Venom 3 Quotes

Ransom really looked at the other man for the first time, shook his head, stared again. “Holy hell, your eyes are like a fucking viper’s.” Venom raised an eyebrow. “You have hair prettier than one of Astaad’s concubines.” Ransom gave the vampire the finger. Venom grinned.

Please nothing, she’s a vicious piranha. She looks all cute and cuddly, then she opens that mouth and lets loose so much venom she could double as a nest of scorpions. (Leo)

I’m just wondering how exactly I went from being the Spider to the Robin fucking Hood of the greater Ashland area... Instead of stealing from the rich, I’m stabbing them to death for the poor.

Illium, his expression subdued as it had been for too many days, turned to her. “Mind if I have a go?” “Kick his ass.” Stripping off his shirt and boots, Illium held out his hand for one of Venom’s blades. Lips curving, Venom passed it over. “Sure you can handle me, pretty, pretty Bluebell?” “Did I ever tell you about my snakeskin boots?” A savage grin, and she knew Venom was about to bear the brunt of whatever haunted the blue-winged angel. Venom swirled his blade in hand. “I do think I need some new feathers for my pillow.

That’s your damned female hormones talking, Jez.” Sonellion grabbed his crotch. “Grow some balls again.” She gave him a venomous look. “I have more clarity about the world in this body than I ever had with a set of balls.

Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. “I thought it was the perfect plan... a bluff... Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you... It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.

Finn did what he always did when confronted by an angry woman—he checked out her boobs.

Fucking pro bono work. Going to get me killed one day.

That’s hard core, Gin,” Finn replied. “Very hard core. Kind of kinky too.” A grim smile tightened my lips. “That’s me. Gin Blanco. Hard core and kinky to the bitter end.

I don't judge you for what you've done, Gin. Why are you judging me for another man's mistakes?

Was Briony the only person who could hear the venom dripping from the woman’s tongue? What good was beauty — a mature beauty, but beauty nonetheless — if it cloaked such a viperous soul?

I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.

I am the Messenger, Gabriel, she who is set over all the powers," I called out. "I evoke thee, Sammael, the Lord of Souls and Fallen angels of death. I am the Will of God and you shall come forth, incubus, the serpent with the lion's face, the Venom of God-" "That is enough name calling... I heard you the first time.

Moonlight played across her body as if it loved her. Venomous snakes had stripes; Mila glowed. The only shadows that touched her were mine.

Jonah McAllister regarded me with cold eyes. "Oh, yes. That's her. The lovely Ms.Gin Blanco. The bitch who was giving my boy a hard time. A hard time? I supposed so, if you thought turning him in to the cops for attempted robbery, breaking a plate full of food in his face, and ultimately stabbing Jake McAllister to death was a hard time.

Don’t make it a challenge. You know how much I like those.

The Komizar rages with enough venom to make your general look like a whimpering kitten.

Fucking hope. Next thing you’d know, I’d be getting soft and sentimental and teary-eyed over puppies and kittens and rainbows.

The desire to be affirmed and appreciated is deadly venom to a man of God, yet it appears that many have been bitten.

Please, this is what I want.” “Not long ago, I was all that you wanted.” I did look at him then, eyes burning with tears. “What we want isn’t always good for us, or what we should have in the end, and this is why I’m asking you to leave.

Damn. Sometimes I really could be a cold-hearted, insensitive bitch.

Let go of me,” I choke out, clawing blindly at Teren. The sharp tang of blood suddenly fills my nostrils, and I realize that it is from his wrists, spreading a film of scarlet around us. Somewhere ahead, the silhouette of our ship looms. We are getting closer. “I wish I could,” Teren spits, dripping venom. “There’s nothing I’d like to see more than you in the Underworld, Adelina.” His words spark my fury. He never intended to finish this journey with you. Teren grips my arm again so hard that I scream in pain. He is pulling us both toward the ship, his face set in grim determination. Then I hear him shout, “But I won’t.” But I won’t. My fury wavers, turning into bewilderment.

Gin’s the toughest gal I know. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking, just like a Timex. Isn’t that right, Gin?

I could practically hear the cosmic chuckles ringing my ears. Ha, ha, fucking ha.

feeling. Ignoring her, I continued, “Because in your dreams, everything and anything is possible. And in mine, you’re with me. Always with me.

He might have been the sun I couldn’t help but orbit around, but he didn’t warm me anymore. Instead, he’d made it his mission to leave me locked inside the chilled shadows of our past. A place even the strongest could only survive for so long.

At sea, sometimes, if you take a ship too far from land and the wind rises and the tide sucks with a venomous force and the waves splinter white above the shield-pegs, you have no choice but to go where the gods will.

Illium, his expression subdued as it had been for too many days, turned to her. “Mind if I have a go?” “Kick his ass.” Stripping off his shirt and boots, Illium held out his hand for one of Venom’s blades. Lips curving, Venom passed it over. “Sure you can handle me, pretty, pretty Bluebell?” “Did I ever tell you about my snakeskin boots?

Sure you can handle me, pretty, pretty Bluebell?" "Did I ever tell you about my snakeskin boots?" "I do think I need some new feathers for my pillow.

Sol in Scorpio When the sun is in signe of Scorpio, expect death, feare, and poison. During this dangerous time, beware of serpents and all other venomous creatures. Scorpio rules over conception and childbirth, and children born under this signe are blessed with many gifts.

A dozen cobras moved as one, shattering their bottles. Wine and glass sprayed the room. The snakes sprang for Isyllt's attacker with fangs unfolded. He screamed high and sharp as they uncoiled, long slick bodies whipping through the air. She wasn't sure if their venom could survive death and pickling, but it didn't seem to matter. After several bites, he curled on the floor, weeping and trying to bat the undead snakes away.

Sweetheart, even when you’re fifty years old and I’m pushing ninety, I’ll still worry about you. You’re my daughter and I love you.

She hadn’t thought of the consequences when she had given me her magic without taking a moment to think of what the consequences would be.

Ditto,” Ethan said, a surprising amount of venom in his voice. I bit back a proud smile; he seemed to be adopting a little of my snark.

You cannot hate with such venom unless you have loved in some capacity.

Never surprise any member of a venomous species with a home visit. It’s not only rude, it’s potentially hazardous to your health.

With the traditional Australian’s indifference to personal dryness and venomous underwater predators, she dived right in.

How do you know me, girl?” He asked, his voice caked with venom. There was movement from the curtains and the throng of vamps seemed to cry out as one, in a sound of pure surprise. My head turned towards the figure of a young man. He looked like an angel, dressed in white and gold, but whether that was because he caused Petrel to stop or the flickering candlelight from the sconces above us, I couldn’t say.

The truth was that I didn’t know how I felt about my long-lost baby sister being in Ashland, much less the fact that she was a cop. A good one, at that. Somebody who actually tried to help people, who wanted to make a difference in a city as dirty and corrupt as Ashland—while I’d spent my entire adult life killing people for money. The idea that we shared the same DNA boggled the mind. Guess there was something to that nurture stuff after all.

Who the hell said I was your woman?” she snarled at me, all fire and venom. “I’m only coming because of the danger—danger your family put us in—” “Me. I said it. You’re mine. Always fucking have been, and always fucking will be.

It’s not very elegant,” Lotus said and shook her head. “If it was elegance you wanted, why did you ask an old beggar? It was also the place where we managed to trick Old Venom into consuming my urine, so what about Eat Piss Island?

The Blood kingdom is my home.” I turned to look at her once more with my fingers digging into the wood of the door. “And the Blood prince is my mate. If you are to fear anything, it should be me. You should fear what I am willing to do to get it all back.

Or in his case, he’d go to Tartarus, where evil men were sent deep into the darkest pit guarded by a monster with fifty sharp-toothed jaws. I liked the idea of him spending some time there, though it was hardly fair to the monster to have to deal with a venomous man like Brutus.

To mix the brew that wakes Death sleep Fill one spread hand with silver deep. In hungry pool moons raise their heads: Pluck one and add the tears it sheds. Stir slowly with new fighter's quill, Three times, no more, and let it still. Add venom from your greatest fear-- One drop--and then the truth is clear.

ACT28.3 And when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks, and laid them on the fire, there came a viper out of the heat, and fastened on his hand. ACT28.4 And when the barbarians saw the venomous beast hang on his hand, they said among themselves, No doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he hath escaped the sea, yet vengeance suffereth not to live.

They thought I was their savior, but I would be no such thing. I would be their destruction.

I would have waited a hundred lifetimes to get to her.

I have searched for you through a thousand lifetimes, princess, and I will search for you through a thousand more.

Your brother didn’t take from me. I gave. And there’s nowhere on my body you can touch that hasn’t already been claimed by him.

What we want isn’t always good for us, or what we should have in the end,

Black Mamba  

El Jefe y La Patrona. The fucked-up story of how we came to be. Of how we became one. Of how we fell in love.

I told, you he doesn’t feel anything.” She was a warrior. Good at the game. I had no doubt she’d been the one who taught Hudson to be so good at his own games. “For anyone,” she added. “That’s a lie.” I had no chance against her. She drew the reaction she desired. But if I had to spar, I’d put my best fight into it. “I’ve seen proof to the contrary.” “Because of how he seems to love you? He’s a good actor.” I spun to face her. “No, because of how he seems to love you.” I spit the words like venom. “When there’s no reason he should. When you’ve alienated him and betrayed him and destroyed him and made him the confused man he is by your lack of affection and support and faith. If he can continue to care about a piece of shit like you, after all you’ve done to him, then I have no doubt of his capability of love.” You fucking bitch.

You know what, Sam? We created the council to take pressure off of you. Because you were falling apart.” Sam just stared at her. Not quite believing she’d said it. And Astrid seemed shocked herself. Shocked at the venom behind her own words. “I didn’t mean…,” she started lamely, but then couldn’t find her way to explaining just what it was she didn’t mean. Sam shook his head. “You know, even now, as long as we’ve been together it still surprises me that you can be so ruthless.” “Ruthless? Me?” “You will use anyone to get what you want. Say anything to get your way. Why was I ever even in charge?” He stabbed an accusing finger at her. “Because of you! Because you manipulated me into it. Why? So I would protect you and Little Pete. That’s all you cared about.” “That’s a lie!” she said hotly. “You know it’s the truth. And now you don’t have to bother manipulating me, you can just give me orders. Embarrass me. Undercut me. But as soon as some problem hits, guess what? It’ll be, oh, please, Sam, save us.” “Anything I do, I do for everyone’s good,” Astrid said. “Yeah, so you’re not just a genius now, you’re a saint.

I’m Ghost 1 on the comms. Garcia is 2, Horn is 3, Fitz is 4, Rico is 5, and Tank is 6. When we land, we stay in close combat intervals. Fitz has point, Tank you’re on rear guard. Keep low to the ground. You spot anything, you signal it. And keep your distance. The juveniles can shoot their venom up to thirty feet. You are not to engage unless it’s a last resort. If you see them, we use our R49 grenades first. Complete radio discipline as soon as our boots hit dirt unless you’re about to get your arms ripped off. Understood?” Beckham spoke in a calm yet authoritative voice. It was a tone everyone respected. The members of Team Ghost all dipped their helmets. Apollo even wagged his tail.

When someone is filled with the Holy Spirit’s power and is zealous to do good, their “fire” for God will always expose their enemies. It was the fire that made the snake come out and bite Paul. “Paul gathered a pile of sticks for the fire. He was putting the sticks on the fire, and a poisonous snake came out because of the heat and bit him on the hand.” Acts 28:3

Daniel could feel ir,like a layer of skin was lifting off his bones. His past self's body was slowly cleaving from his own.The venom of separation coursed through him,threading deep into the fibers of his wings.The pain was so raw it was nauseating, roiling deep inside him with great tidal swells. His vision clouded; ringing filled his ears.The starshot in his hand tumbled to the ground.Then,all at once, he felt a great shove and a sharp,cold breath of air.There was a long grunt and two thuds,and then- His vision cleared.The ringing ceased. He felt lightness, simplicity. Free. Miles lay on the ground below him, chest heaving. The starshot in Daniel's hand disappeared. Daniel spun around to find a specter of his past self standing behind him,his skin gray and his body wraithlike,his eyes and teeth coal-black,the starshot grasped in his hand. His profile wobbled in the hot wind,like the picture on a shorted-out television. "I'm sorry," Daniel said,reaching forward and clutching his past self at the base of his wings.When Daniel lifted the shadow of himself off the ground, his body felt scant and insufficient.His fingers found the graying portal of the Announcer through which both Daniels had traveled just before it fell apart. "Your day will come," he said. Then he pitched his past self back into the Announcer. He watched the void fading in the hot sun. The body made a drawn-out whistling sound as it tumbled into time, as if it were falling off a cliff. The Announcer split into infinitesimal traces,and was gone.

I remember every detail of it, you insignificant cow,” Morwen panted, affecting a crooked grin that failed to convey the same confidence it had before. “You screamed. You cried and blubbered like a baby before you died.” “It won’t work,” said Jenny. “You can’t rile me anymore.” “No? You should have seen your handsome Howard Carson after our vamp got through with him,” Morwen went on. For all her venom, she looked as though she might pass out at any moment. The trip through the wall had left several gashes along her arms, and her eyes appeared to be having difficulty focusing. “You could barely recognize his butchered corpse in the end,” she hissed. “We pitched what was left into the fire like greasy table scraps.” Jenny did not rise to the bait. She only drifted slowly to a stop, looming over Morwen. Morwen gripped her dark dagger so tightly her knuckles whitened. She lashed out wildly at the specter, but the blade met nothing more substantial than moonlight. The effort cost the nixie her balance, and she collapsed again onto the carpet. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” said Jenny calmly. “Not being able to make contact.” She reached down and easily plucked the blade out of Morwen’s grasp. She shifted the weapon from one hand to the other, regarding the dark metal curiously. The solidity of the thing sat at odds with her translucent fingers. Morwen pushed herself up with great difficulty, swaying to an unsteady slouch on one knee. The fight had left the nixie, but not her fury. Her dress was torn and she had plaster ground into her hair. Her voice was hollow. “Just get it over with.” “It is over,” said Jenny. She dropped the blade onto the carpet behind her with a soft thump. Morwen narrowed her eyes. “Don’t waste your pity on me, ghost,” she spat. “I won’t,” said Jenny. “Nor any fear nor fury. I’m done with you, Morwen. My friends, however . . . are not. Mr. Jackaby?” Jackaby stepped forward. He unwound the chain from his hand as he moved around toward Morwen. “Done with me?” Morwen spat. “You only exist because of me, ghost! You’re nothing but a ripple in my wake, you worthless trash. I made you!” “You didn’t make me,” Jenny said gently. “I made myself, and I will continue to make myself forever after. What you did to me? That made you. It made you a murderer and it made you a monster. They buried the girl you killed, Morwen. I’m the spirit you couldn’t kill. You have no power over me.

Oh, but to get through this night. Why won’t sleep come? What’s bothering me here in the dark? It’s not the badgers, it’s not the snakes. What’s bothering me? Something darker is worrying a hole inside me—look how my legs are trembling. Stop moving, Tatiana. That’s how the carnivores find you, by the flash of life on your body, they find you and eat you while you sleep. Like venomous spiders, they’ll bite you first to lull you into sleep—you won’t even feel it—and then they will gnaw your flesh until nothing remains. But even the animals eating her alive was not the thing that worried the sick hole in Tatiana’s stomach as she lay in the leaves with her face hidden from the forest, with her arms over her head, in case anything decided to fall on her. She should’ve made herself a shelter but it got dark so fast, and she was so sure she would find the lake, she hadn’t been thinking of making herself more comfortable in the woods. She kept walking and walking, and then was downed and breathless and unprepared for pitch black night. To quell the terror inside her, to not hear her own voices, Tatiana whimpered. Lay and cried, low and afraid. What was tormenting her from the inside out? Was it worry over Marina? No... not quite. But close. Something about Marina. Something about Saika... Saika. The girl who caused trouble between Dasha and her dentist boyfriend, the girl who pushed her bike into Tatiana’s bike to make her fall under the tires of a downward truck rushing headlong... the girl who saw Tatiana’s grandmother carrying a sack of sugar and told her mother who told her father who told the Luga Soviet that Vasily Metanov harbored sugar he had no intention of giving up? The girl who did something so unspeakable with her own brother she was nearly killed by her own father’s hand—and she herself had said the boy got worse—and this previously unmentioned brother was, after all, dead. The girl who stood unafraid under rowan trees and sat under a gaggle of crows and did not feel black omens, the girl who told Tatiana her wicked stories, tempted Tatiana with her body, turned away from Marina as Marina was drowning...who turned Marina against Tatiana, the girl who didn’t believe in demons, who thought everything was all good in the universe, could she . . . What if...? What if this was not an accident? Moaning loudly, Tatiana turned away to the other side as if she’d just had a nightmare. But she hadn’t been dreaming. Saika took her compass and her knife. But Marina took her watch. And there it was. That was the thing eating up Tatiana from the inside out. Could Marina have been in on something like this? Twisting from side to side did not assuage her torn stomach, did not mollify her sunken heart. Making anguished noises, her eyes closed, she couldn’t think of fields, or Luga, or swimming, or clover or warm milk, anything. All good thoughts were drowned in the impossible sorrow. Could Marina have betrayed her?

at his tea, “she’s a fairy. Kahar.” The last dripped from his tongue like venom. She covered her mouth, containing the mirth that threatened to spill when Gerard’s face mottled a dark shade of red. “I detest when you speak Chinese.” “To vilify a

He was going to be difficult, then. He always was, and strangely, Courtenay wouldn’t have it any other way. “There is no usually where you’re concerned.” Courtenay was well out of his depths. In the past he had generally preferred warm, affectionate sorts of people. Medlock was made of ice and thorns, venom and gunpowder. It ought to be hard to get anywhere near him, let alone fall into love with Medlock. But it hadn’t been hard at all, had it? It had been as easy as breathing.

Intellectual Fascism – 2/3 Take, by way of illustration, two well-educated, presumably liberal, intelligent people in our culture who are arguing with each other about some point. What, out of irritation and disgust, is one likely to call the other? A "filthy black," a "dirty Jew bastard," or a "black-eyed runt"? Heavens, no. But a "stupid idiot," a "nincompoop," a "misinformed numbskull"? By all means, yes. And will the note of venom, of utter despisement that is in the detractor's voice, be any different from that in the voice of the out-and-out fascist with his racial, religious, and political epithets? Honestly, now: will it? Suppose the individual against whom a well-educated, presumably liberal, intelligent person aims scorn actually is stupid, or misinformed. Is this a crime? Should he, perforce, curl up and die because he is so afflicted? Is she an utterly worthless, valueless blackguard for not possessing the degree of intelligence and knowledge that her detractor thinks she should possess? And yet - let us be ruthlessly honest with ourselves, now! - isn't this exactly what the presumably liberal person is saying and implying - that the individual whose traits she dislikes doesn't deserve to live? Isn't this what we (for it is not hard to recognize our own image here, is it?) frequently are alleging when we argue with, criticize, and judge others in our everyday living? The facts, in regard to higher-order fascism, are just as clear as those in regard to lower-order prejudice. For just as everyone in our society cannot be, except through the process of arbitrary genocide or "eugenic" elimination, Aryan, or tall, or white, so cannot everyone be bright, or artistically talented, or successful in some profession. In fact, even if we deliberately bred only higher intelligent and artistically endowed individuals to each other, and forced the rest of the human race to die off, we still would be far from obtaining a race of universal achievers: since, by definition, topflight achievement can only be attained by a relatively few leaders in most fields of endeavour, and is a "relative" rather than an "absolute" possibility. The implicit goals of intellectual fascism, then, are, at least in today's world, impractical and utopian. Everyone cannot be endowed with artistic or intellectual genius; only a small minority can be. And if we demand that all be in that minority, to what are we automatically condemning those who clearly cannot be? Obviously: to being blamed and despised for their "deficiencies"; to being lower-class citizens; to having self-hatred and minimal self-acceptance. Even this, however, hardly plumbs the inherent viciousness of intellectual fascism. For whereas lower-order or politico-economic fascism at least serves as a form of neurotic defensiveness for those who uphold its tenets, higher-order fascism fails to provide such defences and actually destroys them. Thus, politico-social fascists believe that others are to be despised for not having certain "desirable" traits - but that they are not to be applauded for having them. From a psychological standpoint, they compensate for their own underlying feelings of inadequacy by insisting that they are super-adequate and those who are not like them are subhumans. Intellectual Fascists start out with a similar assumption but more often than not get blown to bits by their own homemade explosives. For although they can at first assume that they are bright, talented, and potentially achieving, they must eventually prove that they are. Because, in the last analysis, they tend to define talent and intelligence in terms of concrete achievement, and because outstanding achievement in our society is mathematically restricted to a few, they rarely can have real confidence in their own possession of the values they have "arbitrarily deified".

But it’s a reminder.” Lowering his head, his nose glided over my skin and he pressed a kiss to my cheek, right beside my ear. “To keep trying to get it right, even when we’re getting it wrong.

Sylvie, I didn't mean to—" "You didn't mean to what?" I ask, my voice venomous. "You didn't mean to kill people? You let your brother in. I don't care what you meant, I care what you did.

When she looked at these scars, I didn’t want her to think of him. I wanted her to think of me and how my love for her was something I had waited a lifetime for. I would have waited a hundred lifetimes to get to her.

I need you,” she said so softly I almost missed it. “You have me. For this lifetime and any that come after.” I stared at her and pushed her hair out of her face. Her star marks were burning bright against her cheeks, and I was in awe of her. Of her beauty, of her strength. She didn’t realize what she possessed. She had no idea the power she held over me. But I could feel it with every fiber of my being.

Evren’s gaze shuddered, and he lifted his hands until they were pressed against my cheeks. He pushed my hair out of my face, and his hands held me firmly yet like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.  “You have no idea how badly I want to make you my wife.” His voice was quiet and rough, and my stomach tightened at the sound. “I think of it night and day. I want to claim you in every way this world will allow, and even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

If anxiety is a dark venom, Nick’s touch is a golden antidote, fighting it back, assuring me I’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay.

He was the rock against which I crashed.

I have searched for you through a thousand lifetimes, princess, and I will search for you through a thousand more.” He pressed another kiss to my neck, and I let the feel of him settle deep inside me. “It is with you that I feel most powerful. It is you who strengthens every part of me.

But there wasn’t a force strong enough in this world or the next that could stop me from loving her.

let me assure you that I have not fucked anyone since you walked through my door, shooting daggers at me with your eyes and dripping venom from those fuckable lips. Everything I asked of you will apply to me as well. Does that ease your mind?

I’d spent a lifetime being all too aware of just how different I was from everyone around me. I wasn’t exactly the black sheep—more like the venomous toad in a pond full of graceful coy fish. There was no comparison.

The venom that inflicts the wound also births the healer's touch.

She was a warrior forged from her past and led by her future. 

But society is ignorant and venomous, devoid of any trace of insight or understanding. It exalts knavery, and worships stupidity. It crucifies the intelligent, and puts the diseased in dungeons.

For example, even if a human hasn’t ever been in contact with a snake, and doesn’t know that snakes can be venomous, the human will have an innate fear of slithering, hissing, scale-covered creatures on the ground. Likewise, most humans will fear heights even if they are properly strapped into a harness, or mutated to have wings.

Through this tradition of face-to-face oral communication, now in danger of disappearing, black folks maintained the conviction of their own worth and saved their own souls by refusing to fall victim to fear or the hatred of their oppressors, which they recognized would have been more destructive to themselves than to their enemies. As the poet Lucille Clifton put it, “Ultimately if you fill yourself with venom you will be poisoned.”3 There were incidents of individual violence, usually crimes of passion committed by someone under the influence of alcohol and over a man or a woman. But despite the unimaginable cruelty that they suffered, blacks kept their sense of humor and created the art form of the blues as a way to work through and transcend the harshness of their lives. Living under the American equivalent of Nazism, they developed an oasis of civility in the spiritual desert of “me-firstism” that characterized the rest of the country.

I recognize a few more of the attendees: Mustela fae—ferret-like creatures with long, venomous fangs and vulnerable craniums, a hedgehog being with the face of a sparrow, a pink woman with a neck as long as a flamingo. There

Justin Schmidt, an entomologist who studies venomous stings, created the Schmidt Sting Pain Index to quantify the pain inflicted by ants and other stinging creatures. His surprisingly poetic descriptions give some order to the hierarchy of ant stings as compared to those of bees and wasps: 1.0 Sweat bee: Light, ephemeral, almost fruity. A tiny spark has singed a single hair on your arm. 1.2 Fire ant: Sharp, sudden, mildly alarming. Like walking across a shag carpet & reaching for the light switch. 1.8 Bullhorn acacia ant: A rare, piercing, elevated sort of pain. Someone has fired a staple into your cheek. 2.0 Bald-faced hornet: Rich, hearty, slightly crunchy. Similar to getting your hand mashed in a revolving door. 2.0 Yellowjacket: Hot and smoky, almost irreverent. Imagine W. C. Fields extinguishing a cigar on tongue. 2.x Honey bee and European hornet: Like a matchhead that flips off and burns on your skin. 3.0 Red harvester ant: Bold and unrelenting. Somebody is using a drill to excavate your ingrown toenail. 3.0 Paper wasp: Caustic & burning. Distinctly bitter aftertaste. Like spilling a beaker of hydrochloric acid on a paper cut. 4.0 Tarantula hawk: Blinding, fierce, shockingly electric. A running hair drier has been dropped into your bubble bath. 4.0+ Bullet ant: Pure, intense, brilliant pain. Like fire-walking over flaming charcoal with a 3-inch rusty nail in your heel.

snow n... 2.a. Anything resembling snow. b. The white specks on a television screen resulting from weak reception. crash v... -infr.. . . 5, To fail suddenly, as a business or an economy. - The American Heritage Dictionary virus.. . . [L. virus slimy liquid, poison, offensive odour or taste.] 1. Venom, such as is emitted by a poisonous animal. 2. Path. a. A morbid principle or poisonous substance produced in the body as the result of some disease, esp. one capable of being introduced into other persons or animals by inoculations or otherwise and of developing the same disease in them.. . . 3. fig. A moral or intellectual poison, or poisonous influence. -The Oxford English Dictionary

That means there has never been a parent on earth who wants joy for his or her children as much as your Father in heaven wants joy for you, his child. There has never been a human father who wanted to answer his child’s petitions as much as God wants to answer yours. Yet we know that God is not only loving but holy and just. How can he shower blessings down on sinful people who deserve the opposite? The answer is that Jesus got the scorpion and the snake so that we could have food at the Father’s table. He received the sting and venom of death in our place (cf. 1 Cor 15:55; Heb 2:14–15; Gen 3:15).

Steve Irwin, the famous “crocodile hunter,” was killed by a stingray in 2006. He accidentally got too near one and, feeling threatened, it turned and lashed at it him with its tail, the barb piercing his heart.

So, do you have a plan to contain your mother, or are you just going to wing it?" His fingers formed air quotes at the final two words while I shot him a venomous look.

hawk, he would have been bankrupt years ago. I like to build cars and make movies. If you ask me, we would have been better off directing our resources toward making movies than putting up a fancy new building.” “Why did you go along with the plan?” “I didn’t have any choice. I told my father I thought it was a bad idea. He had the final vote. Did you and your father agree on everything when you were growing up?” “Of course not.” “Who usually won the arguments?” “My dad.” He gives me a knowing smile. “Same here. My father wanted to build his dream studio. It was his money. Do you think my opinion on the economic viability of the project carried any weight? He spent his life being told he was a genius. That word isn’t generally used when people talk about me. Now it’s going to cost us a fortune to get out.” Families. Rosie keeps her eye on the ball. “Richard, you told us you left your father’s house around two o’clock. Who was still there?” “My dad, Angelina, and Marty Kent.” “Do you know what time Kent left?” “No.” “Do you have any idea what happened to him?” “I understand he jumped.” Rosie lays the cards on the table. “Do you think he killed your father?” He starts mixing paint again. “I think Angelina killed my father. Then again, nothing Marty did would have surprised me. He was a self-righteous ass. He thought he was the brains behind the operation, and my dad and I were just pawns. And he was really ticked off.” The venom in his tone surprises me. He tells us Kent and his father had been fighting about the China Basin project for months. “Marty thought he was getting screwed. My dad went to the other investors to try to negotiate a bonus for him.” “Did something happen on Friday night?” “Yes. My dad told him that the other investors had vetoed the bonus.” This jibes with the information from Ward. He adds, “There was something else. Marty decided to try to pull some strings at city hall. He hired a consultant to help him get the approvals for the China Basin project.” I decide to play coy. “Do you know his name?” “Armando Rios. Some money may have changed hands. Marty never told me about it. Marty never told me

If you make someone your world, do not complain when the ground crumbles beneath your feet.

When her lips surround my cock and that venomous tongue slides against my shaft, I know I’ve met my match.

Monsters don’t bring you water and painkillers. They don’t run you bubble baths, or kiss you like you’re a precious treasure they’d rather die than lose. At least, most don’t. But mine does.

Maybe I wanted you to win,” he growls, his eyes capturing mine. “Maybe I wanted it to be you.” His lips sear to mine, kissing me fiercely as I sink against his chest. Monsters don’t bring you water and painkillers. They don’t run you bubble baths, or kiss you like you’re a precious treasure they’d rather die than lose. At least, most don’t. But mine does.

She’s the equal I never, ever expected to find.

Tonight, I’m not just a wolf. Tonight, I’m death. I’m vengeance personified.

Let’s get one thing very fucking straight,” he growls, thrusting into me over and over, making my entire body shake. “No one touches you but me. No one fucks you but me.” A whine of pure pleasure erupts from me as he wraps his hand tight around my throat, biting my earlobe and pounding his cock into me. “Your little pussy, Kitten,” he snarls. “Belongs to me.

Don’t talk,” Gabriel murmurs into my ear, making me shiver as heat teases down my spine. “I have other plans for your mouth.

Here’s the thing, Fumi,” he growls. “This nonsense between us is business, and nothing more. Believe me, you don’t want anything to do with me in that regard. And I do not want to fuck you. ” 12 GABRIEL Yes I fucking do.

Once upon a time, I was in control. Once upon a time, I knew what I was doing with her. Now, I realize I’ve lost all control. And I’m not sure I ever want it back.

Perfect,” I growl, cupping her face and leveling my eyes with hers. “What you are, Fumi, is fucking perfect…and fucking mine.

It’s always only been you.

I just love your friends.” I sighed and pressed my head against his chest. “They make me feel like I’m home.” Evren’s body went tight beneath me before he laid me down gently against the bed. “They are your friends too, and this is your home.” He kissed my forehead, and I smiled. “I am your home.

It is with you that I feel most powerful. It is you who strengthens every part of me.

Keith Morrison will wander all over Nevada with the entire LVPD, and you will remain just a shadowy memory that he talks about in his scary but sexy true crime voice.