Deviant King Quotes

Be mine and you become the queen on my board.” He pauses and flicks his tongue to lick my lower lip. “Fight and you’ll remain a pawn.

Spreading your legs won’t get you out of my system. I love owning your body, but that’s not the only thing I’m interested in.” “Then what else do you want?” His voice drops in a haunting whisper. “Every. Fucking. Thing.

Xander Knight. Cole Nash. Ronan Astor. Aiden King.

If anyone dares to look at you, let alone touch what’s mine, I’ll fucking murder them. Is that clear?

Steel blood runs through your veins, Princess.

Aiden...Oh, my God, Aiden!!" " I Love The Idea Of Being Your God.

He leans forward so his mouth hovers inches away from mine and growls. “I will destroy you.

He raises an eyebrow. “You play chess.” “How do you know that?” “Those who don’t play think that the king is the most important piece because the game is over when he dies. They don’t know that the king is useless without his queen.

It’s because of you I’m labelled a slut. It’s because of you no one approaches me.” “And no one will.” He’s at my face, so close that we breathe each other’s air. “Do you know why, sweetheart?” “Why?” I murmur. “Because you were always mine. You just didn’t know it yet.

They say it doesn’t take long for your life to be flipped upside down. A moment. A second. And it’s all over. I should’ve known. If I had, I would’ve done things differently. Maybe I would’ve walked the other way. Maybe my tale wouldn’t have ended the way it did. But the thing about ‘maybes’? They’re useless.

That’s the difference between you and me, sweetheart. You’d leave me in a heartbeat if I cheat, but I’ll never leave you even if you cheat.

Do you fantasise about me, sweetheart?” Yes. But screw him.

But that’s the thing about hearts, isn’t it? They can’t help beating despite the pain.

He pauses at my first button and searches my face. Touching him was never a part of the deal, and he must be wondering why I’m doing it willingly. I don’t know if he hates or loves it, but I don’t give him or myself time to think about it. I lift my knee and hit him in the crotch. Hard. As hard as I can. His face contorts and his hands shoot out for me, but I duck and run past him. A huge grin pulls on my face. I just kneed Aiden fucking King in the balls!

I’m mad at you, too. We can be mad at each other while you’re sitting on my lap.

A cardinal American virtue, 'ambition,' promotes a cardinal American vice, 'deviant behavior.

I’m the moth who knew it’d burn but went to the fire anyway.

The pain. I want the pain to stay.

Don’t idolise other men in front of me. I don’t like it.” A burst of laughter slips from my throat. “Are you jealous, mighty King?” “Damn straight I’m jealous. I’m so possessive of you, it drives me fucking crazy.

Sometimes, parents aren’t what they’re supposed to be.

Yes, Coach,” Aiden calls back but he never takes his eyes off me. The pull between us is crazy and addictive. Despite the audience surrounding us, I’m lost in his smoky eyes. It’s like he’s able to erase the world just like I can.

I drive like a Cullen.

I love the idea of being your God.

A person is formed of jigsaw pieces and if you want to really know anyone, then start at the pieces that formed his childhood. They’re the base. Everything else is built on that.

You’ll deny that you show the world a calculated image of who you want them to believe you are?

But then again, one can't play with the devil in his hell and pray not to burn.

Running in the rain steals my breath. Ruins it. Smashes it. Nearly eradicates it. When I arrive home, my soaked clothes are stuck to my skin. My shoes are slouching. My toes are cold and stiff. Erratic strands of my hair stick to my temples and forehead, dripping all over me. I stand in our small garden, catching my breath, and press a shaky palm to my chest. My heart’s palpitations grow uneven and out of beat as if protesting. I close my eyes and tip my head back, letting the rain beat down on me. Soak me. Rinse me. The droplets pound on my closed lids almost like a soothing caress. I’ve always loved the rain. The rain camouflaged everything. No one saw the tears. No one noticed the shame or the humiliation. It was just me, the clouds, and the pouring water. But that’s the thing about the rain, isn’t it? It’s only a camouflage, a temporary solution. It can only rinse the outside. It can’t seep under my skin and wash away my shaky insides. Wiping away my memories isn’t an option either. It’s been barely an hour since Aiden had his hands on me – all over me. I can still feel it. His breath. His nearness. His psychotic eyes.

You look even nerdier this year.

I squeal in delight and do a quick hand-clap of happiness, then decide I might as well push my luck while I’ve got it. “And I want an e-reader with an unlimited book budget.

Aiden is the cliff. Unknown. Unplanned. Unpredictable. He's my worst nightmare. He's also the closest thing I've had to freedom.

A part inside me dies; the part that yearned for freedom, for the chance to escape Aiden. But the other part? That one fills me with an odd sense of relief. A chill of terror crawls down my spine. This isn’t me.

Those who don’t play think that the king is the most important piece because the game is over when he dies. They don’t know that the king is useless without his queen.

Ronan is Death because he’s an impenetrable rock in the midfield. Cole is Famine; silent but deadly when he attacks. Xander is War; all he knows is how to wreak havoc.

That’s the last thought I have before Aiden slams his fist in Xander’s face.

You of all people don't get to play games with me.

Are you, Elsa? Because I was never supposed to like you this much. Hell. I wasn’t supposed to think about you more than I think of myself.

Then what else do you want?” His voice drops in a haunting whisper. “Every. Fucking. Thing.

I wouldn't hold your breath waiting for me to get in line, Your Majesty. It'll be a cold day in hell before I fall on my knees before you.

Eye for an eye. Blood for blood.

To all the fighters, It’s easy to lie down, but it takes courage to step up and fight.

You know, in the summer camp, this Buddhist priest chap told us an interesting tidbit,” she continues. “What?” “Souls are attracted to each other.

Happy Queen, Happy Peen

You’re so beautiful,” He groans, his rhythm turning rougher and faster with every word he says. “You’re maddening. You’re addictive. You’re fucking up everything.

People’s eyes shine with excitement and happiness. Aiden’s spark with unhinged sadism.

If anyone dares to look at you, let alone touch what's mine, I'll fucking murder them,

I feel him beside me, hear the even sound of his breathing, smell the delicious saltiness of his skin. I have missed him. I move to face him, and that’s when the pain reminds me that I’ve recently been stabbed. I bury my face in the pillow, but it doesn’t quite muffle my yelp. “Emma?” Galen says groggily. I feel his hand in my hair, stroking the length of it. “Don’t move, angelfish. Stay on your stomach. I’ll go tell Rachel you’re ready for more pain medicine.” Immediately I disobey and turn my face up to him. He shakes his head. “I’ve recently learned where your stubbornness comes from.” I grimace/smile. “My mom?” “Worse. King Antonis. The resemblance is uncanny.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine and all too quickly springs back up. “Now, be a good little deviant and stay put while I go get more pain meds.” “Galen,” I say. “Hmmm?” “How bad am I hurt?” He caresses the outline of my cheek. His touch could disintegrate me. “Hurt at all is bad enough for me.” “Yeah, but you’ve always been a baby about this stuff.” I grin at his faux offense. “Your mother says it’s only a flesh wound. She’s been treating it.” “Mom is here?” “She’s downstairs. Uh…You should know that Grom is here, too.” Grom left the tribunal and headed for land? Did that mean it all ended badly? Well, even worse than my getting impaled? An urgent need to know everything about everything shimmies through me. “Whoa. Sit. Talk. Now.” He laughs. “I will, I promise. But I want to make you comfortable first.” “Well, then, you need to come over here and switch places with the bed.” A blush fills my cheeks, but I don’t care. I need him. All of him. It feels like forever since we’ve talked like this, just me and him. But talking usually doesn’t last long. Lips were made for other things, too. And Galen is especially good at the other things. He walks back and squats by the bed. “You have no idea how tempting that is.” It seems like the violet of his eyes gets darker. It’s the color they get when he has to pull away from me, when we’re about to violate a bunch of Syrena laws if we don’t stop. “But you’re not well enough to…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll go get Rachel. Then we can talk.” I’m a little surprised that his argument didn’t begin with “But the law…” That is what has stopped us in the past. Now the only thing that appears to be stopping us is my stabby condition. What’s changed? And why am I not excited about it? I used to get so frustrated when he would pull away. But a small part of me loved that about him, his respect for the law and for the tradition of his people. His respect for me. Respect is a hard thing to come by when picking from among human boys. Is that respect gone? And is it my fault?

For two years, I took pride in walking the halls with my head held high no matter what the minions said or did to me. Today was too raw. Too deviant. Just too much. The steel will I thought I had crumbled in a matter of minutes. I always heard about people’s breaking points, but I was too delusional to think I didn’t have one. I discovered the hard way that I do. A breath leaves me as I step into my room. My sanctuary.

But a day like today, it would be nice to have a girlfriend or even a mother figure to talk to. Anyone to listen to my wild story, then validate my feelings that Caiden Verran has a giant dick. I mean, is a giant dick.

When I lift my eyes to the mirror, my lips part. It’s me. The witchy, white-blonde hair. The baby blue eyes. But at the same time, it isn’t. There’s a void in there. A… numbness. I’m about to move to the shower when something else stops me. My scar. Several angry red marks surround it. Did the psycho leave freaking hickeys around my scar? What in the ever living hell was going on in his defective brain? I rip my gaze away from the mirror and take the longest, most scalding shower in history. When I step back into the room, the song has changed to Good Grief by Bastille. I let the music drift around me as I climb into bed, still in a towel, and close my eyes. I fight the tears and lose.

No one — Aiden included — will break me. My early childhood didn’t and he certainly fucking wouldn’t. I just have to be smart about dealing with him. Like avoiding the shit out of him and go back to glaring from afar. I wave at my aunt and stride into the school with my head held high like usual. The taunts begin, but I don’t let them rattle me. A little voice in my head whispers at them. Run along, kids, your little pranks are nothing compared to Aiden’s depravity. Despite my pep talk this morning that gave me much needed courage, a tremor shoots down my limbs the closer I approach the class. I’ll see him again. I’ll see those demon eyes. Those sadistic smirks. That dark soul.

What will you do if I somehow cheat?” I’m treading into a dangerous territory, but curiosity gets the better of me. “Kill the bastard.” No hesitation. “How about me?” He cups my jaw with false tenderness. “That’s the difference between you and me, sweetheart. You’d leave me in a heartbeat if I cheat, but I’ll never leave you even if you cheat.

Ikicked Aiden in the balls. I kicked Aiden fucking King in the balls. My feet skid to a halt at the threshold of the classroom. I’m panting. My hands are sweaty. The wave of adrenaline vanishes from my system, leaving a tremor in my limbs. My shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. If I didn’t worry that my classmates would start calling me a lunatic, I would’ve laughed so loud right now. I want to run, jump, and bump fists with myself. It’s a strange type of freedom that I haven’t felt in like… ever. I was always quiet and introverted, but right now? I feel like I can punch the moon and kick the stars.

That only happens in your romance novels and Korean soap operas, Kim.

In 1991 Money, a New Zealander–American psychologist, was at the peak of his fame. He was seventy and had given the world the vocabulary to talk more intelligently and kindly about sexual orientation, about being transgender, about atypical genital anatomy, about sexual identity, and indeed about gender itself. Before Money came along, those who failed to fit society’s pigeonholes were customarily dismissed as deviants and freaks. It was this sexologist who in 1955 introduced the label gender, which until then had been used only for grammatical classification. In English, we recognize the gender of words such as king and queen or ram and ewe. In some other languages, the gender of nouns is reflected in articles, such as le and la in French, or der and die in German. Money borrowed this grammatical label, saying that for him gender refers to “all those things that a person says or does to disclose himself or herself as having the status of boy or man, girl or woman, respectively.” He set gender apart from biological sex, aware of the occasional disparity between those two. He also founded the world’s first Gender Identity Clinic at Johns Hopkins University in 1965. The terminology invented by Money gained immense popularity when feminism declared gender to be a social construct and when transgender people gained public recognition.1

I stare at him like he just grew a second head. Or third, depending on how you look at it.

Remember that you are the author of your own story, and you deserve a damn good one.

I'd rather be sorry for taking a thousand risks than be safe for never taking any.

Did he just open the door for me? Do devils do that?

Somewhere along the line, Bryn has become essential to me. She continues to embed herself into my soul more each day, and I've finally stopped fighting tooth and nail and accepted what I think I've known all along. Bryn and I were inevitable.

He’s just admitted to wanting to kidnap me, and all I care about is knowing why.

Good girl.

He needs to stop calling me sweetheart or I’ll get a voodoo doll with his face on it and stab it to death. Better yet, I’ll cut it limb from limb.

The time has come to revise this enigmatic and most important term “Aryan.” It need no longer be flagrantly and prejudiciously bandied by anyone wishing to claim exalted racial status. It need no longer be used as an appellation by those deviants brandishing pseudo-scientific ideologies, and by those who have long misunderstood the facts concerning the origin, identity and fate of the various Indo-European and Semitic races. Importantly, recent discoveries made by Jewish and Gentile investigators alike conclusively prove that the so-called “Israelites” (those arch-enemies of would-be Aryans) were not racially Semitic after all. Like the “Aryans,” they too were racially Indo-European. Their language, Hebrew, was identical with Egyptian. Therefore, in our mind, the term “Semite” must henceforth be dropped as a racial appellation for the Bible’s “Chosen People.” As we show in Volume Two, the terms “Israelite” and “Judite” do not denote races. The terms were religious and theological, and defined cult rather than race. Israelites and Judites were conglomerated groups closely affiliated with and probably blood-related to the Hyksos Pharaohs of old, a fact confirmed by top Jewish historians. Thanks to the researches of Sigmund Freud, Comyns Beaumont, L. A. Waddell, Ahmed Osman, Ralph Ellis and Moustafa Gadalla, the true identity of the Israelites has finally come out into the open. Obviously, the fact that the alleged ancestors of the Jews were racially Indo-European, and of the same racial stock as the antagonists defamed and condemned in the name of spurious racial superiority, has poignant ramifications. It assists us to immediately and swiftly restore the grievously abused term “Aryan.” The term has simply been dragged through the mud by perfidious fools of the same race as the “Israelites” whom they gullibly believe to be inferior. Now that the hydrochloric acid of reason has been applied, now that the term has been thoroughly excavated from its bed of filth, its unadulterated and original meaning may be discerned. They were not an ethnic group or a nation as such, but rather a social category with a common lifestyle – Robert Cornman and J. M. Modrzejewski (The Jews of Egypt: From Rameses II to Emperor Hadrian) Not until Jacob in a somewhat obscure manner was told to call himself Israel was that name adopted and accorded to his twelve “sons:” but if we accept the explanation of Sanchoniathon, a Phoenician of Tyre, Cronus “whom Phoenicians called Israel” was king of Phoenicia, and it signified that these Chaldeo-Phoenician tribes were worshippers of Cronus-Saturn...for Jehovah was a far later importation. The name Israel has subsequently been misappropriated, for those Biblical Christians who term themselves Israelites in fact label themselves followers of a pagan deity – Comyns Beaumont (The Riddle of Prehistoric Britain)

Adam looks down at me with a glare. “Watch where you’re going.

If you throw one more snide remark my way, I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll cut you from limb to limb and bury you in the back garden.” I smile.

I want this line on my tombstone, He had a 7 inch dick and used it well.

Fight me all you want, but soon enough, you’ll be chanting long live the king.

Why the hell am I gravitating towards the villain?

I’ll fuck the memory of anyone else out of you.

Let’s commit muuurder!

Souls are attracted to each other.

Aiden walks into the classroom with Silver hanging off his arm.

its easy to lie down, but it takes courage to step up and fight

Is he... a full-blown sociopath?

You like your will taken, don’t you?

Well, either we had such a good time together that we got matching best-friend rings, or we got married.

Sociopaths are made.

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Everyone knows that. Except kings usually know they’re going to be kings long before they take over the throne. They prepare for it their whole lives, train for it. They’re ready when the day arrives. I wasn’t. Because I was never meant to be king. I’m Lancelot, burning and pillaging and fucking his way through the countryside. Not King fucking Arthur.

Aiden es el tipo que esconde su ira bajo capas de calma

Aiden no esta interesado en meras partes de mi, lo quiere todo.

A king wasn’t shit without his queen.

Sometimes I wanted to warn her away, tell her to run as far from me as she could. A good man would have. Lucky for me, I wasn’t classified as one of those and had no fu*king desire to be.

F*ck Prince Charming and knights in shining armor; I had a beautiful dark king.

me,

The first time I kiss Aiden without him basically forcing it on me.

Aiden: Královna, nebo pěšák. Elsa: Buď se stanu nejdůležitější figurkou, nebo tou nejzbytečnější. Jak...poetické.

I don’t know what your obsession is with me, but it’s not going to work.” He squints an eye. “Let me worry about that, sweetheart.

Everyone calls me King." "And?" I ask, not knowing what he's getting at. "You don't." "That's because you have a first name, why the hell would I call you by your last?

The kid cuts a questioning glance in my direction, and I give him a discreet nod. There’s no reason for her to be tipping him, because the drinks are going on my tab, but I have a feeling not doing so would break some Wisconsinite law, so I’m not fighting her on it.

Eye for eye. Blood for blood. He started the war. I'm just keeping up.

That's what Aiden does. He devours. He shreds me apart and strips me bare until he owns every part of me.

Are you jealous, mighty king?" "Damn straight I'm jealous. I'm so possessive of you, it drives me fucking crazy.

mind controlling technologies, such as subliminal images in magazine photographs and on television have long been used – not to mention the use of deviant pedophile symbols in movies such as The Lion King by Disney. The word “sex” and artful representations of male and female anatomies are carefully crafted into many images, and the magazine industry has even gone so far as to include libido-enhancing scents in

I make a mental note that she has a strike one for even implying I might be a quitter,

Spreading your legs won’t get you out of my system. I love owning your body, but that’s not the only thing I’m interested in.

Sometimes villains look so innocent, Ellie.” Her gaze is lost in the distance. “Actual villains don’t know they’re villains because they think everything they do is right.

Aren’t all girls supposed to be attracted to the white knight? Prince charming? Why the hell am I gravitating towards the villain?

Are you playing a mind game?” I snap. “Is this the part where you laugh in my face and tell me I’ve been pranked?” “This is the part where you lost your only chance to escape me.” He squeezes my neck. “You’re well and truly fucked, sweetheart.

Do you know what I think? I think a part of you likes the opposite of nice, but because you’re such a good girl, you’re out to destroy that part. You’re scared about what it could mean about you. How can you like something so deprived when you’re such a perfect human being? You’re scared of yourself, sweetheart.

My friend appears and I choke on the orange juice. Aiden fucking King is standing in our dining room.