piece of flesh

anonymous asked:

when we were in sex ed in middle school, our teacher told us about the wife who cut off her husband's penis. None of us believed her so we looked it up on our iPads and I'll bet you could hear screams down the block bc holy shit there was a picture of the bloody penis chunk on fucking Google. I don't even know how that got through the internet filters. Everyone was screaming bc 1 none of the girls had ever seen a penis, let alone a bloody one 2 nobody had seen a dismembered piece of flesh before

That’s the right way to teach sex Ed 😂


Gemini’s meal squeals once again, a sound of intense pain and desperation. 

Aries annoyed: Stop feeding, Gemini. This is serious.

The feed drops to her feet, clutching his throat for air, desperate to hold onto his life.

Gemini cold: Humans cannot see the serpent. Not unless we reveal ourselves entirely to them. And I know…I KNOW…you would not reveal yourself to a piece of human flesh.

Aries: Leo, she noticed our eyes but they all can when they are with us in the Hollow. 

Leo: She made no mention of my eyes. She asked about the serpent, mine and yours.

Gemini puts her hands on her hips. This was too much, Leo was venturing into things beyond comprehension.

Gemini: Aries, punish him! Punish him for speaking this way, like an attention seeking child!

Aries quietly: Leo, you leave me no choice but to discipline you. You are speaking with irreverence, you are bordering on profane. Continue to speak this way and I will severely punish you. Words like yours could even be brought to the Liderii.

Leo serious: Forgive me, brother. It’s not my intention to be profane. But you can ask Cadi if you don’t believe me. She heard it herself. Shannon can see the serpent. Not only mine, but she mentioned yours.

Aries fierce: How? How? It’s impossible. Humans cannot see us. Especially not me. I am too POWERFUL.

Leo softly: She may not be entirely human. She may be Floare.

A round of Cthullu

So we were in this really nasty church once, rotten all over and there was a corps hanging from the ceiling. The stench was terrible.

DM: Roll on constitution.
Me and two others: Critical success
Our highest ranked officer: Fail
DM: You throw up.
Officer: I throw up into the nearest bowl.
DM: You throw up into the holy water pool.

-we proceed into the church. 2 of us leave to scout. Me (medic) and the officer stay.-

Officer: Can you find out what killed the guy up there?
Me: Sure, but we’d had to get him down.
Officer: I check the altar.
DM: It’s pretty gross, there are pieces of rotten flesh all over the altar aswell as dried up blood.
DM: Roll on constitution.
Officer: Fails again.
DM: You throw up.
Officer: -points at me- I throw up on him.
Me: I roll on dodge. I fail pretty badly.
DM: The officer throws up all over you. Roll on constitution.
Me: Failed the roll pretty badly.

DM: I hate you.

anonymous asked:

can you pls write something based on this au picspam? policevest tumblr address post slash 47518700056 slash castle-au-castle-meets-an-angel-gina-torres-and

Post anon is referring to:

Castle meets an angel (Gina Torres) and works out a deal with her to bring Johanna Beckett (Mary Steenburgen) back to life. But there’s a catch…he has to die instead. A life for a life, and eventually no one will remember that he existed. Once Beckett realizes what Castle did, she desperately tries to find a way for both Johanna and Castle to live, before she loses all her memories of him.


(A/N: all credit for both this brilliant idea and artwork above goes to @policevest. I own nothing except the words below.)


He watches her sleep from his spot in her bed, brushing her hair back from her forehead, feeling his heart clench painfully.

“There’s still time, you know.”

Rick glances up to the woman watching him with a sad smile across the room. Beckett’s guardian angel, apparently, with orders that she’s never necessarily been comfortable executing. But Kate… he wants nothing more than for her to be happy, to have what she wants. 

And he knows without a doubt that his wife would give anything to have her mother back.

“Do you really think leaving her is what’s best?”

“She won’t remember me, that’s what you said,” he returns, glancing back down to the woman sleeping in her bed. No longer theirs. 

Since this process began, since he managed to accidentally get his hands on that ancient artifact and wondered for a split second if Kate would be better off without him, he’s been stuck in limbo with the (annoying) angel. And with Johanna Beckett.

“Doesn’t mean it won’t leave another hole in her heart,” her mother chimes in from the foot of the bed.

These two women came to him with a deal, yet they’ve spent this entire ordeal arguing, one trying to dissuade him while the other presses him to choose what he thinks is best for Kate. It’s quite frustrating.

“Is that true?” He turns his eyes back to the angel, who releases a sigh through her pursed lips.

“In a sense. It’ll feel like mourning a ghost, harboring a hollowness she doesn’t understand.”

“But she’ll have her mother back?” Castle ensures, glancing to Johanna.

“Rick, you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to be back in Katie’s life, to have never left to begin with, but you… you’ve been so good for her. Jim tells me stories all the time when he comes to visit my grave.” She smiles softly, that same hint of a dazzling smile his fiancée so often wears for him now. “She loves you. So much.”

“But she loves you too,” he protests, ignoring the nagging indecision threatening to form in the back of his mind. He was so sure of what he thought was best the second the ultimatum was offered to him, but Johanna Beckett continues to evoke doubt. “She would have given anything-”

“She wouldn’t trade you.”

“Rick, we’re running out of time, so I have to ask you again,” the angel murmurs, her dark eyes narrowing on him. “What do you want to do?”

“Excluding my daughter from a choice that affects her life doesn’t seem fair,” Johanna cuts in. 

The angel glares daggers at her. “Johanna.”

“Don’t you think so, Rick?”

He returns his gaze to Kate, watches her body shift and curl towards him as if she knows he’s there.

He doesn’t know the answers anymore.


She wakes with the whisper of lips on her cheek, the husk of a voice in her ear, and shifts in her bed towards the source, finding only empty sheets.

Kate’s eyes open, scan the desolate space beside her, the shape of the body that belongs just a flicker in her mind that she can’t shake. All she knows is that something’s wrong, missing, and it’s worsening each day.

His presence is strong, like a ghost that walks beside her, filling her head with indiscernible murmurs, warming her cold hands with a touch that isn’t there.


The name slips past her lips without prompting, an echo of a memory rippling through her mind, and she clings to his face, his bright blue eyes and that beautiful laugh. She fights to make him stay, to stop fading.

“Come back,” she chokes, squeezing her eyes shut as if that can make the memory remain, as if that can force Richard Castle - her favorite author, her partner, her fiancé - to stay. “Don’t do this to me again.”

Kate draws her knees to her chest, pressing her forehead hard against her patella. The light weight of a hand on her face that has her eyes flying open a second later, her head jerking up with hope. 

But her heart stops at the sight of her mother perched on the edge of her bed.

“Mom?” she whispers, watching the gentle smile claim her mother’s lips.

“Hey, Katie.”

“Am I - is this a dream?” Kate inquires, and god, she’s really going crazy after all, isn’t she?

Johanna hedges. “You could call it that. This isn’t going to make a lot of sense, sweetheart, but just listen to me, okay? There’s not much time.”

Her mouth dry, Kate nods, shifts to sit up in the bed, to roam her gaze over her all too real mother sitting on the edge of her mattress as if it was just an ordinary day. As if she never left.

Johanna’s chest rises and falls with a deep breath while Kate’s stops short.

“It’s a long story, but Rick he… he was offered the opportunity to make a deal, to trade his life so I could have mine back,” she explains, and Kate’s unsteady heart tumbles into her ribs, begins to freefall towards her stomach.

“He - are you alive?”

“No, unfortunately not,” her mom sighs, reaching forward to squeeze her knee. “We’re in the ‘in between’ right now. I wanted insurance on you, so I’ve had an… well, a guardian angel looking after you. And, as of late, after Rick as well. When he held that artifact from the case you two were working on, it transported him here, with her, and she offered him the choice.”

Kate blinks. Angels? A magic artifact? Her mother alive and yet not?

“Okay, you’re looking at me like this is crazy, and trust me, I know, but just listen to me, Katie. Rick has slowly been fading from your memory and within a matter of minutes, you’ll wake up in a world where he never existed. A real world, where things are permanent,” her mother explains slowly and she may not completely understand, but Kate shakes her head.

“No, he can’t - where is he?”

“He’s here, glaring at me,” Johanna chuckles, but when Kate looks around… there’s no one. “Well, I can see him, but he’s becoming a ghost. Like me. It’s why you need to make a choice of your own, Kate.”

“Between the two of you? This is - what kind of twisted dream is this? You’re - you’re dead. This can’t be real.”

“It won’t be,” Johanna smiles softly. “It’ll all be over soon and you won’t remember any of it the next time you wake up, I promise. But what you choose right now determines what you wake up to and that’s why I’m telling you to pick your husband, the life you both worked so hard for.”

Kate sucks in a breath, tries to keep up. “But that… it really means I won’t see you again like this? Won’t even remember having the chance to talk to you again?”

Her mom frowns, but squeezes her knee once more. “I’m afraid not.”

“Why? You’re here now. You’re here. Why can’t you just come back?” she rasps, the tears clogging her throat, blurring her vision. “I miss you, Mom.”

“I miss you too, baby,” Johanna sighs, standing from the bed to move closer, embrace her daughter and stroke her hair. And it feels so real, just like when she was a little girl, a teenager, nineteen. “That’ll never change. But the way your life happened was the way it was supposed to happen, the way it was always going to happen, and I don’t want you to change it, to lose the kind of love and happiness that no one else, including me, can give you.”

Kate buries her face in her mother’s shoulder, inhales the faint scent of her perfume.

“Remember when I said you’d love his books?” Johanna murmurs, the grin claiming her lips when Kate withdraws from her embrace. Her mother’s gaze flickers to the other side of the bed. “Told you so.”

Kate huffs a gentle laugh, follows her mom’s line of sight to the man she can’t see. But she can feel him there, can feel the connection thrumming through her veins, pulsing through her system to flood her heart. 

Even if she won’t remember this moment, even if she has to lose her mother all over again, she’s not willing to lose him too. 

She refuses to give him up.

“Make him stay with me.”

my good friend @lena221b recently reminded me of a series of drabbles i wrote in response to anon asks aaaaages ago. i couldn’t find the original posts (we’re talking years ago, that’s too much scrolling for one mortal girl) so i decided to lump them all together here. the following are a few short snippets of derek and stiles’ life together. in my head they’re all part of the same universe. enjoy!

“I dream about riding you sometimes.”

Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.

Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, just tries to roll himself back over. ‘Tries’ being the operative word, because he somehow manages to get himself tangled in his hoodie and then he’s just struggling on the ground with his head trapped in the sleeve.

Ordinarily Derek would help him, would feel guilty about dropping him in the first place, but right now he’s too preoccupied with choking on his own spit.

Stiles fights his way out of his clothing and gazes up at Derek.

“You’re so big though, I’m not even sure I could get my legs around you.”

Can werewolves go into cardiac arrest? Because it’s happening, Derek’s pretty sure it’s happening.

“And you’re so strong, too. I bet I could just climb up on there and you could keep going for hours.”

Stiles smacks his lips and wiggles on the forest floor and seems completely unconcerned with the way Derek’s world is rearranging itself around him.

“Such a scary wolfy,” Stiles mumbles, eyelashes fluttering. “You’re also really fluffy though.” He reaches out and starts patting Derek’s boot. “Preeeetty.”

Derek steps carefully away from Stiles and smashes his head into the nearest tree. A cut appears on his eyebrow and then heals before he’s even wiped the blood away. Because Stiles is talking about riding Derek in his wolf form. Like he’s some kind of glorified pony. And Derek is so pathetically gone on this boy that he’d let him. He’d growl and snarl and snap his jaws and then he’d get down on his haunches and carry Stiles wherever he wanted to go.

He’s absolutely, definitively not disappointed that Stiles isn’t talking about riding him in his human form because that would be gross and creepy and taking advantage of Stiles’ intoxicated state.

Right, Stiles, who is drunk, and burrowing into a pile of leaves.

Derek sighs at his life and stomps over to pick Stiles up again.

“Whoa, spinny!” Stiles shrieks and clutches at Derek’s collar. When he’s got his feet back under himself he looks around and frowns. “Nooo, no standing, it’s nap time.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” Derek grumbles.

“Which is why it’s nap time,” Stiles insists, like it wasn’t his idea to get smashed in the woods in the middle of the night like an utter moron.

“You can sleep back at the loft, okay?” Derek bargains, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and hauling him forward.

“Mmm your bed,” Stiles groans, stuffing his face into Derek’s neck. “Been trying to get into your bed for months.”

Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.


The first time Stiles walks into Derek’s loft and finds him cooking he’s so stunned that he forgets to actually stop walking and crashes into a table.

Derek raises an eyebrow without looking away from where he’s blanching (blanching) vegetables. Once Stiles has stopped rolling around on the floor he uses two bar stools to pull himself right-side-up and brushes himself off as nonchalantly as he can manage.

“You cook?” he asks, trying his hardest not to appear incredulous, but Derek is wearing oven mitts so it’s not really going too well.

Derek levels him with his patented ‘why am I dating an idiot?’ look. It’s very, very flat.

“Yes, Stiles, I can cook,” he says, and pokes at something sizzling in a pan. Stiles boggles. Derek raises his other eyebrow this time. “Why is this shocking? You know I eat.”

“Well, yeah, objectively,” Stiles agrees. “I just always assumed you lived off a diet of Hot Pockets, squirrels, and the tears of your enemies.”

So very flat.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. I’ll throw this in the bin and then head out to rustle up some woodland creatures.” He goes to turn off the burner and Stiles dives across the kitchen.

"No, no, no. This is good. This is — What is this?” Stiles takes a whiff and just about hits the floor again. “Oh god, feed me.”

(Stiles can cook too, but his speciality is sweet things. Derek couldn’t bake a cake to save his life. They’re a match made in culinary heaven.)


"No,” Derek says sternly, giving Stiles everything his eyebrows have to offer. “Absolutely not.”

“What! Derek, come on, you know you want one,” Stiles wheedles, waggling his own eyebrows at Derek. He looks ridiculous and definitely not appealing.

“I have my hands full enough just trying to look after you.”

"Hey!” Stiles squawks. “I resent that! I am a fully functioning adult, thank you very much,” he says, puffing himself up.

All Derek has to do is glance pointedly at the thing curled up in Stiles’ arms and he puffs right back down again.

“I’ll keep her at my place! You won’t even know she’s there. I’ll take such good care of her, I swear.” Derek remains unmoved. Stiles pulls out the big guns. “Babe, please.” Damn him. “Just look at that face. You can’t say no to that face.”

The thing is, Derek is dangerously close to letting slip just how true that is. He’ll never be able to say no to Stiles. He might put up a token protest, but Derek knows that the second Stiles asks him for anything he’s already screwed.

And right now Stiles isn’t pulling his punches either. He’s got the big eyes and the pouty lips and his neck stretched out at the most perfect angle and Derek’s ready to fall to his knees and offer Stiles everything.

Except, what, no, not this time, Stiles is starting to make him legitimately insane.

“Who are you?! Hagrid?!” he exclaims. “Put the dragon down, Stiles.”

Stiles pulls this heartbroken face, and Derek is almost swayed except dragon.

“But she’s just a baby!” Stiles wails. “She doesn’t know how to look after herself.”

“She just singed off Scott’s eyebrows,” Derek says flatly. “I think she’ll be fine.”

(On the walk back to the Jeep Derek offers to buy Stiles a cat in place of the dragon, because they’re basically the same thing anyway and Derek is a sucker.)


“I told you not to do it,” Derek sing-songs, condescendingly, not even looking up from his book. The ass.

“No you didn’t,” Stiles moans from his place on the couch. He removes his arm from his face to glare weakly at said ass. “You said, ‘As if you’d ever get your nipple pierced’. Which was basically a direct challenge. Which means of course I did it.”

Derek doesn’t even stop reading to roll his eyes at Stiles. He just kind of widens them slightly with a long-suffering look on his face. The ass.

"This is entirely your fault,” Stiles whines. Derek doesn’t respond at all.

Stiles wriggles around making pitiful noises until Derek snaps his book shut with a growl. “What.”

“It hurts,” Stiles sniffles.

“Well that’s because you poked a piece of metal through your flesh,” Derek bitches, but he gets up and walks over to the couch anyway. He lifts Stiles’ legs and settles himself down, Stiles’ thighs splayed across his lap. Then he curls his hand around Stiles’ knee and begins leeching his pain.

“Better?” he asks, and Stiles hums in the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.

He’s just about to drop off the edge of consciousness when something hot and wet envelops his nipple. Stiles jerks violently and finds Derek staring up at him from his chest, eyes dancing. He grins wickedly and flicks his tongue against the bar and Stiles melts.

(Derek ends up loving Stiles’ nipple piercing. Stiles lords it over him for months until Derek comes home with a piercing in a much more sensitive place. Stiles’ mouth is busy doing other things after that.)


Derek went into this relationship with Stiles with his eyes wide open. Which basically meant he was expecting a lot of sex, because every second word out of the kid’s mouth was innuendo and he smelled constantly turned-on. And Stiles did not disappoint. There was a lot of sex. A lot.

Derek was not expecting the cuddling. But five months in Derek’s beginning to wonder if Stiles is actually a were-octopus and just hasn’t told him yet.

No matter how aggressively he spoons Stiles when they’re drifting off to sleep, he’ll always wake up buried under warm, clingy boy.

When Derek joined the Stilinski’s in visiting the Sheriff’s mother over Thanksgiving, he passed out alone on the couch and woke to Stiles wrapped around him, his face shoved under a throw pillow.

Stiles holds him in the shower, tucks Derek under his arm at pack movie nights, plasters himself to Derek’s back in the kitchen when he’s soft and tired-eyed.

The first time Stiles grabbed Derek’s hip and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder while they were both brushing their teeth Derek spent two whole minutes staring at him in the mirror. The first time. Now it feels weird whenever he’s not lopsided during his entire morning routine.

For years after Kate, Derek was uncomfortable being touched. Other people’s hands made his blood pump harder and his breathing turn shallower and his muscles coil up. Now, the safest he ever feels is when Stiles’ arms are snug around his heart.

Fire (Bucky Barnes x Reader) Request! 🙌🏽

A/N: Hey y'all! This was sent in by the lovely anon who requested some hardcore angry sex. I kinda changed it up a lil bit because the original one i wrote I lost cuz I didn’t save it and I couldn’t get on tumblr to re look at the request! 😭 but I hope you like it! ENJOY! - Delilah ❤ 

Request: “I’m begging you, full out on my knees, to make a smutty bucky one-shot that is just total hate sex. Like him and the reader just dont get along, she thinks hes too brooding and a total try hard, and he thinks shes a pampered bitch. and then one night when theyre fighting just BAM! hate sex but then they realize they actually like each other but none of them will admit it ;)) (there can be a part two, if you want, maybe,) I love your writing.”

Warnings: Extremely NSFW. Rough sex. Choking. Swearing. Angst. Hate sex. M/F.

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Inktober 2017, 10/31: The Dog and the Shadow
A DOG, crossing a bridge over a stream with a piece of flesh in his mouth, saw his own shadow in the water and took it for that of another Dog, with a piece of meat double his own in size. He immediately let go of his own, and fiercely attacked the other Dog to get his larger piece from him. He thus lost both: that which he grasped at in the water, because it was a shadow; and his own, because the stream swept it away.
It is not wise to be too greedy.
– Aesop’s Fables, translated by George Fyler Townsend

6 | You’ll Never Walk Alone



series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as burns, character death, and general harrowing-ness

Originally posted by fyeahbangtaned

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there are real reasons why doodles often get more notes than the drawings we spend far more time on.

as beginner and non-professional artists, we have flaws. these flaws become more noticeable the longer we spend on a piece and the more we flesh out the imperfections that we don’t know how to fix. the more effort you put into something, the more obvious it is where you need to improve. just consider the difference between drawing something like this (i’ll use my own art as an example)

and this.

as soon as i added lighting, a background, another character, etc, it became obvious where i rushed it. the lighting is sloppy, the lineart is wonky, etc. that’s why the first drawing got 300 notes and the second one got 50.

another reason why doodles are more popular is that doodles are fun to draw, and fun to look at. compare this

to this

the first one got 60 notes and the second one got 300. it’s because the second one shows more emotion, and because i wasn’t focused on making it look perfect, it’s more fun to look at. there are no distracting flaws or backgrounds - it’s simpler.

so, to summarize: doodles get more notes than finished pieces because 

a. finished pieces from beginner artists are never perfect, and 

b. art is often more pleasing to look at when the artist is not focused on perfection.

there are other reasons but i think these are generally the main ones.

Humans are weird: Fashion

Update to the human encyclopedia.
My observations on the human crew members showed new, until now not documented results.
The human race seems to wear “clothes” in order to regulate their body temperature.
A logic solution if we think about their lack of proper fur.
My observations showed, that humans use their clothes not only to regulate body temperature but also to show their membership to different castes…
Other clothes are used to show evidence that their part of the human military or other similar institutions they call these “uniforms”.
Humans also seem to worship a godly being they call “fashion”.
In the name of this god, they wearvlothes that aren’t appropiate to the climate around them.
They also wear signs of worship they call “accesories”.
The most horrifying part, is that some humans go as far as implementing metal pieces in their flesh or drawings with ink under their skin to show their worship.
They also question their belief in this god. They call it “ fashion sense”.
Further observations are needed.
End of entry.

imma just share sum thots

i think one (1) of the reasons why white people turn up so hard for oitnb and sense8 is because of performative allyship. they’re introduced a show that has decent writing and “decent representation” (aka actors of color were cast, the bare minimum) and then stan for it because they can pat themselves on the back for watching something POC of colored people approved. But then continue to ride for that show even when the creators pull the good ole’ switch-a-roo and treat the COC like shit. Why? Because they never really cared about the COC, just as long as their white faves are good. And then when POC start abandoning the show when the writing becomes too unbearable, white fans proceed to cherry pick which voices they want to listen to so they can continue feeling good about themselves.

anonymous asked:

Headcanons for Kakashi, Madara, and Tobirama with an s/o who's just rlly affectionate. Like, smiles at them a lot, tries to hug em a lot, says "I love you" a lot

My three favorite babes, and the ultimate hot trio! I hope you guys enjoy these, I had to cut myself off to keep this post from being too long. ~Admin Shadow

Kakashi, Madara and Tobirama with a S/O that is really Affectionate

Originally posted by sarapyon

Kakashi Hatake

• He doesn’t care if his partner is more affectionate; he actually would find himself enjoying it more over time. Even though he can get lazy in a relationship, having someone that is more lovey-dovey makes him want to be more physical. He will generally kiss them more, or says sweet and natural compliments to feel he is evening the score.

• Kakashi loves when his s/o hugs him, and he isn’t intimidated by the idea of returning the favor. Be warned, Kakashi is the type of boyfriend that will often sneak up on his partner and give them a surprise hug, while he whispers in their ear about how beautiful they look today.

• Loves if they play with his unruly hair – the feeling of fingers running through every silvery strand – and the occasional tug on his scalp feels warm and reassuring, especially if it’s right before they pull him into a kiss. It feels like something he would read out of a Icha-Icha book.

• He isn’t too big on public affection, but if him and his s/o are alone in a public area, he will hold their hand or attempt to steal a lchaste kiss. But other than that, he prefers to keep the romance private and intimate. If they beg, he might consider holding their hand in a market place or store for a brief amount of time.

• Kakashi has a teasing streak in him, and sometimes he will refuse to take off the mask and his s/o has to try to kiss him through it. He thinks it’s cute and he finds himself craving the feeling of their lips even more. Impatience will overtake him, and he will pull down his mask tantalizingly slow so he can kiss them fully on the lips. It’s worth the few second wait to feel his lips on yours, because Kakashi is a good kisser.

Originally posted by shisuithegreekgod

Madara Uchiha

• It would be very different for Madara at first, he wouldn’t consider it a turn off, but it would be harder to accept someone that was more open and mushy. He doesn’t want them to ever try to hug or give him a kiss in public because he has a stern reputation to uphold. Madara would thwart any public advances and he might have to even say something rude to them if they get too handsy.

• Madara would never mind his partner smiling at him. It means they are focusing on him, and not anyone else – and he can’t deny that his s/o has brilliant eyes. He might even try and stare them down, and he definitely isn’t afraid to allow his eyes to wander as he traces the fine contours of their body. Madara will basically try to undress them in his mind and eye fuck them.

• This man would have a hard time adjusting to hearing the phrase ‘I love you’ frequently. Those words have always been foreign to him, even from a lover. They would have to really get used to Madara refusing to reciprocate on those sentiments. It would be very rare to hear those words from him, mostly because he thinks his actions will speak for him as he proves his devotion.

• He will allow them to hug him or kiss him in private, and he will be more hands on himself. Madara can be domineering behind closed doors and he will approve of their normal attempts to kiss him or grab his hand. He will not be afraid to grab their ass, or run his hands up and down their sides trying to claim every piece of their flesh for himself.

• Even if he doesn’t mind being with someone more ardent when it comes to their affection, Madara still needs a break from such treatment. He will escape to the training grounds and hone his skills further or hid in his office and bury himself in his work; he just needs a break from the attention because he finds it overbearing at times.

Originally posted by sh1nob1

Tobirama Senju

• He is also someone that might not adjust well to having someone so affectionate. It will even take Tobirama some time for him to even accept small gestures of interest such them trying to hold his hand or cuddle up next to him in private. Hugs also made him go rigid at first, because the idea of close contact with another person was such an alien idea to him.

• He does expect kisses before bed and when he gets home from his duties at the Hokage’s office. Tobirama won’t settle for anything less than the most fervent kisses either. After a few kisses, and he had pulled them close, he might be worked up. He would talk about pinning them to the wall and having his way with them, as he feels them struggle to control their breathing.

• Tobirama will be strict about no public affection; it makes him uncomfortable. He does like when their gaze lingers on him. When his s/o looks at him he will sometimes send these glances that could just smolder their skin off because of the suggestive intensity.

• He does swell with pride when his partner tells him they love him. Tobirama only saves himself for someone he thinks is worthy, so every time he hears those words he can hardly contain his already inflated ego. He doesn’t say ‘I love you’ much, but with someone who is more open or affectionate he is likely to say he loves them more often than he is almost aware of.

• Tobirama also would be the type to escape from romantic attention, because he finds it cumbersome. He will first ask them to slow down on their affection, if that didn’t work, Tobirama would get a little distant just to avoid too many hugs or kisses, that would be the only way he would know how to cope.

Whom The Gods Favor (1/?)

I am in under the wire but proud to add this little offering for the Monster Hunter + Soulmate day of Fantasy Pretzel Week. I haven’t a clue if I will ever get more than this little bit down but @barpurplewrites encouraged me to go ahead and just write up what I could and I am glad she did because this was really fun and I really hope I get the chance to share the rest of the story with you guys. 

1.2k |  Rated: T | I’ll link archives if I ever finish it. 

Despite the wind and rain lashing the Irish countryside the small pub was warm, awash with light, laughter, and the smell of hearty food, it was quaint, too quaint, and as Emma Swan stood on the threshold she felt a warning run up her spine–not everyone here was human. She evaluated the room with the practiced ease of years dealing with the preternatural but there were no obvious signs of what she was up against, no dark spots, no color shifts, no shimmers indicating magic, no malicious, hungry eyes, staring back. A few patrons gave her a passing glance or a nod but none seemed to be overly interested in the soaking blonde in a red leather jacket and jeans. If she had been younger she might have ignored the warning but she had learned to trust her favor, had scars both physical and emotional to remind her that while the Gods were fickle their favors could always be relied upon, and so she kept her guard up–an easy task since she rarely let it down.

She strode to the bar and slid onto the stool. A short, bearded man approached her with a dour expression. Emma ordered a hot chocolate which earned her a huff. So much for the friendliness of the Irish. Not that Emma wanted to make friends, she was here on a job and once it was finished she would move on to the next one and the next. It was a good life, rewarding in its way as she used the favors the Gods had bestowed to help humans with their problems or with the more vile preternatural elements in the worlds. She wasn’t strictly a Hunter but had been known to kill or trap a monster when needed. She hoped, for Belle French’s sake, that there would be no creatures this time around.

When Belle had contacted her about her missing child Emma had wanted to refuse. When babies were taken they were rarely recoverable–eaten, used in spells, transformed, taken to another world, whatever it was the kid wasn’t coming back– and she told Belle to just accept her son was gone. But the woman was stubborn, full of a fire that Emma couldn’t help but admire, and not afraid to play dirty.  

“Don’t you wish your parents had tried to find you?” Belle had asked.

“How did you–?”

“I do my research. You were weeks old when they found you on the steps of the temple. You grew up in and out of foster homes, never knowing who your parents were or why you were left.”

“My parents abandoned me because I was Blessed,” Emma said darkly.

“Or you were stolen by a god and then blessed and your parents are still looking for you.” Belle shot back.

Keep reading

I Need to Know

Nessian talk about Mor and Cass



“I need to know what happened between you and Morrigan.”

Nesta refused to meet his gaze, her hard face angled away from him even though a moment before her hands had been curiously wondering down his bare chest, his sword hitting the training room floor with a clang as he instantly dropped it.


When Nesta had entered the room, Cassian was not surprised. For the past few months she would come towards the middle of his sessions and linger to watch, sometimes joining in, most times content to be a bystander. Things between them had… not progressed since the war. Although Cassian still savoured the way her lips felt on his, and he often pondered what her mouth would taste like when not mixed with blood and tears, he was holding himself back. Why? Because when he was alone with her, she looked like she wanted to kill him. Any moments of tenderness between them had passed, and it seemed Nesta wasn’t inclined to rekindle what they could have had.

And Cassian, Cauldron curse his soul for it, could not stand the thought of letting another woman let him dangle. To get to a place where Cassian had accepted he deserved to be more than just a back-up piece of flesh to a woman who didn’t know what, or who, she really wanted was harder than any physical training he had ever done. He still was not perfect at it either, and to not chase after Nesta like a lost pet looking for its owner was a true feat of strength for him.

“I need to know why she has you so whipped, and why Azriel doesn’t even care.”

Cassian took a step away from her, picking up his fallen sword and crossing the training courtyard to put it away. The sun was beating down on him hard, and he’d exerted himself beyond what he usually would today. He was frustrated – he always was these days – and the only way he could think to rectify that was by hitting a lot of things with a very sharp object.

“Why?” Cassian kept his tone polite, not wanting her to know how hesitant he was to speak of the matter.

Nesta took a step towards him, her blue dress gliding behind her. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and her ever-present frown was even deeper today. Her startling eyes had now met his, and Cassian was surprised at the amount of fury in them. People often mistook Nesta for emotionless, or for feeling nothing but spite and anger, but they just didn’t know how to read her. It was all about the eyes – one look into them and Nesta Archeron would unwillingly spill all her secrets.

“I need to know if you’re in love with her.”

Cassian scoffed at suggestion. “Why would you think something as preposterous that?”

Nesta’s jaw tightened as she glared at him. “Because every time I turn my godsdamned back you’re with her, doting to her every need and want and wish and I’m fucking sick of trying to guess what the hell is going on between you two.” Nesta threw her arms up in the air.

Cassian was astonished, and met her wrath with a sarcastic smirk. “I don’t think that has anything to do with you, Sweetheart.” He knew he shouldn’t tease her, but where did she get off asking him this shit? It was Nesta who told him to leave her alone after the war, it was Nesta who could barely be in the same room as him unless he was training. Fuck, today when she had touched him was the first contact they’d since she was willing to die for him – another one of her actions that simply didn’t make sense. He’d told her how he felt.

I have no regrets in my life but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you again in the next world – the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He’d laid himself bare, and he was met with the animosity she usually saved for, well, anybody but Elain. Before, he could see through it. Not justify it, but understand her motivations. Now, he did not know anything.

“Just. Tell. Me.”


“If you don’t then I’ll assume the worst.”

With a roll of his eyes, he strolled past her and out of the courtyard, twisting through the garden paths that would take him to his personal townhouse. “What’s the worst for you, Nesta? What would be so bad?” he called back to her.

“What would be so bad,” she spat as she stomped after him, “is if I keep waiting for you, not realising that you’ll never get over her.”

Cassian stopped so quickly Nesta barely avoided slamming into his back. “Excuse me?” He turned to look at her. “You? Waiting for me? I don’t think so.”

She blinked up at him. “Cassian, I-”

“Don’t you dare insinuate that the reason we aren’t-” Cassian floundered, not even knowing how to describe what they could potentially be. “The reason we aren’t… something, is not because of me. You barely look at me. I’m lucky if you speak to me at all. And worse, when I think we are making progress you shut me down even harder. You don’t have a right to ask me about my personal life when you do everything you can to make sure you aren’t a part of it.”

Nesta sighed haughtily through her nose. “I’m trying.” Her voice was tight, like she was being strangled by the very words she was trying to speak.

“Sure. Whatever you say, Nesta.” Cassian was beyond caring about how bluntly he spoke. He rubbed his hands over his face, then pinched his nose. Without looking at her, he brushed past her.

He should have looked.

Cassian,” she hissed.

He didn’t look back – he wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. She had done nothing but push him away. Nothing but degrade his existence after she’d let him think that she felt the same way about him. It was okay if she didn’t, but it was not healthy for him to continue pining after her. He could not do it. He would not.

“Cassian?” This time her voice was softer, gentler, and he could hear it cracking as she tried not to cry.

He didn’t hate himself when he looked back at her.

“Wherever you are, Mor is too. You’ll speak to me, and then stop the moment she’s there. When I think that maybe I can get you alone, she always whisks you away and you always let her. She hates me, and that’s okay, but sometimes it feels like the hate she has for me makes you dislike me too. You feel like I’m shutting you out? Okay. I feel like you’re a ghost forever haunting a woman that is clearly using you as a buffer between her and Azriel.  I – I don’t know what’s going on between you and her and Azriel, all I know is that I can’t help thinking and feeling these things. You told me you wanted time with me, so spend time with me. Prioritize me.”

He was astonished at her outburst, but also, in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend, relieved that she was finally speaking to him. That he was getting truths from her.

He swallowed hard, and walked back to her side. He didn’t immediately talk, rather led them to a stone bench where they could both sit. They did, a foot apart and with no inclination to touch, and he sat in silence for a minute or two, processing her words.

“We’ve slept together,” he eventually said.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It was hundreds of years ago – I was her first, not that I knew until I actually-” Cassian cut himself off, those details not relevant.

“Did you love her then? Did she feel like that for you?”

Cassian sighed. “I love Mor the way I love Feyre. She’s my best friend. All those years ago, when we were barely adults? I thought I did. It’s why I did what I did, even if I knew it was wrong.”

Nesta glanced sideways at him, her thumbs fidgeting as she listened. “Why was it wrong?”

“She was Rhys’ cousin. But more than that, Azriel had feelings for her, too. Ones that were stronger than mine. I knew about them, and I never planned on making a move on Mor. But then Az and Rhys went away, and we were alone and talking and laughing and she made me feel like she felt the same way. I justified the betrayal to my brothers because I thought she wanted it, wanted me. You have to understand, when I was younger I had no power for myself. I was the lowest tier solider, and it looked like I always would be. I was often regarded as just something to fuck by women. I was a bastard, I couldn’t possibly expect more. Although I’d had sex, I’d never had a relationship or anything close to it. And then Mor came along, and made me feel like I was worth her time. It was easy to fall into it. Easy for Az, too.”

Cassian took a deep breath before continuing.

“That night we were alone and I’d cooked for her. We were laughing about something – whatever it was, was so hilarious that it had us in fits. Next thing I know, she’s kissing me, and I feel like I’ve been Cauldron-blessed. She wanted more, so I gave it to her, not realising she hadn’t done it before. The moment her maiden-head yielded to me I knew I’d made a mistake. But I was willing to compromise my honour for this woman, thought she was worth it.”

Cassian tilted his head up at the afternoon sun, letting the rays warm his face. With his eyes closed, he told Nesta, “it took me a very long time to realise that she was using me for a purpose. That I was nothing to her. Not nothing, but only a friend. One she probably never would’ve made if not for the bond between Rhys and me. I have never fought with Rhys the way I did when he’d found out what I’d done, and I’ve never forgiven myself for the look on Azriel’s face: hurt, but also resignation. He didn’t think he deserved her, and it made me furious. Mad, because I was the asshole that bedded the woman he was falling in love with, and despair because my brother was worth everything in the world, and I played a part in him believing that he didn’t.”

It had not been a long while since Cassian had felt the familiar stinging in his eyes, the tears that he quashed regularly.

“And now?” Nesta hesitantly asked.

“For years I thought maybe she did feel something for me, and was just giving me room so Rhys wouldn’t get violent again and Azriel wouldn’t be too hurt. Then I realised what she was really doing was letting me be the reason she stayed away from Azriel, and that whatever feelings she had were never for me. It got to the point where I let her – was her willing accomplice. Never, never do I want Azriel to have to feel the way I did. To feel as ugly, and as undeserving. He’s too good for that. He’s better than us all.”

Nesta tucked a strand of her golden hair behind her ear, a thoughtful expression gracing her face, before clasping them in her lap.

“I should’ve stopped doing it a long, long time ago,” Cassian further admitted. “And if not then, I should’ve stopped doing it the moment I knew I had feelings for you.”

Her eyes snapped to his, now open and staring at her.

“It’s no shock to either of us that I feel this way, Nesta. I have since the moment I met you.”

She breathed heavily, her eyes now portraying a tale of confusion and want, hesitancy and immediacy all at once.

“I thought maybe,” her voice was shaking slightly, “you were caught up in the war, and perhaps the words you said were only told because you thought we might die.”  

Cassian didn’t reply with words, rather, he slowly wove his hand in between hers so he could hold her. Just a little. His hand was clammy after training, and he was quaking ever so slightly, but if the squeeze he felt from her was any indication, Nesta didn’t mind.

She also scooted just a bit closer to him, starting to close the foot of space between them.

“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you,” she said quietly, now wrapping both her small, smooth hands around his rough one so she could clutch it to her chest.

It was a rare occasion for her to show such vulnerability, and he was revelling in it. He wanted to pull on all her threads until he unravelled her, leaving nothing but the woman she actually was with no façade covering her. He still wanted those threads though, but he wished Nesta to weave them not because of past trauma, but because she desired to create her own narrative – one away from the idea of protecting herself.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been behaving with Mor. I’ve done it for so long that I don’t even realise I’m doing it. It’s never hurt someone before, and I’m sorry you had to deal with it.”

“We’re a sad, sorry lot, aren’t we?” Nesta breathed a laugh and stood, Cassian rising with her as she hadn’t let go of his hand. “So what now, Cassian?”

Cassian looked over the woman he had been silently pining after since the moment he’d met her – the woman who looked like she might be ready for him, for all the love he had to give her.

“That’s up to you, Sweetheart.”

Her face pinched at the pet name, but her eyes danced and her cheeks blushed the most beautiful pink he’s ever seen.

“I have a few ideas.” She smirked at him and let go of his hand, sashaying away from him. He grinned after her, especially when she said, “Well, are you coming?”

Ocean soldier (Part 2 out of?)

(A/N): I seriously love mermaid Bucky *sobs* 

Summary: (Y/N) happens to come across a rather friendly mermaid

Warnings: none for the time being?

Read the first part: X

(Tags at the end)

Originally posted by lowkeysebastianstan

   (This gif has me feeling so many things??) 

   You had been reluctant to go home that day, you had thoroughly enjoyed your visit with Bucky. The two of you talked…well you had done most of the talking while he sat there in the water and looked at you, occasionally grabbing the pad and pencil to write something to you. You had even managed to get him to crack a smile, not one of the small ones from earlier but a full on wide, toothy grin. It had been adorable…at first, that was until you got a glance at his sharp, jagged teeth. They almost reminded you of shark’s teeth only scarier given they were on a human being and not a marine animal. Something about this guy was seriously off, you knew that much, between the webbing and teeth and the constant need to stay in the water you had figured he was…strange to say the least. These should have scared you away, you should have run as soon as he appeared the second time but you didn’t, instead you sat down on the docks and talked to him until he had to abruptly scurry off at the first sign of people. These were all red flags, you should have talked to someone or reported this man to the police and yet again you didn’t and now here you were, the following day sitting on the dock awaiting for your friend to appear. 

   You doodle a bit, no longer focused on the sunrise as much as your water loving friend who had yet to make an appearance this morning. You gently sketched a face, one with a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones, you doodle some hair, long and matted with water but still gorgeous but what you truly focused on was the eyes. They had to be perfect, they had to capture the essence of curiosity and innocence but they also had to have a deeper, darker tone to them, one that implied this man- whomever he was- had a secret, or a darker side. 

   A soft coo is what pulls you away from your drawing but you don’t even have to look up to know it was. You set your drawing pad aside as you smile at Bucky who smiled right back, showcasing those jagged, knife like teeth. 

   “Hey Bucky,” You murmur quietly, as though scared to break the soothing sounds of the early morning sea. Bucky hums softly as he assumes his regular position, his head tucked upon his folded arms as he looks up at you. Your eyes rake over his form, stopping at his neck as you survey the slices of flesh, moving in time with each breath he took. They sure as hell looked like gills…but that- that wasn’t possible, human beings couldn’t have gills…could they?  Bucky hums again as he looks at you, his brows furrowed in confusion. Guess he’d caught your rather curious gaze “Sorry, um uh- I was just staring at your-” You gesture to his neck, sighing rather loudly. “Okay Bucky, what the hell are those things?” Bucky reaches up with a webbed hand to touch the skin, running his fingers along the ripped flesh before setting his hand back against the dock, looking rather sheepish. “Oh god Bucky-” You sigh, knowing you’ve offended him again with your ignorance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just-” You gesture to your own neck, revealing the not ripped flesh. “Mine’s different again, see?” Bucky looks back up, his blue eyes traveling over the expanse of your neck. “Do you…do you wanna touch it?” Bucky nods as he leans up a bit, pulling himself up just enough to expose his bare chest. Your eyes rake over his skin, taking in ever piece of smooth, water covered flesh. God- this man…or whatever he is- was beautiful. 

   Bucky makes a little impatient sound in the back of his throat, making grabby hands at you when he realized he couldn’t quite reach your neck. You smile as you lean down a bit, allowing his cool hands to graze your skin. The feeling was…different than expected; his fingers were cool to the touch and most definitely wet but they felt good against your skin. You hum softly as Bucky touches your neck, feeling the difference between your neck and his own. 

   “See? Different right?” Bucky purses his lips and nods, staring down at his own body in what appeared to be shame. Whatever was below the water he obviously didn’t want you to see, the most he had exposed to you was his upper body and even that was strange, you could only imagine what it looked like down below. “Bucky?” You whisper, biting your lip as you contemplate whether the question was worth asking. The man hums as he finally retracts his hand, apparently satisfied with his little inspection. “Can I ask you something kinda of…personal?” Bucky looks at you with squinted eyes, the distrust on his face obvious but nonetheless he nods. “Um, are you- are you human?” Bucky looks up at you with an almost frightened expression, his eyes wide and lips parted. But before you can even begin to repair the damage he disappears, ducking down below the surface just as he had done yesterday. “Wait Bucky!” You cry out as you lean forward, searching the waters desperately but there was no sign of him, the only thing that would have hinted that he was here was by the way the dock was covered in rivulets of water, most likely from his dripping hair. 

   You slump back onto the dock, looking at the waters in surprise. How could he have just disappeared like that? And why did he just disappear like that? You bite your lip in thought as you scan the waters, waiting for any sign of your new friend but there seemed to be none. Even after five minutes you saw no sign of your friend, then ten rolled around, then 20, then 40, but by the time the beach had started to sprout a family or two you realized Bucky wasn’t coming back. You sighed softly as you stood from the dock, grabbing your sketch pad and pencil in disappointment. As you waddled away from the dock you looked back, hoping to catch some glance of your friend but there was none, only the boats and sea so with another sigh you keep on waddling, trying not to let your spirits hurt too much. 

   You returned the next day, with your sketch pad and pencil, awaiting for Bucky. You waited for 3 fucking hours. 3 hours of just sitting and waiting for Bucky to show up. The sun rose, the people arrived and yet here you were waiting all alone on the docks. 

   You sigh as you drag your pencil along your paper, creating nonsensical lines and scribbles. It looked as though Bucky wasn’t going to show this morning and you couldn’t help but feel like it was your fault but you’d remedy this, you’d get Bucky to come back around. 

    For the next two weeks you kept up the same routine, showing up with your sketch pad and pencil, waiting for your strange, water loving friend to show but he never did. The countless hours you spent on those docks waiting for him were painful, they have you time to think about him. Even if you had only known him for 3 days you couldn’t help but feel attached to him and now suddenly he had disappeared. And yet here you were, the third week, and still sitting on the dock waiting for him. This time you had brought your guitar and you were gently strumming on it, humming a solemn song yourself. If you were going to wait out here for hours on end for your non existent friend to show up you had better bring something to entertain yourself since drawing wasn’t doing it for you anymore. 

   You strummed and plucked multiple songs, slowly but surely making your way through every tune you knew how to play. By the time you were done your fingers were aching and the sounds of the beach had gone strong; It had to be noon by the time you finished and surprise, still no sign if Bucky. God- why would he just leave you like this? Why wouldn’t he come back or at least tell you why he had left? Perhaps it was you? Maybe he was tired of you and didn’t want to see you anymore? Perhaps your insistent questions had angered him? 

   A million questions swirl around your mind until you can barely think anymore, your head to jumbled with “maybe’s” and “what if’s”. God- you had really fucked this up. For once you actually liked someone and then you went and fucked it up. If only you had kept your mouth shut, if only you hadn’t been so annoying, if only you could have been better. Tears burn at your eyes and before you know it you’re crying, your tears sliding off and hitting the watery docks. You were so pathetic, you knew a guy for 3 days and then he leaves and you’re this heart Broken? You bury your face in your hands, crying into them like some pathetic cry baby, which you were; The negative thoughts don’t mix well with your already strong feelings of frustration and regret. 

        Your crying is only spurred on by your negative thoughts, both your frustration and self hate brewing together to create the ‘beautiful’ mixture of tears you were experiencing right now. And that’s when you hear it, a gentle but soothing coo amongst the sound of ocean waves and the distant beach goers. You don’t even want to look up for the fear of the noise only being your imagination but suddenly there’s that strange but pleasant hand on your leg, gripping your leg gently. The coo comes again, this time a bit louder and persistent, almost as though Bucky was trying to grab your attention. Even with all your frustration and anger you look up, sniffling a bit as you do. 

    “Bucky…” You sniffle softly, hesitantly meeting the man’s gaze. He coos once again, his bright blue eyes very intently looking at your face. You bite your lip as you look at him, feeling even more pathetic than you did before. You can’t look into those ocean eyes any longer, your shame and embarrassment getting the better of you as you turn your head away from him but before you can there’s a gentle hand on your cheek, wiping away at your tears. You look back at Bucky in surprise, his hand feeling pleasant against your own wet cheek. This the most Bucky had ever touched you, other than when he had touched your neck and hands but this was- this was something else; this was more than those observatory touches, this was something more intimate. You sigh softly, allowing your eyes to flutter close as Bucky’s thumb runs over your cheek, collecting each tear that fell- however they don’t remain closed for long when they’re suddenly shooting back open in surprise. 

   “Please don’t cry…” 

@kaitlynmalikisnotonfire, @alienboi3299, @rejecteddesire, @saradi1018, @jessevans, @floral-and-fine, @notsoprettykitty, @yo-yo-bro-bro, @imamoose, @nobody8990, @softwhispers, @ficbucket, @iamwarrenspeace, @ruby-rose89 (If I have forgotten to tag you please contact me so I can add you!) 

romeo and juliet sentence meme.

— ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
— borrow cupid’s wings and soar with them above a common bound.
— civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
— do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly.
— do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
— don’t waste your love on somebody who doesn’t value it.
— for never was a story of more woe than this of juliet and her romeo.
— from love’s weak childish bow she lives unharmed.
— go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.
— i am a pretty piece of flesh!
— i am fortune’s fool.
— i am hurt.
— i defy you, stars!
— if love be rough with you, be rough with love.
— is love a tender thing?
— love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
— love moderately.
— my bounty is as boundless as the sea; my love as deep.
— my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
— my only love sprung from my only hate.
— o teach me how i should forget to think.
— parting is such sweet sorrow, that i shall say good night til it be morrow.
— she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
— she hath dian’s wit.
— some shall be pardon’d, and some punished.
— take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night.
— that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.
— the all-seeing sun ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.
— these violent delights have violent ends.
— this love feel i, that feel no love in this.
— thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
— thus with a kiss, i die.
— tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
— true, i talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain…
— under love’s heavy burden do i sink.
— we must have you dance.
— what sadness lengthens ____’s hours?
— wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
— women may fall when there’s no strength in men.
— you are a lover.
— you kiss by the book.