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Nimona
“Quiet villain.
This is the end of the line for you Blackheart.
Not so clever after all, are you?
You thought you were setting a trap for us, but all along it was a trap for you!"
"Ah well, you got me.
Good job."
"We did get you."
"You did. You've done very well."
"Is this another trap?"
"I just want You to feel proud of yourself!”
Criminals
Villains
Capture
Heroes And Villains
Nimona
Ballister Blackheart
Nimona
“YES! a ten!
...eight...nine...ten!"
"Landing you in the Enchanted Forest, which is MY domain.
600 gold, please."
"My Scottie dog will not pay your tyrannical toll!"
"Nimona... "
"He rallied the oppressed woodland creatures and organized a revolt!"
"It just so happens I am a just ruler and am greatly admired by all my subjects."
"Squirrels scale the walls of the castle and bears batter down the gates!
Bloody chaos ensues!
The Enchanted Forest is ours!"
"I'm taking the 600 gold anyway."
"HIGHWAY ROBBERY! "
"Plus another 600 for damages.”
Board Games
Nimona
Crooked Kingdom
“What did she say?” asked Matthias.
Nina coughed and took his arm, leading him away. “She said you’re a very nice fellow, and a credit to the Fjerdan race. Ooh, look, blini! I haven’t had proper blini in forever.”
“That word she used:
babink
,” he said. “You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?”
Nina directed her attention to a stack of paper-thin buttered pancakes. “It means sweetie pie.”
“Nina—”
“Barbarian.”
“I was just asking, there’s no need to name-call.”
“No,
babink
means barbarian.” Matthias’ gaze snapped back to the old woman, his glower returning to full force. Nina grabbed his arm. It was like trying to hold on to a boulder. “She wasn’t insulting you! I swear!”
“Barbarian isn’t an insult?” he asked, voice rising.
“No. Well, yes. But not in this context. She wanted to know if you’d like to play Princess and Barbarian.”
“It’s a game?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what is it?”
Nina couldn’t believe she was actually going to attempt to explain this. As they continued up the street, she said, “In Ravka, there’s a popular series of stories about, um, a brave Fjerdan warrior—”
“Really?” Matthias asked. “He’s the hero?”
“In a manner of speaking. He kidnaps a Ravkan princess—”
“That would never happen.”
“In the story it does, and”—she cleared her throat—“they spend a long time getting to know each other. In his cave.”
“He lives in a cave?”
“It’s a very nice cave. Furs. Jeweled cups. Mead.”
“Ah,” he said approvingly. “A treasure hoard like Ansgar the Mighty. They become allies, then?”
Nina picked up a pair of embroidered gloves from another stand. “Do you like these? Maybe we could get Kaz to wear something with flowers. Liven up his look.”
“How does the story end? Do they fight battles?”
Nina tossed the gloves back on the pile in defeat. “They get to know each other
intimately
.”
Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?”
“You see, he’s very brooding, very manly,” Nina hurried on. “But he falls in love with the Ravkan princess and that allows her to civilize him—”
“To civilize him?”
“Yes, but that’s not until the third book.”
“There are three?”
“Matthias, do you need to sit down?”
“This culture is disgusting. The idea that a Ravkan could civilize a Fjerdan—”
“Calm down, Matthias.”
“Perhaps I’ll write a story about insatiable Ravkans who like to get drunk and take their clothes off and make unseemly advances toward hapless Fjerdans.”
“Now
that
sounds like a party.” Matthias shook his head, but she could see a smile tugging at his lips. She decided to push the advantage. “
We
could play,” she murmured, quietly enough so that no one around them could hear.
“We most certainly could not.”
“At one point he bathes her.”
Matthias’ steps faltered. “Why would he—”
“She’s tied up, so he has to.”
“Be silent.”
“Already giving orders. That’s very barbarian of you. Or we could mix it up. I’ll be the barbarian and you can be the princess. But you’ll have to do a lot more sighing and trembling and biting your lip.”
“How about I bite
your
lip?”
“Now you’re getting the hang of it, Helvar.”
Matthias Helvar
Nina Zenik
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow
“To allow yourself to play with another person is no small risk. It means allowing yourself to be open, to be exposed, to be hurt. It is the human equivalent of the dog rolling on its back---
I know you won't hurt me, even though you can
. It is the dog putting its mouth around your hand and never biting down. To play requires trust and love. Many years later, as Sam would controversially say in an interview with the gaming website
Kotaku
, "There is no more intimate act than play, even sex." The internet responded: no one who had had good sex would ever say that, and there must be something seriously wrong with Sam.”
Intimate
Gaming
Better Than Sex
On Being Ill
“But sympathy we cannot have. Wisest Fate says no. If her children, weighted as they already are with sorrow, were to take on them that burden too, adding in imagination other pains to their own, buildings would cease to rise; roads would peter out into grassy tracks; there would be an end of music and of paintings; one great sigh alone would rise to Heaven, and the only attitudes for men and women would be those of horror and despair. As it is, there is always some little distraction—an organ grinder at the corner of the hospital, a shop with book or trinket to decoy one past the prison or the workhouse, some absurdity of cat or dog to prevent one from turning the old beggar's hieroglyphic of misery into volumes of sordid suffering, and the vast effort of sympathy which those barracks of pain and discipline, those dried symbols of sorrow, ask us to exert on their behalf, is uneasily shuffled
off for another time.”
Sickness
Illness
Sympathy
Human Condition
Hospitals
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
“I wonder, now- yes, why not- unusual combination- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."
"Sorry," said Harry, "but
what's
curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother- why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things- terrible, yes, but great.”
Harry Potter
Voldemort
Destined
Wand
Sugar
“The Oak Forest mushrooms for the langoustine didn't arrive in time, so we've substituted with enoki mushrooms from Champagne Farms. Also, we are adding an entrée to the menu tonight. It's lemon pine-nut-encrusted sea scallops with a celery mousse and my signature vinaigrette. It took three months to get it right, and the end result is phenomenal. So sell it." Alain paused while the servers took notes. "In wines, we're out of the Napa Valley El Molino, the Talenti, and the Chateau Margeaux '86."
Alain paused and, while the servers wrote furiously in their pads, my thoughts wandered. I tried picturing the customers who might have opinions about Oak Forest mushrooms compared to those from Champagne Farms. Did they wear tweed and bifocals? Or were they übermodern with sculpured haircuts and electronic cigarettes? I shook my head, annoyed with myself and my train of thought.
Let the mushroom people be mushroom people
, I chastised myself.
You signed up for this gig, Charlie, remember? You're living your dream, remember?
Alain changed gears for a second and threw out a quiz question, one of his more sadistic rituals during family meal. "What are the six ingredients in the jalapeño emulsion we serve with the salmon?"
Silence. A blonde in the back ventured, "Jalapeño, olive oil, shallots...?"
More silence.
"Fleur de sel, ground pepper, lemon juice," Alain finished for her, giving her an icy glance over his bearish nose. "Wake up, people. All right, here's an easy one. What's the difference between
jamón ibérico
and prosciutto?"
Four hands went up, and Wade got it right.
"
Jamón ibérico
is dry-cured from black Iberian pigs in Spain, not to be confused with
jamón serrano
, which comes from a less expensive white pig. Prosciutto is also dry-cured, but it is from Italy. It is the common man's gourmet ham, which is why we don't serve it." Wade finished with a cock of the head and a high-five with another server.
Alain snorted. "Thank you for the editorial comment. Please keep it to yourself, however, when recommending the melon and
jamón ibérico
appetizer."
He spent the next five minutes grilling the staff on the origin of our rice vinegar, what dessert wine paired best with Felix's raspberry brûlée, and the correct serving temperature of the parsnip purée.”
Questions
Foodie
Ingredients
Mushrooms
Wines
Ham
Restaurant Life
Sugar
“I swooned quietly with my first bite. The dish sang with the flavors of Spain and was packed with chunks of browned rabbit, chorizo, and mussels. It was spectacular and camaraderie crushing. "Who made this? Who possibly had time for this?" I was talking through a mouthful of Arboro rice. "I made this once in culinary school and it took an entire day of my life that I'll never get back."
"Reza made it." Carlo used an empty mussel shell to pluck the meat out from another shell. "He said he cooked it over an open fire with orange and pine branches for kindling." Carlo grinned at me, a dribble of olive oil snaking its way down his chin. "According to Reza, it's the pine cones, though, that really do the trick. I'm sure you discovered that yourself when you made it on the day you'll never get back."
I nibbled on a cut of caramelized chorizo but didn't have the chance to reply.”
Surf And Turf
Kindling
Pine Cone
Paella
Chorizo
Cándido's Apocalypse
“I believe, do you know, we never stop being what we were, young. We don't shed the young self, we just put on other skins, one cover after another, but somewhere in us is still the self we were before we fell, before we started covering ourselves. And all the rest of our lives, we're trying to go back, we're looking for it, what we lost.”
Child Within
Getting a Handel on Messiah
“Between 1714 and 1830, every king of England was named George. They were all members of the House of Hanover, which is in Germany. It rather embarrassed the English to have to import their royal family from Germany, but they didn’t have much choice. They’d more or less run out of Stewarts. (Well, no entirely, but that’s another story.) Anyway, the first four Hanoverians were all called George. To make them easier to tell apart, they were numbered, with typical Germanic efficiency, George I, George II, George III, and George IV.”
Royalty
England
King George
Pearls Before Swine
“The patriarchy longs for the days ‘when men were men’ and women were oppressed, silent and subservient – and they can see no wrong in it. It justifies its former power and lust to hold on to it – and if possible, to regain it by quoting fundamentalist and radical religion and tradition and while calling it ‘love’. Some love! How can oppression and power and complete control over another person's life ever be ‘love’?”
Women
Oppressed
By
Men Were
Silent And
To Hold
Wrong In It
Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe
“Men wore business suits and carried briefcases, while their wives, who were attractive but not sexy, stayed home, raised the kids, cleaned the house and had a meal on the table for the whole family when they arrived home. Both husband and wife knew their roles. The wife would only apply face cream after ‘congress’ was completed and the husband was asleep as it was considered that it could be shocking for a man to view his wife this way last thing at night. She would be compliant and forgiving if he suggested some of the more ‘unusual’ sexual practices, although she might register hesitancy by remaining silent.
The Hippies rebelled against this, growing their hair long, burning their draft cards, taking hallucinogenic drugs and indulging in ‘free love,’ which in reality was just another term to describe the notion that all the girls were up for it.”
1960s
Free Love
1960s Nostalgia
Sex In The 60s
Pearls Before Swine
“Do not expect me to keep my mouth shut about human rights abusers and their abuses in the interests of not criticising their ‘culture’. If their culture promotes the abuse of human rights and elevates one group above another at the expense of equality and democracy, then they represent a culture of human rights abuse. One cannot please everybody, so I intend to stand for those on the receiving end of abuses, not those trying to wash themselves clean in human blood.”
Culture
Human Rights
Do
Another
Elevates
If
Criticizing
Abuses In
Shut About
The Tyrant’s Tomb
“Look, back in the old days, ravens used to be gentle and white, like doves, okay? But they were terrible gossips. One time I was dating this girl, Koronis. The ravens found out she was cheating on me, and they told me about it. I was so angry, I got Artemis to kill Koronis for me. Then I punished the ravens for being tattletales by turning them black.”
Reyna stared at me like she was contemplating another kick to my nose. “That story is messed up on so many levels.”
“Just wrong,” Meg agreed. “You had your sister kill a girl who was cheating on you?”
“Well, I—”
“Then you punished the birds that told you about it,” Reyna added, “by turning them black, as if black was bad and white was good?”
“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound right,” I protested. “It’s just what happened when my curse scorched them. It also made them nasty-tempered flesh-eaters.”
“Oh, that’s much better,” Reyna snarled.
“If we let the birds eat you,” Meg asked, “will they leave Reyna and me alone?”
“I—What?” I worried that Meg might not be kidding. Her facial expression did not say kidding. It said serious about the birds eating you. “Listen, I was angry! Yes, I took it out on the birds, but after a few centuries I cooled down. I apologized. By then, they kind of liked being nasty-tempered flesh-eaters. As for Koronis—I mean, at least I saved the child she was pregnant with when Artemis killed her. He became Asclepius, god of medicine!”
“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.
“You suck,” Meg agreed.”
Gods
Apollo
Artemis
Ravens
Reyna Avila Ramírez Arellano
Meg Mccaffrey
Lester Papadopoulos
Asclepius
Koronis
“Empathy is sickening. It reminds me of funeral salesmen who like ashy-faced owls appear deeply moved by your great loss, while giving Lord God Almighty thanks for throwing their way yet another stiff.”
Empathy
Funeral
Owls
Stiff
Sickening
The Arrangement
“They ordered all the things they'd never eaten before, things from the sea: Venus clams and whelks, potatoes pressed with caviar, champagne and Chambertin, Rex finally pulling the waiter aside and asking for more caviar, making a bowl with his giant hands, the best caviar he'd ever eaten, and by god, he wanted his fill.
They would eat caviar all across the city that week, in fine restaurants and cafés and bistros, mounded in ice bowls, from tiny ivory spoons, spread on toast, on blinis, on eggs and potatoes, but Rex would always return to that first night, his first bite, and how he would never have another as good.”
Seafood
Caviar
Kill the Farm Boy
“Paugh!" the troll scoffed. "Romance. Kissing and folly. Where's the story, where's the philosophy? I'm a troll, and even I can't rip a bodice. You should read real literature. The classics." He held up a book called Ye Olde Clubbe of Fisticuffs. "This is one of my favorites. It's all about, like, rejecting capitalism." He held up another, the spine as yet uncracked, called Alliance of Nincompoops. "Or this one, about a misunderstood genius. You should read it. I'd love to chat about what the true meaning of success is when we're living in a world that values looks instead of substance.”
Romance
Humor
Books
Literature
Fight Club
Confederacy Of Dunces
“As I always mingle with you poesy,with a half lip of smile,my heart is so in frail and mind in ponder,without knowing how to Love you deeper,for what you gave me as another sun shine.”
Writers
Authors
Poetry Quotes
Romantic Quotes
Nithin Purple
Literary Quotes
Nithin Purple Literature
Nithin Purple Poet
Nithin Purple Poems
Romantic Songs
Senses
“Publishing a book,
Watching its ways
Force me to look
At a screen for days
"Be still, be still",
My heart screams for life
But I must check its sales,
It's reviews, its likes.
Another Instagram poet
Who's dying
And doesn't know it,
Untying an underlying
Knot of desire
To be liked and admired
For people to love what transpires
From my mind, but I'm tired
Of the social machine
Producing my insecurity
Hoping someone will follow me
And like all my poetry
From this point forth, find me nowhere,
Socially unseen,
Just on the back porch, without a care
And without a screen”
Poetry
Conversation
Instagram
Addiction
Social Media
Screens
Facebook Addiction
Finding Myself
Front Porches
Socially Unseen
The Crimson King
“The headsman's axe knows not where it is to fall. It is simply a weapon directed by the hand of another."
- Ahzek Ahriman”
The Black Library
The Horus Heresy
“The Moon is not an electric light bulb that you can change with another!”
Philosophy
Inspirational Quotes
Moon
Deep Thoughts
Life And Living Life Philosophy
Moonlight
Natures Beauty
Light Bulb
Electric Light
Dissolution
“She cast about for her next adversary. She didn't seem to have one. The fight was over, and the few surviving hobgoblins were running away.
"Form up!" she shouted. "I want a column with the traders in the middle. Fast!"
Once the procession was under way, Aunrae, striding along at Greyanna's side, asked, "May I know where we're going? An ally's castle?"
"No," Greyanna replied. "I suspect we couldn't get in. We're going to hide our charges in Bauthwaf."
The column crept past corpses and burning stone, and as they made their way to the cavern wall, other commoners came running out of their homes to join the procession. Greyanna's first impulse was to turn away those without ties to House Mizzrym, but she thought better of it. Many of the newcomers carried swords, and she could press the dolts into martial service if needed.
Occasionally someone collapsed, coughing feebly, poisoned by the stinging smoke. The rest stepped over her and pressed on.
Someone gave a thin, high cry, as if at an unexpected pain. Greyanna spun around. The goblins weren't attacking. Her client the canoe maker had simply seized his opportunity to knife another male in the back.
"A competitor," the craftsman explained.”
Magic
Betrayal
Fantasy
Forgotten Realms
Dark Elf
Drow
Spider Queen
The Wallflower Wager
“She had a big, beautiful man at her mercy, and she wasn't going to relinquish control. Oh, she was under no illusions that she had him physically overpowered. He could have flipped their places at any instant.
She hadn't
taken
the reins. He'd
given
her the reins. And that made it all the better.
She decided how to begin, when to stop. Whether to tease them both with grazing friction or grind her hips. She set the pace. It was hers to grant or deny him mercy when he pleaded in a whisper. "
Faster
."
With every motion- slow or quick, form or gentle- her pleasure spiraled higher. Her breathing grew uneven, and she flushed with heat.
She fell forward to kiss him, searching his mouth. Exploring. As their tongues tangled, his whiskers scraped her lips and chin. Her nipples puckered to knots, exquisitely sensitive. With every movement, they kissed the hard planes of his chest.
Bliss rushed at her from all sides, propelling her toward that distant promise of satisfaction. Her rhythm lost all elegance. Her hips jerked and bounced as her urgency grew.
"Yes." His voice was strained. "Hold nothing back. I want to feel you come against me. I want to hear the sounds you make."
His words of encouragement had the opposite effect. For the first time, she felt a moment's trepidation. She'd never climaxed with another person. It had taken her years to feel comfortable with herself, let alone a man. When the pleasure broke, she would be bared to him. More naked than naked.”
Penelope And Gabriel
Friction Between Partners
The Bones of Our Existence, A Journal 2046
“Remember. Materialism is just another bullshit faith. Poetry is fucking alchemy.”
Poetry
Spirituality
Poet
Mysticism
Materialism
Minimalism
Alchemy
Incantations
Manifesto
Darklands
“Some of Batista’s followers intimidated jailed and even killed political opponents. One of the pro-Batista paramilitary thugs was Rolando Arcadio Masferrer Rojas, who was born in Holguín on July 12, 1918. He had been a member of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, organized in 1936 by the Communist International during the Spanish Civil War. Returning to Cuba, Masferrer became a staunch supporter of Batista, who at that time had the backing of the Communist Party. Masferrer was by no means the average run of the mill thug and, in addition to being a lawyer, he ran for office and won a seat in the Cuban Senate. He was also a guerrilla leader, political activist, a member of the Cuban Communist Party, a newspaper publisher, and responsible for the founding of “Los Tigres de Masferrer,” a guerrilla organization he organized to support Batista militarily. He also published two newspapers, Tiempo in Havana and Libertad in Santiago de Cuba.
Becoming a radical anti-communist, he was ousted from the Cuban Communist Party. Regardless, Masferrer was a dangerous man and people learned to keep their mouths shut and play it low key when he was around. As a pro-Batista political activist, he took credit for supposedly attacking Castro’s rebels in the Sierra Maestra Mountains. Actually, in most cases his group of not-so-fierce fighters stayed safely within the city limits of Santiago de Cuba, extorting money from the residents.
In 1959, after Castro’s entry into Havana, Masferrer fled to the United States where he befriended American union bosses such as Jimmy Hoffa and got to know Mafia leaders such as Santo Trafficante in Tampa, Florida. Masferrer worked with Richard Bissell of the Central Intelligence Agency, planning another assassination attempt on Castro. He was seen at a ranch owned by multi-millionaire Howard Hughes, where he was training paid assassins, and he even met with President Kennedy in Washington.
With money contributed by fellow Cubans living in Florida, he later planned to carry out the assassination of Fidel Castro by attacking him from a distant base in Haiti. It all ended when, on October 31, 1975, Masferrer was killed by a car bomb in Miami. Although his figures may be somewhat exaggerated, Castro claimed that Masferrer was responsible for the death of as many as 2,000 people during the Batista era.”
Murder
Mma Captain Hank Bracker
Cuban Revolution
Communist Party
Batista
Abraham Lincoln Brigrad
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