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About Varied / Hobbyist Ein Dortmunder Jung im HerzMale/Unknown Group :icongerman-history: German-History
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All the stuff that comes out of my head and turns into art.

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Logged in today and found over 1,000 messages in my inbox. Facepalm Damn it, I know it hasn't been that long since I checked my messages.
What Have I Done? by TheInimitableECypher
What Have I Done?

He felt like his world had ended.

He sat on the ground between the goalposts, his head in his hands, trying to hold back tears. Behind him, the scoreboard read 7-1. He had just been on the business end of his team’s heaviest loss in almost twenty years.

He didn’t want to be here right now. He didn’t want to think about what had just happened. He just wanted to run from the stadium and hide under his bed for the next month. He knew he would probably take the blame for the loss. This had been only his third game as a goalkeeper, and he’d blown it. Even after conceding the first two goals, he thought he’d kept it together pretty well. The score had been 2-1 then. They had still been in it.

Then the third goal went in, and he cracked. His brain just shut down. Everything he’d been practicing for weeks deserted him. It wasn’t long before a comeback was out of their reach.

He thought he could do this. But when his team was counting on him, he couldn’t handle it.

He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, and he looked up to find Axel, the team’s usual first-choice goalie, standing over him.

“What just happened, Axel?” He was unable to look his teammate in the eye. “What have I done?”
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N. Lukashenko by TheInimitableECypher
N. Lukashenko
It occurred to me the other night that this is the main character of my novel, and no good picture of her existed. 

So here she is. Excuse the spectacularly unoriginal title.

Stock used:

www.flickr.com/photos/snapsi42…
gurumedit.deviantart.com/art/C…
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Right Behind You by TheInimitableECypher
Right Behind You
So, after our win against Frankfurt on Sunday (13.12.15), I was reading an article about the game, and part of the article's commentary stated that we (BVB) were "breathing down Bayern's neck" in the league table, because we're only five points behind them...

And, well, this happened. I've pretty much been working on this since Monday morning.

At the time, I wasn't thinking how this would actually come across. It's supposed to be purely symbolic; kind of a "we're right behind you in the league table and are waiting for you to screw up so we can overtake you" kind of message. But I came up with the idea after a celebratory beer and a shot of Jäger and, you know, some ideas just seem a lot better when you're buzzed.

Therefore, it didn't even hit me until I started working on it that it looks like I'm advocating for assaulting Bayern fans. OMG! 

Oops.
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He could sense the nervousness of the man as soon as he entered the room. It was written all over him.

This wasn’t really surprising. A lot of people who came here asking for his services had a certain air about them; always on edge, always on guard.

But this man looked like he wanted to sprint from the room from the moment he walked in. He was twitchy, and his eyes kept darting around the dimly-lit room, as if he expected there to be half a dozen police lurking in the shadows, waiting to arrest him on the spot.

“Take it easy,” Dmitri finally said. “There’s nobody else here but us.” He gestured towards the chair on the other side of the desk. “Care to take a seat?”

The other shook his head. “I’ll stand.”

“If you insist.” He shrugged, once. “So, tell me the specifics of this job. Who do you want killed, and why?”

“Why do you want to know why I want it done?” the other asked. “Does it really matter? Will it affect whether you agree to take this job?”

“No, not at all. I'll take the job regardless of the reason,” Dmitri said as he removed his glasses and polished them on the front of his waistcoat. “I'm a curious man, you understand. If you need someone killed badly enough to come calling on my association, there has to be a good reason, right?” He put his glasses back on and looked back at him. He did not speak, only looked his client in the eyes, and before long the other cracked.

“It started about a year ago. I was going through a rough time in my life and I needed money…”

“Let me guess, you borrowed money from someone and now you can't pay it back,” he said as he got out of his chair and turned towards the bar behind him. “Now he’s hounding you to make you pay him back.”

“It's worse than that,” the other said, removing his hat and twisting it in his hands. “He's trying to kill me. He's sent a few guys after me now. I've gotten away from them all, but I’m afraid that they'll catch up with me.”

“You're fortunate that they haven't already,” Dmitri said as he reached over to grab a bottle of scotch and a clean glass. He looked over his shoulder at the man. “You want a drink?”

The other just shook his head.

“Suit yourself. I’m having one.” As he poured his scotch, he glanced over at a file folder that, unbeknownst to the man, sat open on the surface of the bar. He knew who the man was, of course, and he also knew that if the man realized what was going on, he would be gone before Dmitri could turn back around. He plunked a few ice cubes into his drink and went on. “After you contacted me, I had my resident computer nerd look you up online.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it would make for a good explanation for why he knew as much as he did; presuming, of course, that the man didn’t think too much into the story he was being fed. “From what I read, on three different occasions someone came after you. The first two attempts you ran away, but during the most recent attempt you subdued your assailant. Is this correct?”

“Pretty much,” said the other as he put his hat back on, now seemingly unable to look up from the floor.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised.” He kept his voice emotionless as he spoke, but on the inside he knew he had to be careful what he said. “These men were trained killers, and yet here you are, still very much alive.”

“I got lucky.”

“Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t have eluded them so easily.” He took a sip of his scotch, was silent a moment. “I’m familiar with the men who came after you. By all rights, you should be dead right now.”

The other had nothing to say to that.

“Actually, I've worked with these men a few times.” He picked up the file folder and sat back down. “So I'm more than familiar with their skills. The fact that they failed is actually a massive disappointment to me. It makes me think twice about working with them again.” He put his feet up on the desk, took another sip of his drink, before setting the glass down. “But again I have to ask, because you didn’t actually answer my question earlier: who do you want killed, and how do you want it done?”

It took the man a minute to answer.

“His name is George Frederikson. He runs a small gambling den down in the Lower East Side.”

“I believe I’ve heard that name before. Bad-tempered little man from Jersey, right?” He did, in fact, know exactly who the man was referring to. “I can see why you want him dead. He can be downright insufferable.”

“How do you know what he’s like?”

He could feel the faintest hint of suspicion starting to creep into the man’s voice. Keeping his own tone neutral, he replied, “I run an underground criminal organization, and I’ve dealt with all types. A few of my men frequent his little establishment. I’ve had to shake him down a few times for treating my men badly.”

“So you would have no problem killing him, then?”

“If I did, we wouldn’t be discussing this,” he pointed out. “Now, how do you want it done?”

“I don’t really care how.” He could hear the man’s voice start to shake. “I just want him out of my life. I can’t keep running like this. I’ve barely slept in weeks. I can’t stay in one place more than a day or two. I’m going to lose my mind.”

He did look one step away from a nervous breakdown, Dmitri noticed. Now that he really took a close look at the man, it was plain to see.

“Consider it done.” He tossed the file, open, onto the desk.

“Don’t you even want to know how much I can pay for the job?” the man asked. “I mean, I don’t have much, but-”

“No need for that,” Dmitri said. Behind the man, he watched as the door opened without a sound and a lone figure slipped into the room, closing the door as quietly as she’d opened it. The man didn’t even notice. “Our business here is finished.”

“What do you mean?” asked the man as he looked down at the file. “How can you take the job if you don’t even- wait, why is my picture in this file?” He looked a little closer at the file and his face went white.

“No.”

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on,” Dmitri said as he reached over and closed the file. “Those men were sent after you on my command.” He looked the man in the eyes and said, slowly, so the meaning was not lost on him, “Frederikson contracted the hit to me.”

No response. The man just stood there, visibly shaking.

“I already know how you knew to come to me. If you had dealings with Frederikson, then that means you already had contacts in the underworld. His gambling setup is far from legal, the kind of place that’s only frequented by the criminal element. You got my name from a contact in the gambling den, didn’t you?”

The man did not respond, could not respond. But the look in his eyes gave him his answer.

“The contact is one of my men,” revealed the Russian mastermind as he reached for his glass. “I told him to point you in my direction, and then I arranged this meeting, knowing you wouldn’t be able to refuse.” He took a sip of his scotch, before continuing. “In hindsight, I should have done this in the first place. But Frederikson didn’t want to pay top dollar for one of my best hitmen, so I had to send third-rate gunmen after you.” He set the glass back down with an audible ‘thud’. “Now, I abhor failure. I can’t live with it, I won’t tolerate it. I let Frederikson know that after the third failed attempt, and finally he gave in. Now here you are, and I can call this job a success.”

The man went to run for the door, but before he could get there he was grabbed from behind and slammed to the floor by the figure that had slipped into the room only moments ago.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she growled as she reached for her blade.

“Not in here, Eiric.” Dmitri shook his head “Take it outside. I don’t need that kind of a mess in here.”

Only once the doomed man had been marched out of the room to meet his fate did Dmitri pick up the phone and make the call he had been waiting to make.

“Frederikson, this is Mikhaylov. I've got your man right here. Shortly he will no longer be your problem.” He listened for a moment. “No, it was easy enough,” he went on. “He quite literally walked right into my hands.”

He listened a moment longer before hanging up the phone, unable to help feeling a distinct sense of satisfaction with the way this turned out.

Not necessarily with the end result; the satisfaction never came from the act of taking someone's life. It didn’t even come from the large amounts of money people were willing to pay him. The satisfaction came from the game he was able to play with his targets. It came from the challenge of making them play right into his hands, like pieces on a chessboard.

To him, that was a game worth playing.

-Ende
A Game Worth Playing
This is actually the (much improved) rewrite of a story I wrote close to two years ago. I was just going to edit it but this version is so much different that I just decided to resubmit it.
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  • Mood: Not Impressed
  • Listening to: "Mann Gegen Mann" - Rammstein
  • Drinking: coffee
I said something in my last journal entry that probably went unnoticed in all my ranting, so I'll say it again:

I've already come out as atheist, and now I'm coming out as transgender.

I've never felt female. Not a day in my life. It it took me 24 and a half years to figure out why.

And you know what? I'm a lot more comfortable with myself now than I was in the 24.5 years that I spent living a lie that I didn't even realize was one. I've still got a ways to go before I'm completely confident with myself and who I am, but I'll get there.

I understand if some people don't agree with what I am, and if you feel the need to drop me from your watchlist, go ahead. I don't care. I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not online when I have to repress who I am in real life because of where I live.

So allow me to re-introduce myself: My name's Matthias, and I'm not a fucking female.

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TheInimitableECypher
Ein Dortmunder Jung im Herz
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
Most of what you'll find on this page is traditional/digital art, literature (that nobody ever reads), and photography. Sometimes football fan stuff, if I'm feeling up to it.

My two most used aliases online are The Inimitable E. Cypher and The Infamous Black Valkyrie. You see anyone online with either of those names (in either those forms or any permutation of them), or work from dA on any other sites under either of those names, chances are it's me.


:bulletblack: I refer to myself as a "Misplaced German"; I'm US born but I swear I should have been born in Germany. German Flag dA Emoticon by TheInimitableECypher
:bulletred: I'm an atheist. I have no respect for religion, but I do try to respect religious people, as long as your beliefs don't interfere with my life.
:bulletyellow: I'm a long-time, die-hard, absolutely unapologetic Borussia Dortmund fan. I eat Schalke fanboys for breakfast. Om nom nom.
:bulletred: I know my visual art style isn't the greatest. I am perfectly aware of this and I always work to improve.
:bulletblack: I write what I want to write, and much like my visual art, I always work to improve. I appreciate any and all types of constructive criticism on both my visual and literary work.

...Seriously. Let this frustrated Schwarzgelben bastard know that their work is actually being read, dammit. :|

Deutschland by TheInimitableECypher


Against Nazism by skinnyveestamp The Yellow Wall by TheInimitableECypher Stamp - Deutscher Fussball-Bund - (Redux) by TheInimitableECypher Anti-Theist by TheInimitableECypher ..:Proud to be German:.. by gazettefreak Eisbrecher stamp by Shaiger I Write What I Want by TheInimitableECypher Teaching Self German Stamp by PianoxLullaby Everybody is Equal by PhysicalMagic Writer Stamp by SpeedyAlchemist Stamp : Sarcasm .. by SHIZU-91 My Own Critic by fear-the-brilliance Hello My Name is Geek by AarlaShey Classical Music Stamp by McNikk I Luv Coffee Stamp by MagnifiqueN GIMP Stamp by SparkLum Imitation is suicide by Nana-Beats Stamp: Charlie Hebdo by Walldryx


Free counters!
Stamp: German Language Beginner by MafiaVamp i am a total geek
:bulletblack::bulletred::bulletyellow: Mein Deutsch ist nicht gut. Ich bin noch am lernen. ^^; :bulletblack::bulletred::bulletyellow:


100 Theme Writing Challenge - Progress:



"It is not what you say, it is not what you think, it is not what you feel. It is what you do." - Thomas Andrews; architect of the R.M.S Titanic
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:iconlittlegreengamer:
LittleGreenGamer Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday! :) :party::cake:
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:icontheinimitableecypher:
TheInimitableECypher Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks. :)
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:iconkaiser-969:
Kaiser-969 Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2015
Happy b-day!!! :party::iconcake-plz:
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:icontheinimitableecypher:
TheInimitableECypher Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks. :)
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:iconkaiser-969:
Kaiser-969 Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2015
A pleasure :iconhug1plz:
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:iconpanamanga:
panamanga Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for adding my Thomas Hitzlsperger portrait to your favourties :boing: !
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:icontheinimitableecypher:
TheInimitableECypher Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
No problem. :)
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:iconpanamanga:
panamanga Featured By Owner May 3, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for favouriting my Joachim Löw fanart :boing: !
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:icontheinimitableecypher:
TheInimitableECypher Featured By Owner May 3, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Not a problem. :)
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:iconprofessorwagstaff:
professorwagstaff Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2015
Thanks for the fave for my Legertha.
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