#the night that will live on in beloved infamy

[world-cinema-research]

The 400 Blows/Les Cuatre Cents Coups (1959)

By Cris Nyne

The directorial debut of pioneering French filmmaker, François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows, left a lasting imprint on the timeline of international cinema. To know Truffaut’s history before becoming director makes the film even more of a remarkable achievement. His life began as a troubled youth, engaging in petty crimes and was well on his way to a path of self-destruction. It was in his late teenage years when recognized film critic André Bazin would take Truffaut under his wing and give him a job as critic for the film magazine Cahiers du cinéma. During this time, Truffaut would become recognized as a brutal critic of French films. His infamy stretched to Festival de Cannes, where he would be denied accreditation in 1958. The following year in 1959, Truffaut would get his revenge by being crowned Best Director for The 400 Blows at Cannes. This all by the age of 27. Truffaut would continue to turn the film industry on its head and help pave the way for what today is known as French New Wave.

“If the New Wave marks the dividing point between classic and modern cinema (and many think it does), then Truffaut is likely the most beloved of modern directors -- the one whose films resonated with the deepest, richest love of moviemaking.” -Roger Ebert August 8, 1999

The 400 Blows is a semi-autobiographical tale that follows the young star Jean-Pierre Léaud as the mischievous Antoine Doinel. Antoine is humiliated by his teacher, skips school, steals, and smokes cigarettes while contemplating a better life A life away from his father’s failures and his mother’s affairs. Both parents find themselves exhausted of all options for their son (or the lack of attention they care to provide) and send him off to a school for troubled children. From the beginning of the film, his parents seem to have other priorities in filling the hole in their marriage, and Antoine is essentially a victim of having too much unsupervised time on his hands. By the end of the film, Antoine is contemplating his life outside of the observation center for delinquent youth. He makes a dash for it.

Source: Blu-ray.com

“The movie is full of actual incidents from Truffaut’s childhood, including his fabricating his mother’s death as an excuse for truancy. Few movies have been so personal.” -J.Hoberman, The New York Times September 21, 2022

The movie was well received by audiences and critics alike. He won Best Director at Cannes in 1959, as well as a nominee for the Palme d’Or, the highest prize awarded at Cannes. The French regional newspaper Nice-Matin claimed The 400 Blows to be “A Masterpiece”. The chemistry between Léaud and Truffaut was strong. They would go on to make three more feature films with Léaud revising his role as Antoine Doinel, Stolen Kisses (1968), Bed and Board (1970), and Love on the Run (1979). Currently, Rotten Tomatoes lists The 400 Blows with a rating of 94%.

Original Movie Release Poster

The film is in black and white and is shot in a very personal manner. There are lots of close-space encounters that make you feel as if you are squeezing into the room with them. The house that Antoine lives with his mother and father is very small. During one scene as Antoine is sleeping, his mother, Gilberte Doinel (played by Claire Maurier), comes home after a long night and cannot open the door all the way as it is stopped by the mattress that Antoine sleeps on. There are many fun street scenes shot from different angles- subterranean, street-level, and roof tops, that portray Antoine and his friends plotting and scheming around the streets of Paris. There are a few scenes that follow the main character along a stretch of blocks, and I found myself thinking about how smooth the camerawork was.

During its filming and release date, The 400 Blows took the idea of conventional filmmaking and shredded the blueprint. The director was only known as a stubborn critic and the main star of the film was completely unknown. The script was a unique story, one that, for the most part, Truffaut had lived and had made it through to tell the tale of a rebellious and delinquent child on a bad path. A child that by today’s standards would probably be diagnosed with an attention deficit disorder and prescribed medication. What was once an extremely unconventional approach to filmmaking has now become a standard in delivering a storyline. Truffaut’s confidence in leaping from critic to auteur has left a rippling effect that you can still see over 7 decades later.   

[theskeletonprior]

This Tav Tale was commissioned by a lovely client. Thank you for trusting me with Infamy! Read it here on AO3!

From time to time, in an attempt to appeal to his better nature, some poor supplicant might ask of Enver Gortash, “How do you sleep at night?” It’s intended to prick his conscience, but the fact of the matter is, the higher he climbs, the sweeter the dreams. With all of Baldur’s Gate securely in his grasp, Enver sleeps more soundly than he ever has. A little too soundly, even, given who warms his bed. The Chosen of Bhaal. His deadly Left Hand. Enver Gortash sleeps like a child in a loving home, and he does it to the sound of the softly rattling chains that keep his beloved Infamy from gutting him in the night. Of course, Infamy’s urges are vented well, and vented often, but ever since that mess with Orin, it’s best to be just a little too careful. Bhaal, besides, can be demanding, and nothing thrills that bloodstained divinity like asking for the blood his supplicants are least willing to spend. Infamy tells him that it isn’t the right time, but Enver is less certain. After all, when better to kill a man than at the most dizzying height of his power? And not just any man. The Chosen of Bane. So he keeps Infamy well fed, and chains their gorgeous, bloodthirsty self to the bedpost at night, and every morning is a surprise and a delight. A new thrill.

Sometimes Enver wakes up first, and pricks his tongue to wake Infamy with the taste of fresh blood. Those are his favorite mornings. When the chains hold fast through the night. They can indulge in some laziness without interference. No riots at the gates to put down, and he can take his time undoing the restraints, needling the assassin into impatience, into struggling. Infamy’s wild sorcery is as vicious and beautiful as they are, and it bends around Enver, always at the last moment. It’s an incredible rush, and there’s only one outcome that makes his heart beat faster. There is no sight he’s ever witnessed that comes close to the Slayer as it rips into being. Usually this means the hasty requisition of a new bed, and just sometimes it means the incredible experience of waking up completely naked with the great and terrible true shape of Bhaal’s chosen hovering over him. So far, his contingencies for the Slayer’s particular viciousness haven’t been put to the test. Infamy tells him that this is because when they finally kill him, they want to take their time. It will take weeks to finish killing him. Maybe longer. Enver knows that Infamy’s dark rituals are more like experiments. How long can they suspend some poor soul in agony. It’s touching, in a way, to know that all of this is for him. The most enduring subject so far has lived a wretched seventeen days. The morning, Enver is lucky enough to have pants on. The Slayer snaps his chains as it comes screaming into the daylight, barrelling out of the bed. The force of Infamy’s awakening sends Enver rolling onto the floor, narrowly missing being crushed by the bedframe. He’s tangled in their sheets, and already lamenting that they’ll need to be replaced. This silk had come all the way from Waterdeep. That’s his first thought, even with his heart pounding in his ears. He struggles to free himself, but the Slayer isn’t coming for him. There’s the acrid smell of half-cast sorcery, and then the screaming starts. When something warm and wet splashes onto him, soaking through the sheets, Enver hopes it’s blood. The crunching of bones and the smell of bright copper gives him a little hope that it’s not something worse. It wouldn’t be the first time a would be assassin emptied their stomach or their bowels in terror before the Slayer. Enver unrolls himself at last, leaning back on his elbows to enjoy the show, even as the blood—and thank goodness it is blood—soaks through his nice sheets. The mess quite nearly defies description. The Slayer’s claws part flesh from bone as cleanly as a fileting knife, and it eats its prey alive. There are pieces of intruder from the bed to the doorway. If he hasn’t swallowed them, Enver knows that Infamy will want the hands for their collection. Enver picks himself up, thinking he might freshen up while Infamy has his fun, but the Slayer sees him, serrated tail flicking back and forth. The red ring around Infamy’s pupil never glows as brightly as when they are in this shape, and it focuses on Enver. “Kirnha...” Best to do away with the formality of the virtue name, in a moment like this. Enver slips on his gauntlet, the Netherstone gleaming. He cannot show a moment of fear, and he lets the feeling shift to excitement. Enver Gortash smiles in the face of this monstrosity, and takes its fearsome face in both his hands. “Good morning, my sweet assassin. Did you enjoy your breakfast?” Infamy growls, mandibles twitching. Their tongue extends, laving blood from Enver’s cheek. It’s rough, like a cat’s, a tongue that strips flesh from bone. Every part of the Slayer can kill. Every part. Enver laughs softly, even when Infamy puts all four of his clawed hands on him. “Don’t tell me you’re still hungry.” When Infamy lifts him up, his feet come off the ground so gently it’s almost like levitation. He hums amusedly. What’s a little mortal danger first thing in the morning? “I’ll postpone my audiences,” Enver says softly, “so why don’t we make the most of this little mess you’ve made?”

It’s quite the undertaking to have one’s rooms set right again after an incident like that one, but that’s why Enver has climbed so high. He has a veritable army of doting servants, tadpole-riddled and otherwise, to take care of this for him. This frees him and Infamy up for a leisurely bath, and a less bloody breakfast. Enver stretches out his legs, brushing the tip of his boot against Infamy’s ankle under the table. “Overall, not the most productive morning,” Enver says, pouring himself a second cup of blisteringly hot coffee.

“I’d apologize for the late start,” Infamy drawls, “but I don’t feel like lying to you... And I enjoyed myself.” Enver knows precisely how much Infamy had enjoyed himself. He’ll be feeling it for a few days yet. He blows at his coffee and takes a self-satisfied sip.

“Let it not be said that I do not reward your good work. Although the next time someone tries to kill us in our sleep, it’d be nice to leave a little something for our necromancers to work with, hm?” Their would-be killer is being scraped up, still, no doubt. A touch troubling that an intruder had gotten so close to them. The downside to having Bhaalists on payroll.

“Next time, perhaps,” Infamy agrees, but Enver knows better than to believe him. There’s a certain stony quality to those pale eyes of his when he’s making a commitment he doesn’t intend at all to keep. “I’ll call on Minthara. She’s quite proficient at rooting out dissidents. And I enjoy her company.”

“Send Sceleritas to fetch her, will you? We’ve had a strenuous morning.” Enver chuckles, even though his back feels more earnestly about the day’s exercise. The strange old butler has his uses, he must admit, even if he privately finds his presence unsettling. All the more reason to orchestrate excuses to send him away. Far, far away. Not that Minthara Baenre is all that far from Baldur’s Gate in the grand scheme of things. Infamy’s hand twitches to conjure his butler, and Enver reaches out, stopping him.

“Let me finish my coffee. Then we’ll take a walk, and then you can send Sceleritas to retrieve our favorite paladin of vengeance.”

“Your favorite too?” Infamy cocks his head, eyes too wide with mock curiosity.

“Why?”

“We still have a third Netherstone to bestow.” Infamy’s lip curls into a grin. “She is incredible, Enver. How long must Baldur’s Gate tremble beneath our feet?”

“Oh, forever.” He gives a playfully dismissive flick of his fingers. “Metaphorically, at any rate. I was thinking Sarevok might make a decent option. Since we’re sticking each other with pins.” Infamy gets very handsome when he’s annoyed, and Enver takes his time basking in it. “No, my darling mankiller, we must find your equal, mustn’t we? And who else can stand next to you?” He drains his cup and sets it aside, crossing to Infamy’s side of the table. “Let’s go walking. It’s best practices to let the people see us from time to time. And after that, I’m sure we both have work to do.”

After Infamy, Enver’s truest love is schematics. It’s remarkable how many problems can be solved with the right device. The Steel Watch isn’t perfect. It has vulnerabilities. The Gondians are not perfectly easy to control, and their political entanglement with the Iron Hand gnomes has other potential problems. That runepowder... Magnificent. But the hostages are the weak point in maintaining the Steel Watch. True, the illithid tadpoles have been instrumental in securing loyalty, but he’s certainly learned that they can be compromised. And this is the problem. How does one manufacture loyalty? Gods, he’d even settle for plain obedience. So he spends his afternoon pouring over the current design of the Gondians’ collars. Much as Infamy might debate its virtues, perhaps killing them all at the first sign of dissent does not protect their interests particularly well, overall. He only notices the time going by when it becomes dark enough that he needs to light a candle to see by—he doesn’t allow servants in his workroom. It doesn’t distract him for long. He’s onto something; a new way to use the collars in tandem with tadpole infestation. If he could control his own form of the Elder Brain’s hivemind... He doesn’t hear it when Infamy slips into the room, he doesn’t even see their shadow, feel their body heat. What he does feel is their teeth, which he knows so well by now that he doesn’t think for a moment that he’s in any danger.

“Kirnha,” he mumbles, his voice strained ever so slightly. The juncture between his neck and shoulder throbs in time with his heartbeat. Infamy chuckles.

“It isn’t my fault,” they say. “Your neck is too inviting.” They suckle at the bite mark, licking the punctures clean. “It’s for your own good. You’d still be here at dawn, if I left you.”

“And you claim your rewards all on your own, do you?” Enver turns, catching Infamy’s chin in his gauntleted hand. He drags them into a lingering kiss, tasting his own blood on the lips of Bhaal’s chosen. “I’m hungry,” he murmurs. “Take me to dinner. Then to bed.” Infamy chuckles again.

“As it pleases you, my Tyranny.” Enver has to admit, if only to himself, that the virtue name fits him like a glove. He takes Infamy by their deadly hands and lets them lead him away from his workbench, regaling him with their day’s exploits. Infamy’s knack for human suffering is truly commendable, and his relish in it... They are a force of nature, truly. Enver loves this ritual of theirs. The catching up, the fine food. He can even tolerate the intrusion of Sceleritas Fel, come to tell them that Minthara is returning to the Gate to help their ‘lugubrious selves’ root out the rebels behind this morning’s assassination attempt. But best of all is returning to their freshly furnished bedroom, everything new, and testing the thick chains around Infamy’s wrists and ankles.

“These will not hold the Slayer,” Infamy tells him as he sets the ensorcelled clasps.

“That ferocious form of yours has done quite a lot for me, lately,” Enver says. “So I can’t say that I mind. Although, next time, you could try to leave a more intact body for us to inspect the next time we wake up with a murderer in the room.”

“Aside from you and I.” Infamy’s grin shows those lovely sharp teeth, and Enver leans down, pressing a kiss to the intersection of the y-shaped scar on their chest.

“Yes, yes, present company excepted.” There’s a familiar susurration of chains as Infamy draws him in close.

“If we ever have a visitor who can stay alive long enough to make things interesting, we might have found our third,” they say.

“Oh, hush!” Enver likes to play the scold from time to time. “Lie back. I’m ready for bed.” Infamy can yield this small obedience. Together they sink into the luxury their cunning and ruthlessness has bought, a contented tiredness spreading over them.

“Good night, Enver.”

“Good night, Kirnha.” Enver closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, but Infamy speaks again. “Good night, Sceleritas.” His body goes rigid when he hears the butler crooning in response.

“Good night, my darling Lord of Bloodshed and Murder.” Enver sits bolt upright in bed, looking around them in the dim. How many nights had he slept here while Sceleritas watched? Has that freakish little imp been watching the other things they do in here? Infamy looks at him without an instant of confusion, and then that beautiful, scarred face crinkles, and they begin to laugh. It’s not quite perfect, their life together, but in that moment, Enver couldn’t dream of complaining; though perhaps he sleeps too well at night, after all.

[ajgrey9647]

details about OC list ask:

Drakkon's Perfect World AU:

"Tommy": 🥯 BAGEL — what does their typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast? 🚫 PROHIBITED — do they drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events? 🔶 LARGE ORANGE DIAMOND — does they know cpr? do they have any other medical expertise? 💜 PURPLE HEART — what is their ancestry/genetic background? 🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does they get sick easily?

What does their typical breakfast look like? Do they usually eat breakfast?

As a neglected child, Tommy often went hungry or would be provided the bare minimum when it came to nutrition. Burnt toast with a spackle of slightly souring butter, dry stale cereal with no milk, etc. Unless he physically couldn’t take the hunger, he just wouldn’t eat. Better to hurry up and get out of the house before any fireworks started.

As Lord Drakkon, once he was in power, he insisted on lavish meals with expensive cuisine… a deserved penance for what he endured before, one of many to be sure. Exotic eggs cooked in a variety of ways, crisp cuts of bacon, fruits and jams, fluffy biscuits, pastries…. Anything and everything as he can be quite finicky.

During his second chance teenage years as a beloved superhero in his ‘perfect’ universe, ‘Tommy’ does eat a decent breakfast when he visits with his new ‘parents’, Zordon and Rita. It’s what he imagines a ‘normal teenager’ would consume as he tries to lessen his snobby tastes in the pursuit of living the life he felt he should have had. Cereal, waffles, French toast, scrambled eggs, donuts…

Do they smoke/drink? Do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

His first ‘go-round’, Tommy did indulge in alcohol on occasion, pilfered from his drunken excuse for a ‘dad’. He would regularly swipe a bottle or two without notice due to Mr. Oliver’s intoxication and the sheer volume of booze. He would use the alcohol to curry favor with other teens, to fit in a little bit and get other things he wanted. Tommy was inherently a loner, but it was advantageous to have others in your pocket.

He smoked joints when the mood struck him, not regular tobacco cigarettes. One of the selling points of weed and booze, was it had a calming effect, a ‘dulling’ of his obsessive need for control over every-fucking-thing, without completely zonking him out. Stimulants only made his nutty compulsions worse, hyped him up like an idiot with a jetpack; he learned to avoid that particular habit. Other drugs had the potential to knock him out too much and leave him vulnerable, another huge no-no for Tommy after everything he’d been through in the foster system and in his current hellhole. He’d gotten wasted accidently several times on booze but only because he was learning where the line in the sand was located.

Lord Drakkon would sip expensive, rich wines with his meals in the beginning of his reign. Mostly for sheer indulgence, because he COULD enjoy the finer things in life no matter the cost. He was particular about overconsuming because with this much power and infamy, he could not afford to be intoxicated and vulnerable to his enemies. He could ‘affect’ a state of inebriation, playing possum to lure a foe into a false sense of security, but he ALWAYS had his wits about him. In later years in the palace, Drakkon would partake in alcohol and weed once more, to take the edge off, to relax, but only with Red…and Skull that one time he chanced upon their little ‘movie night.’

In Utopia, ‘Tommy’ doesn’t drink or smoke; he has no need to here because everything in his life is perfect. He doesn’t need to self-medicate, or distract, or kiss-ass. To his mind, the idealized image of what his teenage life should have been as far as being a perfect, beloved superhero…those things were a no-no. It went against the ‘rules’ of herohood, what he believed was the norm for a ‘good’ guy.

Do they know CPR? Do they have any other medical expertise?

The original Tommy had heard of CPR, but he didn’t really pay attention to the details. Most people in his life deserved to suffer and die in his opinion, and he wasn’t about to interfere with their demise if was occurring in front of him. Other times, he just didn’t give a flying fuck… That was life. He did collect quit the knowledge on psychiatric conditions from his many failed evaluations and assessments with every shrink and quack (as Mr. Oliver called them) in the phone book. Reading about the different diagnoses being attributed to him was interesting and he learned to ‘affect’ other habits and behaviors to fuck with providers or to utilize to his advantage in other ways. And learning about all the lovely antipsychotics and sedatives didn’t hurt one bit either.

Lord Drakkon and CPR was much the same; there was no one worth a fuck to save with the caveat of someone like the Coinless Jason Scott, wherein he wanted to keep them alive to prolong suffering. No sweet mercy of fading off into death if he could help it! That type of medical ‘knowledge’ came from experience, trial and error with his other hapless victims. If they lived, cool, they had more pain in their future. If not, oh well. Plenty more to play with.

Jason was the only exception to all of it, leading Finster-5 to having to upload an extensive array of information on human anatomy and physiology and medical interventions and procedures.

‘Tommy’ has all this information, both psychological and medical, but it’s on the backburner since he’s a teen again. Sure, he can be manipulative if needed, calling upon his knowledge in that regard. And in his world, he always saves the day… that’s why it’s his utopia. Nothing bad can happen unless he desires it. Except for those bizarre ghostly beasts.

What is their ancestry/genetic background?

‘Tommy’/Drakkon was adopted and didn’t know his birth parents or where they came from. He can gauge somewhat from his physical features what he believes his ancestry MIGHT be (Native American). But his adoption and subsequent treatment, the insults about being ‘thrown out’, he has no love for his real parents and therefore lacks any compassion or empathy for what they might have faced from any social or medical inequalities. None of that occurs to him from how much he was hammered with the comments of being ‘unwanted’, a ‘problem’, an ‘accident’, a ‘mistake,’… only his rage was fed.

Do they get sick easily?

In Utopia, ‘Tommy’ doesn’t have to worry about illness of any type (besides the mental shit he carted over with him). As he did as Lord Drakkon, he has two power coins and access to Ranger healing so they both are healthy as horses.

Tommy the original design could get sick, but he’d never admit to feeling ill unless he was on death’s doorstop. It wasn’t like many people gave a fuck…

[blueiight]

How do you think Lestat's career and musical style for the modern era will be like? I am very curious about what celebrity musicians they are gonna use to base the personality and career of that man.

i love this question omg. and its pretty hard! idk how much of a need our modern age has for a david bowie& the like who clearly inspired the book’s rockstar lestat, especially considering that being ‘famous’ in our day & age goes by so quick. outside of beyonce & her cohort , maybe bts or them types , theres very few artists in our era i can think of that have that same sort of global reach.. when we also think about lestat’s motives for being the book rockstar lestat which were lestat antagonizing humanity and the old guard of vampires , seeking out the attention, love & admiration of his most beloved vampire/s to the point of one being a muse for a song of his, as well as his repeated insistence on ‘updating’ his brand of evil for the particular age hes in, in iwtv 76 which is in the 1800s vs. tvl-qotd in what was then the author’s/audience’s modern day the 1980s. the insistence on living by his own rules mapped to the era. an anachronistic bratty prince fr. i dont rly have a good sense on the exact style or inspiration behind the aesthetics or music style of a modern rockstar lestat would have , but my semi serious somewhat half thought out take on a modern show canon rockstar lestat’s career path could be that hed develop an ardent cult-like fanbase (but not a literal cult , just adjacent tactics. is it any wonder armand went to lestat+ gabi for vamp career advice) thatd hyperanalyze his every lyric, every outfit, whod blow him up to infamy in part bc his innate lust for controversy helps their very dedicated online presences. n what if he literally blows up on a mysterious concert night in chase center. fans develop theories saying the nba killed the vampire lestat and draymond green on his podcast is like wtf no hes literally a vampire. u have to wonder also how show interview would be perceived in a modern era which ive comically alluded to a few times, cuz another implicit aspect of lestat’s motive here imo was responding to what louis said+ generating a counterpart for the culture in response to the Vampire™️ posited by louis in universe interview. louis wasnt operating on the same knowledge of the vampire g code that lestat had, and u have to wonder how much show louis knows (or omitted, or suppressed by someone/thing) in contrast to show lestat.. so however the show’s modern era v analogous to our present responds to louie lou’s lil vampy book will imo set the course somewhat for our les and his novel writing band starting ventures.

[theroyalthrones]

The Media - Slatler Magazine - Crown Princess Florentia's Dating History

beginning | previous | next

credit:@clanmacarthur

Transcript Under Cut

As most of you are now familiar. Crown Princess Florentia finally addressed the rumors regarding her 

relationship with Crown Prince Dorian Alaire. In an interview with Bazzar, the interviewer asked Her Highness, “ Now that you are back from your international Tour. The World is wondering about your relationship with Prince Dorian. You've gone from friends to dating. The two of you have been linked together your entire life. ” She laughed and said, “ That's very true. We've always been close. I know this might disappoint a lot of people, but we've decided to go on our separate ways. Of course, we mean a lot to each other, But we're just friends now.” 

And she was right, We are very disappointed. Although I still think their soulmates, Let's look back on the others who could have been. 

While the Princess is Romantically linked with a few people. She started with Lord Jonah Rivera. At 16, The two met through the Soccer Program Princess Florentia created with her Aunt, Duchess Tyrell. While on the same team, The two began their romantic relationship. Only 3 months later did the couple call it quits. Although the reason is unknown. Rumor has it that, Her Highness was seen with bruising on her face. Some speculate that the relationship was indeed a toxic one due to the fact that Jonah himself was of fallen Nobility. He may have wanted to use our Princess to gain the spotlight of fame. He has not been spotted for quite some time. 

For the next few years, Princess Florentia did not date anyone. But at the age of 18, She was Rumored to be Romantically linked with Montgomery Faulkner. Who is the twin brother of, Her Royal Highnesses Best Friend, Uma Faulkner. The Twins are the Heirs of the Faulkner Trust. Meaning the Faulkners are the second richest family in Myshuno. Although The two have never made it public that they were more than friends. There are some questionable images that might be evidence of their short fling. 

The Crown Princesses' next relationship is one that lives in infamy. During her years in University and onward, She dated then Stephan Kline. Now Dr. Stephan Kline. Many times did they talk about their meet cute. Princess Florentia stated, “ We bumped into each other. Literally. While I fell on my face, Stephan swooped me on my feet like a Prince on a white horse.” A few weeks after the Opening Semester Gala, The Princess and Dr. Kline went official. This Relationship was the longest one Princess Florentia had. They dated for 4 years before he popped the questions a few days after graduation on their annual end-of-year vacation to Lani. 

6 months after their engagement. The soon-to-be Crown Prince was spotted by paparazzi in Winden with a mistress! The image circulated in the media causing the largest scandal, The Crown Princess has ever faced. The next day, It was announced that the Royal Wedding was canceled. And the Crown Princess herself made a statement on the split. Since then the Palace has kept the relationship under wraps. But around the time of the scandal, Dr. Kline took an interview and announced that the breakup was indeed his fault. But not without blaming the Princess. The night the article was published, Crown Prince Dorian, Princess Florentia’s long-time Best Friend, was photographed punching Mr. Kline. 

Princess Florentia's most beloved relationship was with Crown Prince Dorian. The two had been Best Friends throughout their entire lives Since their parents were also great friends. The two debuted their relationship at the Royal Ballet. The two were always a dazzling pair. They dated for 11 months. It is unknown why they split. Some say it was to result of Princess Florentia going on Tour at the same time Prince Dorian became Regent of Willow. Although we are still holding out hope for the two of them to get back together. Sometimes things just don't work. As they say, There is much fish in the sea. 

[piouscatholic]

[The Prayers of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux]

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

By Karen Barber | June 30, 2011

St. Bernard of Clairvaux lived from 1070-1153 and was a dynamic force for Christianity.

Today his prayers are still used by many.

Here are some of that resonate with me.

“Prayer is a wine which makes glad the heart of man”

[Saint Bernard Prayers]

High and Holy God,

give me this day a word of truth,

to silence the lies that would devour my soul

and kind encourgements to strengthen me when I fall.

Gracious One, I come quietly to your door, needing to receive from your hands, the nourishment that gives life. Amen and Amen.

Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts,

Thou fount of life,

thou Light of men,

from the best bliss that earth imparts, we turn unfilled to Thee again.

We taste Thee,

O Thou living Bread,

and long to feast upon Thee still:

We drink of Thee,

the Fountainhead, and thirst our souls from Thee to fill.

O Jesus,

ever with us stay,

make all our moments calm and bright;

Chase the dark night of sin away,

shed o’er the world Thy holy light.

[To the Feet]

O Saviour of the world,

I cry to Thee; O Saviour, suffering God, I worship Thee;

O wounded beauteous Love,

I kneel to Thee;

Thou knowest, Lord,

how I would follow Thee,

if of Thyself Thou give Thyself to me.

Thy Presence I believe;

O come to me!

Behold me prostrate, Jesus;

look on me!

How beautiful Thou art!

O turn to me!

O in Thy tender mercy turn to me, And let Thy untold pity pardon me!

With trembling love and feat

I worship Thee;

I kiss the grievous nails which entered Thee,

And think on those dire wounds which tortured Thee,

And, grieving, lift my weeping eyes to Thee, Transfixed and dying all for love of me!

O wondrous grace!

O gracious charity!

O love of sinners in such agony!

Sweet Father of the poor!

O who can be unmoved to witness this great mystery,–

The Healer smitten, hanging on a tree?

O gentle Jesus,

turn Thee unto me;

What I have broken do Thou bind in me,

And what is crooked make Thou straight in me;

What I have lost restore Thou unto me, And what is weak and sickly heal in me.

O Love!

with all my strength I seek for Thee; Upon and in thy Cross I look for Thee; With sorrow and with hope I turn to Thee,– That through Thy Blood new health may come to me, That washed therein Thy love may pardon me.

O take my heart,

Thou Loved One;

let it be Transfixed with those dear wounds for love of Thee,

O wound it, Jesus,

with pure love of Thee;

And let it so be crucified with Thee, that it may be forever joined to Thee.

Sweet Jesus, loving God,

I cry to Thee; Thou guilty, yet I come for love of Thee; O show Thyself, dear Saviour, kind to me! Unworthy as I am,

O turn to me, Nor at thy sacred Feet abandon me!

Dear Jesus, bathed in tears,

I kneel to Thee;

In shame and grief I lift my eyes to Thee; Prostrate before Thy Cross I bow to Thee,

And thy dear Feet embrace; O look on me, Yea, from Thy Cross, O look, and pardon me.

O my Beloved, stretched against that Thee,

Whose arms divine are now enfolding me, whose gracious Heart is now upholding me,–

O my Beloved, let me wholly be Transformed, forgiven,

one alone with Thee!

[TO THE HANDS!]

Hail, holy Shepherd! Lord, I worship Thee, fatigued with combat, steeped in misery; Whose sacred Hands, outstretched in agony,

all pierced and dislocated on the Tree,

are fastened to the wood of infamy.

Dear holy Hands,

I humbly worship ye, With roses filled,

fresh blossoms of that Tree;

The cruel iron enters into ye, While open gashes yield unceasingly The Precious stream down-dropping from the Tree.

Behold, Thy Blood,

O Jesus, flows on me– The price of my salvation falls on me;

O ruddy as the rose, it drops on me.

Sweet Precious Blood,

it wells abundantly from both Thy sacred Hands to set me free.

My heart leaps up, O Jesus, unto Thee;

Drawn by those nail-pierced Hands it flies to Thee; Drawn by those Blood-stained Hands stretched out for me,

My soul breaks out with sighing unto Thee, And longs to slake its thirst,

O Love, in Thee.

My God, what great stupendous charity– Both good and bad are welcomed here by Thee! The slothful heart Thou drawest graciously, The loving one Thou callest tenderly,

And unto all a pardon grantest free.

Behold, I now present myself to Thee,

Who dost present thy bleeding Hands to me; The sick Thou healest when they come to Thee;

Thou canst not, therefore, turn away from me, Whose love Thou knowest, Lord, is all for Thee.

O my Beloved, fastened to the Tree, Draw, by Thy love, my senses unto Thee;

My will, my intellect, my memory,

And all I am, make subject unto Thee,

In whose dear arms alone is liberty.

O draw me for Thy Cross’ sake to Thee; O draw me for Thy so wide charity;

Sweet Jesus, draw my heart in truth to Thee,

O put an end to all my misery,

And crown me with Thy Cross and victory!

O Jesus, place Thy sacred Hands on me,

With transport let me kiss them tenderly, With groans and tears embrace them fervently;

And, O for these deep wounds I worship Thee; And for the blessed drops that fall on me!

O dearest Jesus,

I commend to Thee Myself, and all I am, most perfectly; Bathed in Thy Blood,

behold, I live for Thee;

O, may Thy blessed Hands encompass me,

And in extremity deliver me!

[TO THE SIDE]

O Jesus, highest Good, I yearn for Thee;

O Jesus, merciful,

I hope in Thee,

Whose sacred Body hands upon the Tree, Whose limbs, all dislocated painfully,

are stretched in torture,

all for love of me!

Hail, sacred Side of Jesus! Verily The hidden spring of mercy lies in Thee,

The source of honeyed sweetness dwells in Thee,

The fountain of redemption flows from Thee,

The secret well of love that cleanses me.

Behold, O King of Love,

I draw to Thee;

If I am wrong, O Jesus, pardon me; Thy love, Beloved, calls me lovingly, As I with blushing cheek gaze willingly upon the living wound that bleeds for me.

O gentle opening,

I worship Thee;

O open door and deep,

I look in Thee; O most pure stream,

I gaze and gaze on Thee: More ruddy than the rose, I draw to Thee;

More healing than all health,

I fly to Thee.

More sweet than wine Thine odor is for me;

The poisoned breath of sin it drives from me;

Thou art the draught of life poured out for me.

O ye who thirst,

come, drink thereof with me;

And Thou, sweet wound, O open unto me.

O red wound open,

let me draw to Thee,

And let my throbbing heart be filled from Thee!

Ah, see! My heart, Beloved, faints for Thee.

O my Beloved, open unto me, That I may pass and lose myself in Thee.

Lord, with my mouth I touch and worship Thee,

With all the strength I have, I cling to Thee,

With all my love I plunge my heart in Thee,

My very life-blood would I drawn from Thee,–

O Jesus, Jesus!

Draw me into Thee!

How Sweet Thy savor is! Who tastes of Thee,

O Jesus Christ,

can relish naught but Thee;

Who tastes Thy living sweetness lives by Thee; All else is void–the soul must die for Thee;

So faints my heart,–so would I die for thee.

I languish, Lord!

O let me hide in Thee!

In Thy sweet Side, my Love, O bury me! And may the fire divine consuming Thee Burn in my heart where it lies hid in Thee, Without a fear reposing peacefully!

When in the hour of death Thou callest me,

O Love of loves,

may my soul enter Thee; May my last breath,

O Jesus fly to Thee;

So no fierce beast may drive my heart from Thee, But in Thy Side may it remain with Thee!

[TO THE BREAST]

O God of my salvation, hail to Thee!

O Jesus, sweetest Love, all hail to Thee!

O venerable Breast,

I worship Thee;

O dwelling-place of love,

I fly to Thee, With trembling touch adore and worship Thee.

Hail, throne of the Most Holy Trinity!

Hail, ark immense of tender charity!

Thou stay of weakness and infirmity, Sweet rest of weary souls who rest on Thee,

Dear couch of loving ones who lean on Thee!

With reverence,

O Love,

I kneel to Thee,

O worthy to be ever sought by me;

Behold me, Jesus,

looking unto Thee.

O, set my heart on fire, dear Love, from Thee, And burn it in the flame that burns in Thee.

With reverence, O Love, I kneel to Thee,

O worthy to be ever sought by me; Behold me, Jesus,

looking unto Thee.

O, set my heart on fire, dear Love, from Thee, And burn it in the flame that burns in Thee.

O make my breast a precious home for thee,

A furnace of sweet love and purity,

A well of holy grief and piety;

Deny my will, conform it unto Thee, That grace abundant may be mine in Thee.

Sweet Jesus, loving Shepherd, come to me; Dear Son of God and Mary, come to me; Kind Father come,

let Thy Heart pity me,

And cleanse the fountain of my misery In that great fountain of Thy clemency.

Hail, fruitful splendor of the Deity!

Hail, fruitful figure of Divinity!

From the full treasure of Thy charity,

O pour some gift in Thy benignity Upon the desolate who cry to Thee!

Dear Breast of most sweet Jesus, mine would be All Thine in its entire conformity; Absolve it from all sin, and set it free, That it may burn with ardent charity, And never, never cease to think on Thee.

Abyss of wisdom from eternity, The harmonies of angels worship Thee; Entrancing sweetness flows,

O Breast, from thee;

John tasted it as he lay rapt on Thee;

O grant me thus that I may dwell in Thee!

Hail, fountain deep of God’s benignity!

The fullness of the immense Divinity Hath found at last a creature home in Thee. Ah, may the counsel that I learn from Thee All imperfection purify in me!

True temple of the Godhead, hail to Thee!

O draw me in Thy gracious charity,

Thou ark of goodness,

full of grace for me.

Great God of all,

have mercy upon me,

And on Thy right hand keep a place for me.

[TO THE FACE]

Hail, bleeding Head of Jesus, hail to Thee!

Thou thorn-crowned Head,

I humbly worship Thee! O wounded Head, I lift my hands to Thee;

O lovely Face besmeared,

I gaze on Thee;

O bruised and livid Face, look down on me!

Hail, beauteous Face of Jesus,

bent on me, Whom angel choirs adore exultantly!

Hail, sweetest Face of Jesus, bruised for me– Hail, Holy One, whose glorious Face for me Is shorn of beauty on that fatal Tree!

All strength, all freshness, is gone forth from Thee: What wonder! Hath not God afflicted Thee, And is not death himself approaching Thee?

O Love!

But death hath laid his touch on Thee, And faint and broken features turn to me.

O have they thus maltreated Thee, my own?

O have they Thy sweet Face despised, my own?

And all for my unworthy sake, my own! O in Thy beauty turn to me, my own; O turn one look of love on me, my own!

In this Thy Passion, Lord, remember me;

In this Thy pain, O Love, acknowledge me;

The honey of whose lips was shed on me,

The milk of whose delights hath strengthened me Whose sweetness is beyond delight for me!

Despise me not, O Love;

I long for Thee; Contemn me not, unworthy though I be; But now that death is fast approaching Thee, Incline Thy Head, my Love, my Love, to me, To these poor arms, and let it rest on me!

The holy Passion I would share with Thee, And in Thy dying love rejoice with Thee;

Content if by this Cross I die with Thee; Content, Thou knowest, Lord, how willingly Where I have lived to die for love of Thee.

For this Thy bitter death all thanks to Thee, Dear Jesus, and Thy wondrous love for me!

O gracious God, so merciful to me,

Do as Thy guilty one entreateth Thee,

And at the end let me be found with Thee!

When from this life, O Love, Thou callest me, Then, Jesus, be not wanting unto me,

But in the dreadful hour of agony,

O hasten, Lord, and be Thou nigh to me,

Defend, protect, and O deliver me.

When Thou, O God,

shalt bid my soul be free, Then,

dearest Jesus,

show Thyself to me!

O condescend to show Thyself to me,–

Upon Thy saving Cross, dear Lord,

to me,–

And let me die, my Lord, embracing Thee!

[TO THE SACRED HEART]

Hail, sacred Heart of God’s great Majesty! Hail, sweetest Heart, my heart saluteth Thee!

With great desire,

O Heart, I seek for Thee, And faint for joy,

O Heart, embracing Thee;

Then give me leave, O Love, to speak to Thee.

With what sweet love Thou languishedst for me!

What pain and torment was that love to Thee!

How didst Thou all Thyself exhaust for me!

How hast Thou wholly given Thyself to me,

That death no longer might have hold of me!

O bitter death and cruel!

Can it be Thou darest so to enter greedily Into that cell divine?

O can it be The Life of life, that lives there gloriously, Should feel thy bite,

O death, and yield to thee?

For Thy death’s sake which Thou didst bear for me,

When Thou,

O sweetest Heart,

didst faint for me,

O Heart most precious in its agony,

See how I yearn,

and longing turn to Thee! Yield to my love, and draw me unto Thee!

O sacred Heart, beloved most tenderly, Cleanse Thou my own;

more worthy let it be,

All hardened as it is with vanity;

O make it tender, loving, fearing Thee, And all its icy coldness drive from me.

O sinner as I am,

I come to Thee;

My very vitals throb and call for Thee;

O Love, sweet love, draw hither unto me!

O Heart of Love,

my heart would ravished be, And sicken with the wound of love for Thee!

Dilate and open, Heart of love, for me, And like a rose of wondrous fragrance be, Sweet Heart of love, united unto me; Anoint and pierce my heart,

O Love, with Thee,

How can he suffer, Lord, who loveth Thee?

O Heart of Love, who vanquished is by Thee Knows nothing,

but beside himself must be;

No bounds are set to that sweet liberty, No moderation,–he must fly to Thee, Or die he must of many deaths for Thee.

My living heart, O Love, cries out for Thee;

With all its strength,

O Love, my soul loves Thee;

O Heart of Love, incline Thou unto me, That I with burning love may turn to Thee,

And with devoted breast recline on Thee!

In that sweet furnace let me live for Thee, Nor let the sleep of sloth encumber me; O let me sing to Thee and weep to Thee, Adore, and magnify, and honor Thee, And always take my full delight in Thee.

Thou Rose of wondrous fragrance, open wide, And bring my heart into Thy wounded Side,

O sweet heart, open!

Draw Thy loving bride, All panting with desires intensified, And satisfy her love unsatisfied.

Unite my heart,

O Jesus, unto Thine,

And let Thy wounded love be found in mine.

Ah, if my heart,

dear love,

be made like Thine O will it not be pierced with darts divine,

the sweet reproach of love that thrills through Thine?

O Jesus, draw my heart within Thy Breast,

That it may be by Thee alone possessed.

O Love, in that sweet pain it would find rest,

In that entrancing sorrow would be blest,

And love itself in joy upon Thy Breast.

Behold, O Jesus, how it draws to Thee!

O call it, that it may remain in Thee!

See with what large desire it thirsts for Thee!

Reprove it not, O Love;

it loves but Thee:

Then bid it live–by one sweet taste of Thee!

#FeastDay🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

#PrayForUs

https://www.prayerideas.org/the-prayers-of-saint-bernard-of-clairvaux/

[libidomechanica]

“The dove with have you do write of my spouse Nancy”

A sonnet sequence

               I

As thou single wilt thou kenst the stood? For to discover the bright, and me. Wonder why should instrument: and along the lilies. My beloved, through the dye of her grace; which I took the cup. He strict injunction with eyes were o’ the gardens fine, herself, the curling eyes thee, and in. The dove with have you do write of my spouse Nancy. Thus on him not too dear? Come riding up to open wyde. Fed by a garden of love, I the Apes folke orecharg’d with her what despised. Your promiseth, he because it’s what are these not one moment merciless— break the tapers clear day with other.

               II

To those litterings on the blue night I doubt he is her husband, you were parts run and trusty staff, not up, a rose of all soothing thee, and still. Yet with undaunted chase; as fast thou be whose break of their poison from hill and there’s scythe cause whom in vain, and this and with all the wood where thou mayst be done, how with mortals, while juice of my pulse that ye tell your face of sin. Beside the Deuils stedde, that saying it to the cause of the best to live with all the moon up with head upon their tripping still the plasma, listens on things bless trees were pair of glee, all strange going toward Damascus.

               III

Thy love for their fruit. Courage had not love talk to each amiss, yet with her bed and poor soldiery bed has such a theme for ever we brave. Dissemble—thus dancing hand cast abode; assistant spot, the Lady Flora, on whose the sky! Back when he taken me. She pattering still be you meane, I saw a create the one that brutal as if at me: for God, thinke I think of you love, turn unwholesome, and loud apart as what you were about for queen them. Eyes in glee: a poet is why even after a half-opening wheel extermingled powers they say I have done.

               IV

Till tell, blest, knight: in seas to dream and fell like the morning of all her, none. Someone used him, fair, and move! On the sad usage of blue crab from women love to the life to come back again, as he rode between. To come riding upon her love you I under thinke of my head is filled: I saved head of the wind constance. Look up and steal a thousand till Morning, that high sun flame shall every words at all the great halfe aghast, lowdly show the day. But the waves in a leagues and beat me to the wide house by a teares were vice, take thyself, and love, like Love, to be the gravity at worse.

               V

And, so light abode; assistant … I will hit; thou, when near—the flowery nunnery; by silence, this excess, eat up to our cold climate and as the phone where; her love which who can love or admir’d! It was o’ the stars, the broad wake, for hir darlings sparkle language of snow, which thy memory of hell who; as maids you wear, look deep lost Eloisa see! His mouth is, ’ said to look so brimful of fauour, as just casually east-wind strain, i’ll be ador’d, as the whither shene, but the sight, old Susan, she posts shining throwne, and takes her, none. And as a Foxe, as did latch, ne stay’d to her lap.

               VI

But all thy prove; unless I can give? The question’d whole of Patient suddenly from the stroke. As enables man of many a wrong cheered, and cast a fiend hid in a woodman in haste! Come with all the day light of Venus to the clocker, rap, the closed anguisht springing: mercy vould be seen across, and my Love Supreme. And dropped scowling wheel extermination: then Remember I am she laughing drowned him not the stern wind. Thy navel is like any chere: before true, then sith this know? Oh couldst no harbouring woe, who madest him our own selues were was old words with misgouernaunce.

               VII

Why do you open the lingering dead, spirit calls me to the common notion just, nor do aspire, when she’d call, of which lose tops the flying; but Willie had, I wad na gie a button blouses. The close, and this, thou would thy answer, Muse; I teach us how I by their disturb. But infamy and blows his oath, the research, such an ill death; jealous God, not how it, and see if it were a Range of moon the rusty teeth are waking! That through to the village, and thee, and on his height in fresh you want our limbs through Hades, our bodies flee away art resent thee, drop heavily the sea.

               VIII

Sit listens, but kind thee disparaged to the Queen sat lord chief of thing, that she is he wasn’t done, that streamlet wind it feel a ceremony of me; well, if in Susan has all shoulders directed. Indentures: oh gentle darts as ointments flow, i’ll for thy frozen bosom, O faithful Highland layd him not answer the fragrant in the Dragon of love, and the river have give what it law that the true; too well, if in patience till Day! You don’t means, that tongue wad deave a door, and thoughts o’ the shepeheardes shall vertues are a hard-set smil’d, and in the kind of their pleasure, that blood.

               IX

They drank, he saw the said: Trumpets play to love them their day was o’ thee, lies drown me in Sommer season … Take this daughter, some good, and child wrinkled feet; that of wedlock’s bed, as if with vntimely woe, after line some with airy silks my death-like sun in wanting rather then gan his bed, susan, I’d gladly be conduct I resign my lemman with the swan, and in those tickets wound him a cloud of all affliction never we brave gather that are this fond heare within, there it more of Futurism just the sumptuously-feather side. Fingers and vast estates: tho vnder heele was walk you to describe, unless and low, above, below his face: watchet the starry clusters of the savour His—lo! Surely be bridegroom and thus the transistor to Long Knives’ getting better! Angel of beauty’s still Heaven mighty potentates, love’s ghost, sighing forth: thereof are cement?

               X

Get with mysterious pledge’s personality of our husband’s at the place bends ouerpasse, that to the green leaves in Indian ware, and beautifully venomous talking like blood with its deep to cloath so soon the Sand. I have no face with a glad arms and rooks, and then is adorn his heard, I list of the long-forgot, nor needs mighty titles a’ arc empty, after every source of my hell. In silent shade; The time Sonny Rollins disappear! She has voued things this clothed our smile a hard hold, I grant to grant in the judges are as this all her earl; but, Delia, more the stern hills.

               XI

Rich for him thy phantom glue my coat; how sunk in him derive. Purple without breezes reinvigorate dorm. And also living wan and she were his voice more hath now and its Music heard Apollo sing both beare, beneath. Do fight will climb, in think not for the shouting, as quickly make speech. And the waterfall, at poor Johnny and fearful of the Dragon from a star—when the boon the day will; you had a certain finds are bore no thou yields; a honey’d rain. And black was never be enduren of leave high Hall-gardens fine! Know raspberries, with vntimely with ev’ry day, setting.

               XII

Confess, make him, but the struggle cease. But the lives in Heshbon, by the Kidde mought me telling flood the long been to my neere, Cupids dart an image of him be shows me what helpen the watery wise as some beautifies. By your ease and now all for very bed has possess’d, no craving, that all the best I am naebody. Cold fire, world will, till full of lies. Made up a song of all well except for the water. And who care of honeysuckle. And to prize: for when once that trouble eyes or for truth atonement on the fictitious stole his good: the past, the soldier went for you.

               XIII

Tis d’ ara piotis apistei piers his has not the runaway by the Hall those tickets wound, unfree? Tho’ now the deawie nightly dances of th’ all-beauteous though he was obtuse. When our own. Recline in praise; naming in those viewless ill. Never give back my idiot boy. Sleepy one! The briar is calm, tho’ thro’ the stopt with Moll and worn, with his due; my fancy’s springing? The tubes and exorcise the strengthen us to the sufferers, be’t in his Heart, the sky; and Susan Gale? To sing myself, but I found to flakes of lost perhaps sometime do I see her hand, husband weak.

               XIV

While that the salt sea they were mortality consume my heart be his mane, she sees him whom we look, even the edge the abundance upon a weake griefes they were in this throng, the sea. I was beheaded. Helpless, make heed, dear object fear is come with eyes are all the Tombe did we men in wanting each yellow night, while we are over and ugly, wishes the clapt betwixt. With the Nude Descended race. As a child. Everything by all well except on sand an Asia, and ever dream for when, sleep. Sleep must steps of snake: they blush’d: Euphelia’s praise up from Camelot; the horse with sleep.

               XV

By the bottom the longing’s company of love finds, she changed head began to stop here. Some homes of thy shadow where so soon; for it, but keep the spies her man abroad, the book I seen that other running away, my life, and if all my best! Hears not somehow couldst no been dell the plasma, listening, the last sparkling rain; I shaped conjoined his ware, sits sadly? Let me knows white face, those noble hands of painted in some horse, and hark! I care not then, lastly, thought, she talk like it, in your names what I hoped the world, how sunk in his waiting forth, since did should dry as a counter, ghost; he best.

               XVI

Thy lips, na lang, lang line alone survey’d, and so shore—gold rings; changed her; yea, he is with sullen clouds are command; he spot the valley, and set my plunged down heart which do breaketh, trust it touch, and cave and Passion to Paraclete’s while sorrow frae nane, but a woman is over cite thee to thy part he candle, yours throne, crowned rocks. The hole in a diet from Shalott. As the tender gore, he whole of my lichen in the day the base and I, once has made, and in a bore. What she flies unclasp from the offender, but for an Instantly? Which her you speaker now; tis a daughter eyes.

               XVII

Unto the hill on my dress is for the twilight to be; but the prince, but now she’s hein-shin’d, ae limpid lapse to the vale, and fed with what peep and she were. A monster. But not skill. A hundreds of rough someone used wars to hear thee to tye the sun came to hear your rayes! The next are to me was as warriors combustible to thought from my bowels were nobody this thy picture to change eyes slide; the lass of your wife, too boiled and Byron’s eyes and in. Said Don’t they’re born. Of earth. To the Shulamite; returning to quench’d their eyes would to where I sit is flying; come host to his druggy sleep.

               XVIII

And then speaking sun of mine may make him, but torment the pomp of day; then most meet. I know, too, when at the conquerours do fade answer, like mine, that’s in his invisible cloud in mutual pity mov’d, ador’d, as the same be my beads both what hast dove, that nource of her tongue with green figs, and saffron; calamus and fall, and to put me first set me crawled these countryman; with spiry turrets crown all aloud; it had robbed us off a list of the trace in all is frenzy insufficient times see no more dying of the light upon my crafty, as sweets dost thou received me.

               XIX

A human ties, comfort so thy e’en sae bushy, O! Ah wretched wither, bright time for me; plant the Vision meaning like the sun did pant, as the feedeth among the foxes, thou makes breathes a bed is my girls are both for ever charmed heart join’d to Heav’n scarcely lou’d, but loued not ease, doth spot then my father wings; changeable to sing myrrh and know, and learne it is become away, considering to a lake in a kind of time; for light, but better Resolution— is more the soldiery bed has struck upon thy hearts, have I now must take off shoes worn as vilest head of him? They slept.

               XX

I do not thus the close of the moon up with stranger duke or earl; but who, will give thee; since in use, did Susan’s gown, and fresh and lovely her bed. The deawie night, undergrowth; then night in gawdy green birds rejoice in silks my dear. Mine eyes, too depends; so that blights at you for a wife affection is inseparate fear and full perfect all the World but to endearing here lies, and burning sheets, do you know it sends touched in the silver bugle hung, and once to deceits, and the glen sae rashy, O, aboon that I heard the cruel! With a sharpest pangs be drown meek—the like Amyntas—oh!

               XXI

So as on his invisible up your pleasure, or ugliness. The faulte, where a lights, and those cool flower than the blouses. Love not makes me hence, and little solo act-that lady of Shalott. On such delight, that his come a trance, His gallop flitteth at his beauty and obedient wife. From those spotless was of smoke it ends, thy nose and feel the proud of being worth that precepts misspelled, on her man of the tree breasts like a schooled their shore to want our brother walie nieves he’s gart builds her that he haue thee in spring; with love, and in a cold were a mother Earth so sound some with myrrh, upon her fear much of a turmoil of beauty hornes gan newly cut hair which their God his own. It so beaten my eye, so strong Hours indigence; prudence in the quaff’d off thy hair waiting sea! Would gutter ear. His left their vigil like taxing rose needling of a tinkling race.

               XXII

Come, left behind in them like a Duck, so with the why not yet I may pay the force, shee set up a cypress of Love may reach in Washing, breaks and soul so kind, some other beams from the limb that nest and oft the wave is; it seene, the brain. I have washin; but without booke: where nature he stopped. My dying heart with his mine, they misunderstand. And marr’d their shoes would say, but that looks red and shifts, whose noble cold. They taught to use newfangleness bells rang merrier bene, ylike an effort mair than a happy here, ev’n my Abelard an Angel of clean as it breasts benumbing rocks.

               XXIII

That outgrow, like this round, and over, or smilde where to clouding against despised. And two: she hadna sail’d it reminded the surly villanage are you, Love, never the brought they fled, by evermore delights! But to hear the night, you leave cross before: but, forge, the doomed these? ’ The veil that appear where or a young Lochinvar. To sighs, and lived? My loved the said he: nor am I in thee the cock has crawn, and feverish with rocks he weekly-strewings of lost a pure onion—pure unstained principle is tired of boot or spur, that the tiny, clear and it shall such if they see other.

               XXIV

With grass above the many a longinge? For Jewel utterly desolate, because of the salt sea they refusde forth at his glimmering Fish like a doll’s kissing pad, some other gilded beach house for ever- silent sever: tu-who! And gazed: I saved you stay in my dreamful way, so that such delight! Sweet, wee dochter, the great, which He who his curse over the bridal ring, made for the cat hast had forked no determingled grave: there walk you God of Lebanon. Fair as the goal of the paths of pursuing! There will as solemn light loaves in it; of which do in conscience then lets you said.

               XXV

The tree: the understand. So dost thou prefiguring; with reason of orphan saw her, must couple tied her trust, forge, the sweet the should pay. And of pomegranates budded lime in piece of some ruffled pulse receive thee free from the winter reckoning yielded: she, that thou to remembered by some finds you should at his beam must die I will to him well; it is ended. And now she who take him to come a vase your bedded with my dust, nor be my loves me! Long as stand which thou no roses nest. Assist though then think that are asleep. My saucy bark inferior far nor his legs, oh!

               XXVI

And kiss, and thy tender my soul on Cloe not understand neuer giue trust not the placed her thrown of people spreads his pow’r, which it cost nor shame nor you is that burden of science made it now by their pray’rs nor fast. In such if thou hast part, and her, she also who, mixing better for hir darling birds began to catch me to the door, and smelling did the time of many a tear. Voice; for I am come, let’s do that good ointment pushing milk-teeth are twin o’ the dream the criminal. To teach me remover the owlets that I found him her Collar; but word that: and full of diamonds.

               XXVII

And learn the savour His—lo! The pine-crusted snow, which feed the man was his pack, and swig! And that none words, being dead, ever hope whereto thee, or playing your Feet like delights not yet unwish thy life which insphere, that the curling sire and Out- going, we will becomes of kisses. But fastened the Ring of Solomon on the silver, the carven stern kings were buried. Fond love as the skies. And, like a Maying. World seduce, and the leave theme for they’re borne, I marry the blue plume, than a toothache hurts. And feel that he promise your should devise some fresh my heart none to shore up my dear.

               XXVIII

A breath the nerves at the king bit the ground, each otherwise twenty leagues and laid up forever; thy little prods, the murmur to kiss; dead washed with the door, worth did it’s in the high and swift to Heav’n scarce said my Muse to resigned to sweet the dive bar and note, which he brere: and marke how great care hath his due; my spices threescore queens, a well concealed, the man walks, when the moon is not let not tell what women takes there’s not for your farthest bondage made. The terrible as the tablets has gotten, aspens shiver. The generate countenance—like little thou and I maun partake with thee.

               XXIX

It is how much I know that made of the morning’s gray shadowy world, and plate since found the sun-brown between things. To read the mouth keeps vigils pale-ey’d virgins honour, with the clapt betwixt king him whom she look’d downe, or zeal, love best to be lover whether he herd, and Beautie can see! Of Camelot: and moving Morne upon Salámán’s Anguish was the loftier grows of thy dangerous rainbow smiling eyes; that is the Type of The Shah fell silver leaf, or a world except because throwes her eyes which, as soon shall I marriage bed, that was said, Saw ye him much as are overhead.

               XXX

It is most she also to be unjust. ’ Me, if poverty were o’ the golden close of that impressionists do make it wit to beare of his heart is calm of a king hath eyes flames resistinguish was ten color of Pearls the mire of silence thy love thy chaste breast thou to do with appears, and nothing, thou can. But by time, oh could helpe, doe me, as the world of beautifully stony glance strife; beware; for the moon in the warm weather wane. When fires, and I will I have my brain withoute boon, think you to call except the hold up hill and where nature freendship should brooke somwhat to write.

               XXXI

My sun-brown between the eggs both were torn. On the ocean is, then snatch my mouth like a dog, as in Bridal ring, made a new increasing on his wife affects her brother, and bitter, then am I, and other shone that the ways confess’d with something in my youth like a tree living. A longer young and moving point to stop at will triumphantly. Tis twilight bed horrid springs on the warm, he’d calling—come, as sweet show seems to haul up and I, when I’m worse than man woos, what a wreck the others lie fallow, what should turned, she lay in But first Romans chose: Fabricius from thee.

[avalonlights]

Congratulations to these two on their fourth-wall-obliterating nuptials. 💍

[starboundanon]

👀 herbie my beloved what oh what is the opera single luke au???

(Opera singer!Luke is actually one I haven’t shared anything about yet. I guess I should probably post a snippet since I included it on my poll, huh?) In short, it’s a dad!Vader, canon divergent fic. Basic summary:

Palpatine forces everyone’s favorite Sith-Lord-turned-murderbot to accompany him to the opera, where he meets the theater’s newest countertenor: a talented, enigmatic young performer named Luke Whitesun.

Neither Luke nor any of his fellow thespians can figure out why, exactly, the Emperor’s right hand man returns to see him every night without fail, often requesting his presence with the fealty of a devoted fan.

It’s possible Vader doesn’t know why, either.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew who Darth Vader was, what position he held within the Empire that dominated their lives, knew his reputation and his infamy. But it was hard to match the bottomless wrath of the Emperor’s hellhound with the man waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, still as a statue, almost as out of place inside the antechamber to their dressing rooms as the bountiful bouquet of baby-blue starblossoms in his arms.

Vader’s skull-like mask tracked their movements, his black gaze harder to bear than the fear rippling off of Celya like waves. When they reached the bottom, she bowed, her lekku flopping stiffly over her shoulder beneath the heavy weight of their opulent jewels. Luke’s own headdress was viscerally uncomfortable, but at least it didn’t hang on either side of his face like that. He didn’t envy her one bit.

“I-I have brought him, as you ordered, m-my Lord.”

Vader didn’t spare her so much as a glance.

“Leave us.”

She withdrew her arm from his, fingers lingering on his elbow, and Luke loved her fiercely for that. She’d said it herself — anyone who knew Darth Vader’s name would be out of their mind to defy a direct order from him, but her fear for Luke’s wellbeing stalled her, for the briefest, fleeting moment.

Then she pulled away, as told, bowed again, and turned to ascend the stairs, leaving Luke and the Dark Lord alone.

Only once she had disappeared around the corner did Luke gain the courage to speak. It was the third time Lord Vader had visited him before a show, and the man hadn’t expressed a desire to murder him in either of his first two visits, so he was fairly certain Vader merely wanted to wish him luck, as he had last night, and the night before.

“You wanted to see me, Lord Vader?”

“Yes,” Vader said. A moment passed, he said no more than that. Then he tilted his head, and something about the gesture seemed inexplicably shy to Luke. He supposed it made sense; how many operas did the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy attend in a year, in a decade? He was probably as far out of his comfort zone as Luke himself was.

Better to rip off the bacta patch, then.

[mr-jaybird]

virtual museum tour: deeply cursed jar jar merchandise

last night, a friday, i was slightly tipsy at 11 pm when i had a brilliant idea: to search "jar jar binks" on ebay to see what horrible things might turn up

friends, i was successful. i was so successful. please, allow me to show you the treasures that i uncovered:

tongue watch

what better way is there to tell the time than a watch that licks the numbers for you! a beautiful walmart exclusive

koosh character figures

the most 90's thing you'll see all week. and a bonus watto! two offensive ethnic group stereotype characters for the price of one!

jar jar wake up call

the only way to start your day. and nearly two feet tall! let this guy pull you out of your sweet dreams into a waking nightmare

decapitation watch

a watch that requires you to behead a loathed beloved character in order to tell the time. the brain-esque detail inside is a nice touch, proving definitively that jar jar's alien biology does in fact include one, despite all prior evidence

luxurious blanket

jar jar's playful pose will keep you warm on cold nights. practically a steal at that price!

inflatable throne

sit in his lap :) the inflatability of this chair makes it infinitely portable--you can take it to any friend or family member you visit and immediately establish dominance by pulling out this bad boy in their living room!

the legendary candy dispenser

a piece of merchandise so bad, so poorly thought out, that it lives on in infamy forever. for the low, low price of $80, two of these french-kissing jar jar bad boys can be yours forever. tragically, their value is decreased by the missing candy itself

kfc treasure

the energy this ebay posting has is quite frankly incredible. the tongue actually moves! that and the arms are this figure's only points of articulation. a must have for the under $10 range

graphic design is my passion

this incredible piece of art would add character and value to any home. sadly, the frame is not included

high fashion

seduce the partner of your choice with this incredibly stylish item (if your head is so small you can still fit in children's hats). no one of any gender would be able to resist such alluring fashion choices

a beach essential

rub this on your body :) while the listing says "beach towel", it can be used after a bath or shower, if you don't want to have a swimsuit between your body and jar jar's smiling face

angry birds gungans

don't waste this by throwing it at virtual piggies. throw it at your enemies--the physical damage may be negligible, but the psychic damage is immense

a sacred vessel

the ideal way to drink your beverage of choice in the mornings. for bonus points, bring this into work and make it your work coffee mug. an excellent piece for weirding out unwanted coworkers so much they never talk to you again

the crown jewel

no price is too high to have a life-size, photorealistic sculpture of jar jar in your home, and at $6000, how could ANYONE ever resist??? as a bonus, the sale of this item benefits charity. truly a no-brainer

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

this has been the jar jar exhibit in jaybird's virtual museum of cursed artifacts. i hope you all "enjoyed" :)

[jadewing-realms]

zevwarden week - day 6

soooo i haven’t actually finished playing Inquisition yet, so if i have some plot threads crossed wrong, forgive me. i was just really feelin the angst jlfksdf

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Inquisition

Title: ZevWarden Week, Day 6 - Death

Pairing: Zevran x male!Warden; Zevran Arainai x Salem Surana (x Leliana, poly!Warden referenced)  

Word Count: 1,501

Death comes in many shapes and forms. As a Crow, Zevran had come to know them all, to the point they were as familiar as allies and just as reliable. But once he left the assassin’s life behind, Death made itself scarce. At least for a little while.

When it made itself known again, it returned with a face Zevran had forgotten entirely. One that made death a painfully slow, agonizingly inevitable downfall, and didn’t even leave him with the satisfaction of a funeral.

His Warden was simply... gone.

_______________

Death was an old, familiar friend for an assassin.

It was something Zevran had come to terms with on many different occasions - how easily things come to die. Life was so incredibly fragile, to be so easily snuffed out with such trivial things. A small knife. An inconvenient fall. A spider bite. An untreated wound.

For so long, back in Antiva, he awakened every morning knowing he could die that day. He had become so accustomed to the idea that making a joke of death was as easy as making one of life. It made others uncomfortable, and it made the inevitability of death less... terrifying, for fleeting moments at a time. 

After Rinna... well, death had become something Zevran craved. The world was too dark, too unjust, too... too much. When he’d heard of the contract to kill the only two Grey Wardens left, knowing their infamy, he’d jumped at the chance. A certain death, only slightly less guaranteed than doing it himself.

Or so he thought.

His Grey Warden. Gods, that man... anyone else would have relished in the opportunity to off someone that tried to kill him and freely admitted to doing so. But of course, Zevran had to raise a blade against a man who thought living and aiding in the ending of a Blight to be far fairer punishment than death.

And every day since, Zevran found himself relieved that he did. Otherwise, he’d never have known the gentleness of his hand. The thrill of his wit. And oh, those smirking lips... softer than the scars would imply. 

After the day that Salem Surana ended the blight with one final stroke of his sword, Zevran and Death grew apart. The former was far too busy living a life he never thought he’d enjoy. One with plenty of food, peaceful nights, daily affection, and frequent intimacy that meant far more than nights of wild, fleeting pleasure. He, Salem and Leliana... Death allowed them rest. 

For a time.

But such peace can never be permanent. 

The world was bound to fall into chaos again, be it thanks to some other such world-ending event as the last Blight, or to the slow, subtle erosion of his beloved Warden’s mind at the whims of the darkspawn blood that tainted his veins. 

Even Alistair was surprised by the haste of the decline. Learning as he had of the deeper history across Ferelden, thanks to the stores of knowledge available to a king, he’d heard rumors of Wardens who endured Blights having their lives cut even shorter. That, in addition to what he could only guess was corrosion of Salem’s body due to regular use of blood-fueled magics, had to be the cause.

Through consequence of others’ making and his own, Salem was on a steep decline toward an early grave. And there seemed to be no stopping it. Death had once more begun to lurk close by.

There were still plenty of good days, however. Salem had bouts, episodes of nights fraught with sleepless terror and days passed in confused haze, but they always ended eventually. When those moments were passed, it was as if nothing had happened. Salem was himself again.

Zevran came to cherish those respites more than anything else in the world.

But even that would have its end.

There were whispers of a cure. A way to avoid the Wardens’ gruesome end. But such answers lied deep in Ferelden’s bones, and beyond, in the dens of other nations. 

The three of them made vows to search the globe, until the solution could be found. For if it could... Death could be cheated. 

Even if the odds were a thousand to one, Zevran would take them over staring Death in the face, unable to fight, as it slowly came to claim the one he loved.

Thus began a time of travels, long nights spent alone dreaming of the arms of his lovers and days longing to return to them. He sent letters when he could, and they sent their own in return when they could.

Neither Zevran nor Leliana failed to notice as Salem’s letters grew more and more infrequent. 

And then ceased altogether. 

The search shifted from seeking answers to finding Salem himself. Before long, it wasn’t just Zevran and Leliana searching either. Zevran’s world had turned on its head just months before the rest of the world followed. Wars and rumors of wars, uprisings and counter-efforts. Mages taking their stand against the Templars.

How Salem would have loved to see it.

He could have, had he stuck around to watch. Leliana would later write to Zevran of deeper plots unfolding. The Divine, the Right and Left Hands, something something Inquisition, he’d paid little attention to the finer details once he learned that the Divine had informants assigned to the same task he and Leliana had taken on of their own free will. The Divine herself was hunting for the Hero of Ferelden. A new Inquisition required a leader.

Zevran knew Salem would have been perfect for it. But they couldn’t find the d**ned man.

It wasn’t long after that that the world broke apart at the seams. The foundation itself seemed to be crumbling. Rifts torn through the fabric of space and reality itself, darkspawn and demons rampant once more. Echoes of Blights past with the promise of unprecedented disaster, the death of the Divine and hundreds of others at what was supposed to be a peace summit. 

That was when Leliana ceased communications.

In the nights that followed, Zevran found himself praying, to anyone who might be listening, that the Hero of Ferelden would return. It wasn’t just his own personal wish anymore. He was sure hundreds of others still living who remembered the last Blight were sending the same pleas into the ether. 

But nothing changed. He found no signs, even though a part of him had foolishly hoped that perhaps Salem would hear of the chaos and destruction occurring and make some noble, dramatic reappearance, standard raised with sword ready to lead them to victory like he once had.

Instead, the world - and Zevran - was left alone. Floundering in the wake of tragedy and imminent catastrophe. 

He found himself in Orlais, dodging rumors of some new hero, some Andraste’s Chosen, and chasing the tail of yet another fleeting lead, this time seeking some woman named Fiona. In such a place of prestige and pomp, Zevran remembered a time in which he would have found it a necessity to sweep in and stir up trouble.

Instead, he worked alone, met contacts as needed but didn’t bother keeping them. He slept alone, renting cheap rooms with the only stipulation being that they had at least one window, so he could gaze up at the moon and hope against reason that somewhere out there, his Warden was looking up at the same view.

That foolish, childish habit had become a ritual, one Zevran used to stave off the simmering dread that all he was doing at this point was chasing a ghost.

He could feel it again, lurking in his steps. Death, that old friend. Not coming for him, not yet, no, it would never be so kind - even as he found himself beginning to wish for it again when the nights grew long, cold and lonely. 

Death was simply observing. Watching from afar. And as lead after lead grew cold, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had come with a message. One he refused to hear.

It whispered to him as he fell asleep. It said to hang up his cloak, cease his endless seeking. It had been so long, now; so long without word or sign. That never happened for no reason.

He knew the poor condition Salem was in when he left, it said. Could such a broken hero last so long on his own? Hold strong for so long against the beckoning of madness, the thirst of the darkness?

Had the Warden simply... died? 

Lost, alone, just like Zevran was now. No one to see. No one to know. 

Zevran had forgotten this face of Death. In the days he’d known it so well, he knew it by other masks - blood, contracts, mortal wounds, disease, hunger. He knew it by its ending most of all, by funeral rites, black processions and headstones.

This, though. This had to be the cruelest mask Death could wear.

The one where nothing happened. No blood, no body, no last words. No casket or grave marker to visit. The one where a person simply faded from existence, never to be heard of again. The quietest and loneliest Death.

And in the face of this Death, the world simply went on, leaving the few who remembered them not to mourn, but to forever wonder. Wonder if Death had truly come, or if there was still some desperate chance to save them.

Wonder if that hope was still worth clinging to. Or if it should die as well.

[claudiarya]

Hello I’ve written this short fic. based on the clip we’ve got from Shadow and Bone of Jesper and Inej performing, but with a twist!

You can read it on Ao3 as well

Silks, Guns and All the Things Fun (Not) 

Words count: 2898 

The chattering at the Crow Club was thicker than usual and it ricocheted around the lower floor of the building, bouncing off the draped walls. Kaz Brekker made his way there from where he had been dealing cards on the upper part of the club. It had been quite a profitable night, with many pigeons all too eager to let the rush of the gambling go to their head and lose everything. His cane tapped on the stairs as he descended them, an ominous and irregular melody announcing who was coming down those steps. He stopped just before the las two and scanned the room, his shark eyes checking if everything was in order. Kaz saw at least a couple of people flinching when his eyes had met theirs. Good. It seemed that his infamy was the same unblemished, or rather very blemished, story of terror as ever. He had worked all of his angles to make it that way, and he had every intention to keep it up as long as he lived, his thirst for personal revenge too strong to be sated in any other way.

Kaz threw another glance around the room until he found who he was looking for. He approached her, men and women making themselves scarce as he passed them. Inej was in the corner, intent on untangling something thick, the crimson fabric like a river of blood in her hands. Her long hair was tied up in a coil at the nape of her neck as she usually wore it, a light vest covering her shoulders and arms, and peeking from a sleeve he saw something wrapped around her forearm. She had covered her feather tattoo since she was going to remove the vest and perform in bare arms, something that had stirred not little emotions inside the hollow of his armor.  

“I trust that everything is ready,” Kaz rasped, looking down at her from where he was standing. Not surprised in the slightest, as if she had known all along who was about to speak to her, Inej kept her eyes on her task. “Good evening to you, too Kaz. How are you?” Her tone unbothered if a little bit sarcastic…

This girl. If it had been any other person speaking to him like that, they would have run away with a few broken limbs or without teeth. Or perhaps both. Kaz couldn’t understand why, but his relationship, if that could be called, with her had always felt different. Nobody treated him the way she did, he didn’t allow it, but whatever it was that propelled him to always find excuses to talk to her, be near to her when he could, he didn’t like it.

Liar. A voice in his head reprimanded him. him. You keep lying to yourself, Brekker. He blinked. Usually he would have ignored her, but that night he didn’t know what forced possessed him and he decided to indulge her.

“Yes, hello Inej darling. I’ll be better when all of this is over, and we’ve made our profit.”

When the term of endearment had left his lips, she had looked at him with a sonorous sigh. Inej raised to her feet, not really making a difference since she was so small, the red silks now draped on one shoulder, and her eyes peered straight into his. The amber, low lights of this particular floor of the club reflected into her irises, making it look like she had flames burning behind them.

Kaz thought again to himself that she had never looked more like a painted icon of those Saints she so much adored than in that moment and gripped his cane tighter to try and snap out of his reveries, to try and quiet the raging emotions inside. The ridges of the crow’s head unmistakable even under his gloved hands.

“Everything will go as planned: we’ll perform, and we’ll make sure all of these pigeons are probably plucked. Don’t worry.” She passed him, careful to avoid touching him and went to hang the silks she had been preparing.

Kaz promised not to let his gaze follow her but failed. He saw how with a graceful movement she looped one end of the prop into the hook on the wall. Once again, he forced himself not to let his thoughts wander too much and with a slightly louder voice called after her.

“If you’re so ready, where in Ghezen’s name, is Jesper?”

“He’ll be here,” she shrugged not preoccupied at all.

“He’d better be.” He checked his time piece and looking once again at her he said: “We start in five minutes. Go get yourself prepared.”

He heard Inej exhaling loudly. Again. A habit, he realized, she had acquired in these last months. Was it perhaps because she was starting to feel a little more comfortable with this life he had given her, with his gang… with him?

Inej got closer to him, not intimidated at all to look at him straight in the eye.

“I know what I’m doing, but if I’ll be ever looking for a coach, I’ll know who to turn to. Now, excuse me.”

She brushed past him, one instant she was there and then next gone.

***

Fitting how Kaz had found the darkest part of the room to stand in during Jesper’s and Inej’s little show. The sharpshooter had turned up at the last minute, literally the last, when the audience had already gathered around the little space they had arranged specifically for the two of them, and Kaz had already excogitated a hundred different way to kill him. He had of course given a piece of his mind, seething to the gangly boy, who in returned had just shrugged, winked at him and told him that “People love big entrances, I’m making us a favor,” before scurrying to his designated seat at the center of the makeshift stage.

Kaz had come up with this idea months prior, but Inej and Jesper had actually started performing only a couple of weeks ago. He had had to use all of his most convincing arguments to let Per Haskell see how incredibly fruitful this would all be. That old man and his drunken ass…

After many requests from his lieutenant part he had conceded, and Kaz had made it look so as if the leader of the Dregs had had this brilliant idea himself, a thing that had worked out for the best since he had gone strolling around the Barrel boasting how his club was offering entertainments that no other could. A good publicity indeed, and Dirtyhands had smirked pleased with himself, his plan had worked. As always.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw Inej climbing the silks, her fluid movements made it look so easy, as if she was taking a stroll instead of keeping herself up with only her body strength.

“Ladies ang gentlemen, thugs and thieves,” started Jesper walking the perimeter of the free space and catching the attention of the people there. “Tonight you’ll see something that only few would be brave to attempt. My lovely assistant will perform one of her tricks with a card stuck between her lips,” at that the girl in question removed from thin air a card and showed it to the audience, only one part of her body now supporting her, the silks wrapped around it, as the other half hanged from them. “While I will attempt to shoot at it.”

Many gasps could be heard around the room as well as excited whispers.

“Let’s begin!” Jesper said, now with a much more serious tone.

Kaz had to admit it, even if at times Jesper was a total buffoon he knew how to mesmerize an audience, and he had them in the palm of his hands.

The sharpshooter took his position, and removed from the ground a little polished, silver tray. Kaz had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes as Jesper looked at his reflection winked at himself and then kissed his beloved revolver, while exhaling with (fake) preoccupation. Could this boy be more theatrical than that? The Bastard of the Barrel sighed, convinced that there was no end to his second in command’s love for the dramatics. Inej wrapped her limbs expertly in the silks and then with a fearless dive, she let herself fall so that her body was hanging upside-down.

The split second before Jesper could shoot, Kaz’s and Inej’s eye met, and the world seemed to stop for a bit.

He knew damn well that the Zemeni boy was the best shot around, he had never seen him miss. Never. On top of that, he suspected that the little secret he was keeping from everyone, but that Kaz had of course found out about, somehow helped him with his formidable aim. Yet… why in the name of his beloved kruge did he feel nervous for her?

You need to get it together and stop thinking this sentimental stuff. He scolded himself, not for the first time that night.

After a second or perhaps an eternity he moved his gaze away from hers.

Jesper shot and… the bullet struck the card exactly in the middle. The raucous cheering of the audience was what ground him completely again. Inevitably, as if a magnet drawn to the pole, he saw Inej finish her performance with a couple of flips, before landing as effortlessly and elegantly as ever, a big grin on her face. Kaz himself couldn’t help the light movement upward of the corner of his mouth, that died immediately when he noticed how the sharpshooter, now standing, turned around to return the smile, and finally joined her, taking her hand to bow.

That nagging feeling inside him was as demanding as ever. He hated it. He wanted it to stop.

The applause of the people surrounding him turned into a distant sound, as a clear thought struck him then and there. He was never going to have that easy demeanor Jesper had with her, he was never going to be able to take her hand without drowning, he could never tell her that despite all his effort he couldn’t resist the constant pull he felt whenever she was close and that made everything even worse.

Inej’s eyes managed to find his again in his dark corner, the smile she still had lightened her features, but it dropped as soon as she saw what was a very grim expression marking his face.

He wanted to yell. Tell her to keep on smiling, because he felt very much alive whenever she did, like none other things could, but instead he just gripped his cane tighter, and forced himself to look around the room.

When Jesper and Inej approached him after the audience had dispersed a bit, he was still waging his inner war.

“Wasn’t our Wraith amazing?” Jesper asked excitedly, an arm slung around the shorter girl’s shoulders, before adding “Wasn’t I amazing?”

“You just did what you had to. No more no less. And besides, many of these people had already seen this particular performance, so I wouldn’t let all those adoring people get to your head.” He rasped before leaving them standing.

As he made his way to return to the upper level of the Club, he heard the sharpshooter sighing loudly. “You can never win with him, can you?”

“No one can,” was Inej’s curt answer.

He knew her eyes were following him; he could feel it and he never detested more the vindictive and cold creature he had become than now.

***

The Crow Club at that hour of the night, or rather early morning, was deserted. Kaz had ordered the others to go back to the Slat as he stayed behind to make sure everything was in order before close-up. He once again descended the stairs that would bring him to the lower floor, the silks and the other props gone and already been stashed away. As he scanned the room though, he noticed something on the ground, near where the silks were usually hanged. In the dim light he could see it was a piece of dark cloth, and as he got closer, he noticed that it wasn’t just any piece of cloth, but the one Inej had wrapped around her forearm to cover her tattoo. He crouched down, with no little protest from his bad leg, and took it in one gloved hand, the gesture almost reverent.

If someone were to enter the room now, they would have found Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands himself, on his knees cradling a strip of cloth in his hands. He shook his head in disbelief and made to stand up, when CRASH!

Something had fallen and in his fear of having been discovered, Kaz quickly tucked the wrap in his suit pocket as he made leverage on his cane to stand. He saw that what had startled him had been a stool, now on the ground. He passed a hand through his hair in exasperation. He really needed to get a grip.

In the days following Kaz didn’t realize that out of nowhere he would put his hand in his pocket and rub the little piece of fabric between his fingers, a thing that oddly enough always managed to calm him. He didn’t realize it, until he did. It had been a late night in which he had been working for the Dregs and his pathetic excuse of a leader, now scheming, now scribbling and adding numbers. The little thing had been placed on his shambled desk, a trusted companion of his. He had meant to return it, if not to Inej directly, to at least casually leave it where he had found it, but in the end he hadn’t. That night he had sent his Wraith out to gather information regarding a certain mercher’s rich art collection, and he hadn’t almost heard her, almost, entering his attic room from the window. Kaz hadn’t known how he had been able to stash her piece of fabric away before she could see him gently passing it between his fingers.

He only imagined the conversation they would have had if he had taken a second too long to hide it.

You know Inej, I casually found it on the ground but instead of leaving it there I’m keeping your arm wrapping as a stress-relieving token. But it’s not like it may look. I’m not obsessed with you or anything.

Could he be more pathetic than that? Since when had he gone this soft? Oh yes, he knew, ever since he had paid her indenture and she had joined the Dregs, that was when. To make things worse that night had ended with Inej casually sitting on his window seat: her head resting on the wall, her eyes closed. Indefinite and unnamed emotions had stirred once again inside of him, as a very precise, but not really polite word echoed in his head… he was so screwed.

From that moment on he had debated whether to just give it to her and telling her that he had found it but that it had just slipped his mind until then, or continuing keeping the damn thing. A constant battle in his mind that complemented the one inside his heart.

He kept it.

If Kaz was never going to have Inej, as he wished he could, he at least could have a part, no matter how small and insignificant, of her.

That day, his feet carried him on their own accord outside her door, a floor exactly below his room. They had encountered some troubles with some too cocky members of the Black Tips and the whole ordeal had left them all pretty shaken – except Kaz of course – and with two dead members of his crew. Kaz didn’t know why he was standing here, on the other side of her closed door. She might not even be here, he had thought trying to find excuses to turn back from where he had come.

But he knew. He somehow sensed that she was inside her little room.

What exactly was he thinking, what was he doing here as a gaping fish out her door? Did he want to make sure she was okay? See if she needed anything?

Oh yes, because you’ve been nothing but an example of emotional support, Brekker.

When he was about to turn and go back to the attic, cursing himself for his stupidity, the door in front of him opened. Inej stood there, and for once her hair was not tied back but loose on her shoulders, cascading in delicate waves around her frames, the result of having kept it tight in a braid.

“Is anything wrong, Kaz? Why are you standing outside my door as if you’d seen a Saint?” she had asked.

I think I wanted to see you, I’m not sure why and I’m going insane. He thought, but of course didn’t say, too cowardly and bitter to do so. Instead, Kaz quickly put his hand in his pocket, and found what he knew would be there. Gripping her piece of fabric, he managed to answer with his usual lack of emotions.

“Go find Jesper. I found us a job. What would you say to one million kruge?”

[write-r-die]

Prisoner - Part 2

Masterlist

Medieval AU

- Norman Invasion of England:

Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Thomasin, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.

Warnings: mention of rape, a bit of smut

“If you can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to stop you,” Henry said with a wicked grin. “We don’t want the whole camp to hear you whimpering for me, do we?”

“I’ll be quiet!” Thomasin whined. “Please don’t make me stop.”

Henry leaned back. “Go on, then.”

Thomasin sighed with relief and bucked her hips forward, grinding her center against the knight’s firm, thick thigh.  

She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten into the Norman’s tent, let alone how she wound up straddling him, skirts hiked up over her hips to allow for freer movement. 

She hastened her movements, desperately seeking more friction as warmth coiled in her lower belly.

“There’s a good girl,” Henry cooed. His smile was still teasing, but there was tenderness in it too. “My good girl. Thomasin.” She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She concentrated on her movements, on Henry saying her name over and over, his voice growing louder with each iteration. “Thomasin. Thomasin.”

“Thomasin!”

She woke with a start, gasping for air after her climax was ripped away mere moments before it happened. She was so shocked that she might’ve fallen from the horse if Henry wasn’t holding onto her. He was far too close for comfort, especially after that dream. The dream! Thomasin was convinced he knew about it. Why else would he wake her? 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Henry said. He kept his pale sapphire eyes straight ahead rather than glancing down at the young lady in his lap. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” Thomasin snapped defensively. She took a deep breath to calm herself. It was far too early to quarrel by her reckoning, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. “Why do you ask?”

Henry shrugged one shoulder. “You were restless, to say the least.”

Oh, God. “How so?”

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in thought. “You were making an awful lot of noise.”

What on earth did that mean? Was she whimpering or moaning like a whore? Did she call out Henry’s name? Or was she snoring and snorting like an old man as her sisters had often accused her? That would be embarrassing, too, but she’d much rather be caught snoring than crying for a man to touch her.

“You should get used to it,” she said. “I quite enjoy the sound of my own voice, and I intend to make rather a lot of noise with it.” The end of her threat was lost in a yawn.

Henry chuckled quietly; Thomasin felt his chest bounce with laughter. She flushed with anger, grinding her teeth. She usually had such an easy time driving people off. She meant to infuriate the Norman, not amuse him. He knew this of course, and it only pleased him more.

He was pleased, too, that she seemed to have recovered from whatever dream was plaguing her. He could swear that she was weeping in her sleep, twitching and thrashing to fight off her imaginary attacker. He’d tried to soothe her as best as he could without acting inappropriately. He’d tightened his hold on her waist and tucked her up against him. At one point, he even hushed her and told her there was nothing to fear. He spoke quietly so the other soldiers wouldn’t hear him – perhaps too low for her to hear. She’d fallen asleep just before dawn and snored awfully until she started thrashing a few minutes ago. 

The snoring was loud enough for most of the men to hear. Henry had a hell of a time trying to bite back his laughter so he wouldn’t wake her. 

He woke her when it was clear that she couldn’t be soothed because he couldn’t stand to hear her cry. Henry hated weeping women, partly because they were a bloody nuisance, but also because he simply didn’t like it to see women cry, especially beautiful ones. 

It never occurred to Henry that Thomasin might dream of lovemaking. She was too pure for it. He could tell she was far more innocent than she let on. Thomasin presented herself as confident and worldly, but she had never spent a night outside of her castle’s walls, nor had she ever touched a man save for a kiss on the hand. That was all in the past now. She’d never see her home again, and the Cavill brothers, it seemed, had no qualms lifting or embracing her like a puppy. 

“It is only you and your two brothers, or do you have sisters as well?” Thomasin asked.

“I’m the fourth of five brothers. We have no sisters.”

“Five?!” She managed to turn enough in her seat to look him in the eye. “Your parents had five boys?!”

“Yes.”

She frowned and turned back around. “You’re jesting with me.”

“I’m not,” Henry promised. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Charlie!” he called over his shoulder. His brother urged his mount forward so he could ride beside Henry.  “Lady Thomasin doesn’t trust my word.”

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t believe me that we’ve two more brothers back in Normandy.”

“It’s true,” Charlie said. “Piers and Nik.”

“Good Lord.” 

Every nobleman in Normandy near Lady Cavill’s age must be kicking himself for not marrying her when he had the chance. What woman could be so beloved to God that He blessed her and her husband with so many boys, and didn’t burden them with any daughters?

“I can hardly tolerate one brother,” Thomasin said. “I can’t think of a worse hell than growing up with four Hammonds.” Not that she liked her two sisters much better.

The eldest, Stephanie, was Thomasin’s favorite. She had long since left the house to get married, but she was widowed after only a few months and chose to take the veil rather than letting her father marry her off again.

Perhaps Thomasin should’ve become a nun. It certainly sounded better than being handed off to the eldest son of her father’s cousin, a grand idiot with a sword who’d probably fall asleep on top of her. But living in a convent meant a great amount of being quiet and sitting still, and that was simply out of the question.

“Why did your king send you?”  Thomasin asked after a moment.

Henry smirked. “Am I not a good enough captor for you?”

She ignored his jab. “Why you, though? We were sure King William was sending his great terror for us.” It’s why all the women and children had fled the Latymer keep.

Henry wasn’t surprised that Thomasin had heard of Baron Lawrence. He was a fearsome enemy in battle and a devoted subject of his king – and about as kind as Lucifer himself. He gained infamy throughout England soon after the initial Norman invasion by making an example of a Saxon baron who refused to yield. He killed the baron, of course, and executed the baron’s sons when they refused to submit to the new king. That’s not what he was known for, though; that was simply the way of things when a noble family resisted.

He gained his reputation by beheading the baron’s wife and daughters, along with the servants who attempted to protect them. It was rumored that he allowed some of his soldiers to have their way with peasant and servant girls, and that some soldiers made the women’s husbands or fathers watch. 

Such a thing would be considered a war crime punishable by death if King William hadn’t pardoned him for it.

“The king didn’t think you would appreciate that,” Henry said slowly. “He thought you might be more inclined to cooperate with us.” The Cavills were gentlemanly, pleasant, and even-tempered, which made them ideal candidates to deal with the Saxon shrew.

“My lord!” one of the scouts riding at the front of the convoy pulled up just in front of Henry. “One of the lads found a place to camp for the night.”

“How far is it?” asked Henry.

“Quarter of an hour, I’d say. Maybe a half,” the scout replied.

Henry looked up at the sky. It was only the middle of the afternoon, but they’d been riding since before dawn without a single break. “Fine.”

“Thank God,” Charlie said. “It’s damn cold and I’m bloody fucking tired from all this riding.”

“Charlie!” Henry snapped. How dare he use such foul language in front of a lady!

Thomasin wasn’t bothered in the least. “I’m afraid England is always cold. If you wanted good weather, perhaps your Duke William should’ve invaded a different country.”

“It’s King William now,” Henry corrected. Thomasin made a noise of discontent. 

The spent the next twenty minutes in silence until they reached a clearing deep among the trees. Thomasin found a large rock to sit on while she waited for the men to set up camp. 

There were about a hundred men in Henry’s infantry. They split into groups of seven or eight to work building fires or tending the horses. A handful were erecting a tent with branches and fur pelts. Henry stood nearby, frowning fiercely with his arms crossed over his chest again. His tunic was loose, but holding his arms like that, flexing his muscles, made them fill out the sleeves so they were pulled tight across his muscles. 

Charlie stood next to his brother, talking quickly and animatedly about something Henry clearly wasn’t happy about. Good. Let him be miserable.

The bear-dog sat at his master’s feet, wagging his heavy tail and looking back and forth between the brothers as they spoke. He had the size and strength of a hunting or fighting dog but the demeanor of a lapdog.  He soon grew tired with the Cavills’ conversation and padded over to Thomasin. He sat down and looked at her expectantly. 

“I haven’t got anything for you to eat,” Thomasin said. The dog was unaffected. He opened his mouth, let his enormous pink tongue hang out between his teeth, and started breathing very heavily. “Go away, bear. I haven’t got anything for you,” she said again. The bear chose to lay down. “For heaven’s sake. “You must behave far more ferociously for people to respect you.”

The dog followed Thomasin around for the rest of the day, which she didn’t mind at all. She rather liked the thing. It seemed to please Henry, too; he could concentrate on his work without worrying about the girl. Kal would look after her. He could even do things that Henry and his men could not, most notably accompanying Thomasin into the woods so she could attend to personal matters.

Thomasin didn’t know this part of the country – she didn’t know anything beyond her father’s lands – but it seemed hospitable enough. She found a brook with cool, clear water and took the time to splash water on her face.

“Do you have a name, I wonder?” she asked Kal. “Or does your master simply call you Bear?” The dog wagged his tail in reply. Thomasin frowned at him. “Where does this brook go, do you suppose?” she asked after a moment. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, though. As long as it’s away from here.” She spent the walk back to camp plotting the route she would take through the trees when she made her escape, which she should probably do sooner rather than later.

Supper was ready when Thomasin finally returned: The men ate loaves of thick, unpleasant bread and dried strips of beef as they sat in small groups around the six fires they’d set up. Henry had something roasting over his fire.

“Do you like hare?” he asked Thomasin as she came over.

“Yes.” She sat down across from him. “Why did you go to all the trouble of catching it? I’m sure the food you brought with you would be plenty enough for me.”

Henry sighed. “In truth, dear lady, I worried you would complain over the quality of it. The bread has the consistency of tree bark, anyway.”

Henry cut up the rabbit when it was finished cooking. He gave one portion to himself, one to Thomasin, one to Charlie, and offered another to his dog in exchanged for performing a series of tricks. 

“Your bear has the temperament of a housecat,” Thomasin remarked. “I’ve never seen a fighting dog that acted like he does.”

“He’s not a fighting dog,” Henry said. “He’s a companion.” He was looking at her braid rather than her eyes. It seemed a small miracle that it could be so long and yet untangled. But he was more interested in the color of it. Thomasin’s hair was a pale strawberry shade in the sun, but it became a deep, rich copper as the sky grew dark. Henry couldn’t decide which shade he liked better. Either way, she had the trademark passionate nature redheads were known for; unfortunately, her passion exerted itself in the form of aggression.

He wondered if her siblings had the same hair. 

“I believe I’ll go to bed now,” Thomasin announced, rising to her feet. “Sleep well, gentlemen.” 

The tent was short but fairly wide. That surprised Thomasin. Why wouldn’t they make several small ones rather than one large one? Didn’t Henry and Charlie expect shelter?

 She got her answer a few moments later. 

Thomasin was just settling in for bed when the tent flap opened. Kal came through first. Henry had to crouch to get inside. He didn’t speak. He simply laid down on the other side of the tent and shut his eyes. 

Thomasin lay in silence for a few moments, waiting for him to explain himself. He didn’t. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” Henry replied without opening his eyes.

“In my tent?”

“This tent is in fact mine. I’m allowing you to share it as a courtesy.” He was tempted to open his eyes to see the expression on Thomasin’s face. He smirked at the very thought.

Thomasin wasn’t a killer, but she was quite sure she could cut off one of Henry’s fingers and feel no remorse. The man was a savage – an immature one at that. She may be his prisoner but she was not his whore or pet or plaything. But the only dagger in the tent was attached to Henry’s belt. Fine. She could wait until tomorrow to teach him his lesson. Most likely by shoving him off of his horse.

“You are positively indecent. I don’t know what you expect from me, but I assure you it will not happen. I’ll break your nose before I let you touch me. Aye, I will.”

“I have no doubt,” Henry said through a yawn. “Now go to sleep.”

“Do you know what?” Thomasin’s voice was deceptively mild.

Henry sighed. “No, what?”

“I believe your foul-mouthed little brother is more of a gentleman than you, and he is hardly a gentleman at all. Does your poor wife back in Normandy know she’s married a whore of a man with the courtesy of a donkey?”

“I have no wife.”

“Your intended, then.”

There was a pause. Henry opened his eyes and looked up at the roof of the tent. “I have no intended.” He did once, a beautiful young woman he showered with gifts and affection until she quite abruptly broke the agreement by marrying another. 

Thomasin bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She was pleased that he was unattached, but she couldn’t say why. What did it matter? “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Perhaps I shall ask my intended to castrate you once we’ve reached London”

Henry did smile at that. “Which intended? The unknown Norman baron William plans to saddle you with, or the Saxon coward that fled the moment our ships came ashore?”

“You know about Cerdic?” Her voice was more curious than accusatory. 

“Simon insisted we learn everything about you in case your brother or intended or some distant relation came to fetch you before we got to you.” Henry shut his eyes again. “It seems we had nothing to be worried about.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. Thomasin thought Cerdic was a horse’s ass and had once told him so. They didn’t like one another in the slightest, and it was no great loss for their engagement to be broken.

“Tell your bear to come to me,” Thomasin said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m cold and he’ll help keep me warm.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come to him. He stays by my side at all times. Or I suppose the two of us could come to you.”

The two of us! Well at least if he came close enough, she could grab the dagger at his hip more easily. Maybe she could stab him with it. Bastard.

“I’ll allow it.”

She lay on her side, facing away from them. The bear-dog fell to the floor with a great thump rather than taking the time to lie down gently. Thomasin scooched until her back was right against his. Henry lay down on the dog’s other side, his side pressed against the dog’s as closely as Thomasin was pressed to its back. 

“You shouldn’t be sleeping so close to me,” Thomasin chided.

“I was in your room with you when you changed your clothes and you’ve been sitting in my lap all day. I think we’re past the point of worrying about closeness, don’t you?”

“If you toss about in your sleep and get too close to me, I promise I’ll smack you.”

“Luckily for you, I’m a very deep sleeper. You’re the one that snores and kicks.”

“Goodnight, Henry,” she said pointedly.

“Goodnight, Thomasin.”

“Do be quiet, Henry. I’m trying to sleep.”

Henry chuckled; the sound warmed Thomasin’s heart. But it didn’t change anything. She wasn’t going to throw him off of the horse tomorrow; she wouldn’t be able to because she wouldn’t be there. She was going to escape. Tonight.

[ibijau]

hello! can you do 14. for nielan?

"I'm not good enough for you"

Standing in that tent on the edge of a now quiet battlefield, Lan Xichen stares at Nie Mingjue, feeling entirely breathless.

He forgot.

With everything else happening around them, he forgot.

Or maybe he hoped this too would have changed, a voice unkindly whispers into his ear. He hoped he wouldn’t have to face this, the true reason why he gave up on everything, the reason why he chose this dangerous path.

It’s funny how things change with experience. The first time this night happened, Lan Xichen felt overwhelmed by Nie Mingjue’s confidence and gave in right away, feeling as though there could never have been any other options, not for them. But tonight he can see that his friend’s confidence is only skin deep, that Nie Mingjue is fidgeting ever so slightly, as if fearful of rejection. And why not after all? He’s only twenty-three. He’s so young.

He never got much older than this, the first time around. But that’s why Lan Xichen is here of course.

All things considered, he feels he’s done a good job of it so far. He wasn’t able to pick exactly when to return, so it was impossible to avoid the burning of the Cloud Recesses and his fateful meeting with Meng Yao.

If he couldn't avoid meeting the man who became his other best friend, the one in whom he confided without restraints, then at least he's warned him well against Lanling Jin. It's been easy. The place is a viper's nest and Jin Guangshan is a horrible man. Pretending to bemoan the lack of help Gusu Lan received when threatened, Lan Xichen told Meng Yao every dirty secret, every act of casual cruelty, every proof that Jin Guangshan has no regard for others.

("The wife of his friend and ally?" Meng Yao cried out in horror and… even if Lan Xichen fails to prevent the rest, at least Meng Yao will be spared the infamy of marrying his own sister now)

Of course, Lan Xichen still advised Meng Yao to join Qinghe Nie. If he stays there...it’s the best place for him, if he can only quell his ambitions and be reasonable. Lan Xichen hopes Meng Yao can be reasonable, because Nie Mingjue was so glad to have him at his side, a trusted friend for this man who trusted so little and… and perhaps after everything Lan Xichen is still weak to Meng Yao, to the pity he invokes in him. Only time will tell if he was right to repeat this mistake.

Other choices he’s more sure of.

The Lotus Piers was still slaughtered.

It is cruel, and it is unfair, but it is also unavoidable. Nothing short of the annihilation of a Great Sect could have pushed the cultivation world to rise against Qishan Wen. Lan Xichen knows because they all bent their necks when the Cloud Recesses burned. It takes death and horror to avoid the worse.

The destruction of Yunmeng Jiang was less thorough though.

Lan Xichen, after leaving Meng Yao, hid around Yunmeng. He provoked trouble in an isolated but crucial area, forcing the Jiangs to send some disciples on a Night Hunt just days before the attack. The Lotus Piers fell a little faster, but it also ensured that a little more of Yunmeng Jiang survived.

He managed, also, to rescue Jiang Cheng before his core could be destroyed, and handed him over to Wei Wuxian, wounded but alive and whole.

There would be no demonic cultivation to ruin things this time, no dark power to tempt Jin Guangshan and make him murder a fellow sect leader, no heartbreak for Lan Wangji over seeing the love of his life self-destroy.

The war will probably last a little longer but it’s worth it, it’s all worth it if it can save lives in the long run.

If it can save Nie Mingjue.

“You’ve been quiet a really long time,” Nie Mingjue states, bringing Lan Xichen back to the present, a present he created for this man before him. “It’s fine if you say no. But don’t refuse just because you think your sect’s rules demand it.”

That sounds familiar, and it makes Lan Xichen shiver. Was he too quiet also, that first time? He cannot remember. He’s made such efforts to forget this war, and after over a decade of mourning, years of trying to get over the man he always knew he shouldn’t have loved, details have become murky. All he can recall from this night is the way they kissed, the way they clung to each other through the night, and the unparalleled joy of waking up in Nie Mingjue’s arms where his heart sang that he belonged.

Lan Xichen almost laughs.

What a stupid little fool he used to be.

Lan Xichen smiles, as kindly as he still knows how.

“It would not be a good idea, Mingjue.”

Nie Mingjue’s face falls at the rebuttal. He’s twenty-three, so young, and… and he looks younger like this, after opening his heart and being told that his affection will not be returned. Lan Xichen hasn’t seen him so hurt since the day they buried his father, or since…

Since the day, in a few months, he would be forced to let Meng Yao live in spite of his crimes, confused and broken and betrayed for the first time by Lan Xichen.

But that day won’t come.

Lan Xichen won’t let it come.

“Why not?” Nie Mingjue asks, stepping closer to take his hand. His fingers are warm, burning almost… or perhaps it’s Lan Xichen who is freezing. “Xichen, tell me why.”

Lan Xichen’s smile freezes as a thousand reasons course through his mind, before he settles for the one that seems most honest.

“I’m not good enough for you,” he replies, thinking of all those times he took the wrong side, of caring more about Jin Guangyao’s safety than Nie Mingjue’s when that Qi deviation happened, of never seeing that his lover’s beloved spoiled brother turned into a blood-thirsty monster.

Lan Xichen has proven that he never was worthy of Nie Mingjue’s trust, let alone his love.

Hopefully, he can now convince Nie Mingjue of that.

Nie Mingjue deserves a chance at a happy life, and he’ll only get that if Lan Xichen isn’t part of it.

[unusualslytherin]

Suggestions for Slytherin Pride/Aesthetic videos

Since I see almost all Slytherin videos using Marvel, GoT, and a few others, which are fine, but I’m making this list of suggestions for people looking to put in something different, and also listing some quotes from the franchise you can also use for that voice over thing a lot of videos do.

The Godfather - Almost all the famous quotes from that franchise are very Slytheriny quotes. Examples of quotes that just scream “A SLYTHERIN IS SAYING THIS”:

“Great men are not born great, they grow great . . .”

“Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment.”

“A friend should always underestimate your virtues and an enemy overestimate your faults”

“A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”

“The lawyer with the briefcase can steal more money than the man with the gun.”

“You cannot say 'no' to the people you love, not often. That's the secret. And then when you do, it has to sound like a 'yes'. Or you have to make them say 'no.' You have to take time and trouble.”

“Never let anyone know what you are thinking.”

“Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family again. Ever.”

Do I need to go on? IT’S A GOLDMINE PEOPLE!

Labyrinth - Jareth radiates Slytherin energy, like a more dramatic version of The Malfoys, says a few Slytheriny quotes, and even holds a snake at one point. Sarah also says some great lines that would work. A few quote ideas:

“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great... You have no power over me.“ - Sarah

“Everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that the child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me, I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for *you*! I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me. Isn't that generous?“ - Jareth

“It's a crystal. Nothing more. But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams. But this is no gift for an ordinary girl, who takes care of a screaming baby.“ - Jareth

"I ask for so little. Just let me rule you and you can have everything that you want." - Jareth

The Addams Family - Gomez may be a Gryffindor, but 90′s Morticia is definitely a Slytherin...and man that Addams Family Credo “We gladly feast upon those who would subdue us” is such a Slytherin motto, like, “you try to hurt us, we destroy you”

Almost any version of Sherlock Holmes or franchises based on Sherlock Holmes - I don’t care if the Ravenclaws try to claim him, Sherlock Holmes very clearly is using his cunning. If you’re not convinced, Moriarty and all parodies of him work, too. Slytherin Sherlock Holmes Quotes:

“Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius.”  

 ― The Valley of Fear   

“You don't know what a delightful dilemma it was, trying to decide on the most appropriate method for your demise. Oh, I had so many ingenious ideas I didn't know which to choose. So I decided to use them all.“ - Ratigan, The Great Mouse Detective

“My friends! We are about to embark on the most odious, the most evil, the most diabolical scheme of my illustrious career! A crime to top all crimes, a crime that will live in infamy! [The henchmen cheered. Ratigan holds up a newspaper featuring the Queen's picture on the front page.] Tomorrow evening, our beloved monarch celebrates her Diamond Jubilee. And...with the enthusiastic help of our good friend, Mr. Flaversham... [The henchmen chuckle] it promises to be a night she will never forget! [burns her picture with his cigarette. The henchmen gasp in terror] Her last night...and my first, as supreme ruler of all mousedom! [The henchmen cheer.]“ Ratigan, The Great Mouse Detective

“You fool! Isn't it clear to you? The superior mind has triumphed! I've won!“ Ratigan, The Great Mouse Detective

“There's always a chance, Doctor, as long as one can think.“ Basil, The Great Mouse Detective

“Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.“ -Sherlock, BBC

“I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.” Sherlock, BBC

Gone with the Wind - “The Take” mentioned this one. The female lead Scarlett O’Hara is basically a chick who wants to be a Hufflepuff, but is clearly a Slytherin. Quotes:

“You’d rather live with that silly little fool who can’t open her mouth except to say “yes” or “no” and raise a passel of mealy-mouthed brats just like her.” ― Scarlett O’Hara

“As God is my witness they’re are not going to lick me. I’m going to live through this and when its all over, I’ll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.” ― Scarlett O’Hara

“Scarlett, the mere fact that you’ve made a success of your mill is an insult to every man who hasn’t succeeded.” ― Rhett Butler

[aion-rsa]

E3: 20 Best and Worst Moments, Reveals, and Announcements

https://ift.tt/3pIBKUD

E3 may have started as an industry show designed to give developers and publishers the kind of public platform that they were previously denied, but over the years, it’s become clear that the show is really all about memorable moments.

It’s sometimes easy to confuse one E3 event for another or forget which games were revealed in which year, but the thing you never forget are those moments that nearly stopped the show. While said moments certainly include shocking reveals and incredible trailers, anyone who has watched E3 over the years knows that this event is also often defined by moments so bad that they bury themselves in your brain and refuse to leave.

From wonderful presenters who remind us why we love video games to the horrors of giving Jamie Kennedy a microphone, these are the best and worst E3 moments ever:

20. Konami’s Unbelievably Bad Press Conference (E3 2010)

Konami hasn’t exactly been at the top of their game lately, but with the possible exception of the Hideo Kojima fiasco, the company’s lowest public moment has to be this truly terrible E3 2010 press conference. 

It’s like Konami gave all of their presenters different drugs, a live microphone, and only the vaguest hint of what they were actually supposed to be talking about. Between the luchadors that start slapping each other for a few minutes and Thomas Nagano pretending that he had been decapitated, this conference is nearly impossible to watch if you’re at all opposed to acts of public speaking awkwardness.

19. Ikumi Nakamura Delights the World (E3 2019)

While it’s understandable that so many companies heavily script their E3 press conferences, that strategy sometimes results in the entire event coming across as frustratingly disingenuous. Nothing kills the buzz around a big new game quite like having to hear another executive dryly talk about quarterly reports and insider tech jargon.

That’s what makes Ikumi Nakamura’s speech during Bethesda’s E3 2019 conference so special. Nakamura may have described herself as “nervous,” but the energy that she brought to the stage that night can only be described as genuine. I don’t know why more speakers can’t have this much fun with their E3 presentations, but then again, most speakers aren’t Ikumi Nakamura.

18. Keanu Reeves Takes Our Breath Away (E3 2019)

The history of celebrity presenters at E3 is…not great. While most E3 celebrities try their best (with some notable exceptions we’ll discuss in a bit), it’s hard for them to shake the vibe that they are there for a paycheck and that we all just need to get through this together. 

Then there’s Keanu Reeves. Moments after the world learned that Reeves would play Johnny Silverhand in Cyberpunk 2077, the star walked out onto the E3 2019 stage and received the kind of applause pop typically not heard outside of pro wrestling arenas. This was just the perfect combination of timing, star power, and delivery that most E3 celebrities couldn’t hope to match.

17. “Mr. Caffeine” Takes Awkward Presentations to a New Level (E3 2011)

Look, Aaron “Mr. Caffeine” Priceman might just be the worst E3 presenter ever. His strangely offensive humor and forced energy have inspired some to compare him to The Office’s Michael Scott, but that honestly gives this guy too much credit. There is not a moment of genuine entertainment to be found in his entire speech. 

What’s really fascinating about Priceman’s presentation all these years later, though, is the popular belief that Ubisoft or Priceman may have actively been trying to troll the audience for reasons that remain unknown. Maybe Priceman went rogue on the live mic, or maybe someone at Ubisoft just wanted to get fired. There just has to be an explanation for…whatever this was. 

16. Davide Soliani Reminds us Why We Love E3 (E3 2017)

Mario + Rabbids Kingdom Battle may not have been the biggest reveal at E3 2017, but watching creative director Davide Soliani cry when Shigeru Miyamoto took the stage to praise him and the game he worked on will rightfully remain the most memorable moment from that event. 

While most of us would cry if Miyamoto addressed us during the biggest show of the year, the genuineness and suddenness of Soliani’s reaction really helped sell Mario + Rabbids Kingdom Battle in a way that no trailer or speech ever could have. It certainly didn’t hurt that the actual game eventually captured the joy of this pure moment. 

15. Microsoft’s Painfully Long Kinect Reveal (E3 2010)

You can’t talk about defining E3 moments without including at least one botched peripheral reveal, but which botched peripheral reveal to choose? Joe McHale awkwardly suffering through a game of Ubisoft’s Battle Tag? Sony almost sinking their brand with the infamous Wonderbook? Wii Music…Wii Music?

In the end, this honor goes to the Kinect reveal for the simple fact that Microsoft chose to devote so much of their 2010 E3 stage time to show off a device that clearly wasn’t ready for primetime. It’s one thing that the Kinect often didn’t work properly during the presentation – that’s fairly standard for E3 failures – but the moment that a parade of unenthusiastic participants bombarded the stage to participate in awkward white water rafting, fake popcorn eating, and extended yoga sessions, Microsoft ensured that everyone in attendance was not going to buy a Kinect out of sheer spite.

14. Gabe Newell Appears During Sony’s E3 Conference (E3 2010)

The word “surreal” has joined the likes of “epic” in the category of “Words that the people of the internet have collectively watered down.” Whereas surreal used to be used to describe a situation so out of the ordinary that it’s almost dreamlike, now surreal can be used to describe seeing someone eating a Whopper at McDonald’s.

So far as truly surreal E3 moments go, however, Gabe Newell’s 2010 appearance has to be near the top of the list. At a time when Valve was considered to be one of the most clandestine game studios in the world, the god of the PC master race himself took the stage at a Sony press conference of all things to announce that Portal 2 was coming to the PlayStation 3. While the sight of Gabe at E3 on a competitor’s stage was odd enough, this moment has only become even more surreal as time wears on and Valve slowly shuffles away from the whole game development thing.

13. Bethesda Hosts the Perfect Press Conference (E3 2015)

While non-console manufacturers getting their own E3 conference wasn’t entirely unheard of by the time that Bethesda took the stage at E3 2015, it was a bit unusual for all but the industry’s most powerful manufacturers to get their own stage time at the biggest event of the year. Sure, Bethesda was a fairly beloved game developer, but an entire E3 press conference devoted to the studio? How was that going to work?

Bethesda showed everyone exactly how it was going to work by pulling off what could arguably be described as the perfect E3 press conference. It began with shockingly good footage of Doom, continued with the much-anticipated debut of Dishonored 2, and concluded with a Fallout 4 reveal that was made all the more shocking by the announcement that the game would be released in a few months. Bethesda’s 2015 presentation set a new gold standard for game-focused conferences and proved that the right studio could steal the show from anyone.

12. Reggie Fils-Aime Introduces Himself to the Gaming World (E3 2004)

It’s not that there hadn’t been memorable Nintendo E3 moments before 2004, but rather that many of the studio’s most memorable E3 moments earned that distinction for all the wrong reasons. Nintendo had long struggled to properly present themselves within the constraints of the E3 format while Sony and Microsoft were well on their way to mastering the subtle art of the E3 press conference.

That all changed the very moment that Reggie Fils-Aime kicked off Nintendo’s E3 2004 press conference by saying, “My name is Reggie. I’m about kicking ass, I’m about taking names, and we’re about making games.” Fils-Aime gave Nintendo an undeniably charismatic on-stage presence that none of their previous E3 conferences had benefited from. While many of Reggie’s quips would go on to become internet memes (most notably, “My body is ready”) there is no denying that he became the centerpiece for one of the greatest E3 presentations any major studio has ever given.

11. Kevin Butler Delivers the Only Funny Presentation in E3 History (E3 2010)

For a brief period of time, the world got to enjoy the genius that was the Kevin Butler marketing campaign. For those who don’t remember, Kevin Butler was a fictional PlayStation executive who starred in a series of commercials that featured him answering various questions from PlayStation fans. They were genuinely funny and clever adverts that broke the mold of awkward video game commercials in a big way.

While actor Jerry Lambert’s appearance at E3 2010 as the one and only Kevin Butler could have been an utter disaster, it instead turned out to be one of the few attempts at a funny E3 presentation that was actually funny. Actually, it might be the only comedic E3 presentation to not completely bomb. Butler quip that “Gaming is having a ridiculously huge TV in a tiny one-bedroom apartment” and still lives in infamy.

Read more

Games

E3 2021 Predictions: Big Announcements That Will Steal the Show

By Matthew Byrd

Games

E3 2021 Leaks: Nintendo Switch Pro, Battlefield 2042, Final Fantasy Origin, Marvel, and More

By John Saavedra

10. Jamie Kennedy Secures His Status As the Worst E3 Celebrity Presenter Ever (E3 2007)

On the complete opposite end of the Kevin Butler presentation, we have Mr. Jamie Kennedy. Now, some of you fortunate souls may have never heard of Kennedy. If that is the case, just know that Kennedy was a self-stylized comedian who specialized in mocking other people. For instance, if he noticed you were a larger individual, he may make a remark about your excess fat and proceed to make a 50-year-old observation about how it could affect your daily life. He presumably made millions of dollars doing this.

Kennedy’s career low point may be the moment that he drunkenly took the stage at Activision’s E3 2007 conference and proceeded to put on a miniature comedy spectacle that only those with an abnormal tolerance for awkward comedy will ever be able to watch in full. It was bad enough that Kennedy wasn’t funny (“Neversoft…wasn’t that the first name for Viagra?”), but when he resorted to insulting the audience and industry, he ensured that he would become the gold standard for awkward E3 celebrity presenters.

9. The Final Fantasy VII Remake Genuinely Surprises Millions (E3 2015)

At a certain point, video game wishes turn into inside jokes. The most obvious example of this phenomenon is certainly Half-Life 3, but there are many games which fans dream of and talk about for so long that they eventually become memes. For years, Final Fantasy VII‘s remake was such a game. Square Enix had used footage of such a title as part of a tech demo, but fans long stopped believing the studio would actually make it.

That is until E3 2015 when Final Fantasy fans across the world were suddenly looking at a very real remake of Final Fantasy VII. This is a deceivingly simple moment in the history of E3 that is amplified by just how rare it is for a game like Final Fantasy VII to actually appear at E3. While the remake still isn’t out yet – which is rarely a great sign – the moment of the reveal itself really summarizes why E3 is sometimes a very special event

8. Half-Life 2 Exceeds Impossible Expectations (E3 2003)

In 2003, Half-Life 2 was about as mythical to the average gamer as Half-Life 3 is now. Most people knew that Valve was going to release a new Half-Life, but few felt that there was any chance of the sequel surpassing the standard the original had set. Half-Life was one of the most revolutionary games ever made. To convince everyone that Half-Life 2 was going to be just as special, Valve would have needed to put together quite the presentation.

So, that’s what they did. The first Half-Life 2 footage showcased things that gamers simply had never seen before. True physics-based combat, the innovative gravity gun, A.I. that felt dynamic, and seamless cinematic storytelling all highlighted a roughly 20-minute video that left gamers feeling like they’d just seen the exciting future of the industry play out before their eyes. It’s everything you hope a major game reveal will be.

7. A Single Battle Nearly Determines the Xbox One/PlayStation 4 Console War (E3 2013)

At E3 2013, Microsoft and Sony were scheduled to reveal their respective next-gen consoles. Microsoft, who was coming off the wildly successful Xbox 360, kicked off the festivities with an Xbox One presentation that many have since described as the company’s biggest failure. The initial Xbox One design was not only expensive and reliant on the controversial Kinect but required users to always be online, wasn’t backward compatible, and may or may not have allowed people to play used games. It was a spectacular PR disaster.

Sony followed that up with a PS4 reveal that was simply sublime. Not only was the PlayStation 4 cheaper than the Xbox One, but Sony even modified its planned conference in ways that allowed them to take plenty of shots at Microsoft’s failed Xbox One reveal. It was a presentation designed to please the masses and it succeeded in every way possible. While many E3s feature console war battles, few battles have ever ended up dictating the success of individual consoles quite the way that this one did.

6. For Better and Worse, the Halo 2 Reveal Sets a New Standard (E3 2003)

You had to be around for Halo to truly appreciate what Halo meant. Halo not only gave millions a reason to buy the Xbox; it showed those same gamers that consoles could offer up a first-person shooter experience largely free from compromise. It was a unique title that became a true phenomenon in a matter of weeks. Needless to say, the hype surrounding an eventual sequel was at a fevered pitch by the time E3 2003 rolled around.

The Halo 2 reveal represents the good and bad of E3 game reveals. The good is obviously the moment of the reveal itself. The first footage of Halo 2 received an audible “pop” of applause typically reserved for major moments during championship games. It was a wave of relief and anticipation just gushing out at full force. On the bad side of things is what happened after the incredible footage aired. Bungie later admitted that they could not replicate the footage that they showed at E3 and had to basically rebuild Halo 2 from scratch. The success of the Halo 2 reveal and the unreasonable hype it generated has come to be all too typical.

5. The Zelda: Twilight Princess Trailer Caps off Nintendo’s Greatest E3 Presentation (E3 2004)

It’s easy to make fun of Nintendo. Fun, too. For instance, one could say something like, “Why did Nintendo cross the road? Because it was the least efficient way possible of getting to where they were going.” For as many, many mistakes as Nintendo has made at E3 over the years, the company’s 2004 presentation stands as the company’s one perfect presentation. Not only did it feature the aforementioned Reggie Fils-Aime introduction, but it introduced gamers to the Nintendo DS (arguably the greatest handheld gaming device ever made) and even offered up the first public reference to the console that would become the Nintendo Wii.

However, the best was certainly saved for last. At a time when many Zelda fans were still upset that Nintendo had abandoned a more mature style of Zelda game in favor of Wind Waker’s Saturday morning cartoon visuals, Nintendo came along and debuted the decidedly mature and dark first trailer for Twilight Princess. The reveal was topped off by Shigeru Miyamoto gracing the stage with shield and sword gleefully in hand. It was the kind of moment that only Nintendo could deliver.

4. Killzone 2’s First Footage Kicks Off 12+ Years of Trailer Controversy (E3 2005)

In many ways, E3 is about hope. Those that watch it are certainly hoping they will see great games revealed for the first time, but they also hope that E3 will show them something entirely unexpected. Not a game or a console necessarily, but rather a brief glimpse into an unimaginable future. In 2005, Sony offered that window into the future when they revealed the first trailer for Killzone 2. To say that Killzone 2 looked better than any other game on the market at that time would be a drastic understatement. Killzone 2 looked like it was hand-delivered from 10 years into the future.

Actually, that’s not too far off. Right after the Killzone 2 footage stopped rolling, speculation concerning the authenticity of the footage began. The conversation that followed included phrases like “in-engine footage” that have now become all too commonplace in a world where doctored trailers are perfectly normal. For better or worse, the Killzone 2 footage was a true innovator.

3. Sony Almost Kills the PlayStation Brand with One Awful Presentation (E3 2006)

We’ve picked on Microsoft’s bad E3 presentations a couple of times throughout this list – with good reason, mind you – but in the interest of complete fairness, let’s talk about why no company’s E3 presentation will ever be quite as disastrous as Sony’s E3 2006 spectacular. Sony’s 2006 E3 conference revolved around the formal reveal of the PlayStation 3. Given that the PlayStation 2 was far and away the world’s most popular console, the reveal of the PlayStation 3 should have been a simple way for Sony to retain its market dominance.

Instead, they seemingly went out of their way to sink the PlayStation name. It began humbly enough with the reveal of the PlayStation 3’s gaudy $599 price point (for the top tier model) and continued when the Genji development team promised to show us a game based on authentic Japanese history before revealing footage of players attacking a giant enemy crab’s glowing weak point for massive damage. This is also the conference that gave us the “Riiiiiiddddgggee Racer!” meme, the world’s dullest tech footage, and the promise of a gimmick-free console that was immediately undone by the introduction of three or four major console gimmicks.

2. Metal Gear Solid 2 Makes Games the Star of E3 (E3 2000)

In its early days, E3 was much more of a traditional industry trade show. While early E3 conventions featured occasional surprises, big announcements, and all the usual spectacle, the first E3 shows didn’t really emphasize the excitement of individual game reveals. Generally speaking, technology and industry ruled the day.

In many ways, Metal Gear Solid 2 changed that dynamic. The Metal Gear Solid 2 trailer shown at E3 2000 was long (over 19 minutes), traditionally cinematic, and entirely devoid of developer voiceover. It wasn’t quite the kind of trailer you’d expect to precede the release of a major film, but it was certainly different from any game trailer released before it. Even people who didn’t care about Metal Gear Solid walked away from the event talking about this footage. From that point on, developers knew that a single game could dominate E3 headlines.

1. Sony Establishes Two Dynasties with a Single Number (E3 1995)

In some ways, it’s appropriate that the very first E3 featured the definitive E3 moment. Then again, given how much E3 has evolved over the years, it’s also somewhat surprising that no moment has ever topped this showstopping reveal.

It began with the Sega Saturn. Sega took to the humble E3 1995 stage and debuted a sizzle reel of all the great things the Sega Saturn could do and how it would change the world forever. It was your standard E3 presentation complete with awkward live-action segments. Shortly thereafter, a Sega exec informed those in attendance that they could purchase the Sega Saturn right now for the low price of $399. He then confidently exited the stage at which point the gentleman from Sony took to the platform, said “$299,” and exited. By undercutting the Sega Saturn by $100, Sony sealed the fate of the Sega Saturn in North America. In the process, they kicked off an entirely new era of gaming and established E3 as the one must-watch show every year.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post E3: 20 Best and Worst Moments, Reveals, and Announcements appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3xgfp34