself immediate satisfaction is a struggle. And while there is no refuting the fact that the Darkling has the advantage of being Grisha – a state of being Dmitri himself considers far superior – his snubbing of the favored son was a bitter pill to swallow, whether it had been warranted of not. Dmitri wants back in his graces, but how long would he have to suffer, and be ignored until his resentment becomes greater than his infatuation? He was not made to waste away in the shadows, he was supposed to thrive in the darkness. Ultimately, it’s a matter of his own welfare, and there is no doubt that he values that above all else. He finds a match to his savagery in Viktor’s bloodthirstiness, and in truth, Dmitri’s brand of manipulation works far better on the Lantsov hound than on the Darkling. His strings are easier to pull, and his role as the puppeteer is well known and comfortable. But the man is presumptuous enough to imagine he’s superior simply because he’s a prince, and Dmitri might find that amusing now, while he dances to his tune, but there is no denying his pride will not allow him to remain content in this position while Viktor is so openly derisive. At least the Darkling once offered him the recognition he so craves, and for all the Grisha are classified as secondary Dmitri believes that the one capable of turning the tables on the measly humans, for all their greater numbers, is Aleksander. Still, he could switch camps, if the opportunity presents itself, to be the only one of his kind, to be singled out and adored, but the devastation would have to be complete. He finds plenty of allure in being the sole Grisha, there is immeasurable power in the concept, more so even than what the Darkling has to offer. To be known as the one who reduced the Second Army to a mountain of corpses is a treasured prospect. His footnote in history would be final, his transformation into a destroyer of worlds, complete and irreversible. The mere idea is enough to get him drunk on power. But first, Viktor has to prove himself worthy of such attention, of the privilege of being the object through which Dmitri’s machinations will be realized. And he is a mere pup, letting his bastard half-brother steal his crown while he sits idly by, sulking like a child, unappreciative of a greater power and impertinent where he should be reverential. The Grisha is even less patient with others than he is with himself, and while he will try to steer the man in the right direction, should he prove belligerent, he would have no qualms to eradicate him as a nuisance and throw his lot in with the Darkling.    

CROWN THE BASTARD – Dmitri sincerely doubts Anton would be first bastard on the throne, as well versed as he is in the intricacies of lust, but it just goes to show that to name something is to define it. The line of Lantsovs on the throne has been unbroken – or so they claim, but what he knows of the base nature of people belies such boasts. He’s stuck between wanting to laugh in their faces, and kill them all for their stupidity. Nothing should matter in this world, but power, and ever since the crown fell on his head, Anton seems to believe he has it. That he is prepared for the task at hand, that he will succeed. It’s easy for a heartrender to see through the lies at court, easier still for one such as him, attuned from infancy to the beat of others’ hearts, but the crown prince’s confidence seems quite a steady melody. He will claim other reasons, of course, but in reality, Dmitri has chosen to fuck with him, first and foremost, out of spite.  It is so easy to stay out of his line of sight in a crowded room, so easy to exert his influence from a distance, making him believe he longs from something at one point, or imagining he’s nervous by a sudden rush of blood, confusing his instincts so that people who might genuinely want to help him appear as rivals instead. He can follow the threads of want and wanting all the way to the object of their desires. There are no secrets that are truly safe from him. They might all wear their glittering courtiers’ masks, but they cannot hide the spike in their pulse, the small catch of breath, the unsteady stutter from a heart who fears and wants and betrays them to him. He pays special attention to the crown prince, seeing the advantage of making him unsteady, falter and fail. He coaxes his body to small treacheries, a twitch here and there, an ill-timed blush, or a brief bout of bleariness when he ought to be paying attention. He’s careful, for he cannot be close enough to hear what he says, and he must always choose his moments wisely. But he wants to acclimate Anton to his effect, step by tiny step so that when the time comes and he needs to strike irresolutely and without mercy, the man would be too tangled in all the ways he cannot control himself that he’ll think the blame lays with him. He does not want him on the throne, not as he is, so focused on the Sun Summoner, seeing her as the hope of his nation, and belittling everyone else. Corporalki are the chosen of the Grisha, they alone have the option to create or destroy, to shape their power to their will, and seeing an Etherealki – an inexperienced one at that – raised above him rankles. At least the Darkling appreciates the subtlety of Dmitri’s science, at least the Darkling has lived long enough to master his skills beyond all others. That chit of a girl with her pretty, empty lights cannot hope to threaten the divine order, and a human involving himself with Grisha power structure is a challenge that cannot go unanswered. One day, he will choose to betray the secrets he gleans from the bastard – oh yes, he knows, he can feel the queen’s distress whenever she looks at him, can almost smell the doubt on Anton –  to the highest bidder, and he will rejoice in his downfall.    

THE HEART OF RAVKA – it’s right there in the name, they fall right into his sphere of influence. Dmitri knows how hearts work, at least from a physical standpoint. Their language is easy for him to understand, and he knows how to make them sing. And the heart of a princess isn’t something he could claim ownership over, just yet. But he can see the appeal of such a prize, the lure of lifting himself above his humbler beginnings. Marrying a princess makes him a prince, does it not? A title that Viktor, for all his appeal, cannot and would not grant him. A title the Darkling cannot grant him. There is power in words, just as there is in sinew, and power is something he could never resist. Their innocence is not an insurmountable obstacle,merely a nuisance. He would have them if he wants them. And, in turn, they will teach him endurance, how to bide his time, and how to bend to their desires first, rather than have them bend to his. His coldness will have to be tempered; he cannot take without giving something in return, in this case. He must be cautious, and serene. He must prove he has a heart, even if it’s just pretend. As he feigns vulnerability, he will reveal his shortages, even if only to himself. For all his mastery of the carnal, he never did comprehend the emotional, or saw much of its use – at least not to him, but others place great significance in it, so he would try. He has the ability to cure their bleeding heart, or at least convince them he did. He can affect grief, and humility, thoughtfulness and comprehension. He could be a cheerful companion, or a shoulder to cry on. It’s a long game, and he must be infinitely watchful, for if he puts on too much of a façade, he will lose them to the rumors at court that paint him as anything but a caring man. He must be discreet, but at least with that he’s had plenty of practice. It’s an interesting notion, to boost himself not through carnage, but through gentleness. He isn’t convinced he won’t grow bored, eventually. But still, having their ear would be an advantage, and should he tire of them – well, he’s always looking for new ways to hurt. Breaking a heart without leaving physical damage is a mere honing of his skills. And theirs is already so cracked, it wouldn’t take much to crumble at all.    

THE POWER & CHANCE OF DOING PROFOUND HURT – all things living must die, disintegrate and rot and sex might be the height of life, blood pumping, heart thudding, skin singing at the barest touches, but death has just as much allure to Dmitri. Bodies talk to him in a language better than words. He can track the veins all the way to their hearts, he can see the organs beneath the veneer of skin, he feels lungs that aren’t his expanding with breathing. It is so easy, so ridiculously easy, for him to play with that, to tug at people’s strings, one moment making them feel alive, another luring their deaths closer, delighting in the rush of panic, the last, desperate attempt to draw in another breath, to force a heart to beat one more time. He’s hungry for death, for the taste of fear in another’s bloodstream. He is Grisha, he is a soldier, he was born to kill and there are simply not enough opportunities around court to do what he was meant to do. He wants chaos, he wants bloodshed, and he is willing to pick fights with little lambs in the hopes that they might sprout claws. It might not be enough to slake his thirst, but he finds her infinitely frustrating – they are like gods and she chooses to serve, instead, making a mockery of her fire. He does not mind being the instrument of punishment – the eagle rending her liver piece by delicious piece – for daring to deny her nature. She can reshape him in her fire, though Dmitri doubts she knows how, and he can tinker with her flesh, they cut themselves on one another, dogs with a bone, and so far there’s been no winning in their war of tug. Not many people can resist his siren call, and it’s discomfiting that she’d managed to for this long. Perhaps he’s losing his touch, perhaps he never had it – merchants, humans all, might not have been the challenge he’d originally predicted. But he can, at least, hone his skill on her, until she’s his, or until she’s destroyed by it, and he can divine something from her ruin.      

APEX PREDATOR – Dmitri does not like to see his prey hunted by others, he’s never been one for sharing his toys. And there’s something about Sergei that doesn’t sit right with him – he’d grown up with his ambassador father, after all, a man bred for the task, and the Fjerdan fits the role like a round peg in a square hole. There’s a restraint to his movements that speaks of barely contained violence. He is not who he claims to be, and given his nationality, Dmitri is willing to wager he’s not Anton’s biggest problem, but theirs, instead. The Practitioners of the Small Sciences. He plans to ingratiate himself to the man, to use his unique brand of seduction to confuse and confound him, to negotiate a position better suited for uncovering his secrets, for striking first, should he be given reason to. And he does not like how Iskra – the one Grisha away from the safety of the Little Palace – has drawn his attention. He cares not for the girl, but he cares even less for a druskelle, and if there is anyone who ought to discipline an errant Grisha, then the task should fall to one of her own.  

I HAVE BECOME DEATH – Dmitri revels in the subtlety of his craft, the careful waning and webbing of blood, the way nerves respond so eagerly to his coaxing. He sees his power in all the ways he can hide his influence, not in the obvious tearing of the throat, not in how easily the clench of his fist obliterates a heart. He’s insidious, refined, like the shrewdest poison. To be poison is what he craves; to not only see people die by his will, but to know he’s hidden his tracks well, too. To be capable, if the need arises, to shift the blame on someone else. He would be eager to find an Alkemi, to learn how to replicate the symptoms of clever venoms through his skill. He would seek out someone as interested in all the ways bodies can break and work together, to uncover a new facet of his ability that would serve in the environment of the court – if only to strike panic in the hearts of its residents. He’d learned long ago that fearful creatures are much easier to manipulate and subdue than those whose will has never been tested.  

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: To be honest, I can easily see how his story would end in tragedy. He is the villain in his story, and he’s too greedy, too power-grabbing and impatient to ever feel satisfied. The subtlety of his powers, and his ambitions might keep him in check for a little while, might make him a difficult enemy to remove, but in the long run, his unpredictability and obsession with chaos could prove to be his downfall. I would definitely be interested in exploring his character while he balances precariously on the edge of his mortality, and losing control of all the strings he's been trying to pull. Will it happen gradually, or all at once? Will he cease to merely consider betrayal and set himself on a course of action that would bring about his demise? It could even be something as simple as fumbling his grip on one of his toys at the wrong moment, or breaking someone beyond even his ability to contain.  

IN DEPTH        

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):        

[tw: underage scenes of a sexual nature; graphic language; age difference]    

i. THE ORCHESTRA PLAYED FAINTLY IN THE CORNER, a soft rhythm so as not to distract people from mingling, and the candelabras glittered magnificently in the dance of the candles. He lounged lazily, bored with the sumptuousness surrounding him, bored with all these small little people and their petty requests, and their dull black clothes. He left the priceless crystal glass fall to his feet, unconcerned with the damage it did to the hardwood floors, or the servants who’d have to labor on their knees to rub the smell of alcohol out of the rugs.      

Like a serpent, he weaved between people, not touching them, not having to touch them to leave a little mischief in his path. A lady breathing champagne through her nose there, a stuffy gentleman sneezing abruptly in his companion’s face, fingers losing their grip on drinks, or food, expensive silks stained and ruined. He caused a man’s muscles to cramp as he lecherously leaned closer to admire an exquisitely fragile necklace, breaking the delicate chain. He had no doubt the woman would have thanked him, should she have known it was him who gave her the opportunity to storm away from the grubby philander in a huff. Dmitri was familiar with him, he was all show, and even on that he had a lot left to work on.      

He caught his father’s eye as he turned, and the man nodded suggestively at him, causing Dmitri to huff as he glanced in the direction of his mark, eyes washing over the somber clothing. His suit looked like it could have benefited from a little less starch, in his opinion. But he wasn’t exactly ugly, if a bit coarse looking. Strong jaw, big hands – big everything probably, considering how his clothes strained to contain him. A bit like a farmer, were he entirely honest. With an open face and sincere, solemn eyes, and a mouth whose lips pressed a little too tightly together, as if ashamed of their lushness. Yes, perhaps Dmitri could see the appeal. These type of things always worked better when they coincided with his desires.      

And the man was truly a bore, a staunch, pious pillar of society, who wouldn’t be caught dead seducing a mere boy. Luckily, he didn’t have to do any seducing, and Dmitri stopped, still far away from him as to not draw his attention prematurely. He’d need far more alcohol in his system if this was to work, so he found his pulse and raised it, coaxed heat to rush through him as he teased the cells in a frenzy, so that his skin would break into sweat. He waited until the man grabbed a glass of wine to dry his throat, made his tongue swollen and awkward, and when he brought the drink to his lips, he gulped it greedily, draining it in seconds. It didn’t help, Dmitri made sure it wouldn’t, and he smirked triumphantly as he reached for a refill. There was only alcohol to be had at this function, and he gave him no choice but to consume it.      

Now it was time to make him tremble, to make his heart seize in his chest as his common hazel eyes gazed uncomfortably around, alighting on him. Dmitri’s smile suddenly became unaffected, his eyes rounding with feigned interest, and he made himself blush as he glanced away for a second, before looking back, as if it pained him not to admire the man before him. He backed away, too shy to approach such an esteemed specimen, even as he kept him in thrall to his caprices.  His blood would only get hotter, and yes, of course, he reached for another glass, tugging viciously at the restricting cravat.      

He could see the sweat glitter on his forehead, his hair dampen and the man moved away from the candles, as though that was what made him so warm. He walked to a window, inspected it with eyes that were already beginning to show their whites in panic, and opened it, but the cool breeze that came from outside, carrying the pungent smell of the port wouldn’t help at all with a heartrender still stalking his prey. The merchant glanced towards him again, and Dmitri was ready for that, his appreciation reduced by a layer of anxiety. He had the man’s heart in his palm, and with a twitch on his fingers, caused it to clutch in his chest when their eyes met. Cautious, concerned, he made his way closer to him, heightening his turmoil with each step he took towards him. “My lord,” he stopped a respectable distance away, but still close enough to touch him, and he gave him a smart bow. Just an amiable host, making sure his guests were comfortable. His eyes flicked to the open window. “Is something bothering you?”      

The man gasped, fighting for words as well as breath, and Dmitri’s fretful frown increased. “Perhaps you are too warm? I’m afraid the room is quite airless,” he offered, reaching out, not quite touching him, but enough for the breeze caused by the movement to be felt. He withdrew his hand when it was a mere breadth away from the man’s elbow, but made certain the rush of blood hurried to his loins as he did so, delighting in seeing him tensing suddenly at the sensation. A most ridiculous blush covered his whole face, making him look like a tomato. Dmitri had to press his lips together not to laugh in his face. “Would you like to step aside for a moment?” he let his eyes fall, his long, thick lashes fluttering down bashfully.  “I could show you to the veranda, if it pleases you,” his tone was earnest, no innuendo coloring it, his skin unblemished by self-aware blushes. He did not seem the type who’d fall for the coquette, and Dmitri struggled to appear guileless.      

His fingers twitched again, the heart in the merchant’s chest thudding painfully. He could hear it. Better yet, he could feel it, warming his own blood, the power coursing through his veins, so close to the surface it made his skin glow, like he was a holy thing. He could see the effect he had on him and it made his whole being sing with intoxication. “Y-yes,” the man gulped again, parched, and Dmitri, ever solicitous, grabbed a glass of champagne and handed it to him.      

“Follow me, please,” he turned, looking over his shoulder, willing his muscles to move, to trail him like a dog brought to heel. His superior smirk blossomed as he cut a clear path through the room, giving his father a brief nod as the man tracked his progress. Ten more minutes, he meant. Ten more minutes and the merchant’s pockets would open to them. Dmitri pushed open the glass doors and stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the fetid air. He much preferred being inside, where he could hear people’s hearts, feel their blood moving through their bodies, their heat dissipate into the air. He felt almost blind without them, as if he suddenly were alone in the world.    

He turned to the merchant, raising an eyebrow. “I’m afraid the smells are better inside,” he allowed the man a brief respite, but only because he was looking at him, something almost like awe in his eyes, to see Dmitri washed into the pale light coming from the moon. He stood up straighter in the darkness, prouder and more assured. The merchant would be cold now, not too much, but enough to prompt him to come forward, drawn to the only other source of heat on the balcony. Dmitri made sure they were hidden from curious eyes by stepping to the side. He smiled, reserved and self-conscious. “Are you feeling better now?” he asked, as if anxious to get his approval.      

He wouldn’t, of course, his heart was still beating too fast, his skin ran too hot, or too cold in turns, and he saw him teetering, uncertain. All of them were so surprised to realize they weren’t in control of their bodies as much as they thought they were. Dmitri pushed a little more blood away from his head and towards lower regions as the merchant nodded, already so eager to please him, and he allowed his lips to curl into a beaming smile. “I’m glad,” his voice was so sincere, he could have laughed at himself. Merely playing at seeking approval brought hilarity. As though he’d ever grovel in front of mere men. But the merchant was eating his act up, tentative and hopeful both.      

Dmitri stepped closer, his smile fading a little, as though he wasn’t sure he’d be welcomed. “You’re Master Aling.” he made sure it wouldn’t be mistaken for a question. “Gerd Aling,” his eyes glimmered when the man nodded, and he cast another wave of pleasure towards him. He couldn’t control his thoughts, but he could, at least, make him wonder whether the recognition pleased him or not. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” the words came out in a rush, as though he couldn’t stop himself from showing his excitement. “You are on the Council – I’ve always admired the work you are doing,” he stammered, only a little, suddenly embarrassed by his evident enjoyment, and stared at his shoes. The man hesitated, and Dmitri realized he couldn’t summon the courage to touch him. Or perhaps his will was slightly stronger than he had expected. He glanced back at him, struggling to remain composed, and reinforced his assault. To look upon his face was to feel parched, starving, unfulfilled. He made his knees weak, worried that the man might turn and run cowardly rather than act on his urges. It was better if he stayed right there, if he kept his eyes glued to his perfect skin, his bright, warm eyes, and his Cupid’s bow lips. Dmitri’s breathing grew shallower, and he made sure the merchant’s did as well.    

Surely he wasn’t as simple minded as to assume his hunger could ever be satiated by food. It wasn’t a drink he thirsted for, it was the taste of Dmitri’s lips. He almost narrowed his eyes, but chose to widen them instead, chose to take another step closer, the gap between them dwindling to nothing. The merchant’s knees were still trembling, if he’d been skinnier, he could have heard them knock together. He had him right where he wanted him, in his web, and he reached up on his toes – Dmitri wasn’t short, but the merchant was built like a fucking tank, and pressed his lips on his, making sure that brief touch granted him immeasurable relief.      

For a few glorious moments, it worked, the man suddenly grabbed him, pulling him into his chest, his mouth feral and ravenous, and Dmitri let himself be manhandled, turning to putty in his arms. The kiss ended, just as violently as it had started and he was jerked away abruptly. “No,” he sounded as though it hurt him to talk – and it did, for he was being punished for refusing an offering that was too good for him in the first place. Dmitri heard his heart stutter, felt the wave of dizziness wash over him, and the fingers that were keeping him in place tightened in discomfort. “I’ve had too much to drink, you are just a boy…” he almost rolled his eyes at the tired speech, and reached out his arms to hold him up as the muscles in his legs failed to keep Gerd upright. He didn’t want to be crushed by this brick shithouse though, and he did not push his luck, keeping him on a knife’s edge of self-control, even as he forced the blood to rush through him in a too-hot torrent.      

“I am not a boy,” he wanted to swear at him for daring to underestimate him, but instead added a hurt undertone to his edge. “Really, I’m not. I’m old enough to know what I want,” Gerd’s hand traveled downwards, not fighting Dmitri’s encouragement as he stepped closer once more, their breaths mingling together, maddening the other with desire just as it left him unaffected. A small, pleased smile lightened his features once the merchant’s hand rested just below his waistband. “See?” he made sure to make his question innocent, but even with no verbal reassurance, the man looked down, and Dmitri could have laughed at his victory.      

“Oh,” the exclamation was breathed, rather than spoken, and he glanced at him once more, a brief nod from him enough to have him return to mauling Dmitri’s mouth. Had he had any intention of bedding him, he’d have trained him on how to do it properly, commanded his body to please himself, but seeing as that was not the goal here, he allowed himself to be pushed into the thin railing, the metal burrowing into his skin. He feigned enjoyment and Gerd’s grip on him tightened, breathless whispers of yes please, and more falling from his lips, as he  leaned back, giving him access to his throat. He could feel his father approach, just out of his periphery, and he rolled his eyes to the heavens, partly relieved at the respite, partly piqued from having his toy taken away before he could properly teach it how to play nice.      

“What is the meaning of this?” his father almost boomed, but cast a nervous glance at the lit house, as though he didn’t want to draw others’ attention to his son’s shame. Dmitri shrugged, hiding an attempt to wipe the slobber from his neck through the motion, but managed to look properly horrified and chastised at being caught. The merchant stammered beside him, having jumped away from him at the sound of another’s voice. “Father, I…” he began meekly, not looking at him, suffusing his face with blood as he shuffled awkwardly.      

“Silence!” it wasn’t much of a command, his father had actually managed to sound too pained to be imposing, but all that changed as he turned to glare at the councilman. “You dare to come into my house and attempt to debase my son?” Dmitri nearly cleared his throat at that, trying to direct his father’s attention to his final touch, to the cherry on top, but he didn’t have to resort to such obvious ploys. Instead, he merely pushed his father’s eyes downwards, at the merchant’s crotch. Black was not really the best color to make his shame easily observable, but then it didn’t have to be, if one knew what to look for. His father sputtered, overdoing his indignation, Dmitri thought, but it was no longer his show, and he kept his head down, and his cheeks rosy, scurrying hurriedly back inside as his father dismissed him.      

He’d asked his father for a challenge earlier, no more perverted old fucks who would follow him around dicks out before he even had a chance to toy with them, but as it turned out, the positively saintly Gerd Aling hadn’t been much of a trial either.      

[tw: death]    

ii. HIS EYES FOLLOWED THE MAN CURIOUSLY FROM HIS SEAT, a little out of the way. The flash of blue from his ratty sack had drawn his attention, certain he’d recognized a kefta’s colors, but he wore mismatched clothes, his trousers too big for him, while the shirt was too short at the sleeves, and strained across his chest. He watched him try to push the sleeves up, apparently uncomfortable with the stiff materials. He tilted his head sideways thoughtfully, before gracefully uncurling from his spot, to wander closer as it was his turn at the counter, wanting to know what his business here was.      

“I would like to sell my indenture,” he spoke with a strong Ravkan accent, and Dmitri tensed, looking around hurriedly to see if others had heard him. “I am a Squaller,” he had lowered his voice further as he said it, but not low enough for Dmitri to miss the words. His eyes narrowed, washing once more over him with renewed concentration. His boots were different colors, and one was noticeable smaller than the other. His teeth gritted, and he stepped back into the shadows, aware he couldn’t really do anything about it in a room full of people.      

But he waited, and paid attention, and followed the man out as he brushed past the crowd, stuffing a paper in his too tight shirt. He focused on the sound of his heart, clung to it, to make it easier to shadow him as they emerged into the street. From the look of him, he wouldn’t have found rooms in the nicer districts, and they soon entered the swarming, dirty alleys of the Barrel. This area suited Dmitri’s purposes just fine, and he hurried to catch up, needing only the smallest opportunity – an empty side-street, or reasonably empty, at any rate. No one here would intervene.      

“Hey you!” he called in Kerch, his accent indiscernible from that of a local, and he swaggered towards him as the man tensed. “Heard you were looking for a job.” he smirked knowingly, his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t dressed garishly enough to competently pass for a gang member, but he didn’t look like a merchant either, and he’d mused his hair and clothes so as not to look too evidently a noble. “Why would you want to sell yourself, when you can be a free man and still get fed?” he carelessly leaned his shoulder against a sooty building, unconcerned about his jacket. He had countless others back home. “Merchants are a bore, stuffy and proper and completely out of their league. How would you like to work for the Lions, instead?” the man frowned, struggling to keep up with his fluent Kerch. He could switch to Ravkan, but it wouldn’t make for a street rat to know the language. “Come on. You’ll be paid. We could use someone like you. Running away from something? We can hide you,” he grinned dastardly at him.  The man shifted, clutching his sack.      

Dmitri’s attention focused on that. “Anything of value in there? I can tell you where to sell it,” the material was riddled with holes, he could still see the blue occasionally showing as he shifted, even in the darkness of the alley. The houses on either side of them looked just about ready to fall over. The man hesitated, looking ready to bolt. “Now, now,” Dmitri straightened, raising his arms to the side to show he came in peace. It was a wholly human gesture, he thought, Grisha would push their hands forwards, when focusing their power. “I mean you no harm.” his tone became confidential. “Are you a deserter? Heard those Ravkans treat their soldiers like shit. They’re nothing but cannon fodder. Even the Second Army. And they couldn’t possibly afford to feed you all that well, either,” he wrinkled his nose in apparent disgust, and rolled his eyes at the folly of all those paper pushers who made decisions without having to suffer the consequences. “I can help you,” he let his arms drop, and stepped even closer. Surely the man’s Kerch was passable enough to understand that last sentence.      

His mouth opened and closed for a few times as he considered his options. “H-how?” he stammered, in strongly accented Kerch.      

Dmitri straightened, smug. “By putting you out of your misery,” his arms shot out, a split second before the soldier tensed, eyes widening in realization, and tried to attack as well. But by then Dmitri had his claws in him, twisting the muscles in his fingers, closing his hands into too tight fists. His upper arm cramped, the noise of bone breaking like a gunshot in the muffled silence of the alley. The Squaller screamed, falling to his knees, lifting his eyes to glare hatefully at him. “Heartrender,” he hissed in Ravkan, and Dmitri feigned confusion.      

“Heart?” he asked, switching to his mother tongue. “What heart?” he squeezed his fist, and the man seized, eyes rolling back, as he crumpled into the dirt of the alley. Dmitri walked closer, straightening his vest, and reached with his boot to push him on his back. “Oh, that one,” he commented casually, his head tilted sideways in interest. But a dead body couldn’t hold him in place for long, and he turned around dismissively. Traitors were not worth longer than the time he took to kill them.      

But the man did make an idea bloom in his mind, a thought he’d considered before, though never as fervently as now. Ketterdam had become boring, and there was only so much pleasure a man could take before even that lost its luster. Perhaps it was time to go home. He rather thought he’d be excellent at killing.          

iii. THERE WAS A SYMPHONY PLAYING IN THE DARKNESS, all around him, within him, for him. Dmitri wasn’t surprised, not really. He’d been made for the True Sea, why should the Unsea be any different?  Indeed, why should anything in the world not be for him to pluck and inspect and toss aside should it bore him? He was, and the environment would simply have to adjust to the irrefutable fact of his being, and reshape and bend to his indubitable will.    

He stood on the deck, unmoving and resolute, eyes closed against the annoyance of the Ifernis’ flames. He wanted to enjoy this, he wanted to stick out his tongue and taste the power of the Shadow Fold for himself. The screams, human and Volcra alike made his ears ring, but his blood listened to him, obeyed his commands, a steady, cool flow beneath his skin. His heart – he knew he had one, for all they whispered heartless as he walked by, he could always feel it beat, betraying its presence – was steady and subdued. He wrapped himself in a blanket of chillness, drawing from the air around him, becoming one with the void. It was so easy, and such a delight, to feel his power cocoon him so, making him invisible to the predators swooping in all around them. The screeches of their death throes buoyed him. Their wings buffeted him, but they did not know he was there. He could feel them, sense them, burning as bright as any flame in their absence, not quite alive, but not of death either. Something else altogether, something unfamiliar, and oh, how he exulted in finding new toys.    

He never doubted he’d survive the trip. The Fold could not take what didn’t belong to it, and he would never belong to anything but himself. He blinked in the light, even night time seemed so bright after such a complete and all-consuming darkness, dazed, but calm, as he willed his body to move, to become warm again, to resemble a person and he stepped down from the skiff, ignoring the tallying of the dead and the sobs of the survivors. He might not have been born on its shores, but Ravka was home. He could feel its call in his bones, stronger now that he was finally here. Its son of glorious crimson.  Its collector of hearts.    

Dmitri recognized in the Darkling a kindred spirit, an equal in brutality and ambition. It was a revelation, as though he was the first of his kind he’d ever seen. And it wasn’t far from the truth, indentured Grisha back in Ketterdam were not like him, like them, wretched, servile creatures that they were. Later, but not much later, he understood his true brilliance. The Darkling was not like him, the Darkling was who he would become. Powerful and feared and revered, for all his darkness.    

They’re lying to you, he’d whisper in his ear, always at his side; they’re scared; they will desert you; they’re hiding something; that question – there – press the matter. He never failed him. He couldn’t read minds, but he could read bodies, and the longer he spent in their presence, the louder they spoke to him, spilling their secrets like blood from an open wound. The Darkling’s own lie detector. A truth potion made flesh, more accurate than the Alkemi could hope to concoct with their foul smelling substances, in an altogether prettier package.    

He hadn’t expected his vanity to be his downfall. Indeed, he had not expected to have one, to be weighed and measured and found wanting. It created an ache in him, unfamiliar in its keenness, in its failure to be filled and plugged as any other need in him.  It humbled him – humbled! – and that only made the sting grow worse. Dmitri was made to be favored, he wouldn’t settle for less. He wouldn’t settle for anything. Not even the Darkling, with all his aloofness, could keep him under his heel for long. He gouged others’ needs as easily as he drew breath, he couldn’t understand the seemingly impenetrable wall that rose between them.    

It was a betrayal of their covenant – but he could not tell who it had come from. Who had blinked first, who had ruined this thing they had between them. Did he not gather secrets to lay them at his feet? Did he not needle and coax and turn people to the Darkling’s side with sure hands and poised smiles? His accomplished recruiter, working within the Grisha’s ranks to exhort their commander’s virtues, to bring his enemies low. Had he not uncovered countless plots against him and his before they came to fruition?    

So what if he allowed himself to get distracted by the dazzling Ravkan court? So what if he sometimes woke late in the day, groggy and irritable after a long night of debauchery? He brought the courtiers’ secrets to the Darkling, whispered of their petty machinations, and still turned many a tide in their favor, even as he filled his rooms with glittering trinkets and left a trail of disillusionment in his wake. He would play his own game, too, he needed the distraction – deserved it, for all his hard work. It wasn’t his fault that those paltry nobles grew increasingly more tiresome, less useful the longer he spent in their presence. What more could they expect of the otkazat’sya? They were as small and insignificant as the meat that contained them, and just as prone to Dmitri’s guidance. It wasn’t his intelligence that grew weaker, it was simply that they were worthless.  

“What of the Lantsovs?” the Darkling would ask. “What are they doing? What are their plans?”  

“To put a bastard on the throne,” in hindsight, perhaps his tone had been a touch too dismissive. But everyone knew that, didn’t they? It was no secret. They did not need to have it spelled out for them when it was right in front of their noses.    

The Darkling’s frown was unforgiving. Dmitri stood at attention, a disgraced soldier in front of his superior, chaffing at his shackles, even as he yearned to feel them return to what they once were – proof of his worth – people kept under lock and key only what was valuable, did they not?    

And yet, the Darkling dismissed him from his presence with only an indifferent flick of his wrist.    

[tw: sexual content]

iv. DMITRI LEANED BACK AGAINST THE WALL heedless of the bite of the cold in the corridors, unconcerned with the beauty of the night sky, where stars glittered sharply, distant and lovely, made even more piercing by the gloom of winter. Frost covered the great window he lounged in front of, glazing it with delicate lacework that clung to it, thickest at the edges. His fingers flexed impatiently as the hall remained accursedly silent, eyes set sightlessly ahead in his stubborn vigil.  

He’d never liked quiet, never craved the solitude he now suspected he’d been tricked into, removed from his playground purposefully and purposelessly, to wait in the shadows for a tryst that was not going to happen, simply to satisfy the prince’s galling propensity for one-upmanship, his perverse tendency to pretend resistance to Dmitri’s lure.  

He could not – he would not – be denied. And whether the blood flowing through one’s veins was red, or blue, they all answered to his call when he turned his attention to them. Whether it’d be sooner, or later, he would cloak himself in patience even if he sweltered under its cloying weight, and in the end, they’d suffer all the more under his yoke, until they accepted his bridle.  

And finally, finally, he tilted his head to the side at the sound of footsteps, his attention hooked at the edge of his sight. The darkness of the hall might have confused him momentarily, made him wonder at what he  saw, but he was attuned to Viktor’s heartbeat as he was to his own, and he recognized the tumultuous storm of his blood before he turned to fully face him, no trace of annoyance on his expression, as he smirked at the other man. “Loath to leave the party?” he questioned, raising a skeptical eyebrow even as his voice remained reverent. “I shall endeavor to make it worth your while, my prince,” his tone did not change, remaining solicitous, though his countenance was anything but, something predatory filling his gaze as Viktor came closer.  

Dmitri did not need his assistance in getting to his knees, his earlier frustration pushed back as he gave the other man a look full of dark promise before sinking gracefully to the ground. His hands made quick work of the laces of his trousers, lips pressing hard kisses from hip to hip, making sure that every light touch of his fingers would send shivers down his spine. It was easy to use more than his skillful tongue to bring Viktor off, easy, as he was this close to him, to sense every single shift in the man’s body, to ride the wave of desire with him and enhance the experience with well-timed jolts to his nerves, or an opportune stutter of his heart.  

He reveled in the feel of rough skin under his fingers, of hard muscles and marks of battle, the prince’s ruthlessness written all over his body in a language that called to Dmitri’s own understanding of violence. He rejoiced in the power he had over a Lantsov, in the ease with which he could make him tremble, and moan and bite his lips helplessly as he struggled to keep the pleas from slipping out. He was granting him unbearable pleasure, part punishment for having made him wait, part promise of even more ecstasy, should he return. He was drawing out the man’s frenzy, his body a mere instrument in the hands of its master, who was tuning it to the perfect frequency so that when Dmitri tasted his seed, it felt almost sweet on his tongue, coated as it was in his sense of victory.

“You have the tastes of a king, Your Highness,” the pretense at deference had left him completely as he licked the corner of his mouth, almost thoughtfully, not raising from his obeisance. He glanced up at Viktor, chin tilted up, a dark lock of hair artfully fallen into his eyes, and smirked.  

“Don’t you mean I taste like one?” Lantsov gave a harsh laugh and Dmitri raised, confident now that the man’s muscles had loosened, his limbs grown heavy with his exhausted desire, and firmly pressed his lips against his, the slant of his mouth harsh and demanding, fingers resting against the nape of Viktor’s nape, pulling him even closer. The split moment’s resistance was dealt with swiftly, firmly, and soon there was nothing preventing Dmitri from taking what he wanted. They were both breathless when he drew back, heated and dazed, and he blinked once, languorously, before glancing in Viktor’s eyes, an insolent grin on his lips.  

“Do you – my liege?”  

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:        

SPOILED BRAT – waited on by servants his whole life, Dmitri is incredibly careless about his things. His rooms are a mess, his writing is atrocious, all his books, barely read as they are, have broken spines and dog-eared pages. He has no idea how to pick up after himself, and indeed, the mere notion that he has to, offends him.        

KING OF HEDONISM – he’s accustomed to having his every whim indulged. He doesn’t refuse himself anything, be it food, drinks, expensive clothes, or people. There is no vice he hasn’t tried, no line he hasn’t crossed. He does as he pleases, and he will never refuse himself anything. He isn’t made for moderation.      

CHOSEN ONE – travelling the Unsea was a revelation, a revelry. To be surrounded by darkness and not be touched by it was a heady feeling. Then again, he never lets anything that matters touch him. Why should the Fold be any different? He isn’t scared of shadows – he isn’t scared of anything. And his power makes him invisible to the Volcras. He became cold, his blood turned to ice in his veins, his heart quiet in his chest, unmoving and unbreakable. Like a tailor bleeding colors into pasty skin, he took the darkness into himself, wrapped himself in it to become a shadow. Invisible, unreachable, undefeated and undaunted. Why would someone like him ever have to experience fear? He is a disciple of the Order of the Living and the Dead, he carries the greatest power of them all, and what is strength but a tool in his hands, to make the whole world take the knee?      

A SCRIBBLE WITH FANGS – a selfish, demanding child, Dmitri cannot pinpoint the exact moment he’s come into his powers. There must have always been there, lurking beneath his skin, fashioning him into the hungry being he’s become. It started off small enough, as a call for attention, for his nannies, for the servants, for his parents. He wouldn’t be ignored, or denied, not without dire consequences, sweats, and tremors and dizzy spells. He had to have everything just right, and he had to have it now. Like dogs reacting to the whip, he’d taught those around him to bend to his whims, by giving them treats, or taking them away until everything was the way he wanted. Colors, materials, food, even the temperature of his milk. A tyrant in diapers, smiling sweetly whenever he saw them flinch, king of his own little kingdom, and cruel to the bone.      

BATTLES OF THE FLESH – he was a precocious child, growing into a precocious teenager. Not studious, not particularly curious about the world either, but when it came to bodies, to what they could do, the pleasure they could bring, or the pain that brought them to their knees, he was an ardent pupil. He began early, not quite an adolescent, but old enough to get a taste of what he could take from others. He manipulated and beguiled, and later on, blackmailed, for his own purposes, but they just so happened to coincide with those of his parents, filling their coffers, and even Ravka’s. Kerch had too much money, anyway, greedy and grubby bottom feeders that they were, and he used his gift in service of himself, just as much as in the king’s.      

PLEASURES OF THE FLESH – to call him a skilled lover would be to do him a disservice. Indeed, it’s almost an insult. Dmitri is flawless, capable of intuiting what his partner wants before they realize it themselves. He’s pansexual and non-discriminatory in his choice of sexual partners. His libido would put an incubus to shame. To partake in his talents is to never be satisfied by others again. He is sublime and brazen, and he enjoys exerting his influence long after he’s grown bored with his conquests, just for the pure joy of watching them waste away in longing. He’s a storm, taking others by surprise with the suddenness of their sheer need for him, or a subtle poison, torturing them with overpowering feelings and inexhaustible longings, toying with them mercilessly until he deigns to bestow his favor, or deciding to leave them unfulfilled and miserable until the urgency of their desires drive them to their knees, ardent supplicants at the altar of his decadence. He loves the flavor of their desperation once he gives them what he wants, the ease with which their brutalized flesh yields to his manipulations, buoys himself with their momentary relief, and finally finds his own pleasure in their complete surrender.    

LEVIATHAN – his time at sea is one of his fondest memories, if one such as him could experience fondness. He took longer than necessary to get himself to Ravka, given his enjoyment of captaining his own ship, sowing terror on the waves. His mastery of his body meant he suffered no sickness, even as inexperienced as he was with the motions of the boat. Ships sailed a wide berth around his, protected as it was by the ambassador’s flag. But one, unwise and desperate did try to attack in the dead of night. He bathed their deck in their own blood, taking exquisite pleasure in watching them squirm under his eyes. Theirs were not quick deaths, not good deaths, they lived with no dignity and they would die as they have lived. It wasn’t the first time he’d killed, but it was the moment his hunger for it ignited, and he turned his ship around, a hunter in a sea full of helpless little fish, wanting Ravka to know of his coming long before he stepped onto their land. The prodigal son returned after washing the True Sea in blood. A god that would not deliver them from darkness, but teach them how to live in it.      

NOT FASHIONED FOR LOVE – there’s no bigger motivation for Dmitri than boredom. In fact, his willingness to avoid falling into that state is what drives most of his actions, including twisting the purposes of his power in untried ways. He’s used it for giving pleasure long before he’s killed with it. Oh, he knew how even then, of course, he could sense the sickness lurking beneath people’s skin, the fragility of their organs, the inelegance of their bodies’ design. He could make a muscle twist in the most embarrassing way when going down the stairs, he could make them choke on their food with a mere inopportune hiccup. But he had no need for death when he was young, for his hungers lay elsewhere, and so he became something altogether different. Heartrender he may be, but he’s also a heartbreaker, and the latter provides more amusement in the halls of the court.

EXTRAS:        

[DISCLAIMER: He is unapologetically vulgar. He’s quite graphic in his lewd comments, and whatever redeeming qualities he exhibits, they’re likely just a dissimulation in order to ensure he gets what he wants.]  

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS: He’s left handed – indeed, given his dominant hand is the left, he sees being the Darkling’s left hand as no demotion. However, he is a self-taught ambidextrous. He can use both hands to manipulate his power, or just one, and in this aspect, there is no difference in ability or the accuracy of his aim. When it comes to other skills, like writing, eating, or fighting, he shows a preference for his left hand. The more menial the task, the more he will use his left, but at physical fighting, such as firing a weapon, or fencing, the difference is quite small – noticeable only when one knows to look for it. He’s brown eyed and black-haired and while he doesn’t go out of his way to exercise, he can control his metabolism to burn fat at an alarming rate. His body shape falls into the lithe and svelte category. His muscles are well-defined, but lean. He’s 6’2’’. Like all Grisha who consistently use their powers, he is alluringly beautiful, and healthy and his skin is unblemished. He has no distinguishing marks like scars, birthmarks, tattoos or piercings.  

POWERS & ABILITIES: While Dmitri can kill, and do it in quite creative ways, and he has a moderate talent for healing (he can heal small cuts, bruises, and mend broken bones if they’re small – e.g. fingers) his true talent lies in subtly affecting a person’s bodily functions. He can excite nerves, he can fake the symptoms of medical afflictions, like heart-attacks or asthma, he can induce panic attacks, or incite people’s lust. He can modulate his own voice to make it higher or lower, control his and others’ body heat and he can forge people’s writing to perfection – he has to actually watch them write in order to do this. His muscle memory is impressive. He can mimic mannerisms, or mirror fighting stances effortlessly on first try.  He has a minor ability for surface tailoring – best shown by the ease with which he can make himself, or others blush (by using his power, rather than by trying to embarrass them, I mean).    

TARGETS: Even when he isn’t using his power to influence people, Dmitri still reaches out with it to better gauge their reactions. He’s so well versed in this and is immensely subtle, that it’s highly uncommon for his marks to realize something is amiss. He works in steadily increasing, but small increments to allow them to acclimatize to the changes as not to raise their suspicion. Most humans never find out that he’s doing it, even the ones he sleeps with. There are few, precious exceptions, usually repeat partners. He’s more willing to let other Grisha know that he’s using his power on them if they’re having sex – it’s in service of increasing both their pleasure, after all, and he finds they respond more easily when they’re expecting his guidance and are willing to be influenced by it – however he draws a line at Corporalki, not wanting to betray the secrets of his trade. They alone have a similar understanding of bodies, and if they’re crafty enough they might manage to replicate the effects. He is already sufficiently sunk in the Darkling’s esteem so as not to add fuel to the fire by further lowering his worth and unwittingly training his replacement.  

STAR SIGN: Scorpio [November 13th]         MBTI:ESTP [The Doer]         MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Evil [The Destroyer]     HOGWARTS HOUSE: 100% Slytherin    

[PINTEREST] [tw: blood, nsfw content]

[MOCKBLOG]

[SOUNDTRACK] [instrumental]

ANYTHING ELSE?    

I modified the last plot idea, expanded on my activity and my answer about the possibility of Dmitri’s death, and I replaced the fourth para sample. Other changes to the original application are minor.  

FAVORITE BOOK: Deathless by Catherynne Valente||The Secret History by Donna Tartt    

[maskedinstructor]

The Secondary Years-Sophie, The Great

Sophie(her first name which we never used in her presence), as I explained previously, taught Latin at Boys High School. Her classes were masterpieces in instructional pedagogy. Then,there was the genius she brought to classroom management and ambiance. One brilliant tactic she introduced was the homework excuse extra credit story. Anyone who failed to submit the required assignment would not only be exempt from that assignment, but would also receive extra credit should he present an excuse Sophie had never heard before. As  luck would have it, we would see the policy in action early on in the second semester. Paul Silverstone arrived to class late and red. He explained that he was rushing to school when a fierce wind ripped his notebook from his clutches and scattered his papers on the ground. Quickly, a dog appeared and took the papers on which was written the homework and scampered away. He pursued the dog for many blocks. However, his agility and speed provided him with the ability to evade capture. The homework and other valuable school possessions were lost. The entire class turned in Sophie's direction after the tale. She smiled and said, " Well,  I told you if you offered an alibi for missing homework that I had not heard before, I would give you 10 points. Paul, here are your 10 points. "  Sophie opened her Delaney book and marked a 10 on Paul's card. The class applauded. Paul was the hero for the day.

Theoretical Framework: When in the company of excellence, steal as much as you can. It was a balmy spring day when a knock sounded on the door to Sophie's room. The class fell silent.  Who had the balls to touch Sophie's door during instruction? It had to be a king, queen or idiot was the collective thought. Sophie raised herself from the bar stool. The quiet was augmented by fear because we knew that some poor, unsuspecting soul was about to die. On the other side of the opened door was a soldier. " Good, he won't be killed. He could defend himself," I thought. Then , the strangest thing happened. Sophie literally sparkled. She greeted the young warrior with a tight hug. He reciprocated. She immediately introduced him to the class. We welcomed the interruption and hoped he would stay for the entire period. She touched his uniform, congratulated him and interrogated him like the NYPD. "You chose the service, wonderful. Now, Uncle Sam will pay for your advanced studies. What have you seen? What countries have you visited that were mentioned in class? What does the future hold for one my best students ever? How is your brother? What is mommy doing? Give them all my regards. I want to see you again and very soon. Call me if you need help with career choices. You are going to do make a mark on society. This, I knew when you first entered my class. You are very special." It was very noticeable that this young man stood at attention the whole time. We all recognized that this was not army training. It was in respect for Sophie. Too soon, that visit was over. They hugged and he departed. Sophie was visibly shaken. We never believed that anyone would ever return to see  Sophie. That visit was a testimonial to her brilliance as an instructor and her magnetic effect on her charges. She reached minds and souls in a way few teachers could.

Theoretical Framework: People are people. We are all the same...Just simple folks striving for success and a place in the world.  It was Sophie who coined the phrase, " My little United Nations!" Up to that moment, I had never realized so many different nationalities were in the class. Oh, my word, there were only 15 of us. Junnie, Yankey, Burt Wind and I were the African Americans in the class. There were others...Paul-Jewish, Masuo-Japanese, Egiltis-German, The Armenian brother, Appleblaza-Italian and some 6 remaining students whose names are lost to me after so many years. Just students striving to learn and brothers in the struggle to met the standards our demanding and scholarly instructor had set for us.  Sophie relished the opportunity to display her knowledge to so many ethnic groups. Her United Nations group eager to learn. Every day was exciting. Gradually the numbers dropped. Masuo left the class because his 95 average in Latin was causing in his GPA to slip. Paul disappear after two terms. Eglitis was a strange dude. He was extremely intelligent. He did have the advantage in that German was structured most closely to Latin with its conjugations and declensions. However, the dude  spoke not a word to anyone. He was like a ghost. We were happy when he decided not to continue his studies. Appleblaza made the varsity basketball team. He didn't have the time to spend deciphering Latin when his jump shot was lacking. He chose Spanish and was quick to reveal to us that even though he arrived at Spanish late in the semester, he received no grade lower than 99. We were all ready to abandon the Latin ship after that revelation. Soon, we were only 10 on the class register. We stayed to the end , three years of Sophie and we were the better for it. Sophie was the most consistent thing we had in our lives. She was never absent( except for the day she decided to die her hair blue. But, that's another story). She was a teachers' teacher and she loved us in her own strange way.

That final semester, I was the best in class. This would make me eligible for the Sophie Award, Outstanding Achievement in Latin for the year. I was in the zone. Nothing was too difficult for me. My fellow students told me I was the only one who could possibly get that coveted prize. I crushed them consistently every day. I was truly invincible. I could taste the award and to get it from Sophie made it all the more significant.  In April of that year,  NYU was presenting a citywide contest in the art of Latin translation. I had no idea what the hell that was about, but Sophie selected 3 of us to compete, Paul, Yankey and me. I bombed on that exam gloriously. I saw letters but no words. I could not translate anything. The word I still remember was APUD...I recognized that it took the accusative case . However, I did not recall what it meant. I was in lock down. My brain completely froze. What made matters worse was that Paul and Yankey were discussing their translations of  the passages on the subway ride home. It all made sense to them... piece of cake. The next day, Sophie complimented the two students as they were awarded certificates for their astute translations. She never looked in my direction. In May,  the Sophie Award was granted to Yankey with Paul second. The class was astonished. All eyes were on me. I tried to conceal my disappointment,  to no avail. As much as I loved and admired Sophie, I can safely say on this matter, she erred. I won that award hands down. No one was better than I all year long.

I left Latin with that sour taste in my mouth. However I learned a valuable lesson. Things don't always go your way. Pick your ass up and move on. Life can never be summed up by one event. I still love you Sophie. I do want that award though. I earned it.

[afriendlypokealien]

Eat ’Em Up, Kats! Sam Houston Wins First Football Championship

News and important information on Point of Sale & POS Hardware.

WHO: Sam Houston State University football

WHAT: The Bearkats beat South Dakota State in Frisco Sunday, giving Texas its first NCAA Football Championship Subdivision (FCS) winner since the tournament began in 1978.

WHY IT’S SO GREAT: Remember what it’s like to watch a Texas college football team win a national championship? It’s fun. It’s agonizing. And it sometimes seems about as rare as being struck by lightning.

On Sunday at Toyota Stadium in Frisco, lightning struck North Texas in the second quarter, delaying the FCS championship game between South Dakota State and Sam Houston for more than an hour. And then it struck again, when the Bearkats turned a 17–7 lead into a 21–17 deficit with five minutes and 41 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter . . . only to prevail, 23–21, with 16 seconds left.

The Bearkats join Division III Mary Hardin-Baylor (2016, 2018) and Division II Texas A&M–Commerce (2017) as recent Texas NCAA football national champions; the last school in the state win such a title at the Division I level, of course, was Mack Brown and Vince Young’s University of Texas Longhorns, in 2005.

Huntsville native and SHSU alum Richard Linklater is sort of the Matthew McConaughey to Sam Houston’s University of Texas, but he’s more of a baseball guy (and also not on Twitter). Instead, another distinguished graduate chimed in:

Congratulations to the #Bearkats on a national championship!!!! (Too many exclamation points? Don’t really care.)The South Dakota State squad played with grit and determination – one of the best games I’ve seen in a while.

— Dan Rather (@DanRather) May 17, 2021

Also offering congratulations was some combination of Governor Greg Abbott, his social media team, and an erroneous autocorrect.

In some ways, this was old hat for Sam Houston head coach K. C. Keeler, who won championships as a player at the University of Delaware and playoff berths as a Division III head coach at Rowan University before returning to his alma mater and leading them to the 2003 FCS title. Sunday’s game made Keeler the only coach to win an FCS championship at two different schools; he also passed Jim Tressel (of Youngstown State and, later, Ohio State) to become the winningest postseason coach in FCS history.

But for Sam Houston, the glory was new, and also overdue: under Keeler’s predecessor, Willie Fritz, the Bearkats lost to North Dakota State in the 2011 and 2012 championship games, while Keeler’s teams got bounced in the semifinals three times between 2014 and 2017. In the locker room after the game, the Pennsylvania native evoked the spirit of Philadelphia Flyers coach Fred Shero’s famous quote: “Win today and we walk together forever.”

(Shirtless college football players in cowboy hats. Talk about the best thing in Texas!)

“This is immortality,” Keeler said. “For the rest of Sam Houston’s life they’re going to celebrate this national championship. For the rest of existence.”

It almost didn’t happen. Sam Houston joined most of FCS (but not fellow Southland Conference teams Houston Baptist, Abilene Christian, and Stephen F. Austin) in choosing to play spring football for a shot at Frisco. The Bearkats played through all the usual COVID-19 limitations and then some, including not having a locker room (the athletics facilities were undergoing an “off-season” renovation), plus the Texas winter storm in February.

With a 6–0 record in the regular season and a number two seed in the postseason tournament, the Bearkats got to play every game at home until the championship, but with the bracket reduced from its usual 24 teams to 16 (eliminating a bye week for the top seeds, and generally reducing the potential for chaos/upsets), Sam Houston’s draw was anything but easy. To make the final game, they had to beat undefeated Big South champion Monmouth, eight-time national champion North Dakota State, and the only team besides North Dakota State to win the FCS championship since 2011, James Madison. The Kats needed a game-ending defensive play to dispatch Monmouth, trailed NDSU in the fourth quarter, and were down 24–3 at halftime against James Madison. Then they got to Frisco, where some players, unable to walk the graduation stage in Huntsville with the other students, participated in graduation rites held at the ballroom of an Omni hotel in Frisco.

And then came the rain and lightning. If you think college football in May is weird, how ’bout college football without halftime? Due to the second-quarter delay, the mid-game break was just three minutes. But for Sam Houston, such weirdness was just more of the usual.

“It wasn’t a shocker for us because we’ve dealt with stuff like that all year,” said Bearkats quarterback Eric Schmid. “We were kind of joking in the locker room, like, it’s got to be this way for us to win.”

It was a slippery game in more ways than one. Sam Houston’s defense knocked SDSU’s starting quarterback, Mark Gronowski, out of the game early. Schmid took one hit that had him spitting up blood, and another that saw the trainers re-taping his ankle. He hit the ground repeatedly and hard, as both a dangerous runner and before and after pass attempts. Had this not been the last game of the season, he might have missed the next one. Keeler said that offensive coordinator Ryan Carty told the QB, “‘I’m riding you in the national championship. You have three months to recover.’

“And Eric goes, ‘I know. Ride me.’

“You talk about a warrior and you talk about a guy who is just so calm under pressure and just doesn’t panic,” Keeler continued. “I think that’s why a lot of us felt that we were going to be fine on that last drive.”

Indeed, while SHSU’s defense allowed a hundred-yard rusher for the first time in 21 games—South Dakota’s Isaiah Davis rushed for 178, including an 85-yard touchdown—and the team did most of its offensive damage in the second quarter, you could sense that they expected to prevail in the game’s final minutes, as they had all postseason. Dominant three-hundred-pound defensive end Joseph Wallace, a Texas Tech transfer out of Dallas’s Skyline High School, said the team never questioned whether Schmid would get the Bearkats back into the end zone.

“That last play, I was looking at my D-line coach, Coach Siddiq [Haynes], and he looked at me in my face—he said, ‘Watch this, we’re going to win.’

“And I told him, ‘I already know, Coach.’ Nobody ever doubted on the sideline. We all knew what was about to happen, honestly.”

Schmid hit wide receiver Ife Adeyi on third and goal from the ten-yard line for the winning touchdown, but another Bearkats wideout, Jequez Ezzard, was the game’s MVP. The Howard transfer made plays like this all year:

Soft-spoken on camera during the trophy presentation (and left out entirely from the postgame press conference), Ezzard still got himself an exultant hot-mic moment on the ABC TV broadcast.

If the Bearkats were formerly the Oklahoma or Notre Dame of FCS—often in contention, but with no title to show for it—now they’ll look to be Clemson to North Dakota State’s Alabama, battling to be in the final game each year, and maybe starting their own dynasty. And oh yeah: one nice thing about spring football is that Sam Houston’s fall season starts only 107 days from now.

This article was first published here.

I hope that you found the article above useful and/or interesting. You can find similar content on our blog: www.easttxpointofsale.com Please let me have your feedback in the comments section below. Let us know which topics we should cover for you next.