I am every ounce a romantic. I love ‘love’. The ultimate soul consuming kind of love. The quick 1,2,3, thrusting passionate love. Two bodies making slow love, the new fresh love that causes your heart to race and your face to flush. I’m in love with the flowers that get delivered, the eyes that meet in coffee shops. I never tire of every sweet cliché.  Lust, passion, undying love: I can ingest it all. I cry along side those whose hearts get broken. I weep for the loss of a love that took up one half of someone’s heart. New love, old love, lost love, unrequited love, all types of love in this world and I savor it all.
—  AO– Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #18

First, Ben Carson just sort of hung out in the cut after his name was called.

Then when it looked like he was going to the stage, he was actually moving aside for Ted Cruz to make his entrance.

“Dr. Carson, go out there.” No I’m good right here, thanks.

And then, Trump made his grand entrance…to the cut too! 

Are they savoring the moment?

Even Bush couldn’t handle their inability to follow direction.

Who is expecting these guys to lead a country when they can’t even lead themselves?

Dear, we are in a slow film. People slowly passing by but despite the ocean of strangers, all I ever want, need, to see is your face. That we try to constrain the whole universe from expanding and the whole world from spinning because we just want to stay in that only moment where we are together, people’s chatters as background noise, and everyone else is a backdrop we don’t care about. Dear, I still try to understand the meaning of mise-en-scene. They said that it is everything that appears in front of the camera, so does that mean that it is you. That you are the whole visual elements of my film. That you are the beginning, the middle and the ending plots - but we would wish that it would never end. Is it the influence of your touch into the ambiance of the clips, or the color of your lips on the saturation of the shot. Dear, let’s move slowly, trying to savor, trying to stop time, trying to hold on into a future where safety is never guaranteed, but still, we choose to be happy together.

Bloodlust [Savor] + CS Fanfiction

The second in a series of soon to be smutty one shots about vampire Killian Jones and the woman he can’t stay away from.

Rating: M and rising :]
Word Count: 4,279

It took one quick sweep of her pantry for Emma to settle with the facts - she knew absolutely nothing about being hospitable to a vampire. She sighed heavily as she scanned the labels of various snacks and drink mixes. Leaning her head in the cabinet, she realized she’d have to chalk this up to one of the rare instances of ‘common courtesy backlash’. Dammit.

She’d been excited to see him, her subtle giddiness magnified when she watched him stand in the door frame while awaiting permission. He looked almost happy - even though she knew the conversation he’d come to have might share that quality. His eyes were a tired blue, almost as if he’d been warring with a lack of rest. Well, supposing he actually did sleep regularly - she’d have to add that one to her list of questions. He looked the tiniest bit uneasy, his posture slightly standoffish as he tried to appear braver than he obviously felt. It was almost like he believed he wasn’t welcome. She hoped she might be able to change that.

A faint blush covered her cheeks as she remembered how she’d ended up burying herself in the current task. It had started with a need to fill the vacant space between them once he’d finally crossed the threshold into her house, her words welcoming and kind - even if she’d chosen to lead with a totally idiotic question. Yes, asking him if he wanted something to drink had left her stumbling over her ironic inquiry and falling straight into his amused gaze. He was obviously offering up that sly, devilishly handsome smirk to taunt her. Bastard.

It had been the kind of look that may have summoned fright in someone who knew what he was, but Emma couldn’t find her fears regarding him. He didn’t terrify her. He didn’t spike her nerves - well, not in reference to him being undead anyway. She supposed it was the years she’d spent chasing away her own demons that kept her from being so wary of his. Truthfully, she was more nervous about the part of him that seemed very much alive - that adorably arrogant yet smoldering stubborn part of him. That’s the man who gave her the chills.

Keep reading

serahblacksnape asked:

How about a Lys x Candy where Candy has synesthesia? (In case people don't know, it's a neuropsychological trait in which the stimulation of one sense cause the automatic experience of another sense.)

An example of synesthesia would be a name or even letter being a ‘color’ or ‘scent’ or visa versa to my understanding? I’ve done some reading on it since I was actually going to do an MCL fic a while back ago (a really while back ago) in which the main OC did have synesthesia. Anyway, hope you like the drabble~

His name was rainbow. An explosion of colors that lit up her eyes every time the name Lysander escaped her lips. His name was the scent of the forest- strong, full of character and nature. Every time she saw him, she inhaled deeply, breathing the scent that came to her mind. His name made her tongue taste chocolate and every time she heard it, she licked her lips and savored it. His name was the same feel of his jacket- a velvety, soft touch on her fingertips. Every time that he ran into her, her hands twitched at her sides as her fingertips rubbed against one another.

His name was a stimulate that ignited so many senses- exciting her, sending shivers down her spine in such a degree that it made her knees weak. It made her stomach turn with nervous, jittery butterflies. It was no wonder that every time he so much as said hello that she became so overwhelmed with senses that it made it hard for her to be around him for long.

“Candy,” Lysander’s smooth voice broke through her thoughts as he approached her, “Have you seen my- oh. Thank you.”

He stopped mid-sentence as he saw his notebook dangling weakly in her hands. She smiled sheepishly and meekly held the notebook out to him with a flushed face. Her heart pounded in her chest when he smiled softly at her, carefully taking the notebook from her. His hand briefly grazed against hers, causing her breath to catch in her throat as she quickly pulled away.

“-You’re welcome, Lysander.”

Lysander quirked an eyebrow, briefly puzzled by the sudden way she pulled away from him. It didn’t escape him that she never seemed to be able to hold herself well when faced with him- though he knew that she was so open, honest, and outgoing when faced with Rosayla or even Alexy. It almost pained him that she wasn’t as open with himself. Sometimes he wondered if she even considered him a friend at all.

He shook that thought of his head. There was something about the idea of her not liking him- friendly or otherwise- that didn’t seem right. Not with how she said his name, Lysander, with such a shaky, breathless voice that didn’t hold any hate or negative emotions. If anything, he’d dare say that it was breathless excitement in her tone.

Candy rocked on her heels, her knees twitching, at the silence that developed between them, refusing to meet his eyes as she focused on the ground beneath her instead. A pink tint grew on her face as she nervously tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“Well- it was nice seeing you, Lysander, but I really should get going.”

Lysander blinked back to reality as he saw her blurred figure ran past him, briefly grazing against his shoulder in a way that caused his breath to hitch, before she disappeared into the school. He watched the school door slam shut behind her before he shook his head and looked toward his notebook with a small, if a bit confused, smile.

She may not be the most open with him, for reasons he didn’t quite understand, but she sure was silly at times.

The hours chew away at me. Time swallows, and somehow, I feel smaller. When the numbers begin to mean less, life moves slower and I can at least begin to savor its sweetness. I forget how waiting feels, and the hopelessness that comes with it, and I wonder what it’s like to remember my dreams again, what its like to feel weighed down but weightless, as if I am shackled to a cloud without much choice, only along for the ride. I remember that I have control of the reins though I still let the wind make many of my choices, forgetting they are my own to decide. I need reminding that I am myself, and that nothing about the universe within me or without is as finite as it seems.

thanks to whoever sent me the meltykiss strawberry chocolates <333 im going to try one right now here i go:

oh my god that is so rich holy shit, its good tho but im glad its not something i can to keep shoveling in my mouth. i will savor these

Maintenance Monday

Slim crowd, no coach. I guess everyone stayed up too late. But those of us who got up and out made the best of our time in the pool.

I realized today, my favorite moment is that first push off the wall. For a fraction of a second you feel weightless as the water rushes by you. It’s so brief but worth savoring. Then, seconds later, the workout begins and it’s all about survival.

Warm up:
500 free
400 pull
300 kick
200 choice

Main set:
6x 100 on 1:50
4x (2x 25, 2x 50, 2x 75) set 1: alternate easy, fast; set 2: free, kick; set 3: free, choice; set 4: fast, easy
8x 50 on the 1:00: odds - 15 fast, finish easy; evens - easy, finish 15 fast

Warm down:
200 choice

Enla Kertuh

Full Name:
Enla Kertuh

Gender and Sexuality:
Female - Incidentally Bisexual

She, Her. 

Keeper of the Moon / Miqo’te

Birthplace and Birthdate:
Deep within the Northern Reaches of the Shroud.
18th Sun of the 4st Astral Moon. (July 18th)

Guilty Pleasures:
Enla very much enjoys the occasional fine liquor and bit of food and savors each to the very last drop due to usually not having enough money to afford either on more than the rare occasion. Though her greatest guilty pleasure is her love for some very girly products, which due to growing up as an out and about tomboy is still something she struggles to accept about herself in spite of her age.

She also very much enjoys snuggling with Nicholas, but she’d sooner die than admit to it.

Deep expanses of water. While Enla is capable of swimming, or rather floating would be a better term, she hates deep water with an unrivaled passion. Smaller bodies of water such as tubs and hot springs are met with a grumble depending upon the circumstances - the worst feeling in the world for her is for her tail to become sodden with moisture - but she can tolerate them in a much more acceptable manner.

What They Would Be Famous For :
Being a rather harsh healer, willing to break the proverbial foot to save the leg and vice versa. 

Not knowing when to shut up and taking great pleasure in causing others a good deal of ire.

Being a fairly competent spear master, a competency which has only been recently rediscovered due to her acceptance of the fact that her blindness was a hindrance rather than something to draw strength from. This realization caused her to slowly but surely prepare for the day when, perhaps, a cure was found and her former martial training was the most logical stepping board to bounce off from.

What Have They / Would They Gotten Arrested For:
No arrests so far, but it would not be far fetched for her to go to jail defending Nicholas due to his past and current actions. Nor would it be surprising for her underworld connections to eventually bring the long arm of the law down upon her; you meet a lot of people as a healer in the slums of Ul’dah proper, particularly if you can keep a secret and don’t care whom you’re healing.

OC(s) You Ship Them With:  
@bramble-star ‘s Nicholas Graveshire. On a more crack related note however, it’s been joked that she and @themageandthemonk ‘s Virella would be a hilariously bad couple in an alternative universe on top of being close friends in the real one.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them:
Not murder per say, as the character she has the most antagonism with is far too honorable to do such a thing; though he has punched her so hard that she lost a tooth if that counts? (HI @autochthonousone‘S BARENGAR) However given her personality it’s only a matter of time, particularly given her penchant for getting into trouble. Such as the time her right eye was gouged out with a knife due to her inability to know when to keep her mouth shut.

Favorite Book Genre:
Enla used to love training scrolls when she was still in the employ of the Wood Wailers. Today she can’t read for rather obvious reasons.

Least Favorite Book Cliche:

Talents and/or Powers:
-Talented spear woman.

-Competent conjurer.

-Dedicated and growing master of herbology. 

Why Someone Might Love Them:
She’s confident, smart, and a fairly fun person to have around so long as you remain on her good side. She’s also loyal to a fault, even when it isn’t deserved.

Why Someone Might Hate Them:
… Where do I begin? She’s like a prickly cactus in the shape of a cat. Cute shape, painful to be near. Those who know her find her perhaps difficult to get along with given her tendency to blow in on a tangent on any given day; and those who find her grating or worse would find her to be an example of near every personal pet peeve in existence. She’s an unapologetic bitch, and she does not need or crave your approval.

How They Change:
Being around the people in Fireborn, Storm, and particularly Nicholas and Virella has softened her personality to a point. She shows a sort of kindness and fierce loyalty that in time perhaps, might see her lessening her stubborn tendencies. 

Punching also does wonders. Though at the rate she’s going she’s going to need dentures before anything truly sticks.

Why You Love Them:
Because she isn’t there to make friends or to be the center of attention. She does not care what people think of her beyond a select few and she doles out her attention very sparingly. It’s very fun for me to roleplay such a stubborn character who is in part, her own worse enemy. She’s not a hero. Hell, she’s not even someone I would LIKE if I ever met her real world equivalent. Yet there is something compelling about her and just how human she can be at times, that keeps me coming back now almost a year later.


Chapter One: Skin Tight (Lady Noir)

Instances like this are rare. It almost feels unreal, sitting there with him beneath the moon. The vast city of Paris stretches out before them; it’s so expansive and otherworldly that she can’t believe there’s nothing else they can do. This tranquility, this stillness, it’s unusual, unsettling, yet it’s present. Her indigo gaze scrolls across the other rooftops, then scales the heights of the Eiffel Tower before it sweeps through the streets in search of something, anything. There’s really nothing.

“Just savor the mewment, my lady,” Chat Noir urges her with that smirk of his.
She scoffs, then tears her eyes away from the world below them. A look of uneasiness flickers on her expression before it dissipates, softened by a smile and a sigh. “Fine,” she submits with a wave of her hand, “but only because you’ve persuaded me.”

His grin widens, and, emboldened by her words, promiscuously leans closer to her. “Well, I am the master of purr-suasion. That makes me curious though…what else might I be able to convince you to do?”

Ladybug raises an unimpressed brow at him, and folds her arms. “At the moment, the most I’m convinced of is that you need a lesson in personal space.”
She pokes his chest with her finger, and then fluidly urges him out of her bubble. He pouts at her, rubbing the same spot disappointedly.

“Meow-ch.” He huffs goodheartedly, making Ladybug giggle, “you wound me.”
Both of them direct their eyes back to the city, but it’s only a few seconds later that their stares return to each other. This time, however, their voices don’t fill the silence. Instead quiet surrounds them, and Marinette feels that same sense of familiarity register with their eyes locked as they are. A part of her argues that it’s Chat Noir, of course he’s familiar. They’ve risked everything for each other, put their lives on the line for each other, they’ve always been by the other’s side through thick, thin, and everything else. That being said she’s never pushed to discover who he is under the mask. So why…does she feel like she already knows?

Her mind wanders to those times he’s mentioned how they might know each other, and she wonders….do they? Could they really?

“LB?” His voice pulls her from her thoughts.

She blinks, surprised, but realizes now that, while she was transfixed by his eyes and the questions they cause her, she’s leaned closer to him than he ever did.

“I…” She fumbles at first. A voice at the back of her head tells her to pull away, to reestablish the space between them, but she can’t. His viridian green stare holds her in place, captivated.

He reaches up, hesitates, then cups her cheek, and she witnesses as the planes of his face morph in a way she’s never seen before. It’s as if all his arrogance drains from him, replaced with something deeper. Something sweeter. Something sincere.  She searches for dishonesty, deceit; she searches for something that would reveal that look—so loving—to be nothing more than another one of his meaningless advances on her…but it’s not there. She can’t find anything beyond the tantalizing mixture of care, compassion, and craving.

Whereas she can’t find her voice, Chat Noir hasn’t lost his.

“Ladybug…” He begins uncertainly. “I know you said we can’t share our secret identities, but I want you to know that I…”

He trails off for a second, appears to brace himself for rejection, then continues.

“I love you, Ladybug.”

Her breath hitches.

“I’ll still love you if I ever meet the girl in the suit, and I’ll still love you if I never meet her. I’ve told myself again and again that someday you’ll fall for me, someday you’ll return my affections…but…but I can’t keep waiting for someday, my lady, because there might never come a time like this…when it’s just the two of us without the weight of—”

She captures his mouth in a kiss. It’s a heady, desperate, loving kiss that sends electricity shuddering through her body. The pulse electrifies her nerves, frenzies her thoughts, sends her heart hammering, and releases dozens of anxious butterflies loose within her tummy all the while awakening desires that were once dormant in her subconscious. It’s those same wishes that compel her to press her body against his, to cling to him when he lays her on her back and kisses his way down her neck, to frantically map out his figure with her hands, to memorize the way his body feels adhered to hers. She feels imprisoned in her own ecstasy, but it’s such a paradisiacal sensation that she can’t even complain. There are no questions that rise to shatter the happiness, only succulent euphoria that motivates her every tender action.

“Lady…” Chat says her name, but not in the tone she expects. He sounds puzzled. When he sits up, straddling her with each of his hands framing her hips, she recognizes a cat-like look of bewilderment.

 “What?” She asks him, now equally as confused.

“There’s no zipper,” he states, his mask creasing as he furrows his brows.
“Zipper…” She repeats as she looks down at herself, eyes wide when she notices he’s right. Sitting up abruptly, and consequently putting a bit of distance between them, she studies her suit and frowns. “Huh, you’re right….I never noticed.”

Chat strokes his chin thoughtfully and attempts to pinch of the fabric, but inadvertently catches some of her skin as well.

“Ow!” She hisses as she swats his hand away and rubs her arm protectively. “That’s me, Chat.”

“Sorry!” He says in hurried remorse. “It’s just…Unless this thing is super stretchy, I don’t see how I’ll get it off you. Why isn’t there a zipper, damn it!”

“I’ve never needed one,” Lady defends herself with folded arms, to which Chat Noir gives her an incredulous look and points at the bell on his own suit.

“Neither have I but I still have one.”

Marinette studies him, before she reaches out and toys with his golden bell. He automatically looks excited. She laughs under her breath, but leans closer and attempts to revive the mood.

“Down, kitty,” she whispers.

He chuckles but grins mischievously. “On you?”

“How about I go first,” she breathes. Once again, she kisses him. He automatically returns her affection. Just like before, voltaic wave pulses through her. It causes all the same reactions. It’s almost as if they didn’t run into that road block until she attempts to unzip his suit.

She pulls on the bell once, twice, three times. She doubles the force behind her yanking, and even tries so hard that she begins tugging poor Chat’s neck with every motion.

He puts his hands on hers to still her attempts, looking almost stunned. “Bug-a-boo, I know kitties wear collars but that doesn’t mean I like being choked.”

“I’m sorry,” Lady responds whilst pulling on the bell one more time only to achieve the same result, “but the zipper must be stuck or something.”

“What do you mean?” He inquires before he tries to unzip his suit too. It doesn’t work. His eyes widen in surprise and he cocks his head to the side. “Hmm. That’s strange. Try again.”

He gestures for her to do so, and she does. She tries several more times, but is only ever met with the failure. They take turns, back and forth, but no matter what they try or how they try the result is the same time and time again. They brainstorm, but none of their ideas work or they just aren’t efficient from the get go. Chat attempts to tear her suit with his nails; he formulates a plan where he makes it disappear with his Cataclysm; Lady attaches her yo-yo to his bell and tries to pull; she even tosses up the idea of searching for scissors or a knife—neither of them think that’s a good idea.

“Why don’t you just use your Lucky Charm?” He asks her after quite a while, to which she shakes her head. “I don’t want to de-transform.”

She shies away at the look he gives her.

“Are you for real?” He demands.

“Do you mean ‘fur-real?” She counters sheepishly.

It makes him snort and he shakes his head. “Haha, very funny, but no. Not what I meant.”

 “What then?”

“We’re literally one zipper away from getting it on, and you’re worried about…your secret identity?”

She flails a little bit, but eventually folds her arms. “So?”
The annoyance that faintly tinged his face fades, and he can’t help but smile at her, then chuckle and shake his head. The sensual intimacy that once permeated the atmosphere has dwindled now, and all that remains is his dedication and adoration for her. He toys with a lock of her hair and leans forward to peck her forehead.

“You’re the craziest girl in hiss-tory.” He tells her with a tiny smile, and she beams up at him delightedly. “Like I said, I’ll love you when I meet the girl behind the mask, and I’ll still love you if I don’t.”

Next Chapter

anonymous asked:

dream anon again... Do you think they'll kill Lexa? I feel like if they did, some wouldnt want to keep watching, I probably wouldnt want to watch it because, it's would be hard to replicate Alycia's and Eliza's chemistry when they are playing Clarke and Lexa. If Clarke got a new love interest that had no chemistry, then that would really suck. But at the same time I would want to keep watching because of Clarke :/ it's confusing, I know

Buddy, please do not fear. Don’t worry yourself for what has not happened and clearly uncertain. Focus on the present and enjoy it to the fullest. This is the season were we are going to see the real Lexa, the young woman behind the Commander’s war paint. Enjoy it, savor it and cherish it Dream Anon.

Hopeless Romantic

Hopeless romantic
Stuck in a daydream
Hopeless romantic
Vying for soft things
Hopeless romantic
Longing for a touch
Hopeless romantic
Doesn’t ask for too much
Hopeless romantic
Who just wants to be held
Hopeless romantic
Looking for a heart for which to meld
Hopeless romantic
Just remember
Hopeless romantic
Love can grow from an ember
Hopeless romantic
Do yourself a favor
Hopeless romantic
It’s life you should savor

anonymous asked:

Weird thought, but does Hux strike you (or any of your followers, at that) as a Red Hit Chili Peppers kinda guy? For some reason, I can easily see him humming "Californication" while working on the Starkiller plans.

i see hux as hypnotic, threatening mid-century jazz

but now that you say it, i am also really savoring the idea of him doing that right now bc i love rhcp and why shouldn’t he too

You just know when.

When he kissed me it felt like even eternity stopped to cherish the moment. And that’s how I knew eternity was a woman, like Mother Earth who cared for her children so deeply with no condition. Eternity cared from the heart. She was sincere and sometimes feeble to the truth of time. 

When he touched me time stopped to savor the moment. And that’s how I knew time was a man, yearning to taste and feel the pieces of me it did not have within itself. Some of its actions incontrollable. 

To be continued…


He doesn’t give her roses
or chocolates hidden in the fridge;
candles, cards, teddy bears,
all sitting neatly on the shelves–
he’s thought of it. Declines.  

He gives her a sliver of sunrise pie,
complete with the cider of wary stars,
aligned planets. He wraps her with the shawl of pine
and stubborn traces of budding maple.

Honey is what she savors when he gives her a treat;
the gold of the sky,
warmth of the earth,
love from the living,
a piece of his soul. 

–she returns in kind a similar dish, fitting and wholesome for two.