#someone save orlove from all these kids

[moonyasnow]

TWST OC Showcase: Timofey 'Spike' Orlov

Voice Claim: Patrick Seitz (in his performance of Franky from One Piece)

Beastman - Kangaroo Right-handed Shaftlands 210cm / 6'10 - #990909 / 153, 9, 9 November 12th - Scorpio - 19-20 y.o. 3d year - Junior - Class C, no. 18 Basketball Club Best Subject: P.E. Hobbies: Watching Pro-Wrestling Pet peeves: Betrayal Favorite food: Poppyseed muffins Least favorite food: Just meat Talent: Fighting Floyd-given name: Sharky Rook-given name: Monsieur de Pointe Cater-given name: Spikey Signature Spell: Wild Stab Can make spikes shoot up from the ground or from his hands. Depending on the amount of magic he pours into it those spikes could become MASSIVE.

Link to all my OC Showcases here!

Some quotes:

"Always known I got a scary mug— didn't realize just how scary, 'pparently… 'M real sorry 'bout before…" He stands awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"You're the easily bribed kind, huh. Didn't figure you the type at first." — "N-nothing! I—" His face flushes a little "I think 's cute."

"Course! I'd never ditch my comrade-in-arms— uh, no, best bud— ok really gotta work on a word for it— a-anyway! I'd never just ditch you like that. You're important to me, yeah? Where you go, I go, 'n all that."

His mother had him quite young, and his father was never in the picture. When Spike was very little, just around one year old, his mother left Spike to be raised by her mother, his grandmother. She said it was because she was too young to be a mother. She never came back after that. His grandmother, an incredibly forgiving and understanding soul, just hoped that wherever she is now, she's doing well, and that she's lived a good life. And so Spike was raised by his grandma, or 'Gran' as he called her, in a pretty bad part of a big Shaftlands city, and they didn't have much money. But they weren't entirely impoverished— they could afford to put food on the table basically every day, though having to cut corners to save water and electricity. Though it still wasn't at all uncommon for their electricity or water to be turned off once every month or so. Especially since Spike had a very big appetite, and both ate and grew a lot. His grandmother thought it was more important he grow up healthy than save money on electricity. So while they did sometimes have to choose between light or food for the night, it could have been a lot worse.

Though they were poor, his grandmother could afford to send him to a nearby public school. When he got there, even at age 6, he was almost twice the size of all his peers. And he wasn't used to playing with other kids— when they saw him they thought he looked scary, and would hide, or run to a teacher. And he was a lot stronger than them, too. When he tried to pat someone on the shoulder, he might accidentally use too much force, and the kid would run to the teacher saying he hit them. He didn't mean to! He just wanted to ask them to play with him.

Spike spent a lot of time as a kid watching TV. There wasn't much else to do where he grew up. Especially not since he and his Gran were basically broke. And tickets to the cinema, or going bowling, or visiting an amusement park, all cost money. But there was almost always something to watch on TV. But in particular, from a pretty early age he became fascinated by two genres: romcoms, and wrestling. At first, he didn't like wrestling very much because he thought it was sad everyone seemed so mad at each other all the time. But when his Gran told him they were just pretending to be mad, were just acting, it made him feel a lot better. So after that, even as a young joey, he thought the wrestling moves he saw on the screen looked so cool! And the stories…to him, it felt like his own superhero show. And romcoms...just like he grew up idealizing the guys he saw doing wrestling, he grew up wanting to be like the male leads in the romance movies. Love looked so nice, and warm, and happy, and from a pretty early age he became a bit of a hopeless romantic.

All he knew about his mother was what his Gran had told him, that she had moved somewhere, and that she didn't know where, but hoped that she was happy. His Gran never seemed all that sad she wasn't there, so it was never a big deal to him. He never cared all that much that he never had a mom. His Gran kinda filled that role for him anyway. But he was sometimes sad that he didn't have a dad. Because the boys he saw on TV who had dads seemed to have so much fun with them. His Gran was really really nice and he loved her a lot, but the dads he saw on the screen were different; they tried to teach their sons things, like being strong, or how to stand up to people when they're mean to you, or stuff like that. Moms could do that too, of course… But a mom wouldn't be a boy like he was. So there were some things that just wouldn't be the same. So he really wanted a dad. In particular a dad because… He'd seen pictures of his mom, and she didn't look a lot like him. She was a red kangaroo, yes, and shared some features with him, but she wasn't as abnormally tall as him. Or as scary-looking. So he often wondered if maybe his dad looked more like him. If people were scared of him, too. Spike may not always have been able to catch on it was him and his appearance specifically people were scared of in individual cases of them seeming uncomfortable around him…but it did usually click eventually. He looked at pictures of other kids in books or on TV, and then at his own reflection in the mirror, trying to find which parts of him it was that made people scared, and unwilling to be his friend… He hoped that, if he did have a dad, and he could meet him, he could help him. Or at least, he'd have someone else like him. He hoped his dad was like one of the wrestlers he watched. One of the good ones. The nice ones, who fought bad wrestlers. They were big and strong, maybe even a little bit scary-looking, but people all cheered for them, and liked them.

He didn't do well in school, even though he tried his best. He learned to read and write, but thinking deeply about subjects, or counting really high numbers, or putting his thoughts into words just never came naturally to him. And seeing all his classmates get, at the very least decent grades, he felt even more discouraged. If he wasn't learning anything even though he tried, and all the other kids were scared of him, and the teacher always assumed he was aggressive and dangerous just because he was a Red Kangaroo beastman, then he figured he wasn't welcome there. Didn't belong there. So he started skipping. And doing so, he encountered other kids who were also skipping school. With them, he didn't feel as out-of-place anymore. He was just tall with them. Not scary, not dangerous. Just a really tall kid; which they thought was pretty cool actually. So this group of kids, basically running loose with no adult supervision, gradually started doing more and more dangerous stuff, which, as they grew older, started sometimes crossing the line into being illegal. It was mostly just small things at first. Like stealing candy from the store none of them could afford, so they could share it with each other, or painting with spray cans, or roughhousing that got a bit out of hand and ended up with someone losing a tooth. But these things also lead to them slowly growing a distrust for the police, and adults in positions of authority in general, just because they knew that if the adults knew the kinda stuff they did for fun together, they'd all be in trouble. And none of them wanted that; the little gang they'd formed was important to all of them, after all. So that sense of loyalty fostered among each other slowly became a strict code. And as they all grew older still, their activities became more and more dangerous. Now they didn't just steal candy, but larger things, sometimes even TVs, which they promptly found middle-man buyers for, who could pass them onto more 'reputable' sellers, to be sold back to the public. Some of them started stealing ATMs. When people got upset at each other, it couldn't always just be forgiven the next day anymore. Now, if it was bad enough, people beat each other up. And these kids, raised by TV or violent or uncaring guardians, had no one to tell them off for it. So violence, running from the cops, and breaking the law just became common-place eventually. Especially when they started coming into conflicts with other gangs.

Spike's straight-forward, impulsive 'punch first, ask questions later' personality lead to him doing quite well in this world, developing a reputation as an almost scarily good fighter, even though he'd never trained, and was the youngest of the group. That's how he got the name 'Spike'. He ended up learning most of the things he knows that way, through trial and error. He ended up getting real attached to one particular member of that gang, who became like a brother to him. He would always defend Spike if someone else tried to pick on him for not being super smart, or would get intimidated by Spike and try to pick a fight to prove how much tougher than him they were. That older guy, Oscar, ended up becoming the leader of their little gang; he was the smartest, after all, the one who made all the plans, not to mention quite charismatic. The kind of person people rallied behind. Spike looked up to him a lot. Spike ended up getting some money from their activities, which he gave to his gran. When she asked where he'd gotten the money, he told her that he'd dropped out of school, but he'd gotten a job! She was understanding about his dropping out, saying that the straight-forward path isn't for everyone; there's nothing wrong with taking a roundabout path. What was important was that it was what he himself decided on.

Growing up in the gang had started making him more crass, using 'foul' language and things like that. But the gang was also a comfortable place for him. Way fewer people were scared of him, and the few people who were at least tried to stand up and do something about it, even if that was to try to fight him. He could be unabashedly himself— at least for the most part. He did hide the fact that he really liked baking and loved cute things from most of the group except Oscar; he was worried that would have the others making fun of him for it. But the gang also taught him violence. So while it's not exactly something he finds 'fun', he can absolutely fuck someone up if he needs to. And so he did for the gang on multiple occasions, getting rid of rival gangs' members by fighting them, usually breaking a few bones and taking them out of the game for quite a while until they were healed. They were by no means the biggest gang around, despite what they'd thought as younger kids. They were part of a criminal ecosystem now. And some of the others in the gang started thinking Oscar wasn't bold enough. His strategies for things they'd steal were more methodical; carefully planned out so as not to draw too much suspicion to them, so no one would get caught. But they didn't yield for the kind of money some other people got for jobs. And greed and desperation can drive people to do bad things. One of the people in the gang ended up selling them all out to a bigger, more powerful rival gang nearby, who jumped them all one day. People's bones were broken, he- he thought he saw someone get their neck snapped. People passed out from the beatings they got from the members of the other gang that outnumbered them. He was so busy fighting off people who tried to get at him that he could barely see what was happening around them. Until he heard gunshots. That day Spike realized just what small fry they really were compared to other gangs in the area. Spike was the only survivor. He tried to get Oscar to a hospital, but because they were a violent gang, he told Spike not to bother, since they probably wouldn't receive help anyway. And it's not like they could afford it. So it ended with him being forced to see his best friend and mentor, someone who was at once an older brother and closest thing he'd had to a paternal figure, die on the ground. He was only 15 and half. And he'd just watched his best friend die. Of course he knew the stuff they did was dangerous— he or one of the others had ended up wounded or had gotten into a foot-chase with the authorities more times than he could recall. But everyone had always been ok in the end. The worst that would happen was someone wound up in jail. No one... No one had ever died. Sure, he'd heard about it happening with other gangs, but this...

The first thing he felt was a confusing mix of sorrow and pure rage. His friends, who he'd grown up with, who'd had his back for so many years, who made him the person he was, who'd always treated him like he was just any other guy...were dead. They'd been killed. They even got Oscar. The person Spike had always looked up to. Who Spike thought seemed invincible. Because no matter what trouble they got into, he was always the one who got them out of it. Oscar didn't deserve it— he was amazing, the smartest person Spike had ever met, and he cared a lot for his friends even if it didn't always seem like it at a glance. Once, he'd asked Spike what he was doing there: Spike had a home, and his grandma. Not everyone in the gang was that lucky. But Spike said the gang was as much family to him as his gran was. "I know I ain't good for much besides punchin' folks. Couldn't do school. But I can do this. 'F it helps my gran, 'm gonna keep at it." And after hearing that, Oscar just nodded, and didn't bring it up again. Spike knew that he himself didn't have a lot of hope at a better life than what he'd already gotten himself into. Oscar was meant for so much more than this! he was smart! Capable! Cared a lot! He was meant to go places! Better places! More legit places. Get a real job, a real good one, and get out of this violent life. Spike had never been so angry before in his entire life. The other gang, who killed or recruited all his old friends, went to him to try to recruit him to join them. He was already in too deep in the criminal world to stop now, and he needed to provide for his Gran somehow— her having gotten too old to work— so he swallowed his pride and his rage and agreed. He was doing it for his Gran now, and that gave him strength. But still, he couldn't see the old friend who'd betrayed him and the rest of the gang's face without wanting to literally snarl like a rabid animal.

But then his gran died. She'd had quite a bad cough for a while, and pausing to cough had caused her to slip and fall down the stairs. When he found her after coming home, it all felt like some big, sick joke. With that, the last thing keeping him and his emotions in check was gone. He went on a rampage, showing up at the gang's HQ and beating every single member he could find to death, saving his 'old friend' for last— after a brutal beat-down he squeezed his head so hard his skull cracked. He didn't realize until then just how strong he really was. Police who showed up to the scene later would find the entire place covered top to bottom in giant, razor-sharp spikes. It seemed that was how he discovered his Signature Spell: 'Wild Stab'. That was also how he realized he was a mage in the first place; he was too poor to ever have gone anywhere close to any kind of educational source about magic, and any previous occurrences he'd just chalked up as being something else. And those spikes were what had actually done most of the heavy lifting during said rampage. Though he wouldn't know just how much damage he'd caused. All he knew was he got so mad he couldn't think or see anything, and he punched a lot of people, and felt something weird and kindly tingly everywhere. He himself was grievously injured. He'd gotten a bad beating from the people he fought, and was black and blue everywhere, and bleeding. At some point he'd also managed to impale himself in the arm on one of his own spikes. He didn't realize it until after he'd staggered away from the scene and ending up falling into a gutter. He was still alive, but on the brink of death. He thought he was going to die. He was only 16 at the time. But then he heard someone begin to approach him. Spike told whoever it was to: "Screw off and let me die in peace". He was just so tired. He wanted to take a nap... The man said no. He gave Spike an offer: If Spike agreed to work for him, he'd get him patched up, and then get him the funds to retire early. Not really having anything else to do, Spike just answered: "Maybe. Depends on the job."

The next thing he remembers is waking up in the hospital three months later. And when he woke up, he'd gotten a letter in the mail. From a place called 'Night Raven College'. Then they found Spike's biological father, who he moved in with. His father was neither happy nor upset to meet him, but did seem annoyed that Spike would be moving in with him. They quickly came to an agreement that they stay out of each others' space. They were just living together; and only until Spike turned 18. Spike had wondered about what his dad might be like often as a joey, and wondered if he was just as big and scary-looking as Spike. Little Spike always took some comfort in thinking maybe he was, and that maybe he could meet him one day. Turns out he wasn't. He was tall, but definitely not as tall as Spike, and while a little bit rugged, he wasn't exactly scary to look at. He couldn't help but feel disappointed... He'd always hoped his dad would be just like him, and that with him, Spike could finally no longer feel so out-of-place. But now even in what was supposed to be his 'home', he felt like an unwanted intruder. So he just felt more out-of-place than ever. He wasn't exactly upset by his dad not wanting to be his dad. He was just a person living his life, who maybe didn't even know Spike existed at all before this. But... That comforting idea he'd idealized of a dad who was just like him, and was proud of Spike being just like him...someone Spike could go to for guidance, who'd want to help, and never be too busy to come running when Spike really needed help...seemed to just kinda go up in smoke. And for the first time he realized how vulnerable he truly was. He really had no safety net. No one to catch him. His Gran had always tried her best, but she had to work so often, and then became too weak to do a lot but just simple stuff around the house. But all that time, he hadn't really noticed the lack of it. Maybe because he'd also distantly had this thought that he had a dad out there somewhere, who loved him, who'd care for him when he finally met him, and welcome him with a big hug. He went walking around the street that night, because it felt familiar... Eventually he stopped walking next to the bank of the river passing through the city, and just sat down on the ground, and cried, hugging his knees. He missed Oscar. He missed his Gran. He missed all his other friends. He hadn't even begun to fully process they were all gone yet. And he had no one who could help him do that. He was left there, alone. Just a 16-year-old who grew up too fast, with no one to guide him, show him how to feel, how to think.

Miscellaneous facts:

He goes to anger-management classes now. He doesn't get angry often, and if he does it's always for a very clear reason. But when he does, he sometimes goes overboard and ends up causing an absolute mess. His Signature Spell scares him, honestly. He doesn't like that it's so violent, since it's a part of himself he isn't proud of.

He has lanky yet weirdly strong arms.

He's still got the same attitude as he did when he was a street punk, he's incredibly tall, and he's always had a horrendous case of RBF, so most people are scared of him as soon as they meet him. He's not very forward thinking and is pretty bad at planning ahead and he knows it. He just focuses on the thing right in front of him and gets going with it. He's always done better as the lackey of smarter people.

Just how much he can mess both things and people up with his strength when he tries can make him honestly terrifying, especially when he gets genuinely upset. But he's still got a good heart. And when he's comfortable and not on edge, he's actually a giant softie who cries when the dog dies in a movie and gets shy and embarrassed really easily if you know what to say/do. And deep down, he's pretty insecure about a lot of things. His appearance and way of speaking just scares people into being really wary of him. That he looks scary, and that he could really harm someone if he wanted to, are his two biggest insecurities.

He has more manners than you'd expect of a street punk, since his grandmother was very insistent on teaching him, and he does try to follow her advice when he needs to. In practice, this usually means he only swears around his friends, and gives very polite, even somewhat stiff first greetings. And he's super extra polite when he's visiting someone else's house. If they're an adult he always calls them 'sir/ma'am/mx'. He'll be pretty stiff and awkward the whole time, and won't know what he can and cannot stand on, and if he should take his shoes of— And he always tries to bring a gift, even if it's just something small like chocolates or homemade sweets.

He's pretty good at baking, actually! And pretty ok at cooking too. He was actually the go-to cook in the gang when they couldn't go out to some fast food place. He really likes cooking for people, and sharing meals with his friends. The kinda guy who will say, no irony to be found, that 'food always tastes better when you share it with others'.

He doesn't normally have freckles! He has them at NRC because he's so pale, Savannaclaw is so bright and sunny, and he does not put on sunscreen that often.

The city he grew up in was the kind of city that seemed to be constantly either cloudy or rainy, but also got really cold and snowy in the winter.

At NRC

For a while, he didn't really know what to do about the letter he got. He'd never been good at school, after all. And he wasn't good at thinking about the future; what good could going to school even do, if he even managed to finish it at all? But somewhere in the back of his head, he knew Oscar would probably tell him to go for it.

And it's not like he really knew what else to do.

There was that weird guy who'd saved him, and said something about Spike working for him... But he really didn't wanna just stick around waiting for who-knows-what to happen.

So he decided to go.

At the Entrance Ceremony, he was shocked when he heard the mirror call for a 'Timofey Orlov'. His gran was the only one who ever called him Timofey after he dropped out of school. In his head 'Spike' had just become more like his real name than a nickname at some point. He doesn't dislike Timofey, but in a way it feels...somewhat intimate to hear. For the rest of the school-year he had to tell everyone he met; teachers, other people who remembered him from the entrance ceremony (which was a lot, given just how tall he was, and how his height combined with his gravely voice made people ask if he was even a teenager) that he preferred going by 'Spike'.

And then, after feeling very out-of-place in his custom-tailored Ceremonial Robes, having been sorted into Savannaclaw, he found himself standing next to another freshman; some guy with lion ears. And they ended up rooming together. Spike tried to be polite and introduce himself, but all he was met with was the other guy turning his back to him to take a nap.

But he eventually found out the guy's name was Leona. Leona Kingscholar, apparently.

At first it didn't click for him. Spike just said he thought it was cool, and wondered what it must be to like to have the same surname as a royal family, asking if people treated him like royalty because of it. Leona answered 'not really'.

"Huh." Spike said. "Well that blows. 'F you have a cool name, figure other folk'd treat you like you're cool too. Just ends up bein' confusin' then."

When he found out Leona— who'd ended up becoming 'Lona' because of Spike's habit of not paying too much mind to proper annunciation— was a year older than everyone else, and not due to being held back, but having chosen to attend a year later, Spike just looked at the cast still left on his arm and asked "Wait, I coulda done that?! I figured it was a 'now or never' kinda deal!"

Leona ended up becoming a really good friend of his, and Spike basically his first follower/lackey.

At one point, during their second year, the new Housewarden of Octavinelle had tried to recruit Spike to his own dorm. But all he got was a death glare and a 'piss off!' in return, with Spike making it very clear he was "Not jumpin' ship! Doesn't matter what ya try to throw at me!"

Oh, and when Leona eventually straight up told Spike that he was the Leona Kingscholar, as in, the prince, when they were doing homework (read= Spike trying to do his homework in Leona's general vicinity and asking him for help with questions he didn't understand) Spike just went 'Mhm.' . . . "...Wait really?!"

"So that's why you're so rich!" and then rubbed the back of his neck and asked "So uh...d'I gotta start callin' you 'your highness' or 'sir' or somethin' now and junk?" to which he was just met with a "Do whatever you want."

Spike just kinda went 'Oh. Ok.' Then proceeded to ask 'Lona' for help on another question.

(Spike's entire world was rocked when Leona started pointing out all the other people going to their school who were actually big-name celebrities or the kids of rich CEOs or something)

His literal second day, after classes were over, he was approached by Night Raven's entire Basketball team, who proceeded to all get down on the ground and literally BEG him to join their Club. "Uh… Not doin' any other stuff, so guess I could—" then who he thought was probably the leader grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously, thanking him profusely and promising he would not regret it!

He ended up becoming the MVP of the team. If they managed to get the ball to him, it was almost always a guaranteed point for them; most games he was playing in ended up turning into the other team trying their absolute best to work AROUND him, because everyone knew that as soon as he was on the opponent's side of the court and he had the ball, even if he was still pretty far away, he could jump and have a 70% chance of getting the ball in the hoop anyway.

And he became good friends with Floyd, Ace and Jamil, once they joined the Basketball club.

And through the Basketball club, he met Neige— specifically after an NRC vs. RSA basketball match hosted at Night Raven in Spike's second year at school. After saving Neige from some Night Raven students who were harassing him, it was love at first sight for Neige, and it didn't take Spike long to develop a crush.

And eventually, after hanging out more and getting closer, Neige taking every chance he got to visit NRC, they started dating.

Spike was incredibly nervous and sorta awkward at first— he'd had a few crushes growing up, but had never actually gotten even close to a romantic relationship. But the nerves started wearing off with time, leaving just a very happy Spike, hopelessly in love with his boyfriend.

Since he grew up basically without adult supervision, starting to skip school so early and with his gran often working, he was so used to just doing whatever he felt like that having teachers with authority over him came as a shock. He'd never really experienced being told off by adults before— adults who weren't police, at least.

It surprised him when one day he said something about 'when I was a Joey' and one of his teachers responded with 'you're still only 16'.

He sure didn't feel 16.

He started wondering if that was weird.

He started realizing he'd never really been treated like a kid before. Somewhat by his gran, but mostly when he was very little. By the time he was in school, he was much bigger than the other kids and his face also made him look older than he was, so they treated him more like a teenager than a child. And the same went for all the other adults he'd ever encountered.

Throughout all his time at NRC, he kept feeling like he 'stole' his friend's place somehow. Oscar was supposed to be the one going to some fancy magic school— not him. Oscar actually had the skills to make good use of an education— not to mention even get that education in the first place. Spike started skipping school when he was 9, and had dropped out completely by age 11.

Spike knows would never have made it in any of his classes without Leona's help.

And that night…the things he did… He tried his best not to think about it. He partially can't remember much anyway. He just knew he flew into a bloodthirsty rage, and only emerged from it when he was about to finish off the person who betrayed him and the others.

He feels strange, thinking about how easy it was.

That night he realized he had it in him to hurt others. He didn't exactly want to hurt others, but he could. ...Probably good people, too. He didn't feel bad about what he did. Not in the way he knew he was supposed to. He knew he'd be able to do it again.

But he did feel bad thinking that...maybe that was exactly what his teachers and classmates saw in him when he was a joey.

Were they right, then? Was this the only outcome for him?

That night…the reason he accepted the stranger's offer was probably because after what he'd done, he already felt like he was a monster. He'd accepted that he was, even.

But Neige… His hands were so soft. Clean.

He didn't know why he was allowed to hold Neige's hands in his own— his own, that had hurt so many people already, and would probably go on to hurt more, if the vibe he caught from his savior were right.

He hoped that, if he really was a monster…then at least he could be the monster that protected Neige. And Leona. And all his friends.

More sprites:

Tag list: @another-random-paradise @thehollowwriter @faefum @cactus13-rolloflammesimp @beneathsakurashade

@nyx-of-night @theolivetree123 @babyghoul138 @skibidibabygirl @screamintoad

@mishig

[the-hidden-village]

Orlove Diamond children facts

These are all facts that me and nat decided on, because not only do I find them to be funny, they’re actually pretty cute. (In my opinion XD)

He has several kids. When I mean several, I mean like hundreds of these little buggers. Poor bastard lost count of just how many he has a while ago.

His nut is so powerful that it just hits the ground and sometime later a kid pops out of the ground sometime later. This is canon. 👏🏽Nothing 👏🏽can 👏🏽beat 👏🏽his 👏🏽nut. 👏🏽

This is the exact reason why he has so many damn kids. Nothing can beat his nut. One of the kids came out of a fucking volcano, Greg’s dick might destroy Diamonds, but Orlove’s dick creates them. He might be responsible for 1/3 of the Diamond population by now, I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.

Almost all of his children are modeled and named after flowers. They can come in any color, and can be modeled after a specific subtype of flower.

The only child that is not modeled after a flower is Strawn-Wagner Diamond, who is the spawn between him and Lady Excelsior.

Orlove can tell if a gem is his kid if the gem’s cut glows black when meeting him for the first time.

The kids bedrooms are on the third floor of his castle. While the castle was first still being built, Prudence had him design extra floor plans in case of them ever having a large court. Or a bunch of kids. At the time, he thought it to be silly, but now he’s just thankful he listened to her and did it.

The eldest child is Flora Diamond, the only spawn ever produced between Prudence and Orlove.

He only met her very recently, and burst out into tears when he realized who she was. Orlove has been keeping her and all the other children that have been coming out of the woodwork at his castle, along with his court.

All of the children that pop out of the ground have an automatic instinct to find their parental unit as soon as they come out of the ground. The first thought they have is an image of the castle, and that they need to find it.

His children will hide in the pockets of his clothing, and often he won’t notice that there’s one of them hiding in there!

All of them are greatly spoiled by him, as he sees them as his pride and joy.

Sometimes, when he goes out for walks with his horse, he’ll come back with one or two gemlings in tow.

When going out on a family trip, all the kids follow him in line, so it looks like a line of baby ducks following a parent duck! Except for Pansy, she has to have a holster attached to her so she doesn’t run off.

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin. 

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. 

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard. 

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian. 

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain. 

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting. 

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know. 

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying. 

“Konechno.” Of course. 

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again. 

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death. 

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman. 

My father is an arms-dealer. 

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy. 

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t. 

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty. 

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people. 

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly. 

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer. 

“Starik,” I tease. Old man. 

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York. 

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise. 

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase. 

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital. 

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait. 

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details. 

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé. 

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored. 

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him. 

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option. 

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room. 

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature. 

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more. 

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest. 

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name. 

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now. 

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected. 

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello. 

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield. 

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello. 

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction. 

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave. 

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck. 

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys. 

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official. 

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual. 

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it. 

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

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[actutrends]

Putin’s Russia, 20 years on

Marc Bennetts is a Moscow-based reporter and author of “I’m Going to Ruin Their Lives: Inside Putin’s War on Russia’s Opposition” (Oneworld, 2016).

MOSCOW– Boris Yeltsin had a reputation for the marvelous and the unforeseeable, from buying tanks to shell a rebellious Russian parliament to drunkenly hunting for pizza in Washington in his underclothing. He saved perhaps his most significant surprise for last.

Twenty years ago this Brand-new Year’s Eve, with six months to go till completion of his last term, an ailing Yeltsin addressed Russia in a special noontime broadcast. “I am leaving. I have actually done all I could,” he said, his words slurred by disease and alcoholic abuse. “A new generation is coming. They can do more, and better.”

Later on that night, as the Kremlin clock ticked down the final minutes of the 1990 s, a dour-faced representative of that “brand-new generation” appeared prior to the country as Russia’s acting president.

” Like you, I intended this night to listen to the New Year greetings of President Boris Yeltsin,” stated Vladimir Putin, the previous state security service chief who had been called prime minister simply 4 months previously. “But things turned out otherwise.”

Life under Boris Yeltsin had been a mixture of the surreal and the monstrous.

I was in Britain that significant Brand-new Year’s Eve, but I ‘d been residing in Russia since 1997, catching the tail end of Yeltsin’s chaotic presidency. There were obviously no Twitter storms or YouTube videos of the handover of power. Rather, I found out about Yeltsin’s decision to bless Putin as Russia’s brand-new leader hours after it had occurred, via Ceefax, a now-defunct teletext info service.

I flew back to Moscow later on that week: If someone had actually possessed a crystal ball, I’m unsure what I would have been more stunned to find– that I would still be residing in the Russian capital 20 years on, or that Putin would still remain in the Kremlin.

Life under Yeltsin had actually been a mixture of the surreal and the monstrous. The Communist ideology that had actually dominated life for 7 years had actually been tossed onto history’s trash dump, leaving Russians to adjust to an odd brand-new monster called commercialism.

It was a task lots of were just not up to: Suicides increased, life cost savings were lost in wild pyramid plans, and crime rocketed. State staff members typically went unsettled for months. In August 1998, Russia defaulted on its foreign financial obligation, setting off financial collapse.

Vladimir Putin, left, with Boris Yeltsin at the Kremlin in 1999|Pool photo by TASS/EPA

Soviet propaganda had portrayed life in the West as relentless misery for all but the really richest, and the 1990 s appeared to show the communists were.

Putin understood what his fellow citizens longed for.

Over the next eight years, assisted by soaring rates for oil– Russia’s main export– Putin approached doing just that. By May 2008, towards completion of his second term in workplace, salaries were not only being paid on time, but they were higher than ever. The streets of major cities began to fill with advertisements for simple loans, and individuals long accustomed to frugality suddenly found they could manage foreign holidays, brand-new cars and plasma-screen TVs.

Although political freedoms were being curtailed, independent media strangled, and money that needs to have been utilized to build up important infrastructure simply siphoned out of the country, many Russians remained quiet. After all, it seemed churlish to grumble about such things when you could invest 2 weeks a year at a Turkish Black Sea resort and after that come back to your brand-new house entertainment center.

” Putin acquired a ransacked and bewildered nation, with a poor and demoralized individuals” — Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Soviet dissident author

” People agreed on a pact with the devil,” said Oleg Orlov, the head of Memorial, Russia’s oldest human rights company. “They stated, ‘We will avoid of the social and political procedure and concentrate on our private lives– simply do not touch us and leave us a small piece of the profits from your oil booty.'”

It was, as Russian intellectuals like to state, a case of “sausages in exchange for freedom.”

Sausages won out.

” What good is freedom of speech if my refrigerator is empty?” a senior female asked me in the main city of Voronezh in2007 I wasn’t sure what to reply, so I mumbled something about how, in an ideal world, she would have both. My answer stopped working to encourage her. “Both?” she stated. “Who is going to provide me both?”

It was toward the end of his 2nd term that the sale of Putin souvenirs went overboard– stores were suddenly full of clocks, mugs and even wall carpets bearing his image.

Putin got praise from unlikely quarters. “Putin acquired a rummaged and mystified country, with a poor and demoralized individuals,” said Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the Soviet dissident writer. “And he started to do what was possible– a slow and gradual repair. These efforts were not noticed, nor valued, immediately.”

Solzhenitsyn was not the only fan.

Vladimir Putin souvenirs on sale in Moscow|Mladen Antonov/AFP by means of Getty Images

” I want a guy like Putin, loaded with strength/ I desire a guy like Putin, who doesn’t consume/ I desire a man like Putin, who will not upset me/ I desire a man like Putin, who will not flee,” went the lyrics to an contagious hit by a female pop duo. It was simply the very first of a variety of pop and rap songs to eulogize the Kremlin strongman.

It ended up being progressively hard to escape Putinmania.

In 2008, Russia’s military defeated neighboring Georgia in a five-day war over the breakaway republic of South Ossetia.

Putin’s hold over Russian politics throughout the 2000 s was outright. However as his 2nd term of workplace struck the midway point, he had to make possibly the most crucial decision of his presidency. The Russian constitution stated plainly that no president might serve more than two ” successive” terms. Putin had no strategies to give up power.

In May 2008, Putin moved to the post of prime minister while Dmitry Medvedev, his previous election project supervisor, became president.

As part of Medvedev’s much-heralded program of “modernization,” the Kremlin oversaw the reinvention of RIA Novosti, a state news agency, as a modern-day, censorship-free media outlet. In 2011, I became its very first full-time English-language reporter. This was no Kremlin propaganda outfit– RIA Novosti had total editorial independence and I spent my days speaking with opposition figures and listening to accusations of high-level corruption.

Vladimir Putin utilized Dmitry Medvedev to keep his chair warm at the head of the Kremlin|Yuri Kadobnov/AFP by means of Getty Images

Yet despite Medvedev’s tentative reforms, no one was any under illusions as to who was pulling the most essential strings.

Rather, Putin made a return to the presidency in May 2012 for a third term. As soon as safely re-installed in the Kremlin, Putin set about rolling back Medvedev’s meager reforms. In 2013, RIA Novosti was dismantled and the agency’s boss, Svetlana Mironyuk, dismissed.

Putin changed her with Dmitry Kiselyov, a well-known television presenter known for his anti-Western tirades.

It was a wake-up call for those Russians who had actually bought into Medvedev’s promises of reform. However things will get much darker.

The Kremlin’s seizure of Crimea from Ukraine in March 2014 activated an outbreak of aggressive nationalism. Putin, in a keynote speech, implicated opposition political leaders of being “nationwide traitors,” a term that his critics kept in mind had actually once been used by Adolf Hitler.

Unexpectedly, everyone in Russia wished to talk politics. It became progressively challenging to avoid getting sucked into heated conversations about the “fascist junta” in Ukraine– as Russian state media had actually taken to calling the new pro-Western federal government in Kyiv.

Later on that year, I saw a mother scream at her adult daughter that she was “betraying her homeland” because she applauded investigations by Alexei Navalny, the opposition political leader, into alleged corruption by members of Putin’s inner circle.

” There is no Russia today if there is no Putin” — Vyacheslav Volodin, speaker of the Russian parliament

This environment of unchecked nationalism was encapsulated perfectly by the Night Wolves, a motorcycle gang that received around EUR1 million in state funds to promote anti-Western ideas and “traditional” Russian values.

The leather-clad gang staged performances for kids that depicted the West as intent on ruining Russia.

Amidst the stand-off over Ukraine, Putin was transformed into the living, breathing personification of Russia. As Vyacheslav Volodin, the speaker of the Russian parliament, put it: “There is no Russia today if there is no Putin.”

The anniversary of Putin’s second decade in power has been accompanied by a concrete cooling of Russia’s enthusiasm for the ex-KGB officer who has currently lasted longer than 3 U.S. presidents and been accused of assisting put a fourth into the White Home.

In May, Putin’s trust scores fell to a 13- year low of just 31 percent as discontent simmered over a boost to the pension age, widespread hardship and ruthless allegations of corruption versus the political elite. Putin came to power promising stability, however his opponents are significantly drawing comparisons with Yeltsin’s “wild” 1990 s.

In my trips across Russia, far fewer people seem going to applaud Putin and his policies. Instead, anger and frustration are far more common.

Residents at a market in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia. Across the nation, appreciation for Putin appears to be more irregular|Mladen Antonov/AFP by means of Getty Images

” They tricked us for a while with Crimea,” Konstantin, an out of work man in Russia’s far north, told me last year. “Today he’s revealed his real colors with the pension reforms.”

This year has likewise seen a significant uptick in demonstrations over issues ranging from election scams to poisonous garbage discards The authorities are obviously so worried that in September they deployed around a dozen armed officers to detain a Siberian shaman who had vowed to amazingly expel Putin from workplace.

State-sponsored commemorations of the anniversary of Putin’s ascent to the presidency have actually been low-key. Indeed, state media has actually hardly mentioned that it is now 20 years considering that Yeltsin turned over the secrets to the Kremlin.

Konstantin Gaaze, a political expert with the Carnegie Moscow Center, recommended the silence is due to the fact that Putin is uncomfortable of memories of precisely how he ended up being president. “On 31 st December 1999, Putin was just an item of Yeltsin’s will. And he wants to forget about this,” Gaaze said. He also stated the Kremlin may be cautious about advising Russians of precisely how long Putin has been in power, especially if he intends to lengthen his guideline beyond May 2024, when his last term of workplace is because of expire.

For how long will Putin’s stranglehold on Russian politics last?|Alexey Nikolsky/AFP through Getty Images

Speculation has currently started that Putin is looking for to craft a method to stay in power. Heading a Union State with surrounding Belarus might be one option, as might another stint as prime minister.

It’s not likely, naturally, that Putin will handle another 20 years as Russia’s leader. And even if he does, it’s extremely unlikely that I will still be in Moscow to report on it.

Just a fool, nevertheless, would entirely rule out either circumstance.

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