Feathers So Vicious Quotes

For every girl who can love a villain, so long as he’s handsome, hung, and good at groveling.

SPRING POEM It is spring, my decision, the earth ferments like rising bread or refuse, we are burning last year's weeds, the smoke flares from the road, the clumped stalks glow like sluggish phoenixes / it wasn't only my fault / birdsongs burst from the feathered pods of their bodies, dandelions whirl their blades upwards, from beneath this decaying board a snake sidewinds, chained hide smelling of reptile sex / the hens roll in the dust, squinting with bliss, frogbodies bloat like bladders, contract, string the pond with living jelly eyes, can I be this ruthless? I plunge my hands and arms into the dirt, swim among stones and cutworms, come up rank as a fox, restless. Nights, while seedlings dig near my head I dream of reconciliations with those I have hurt unbearably, we move still touching over the greening fields, the future wounds folded like seeds in our tender fingers, days I go for vicious walks past the charred roadbed over the bashed stubble admiring the view, avoiding those I have not hurt yet, apocalypse coiled in my tongue, it is spring, I am searching for the word: finished finished so I can begin over again, some year I will take this word too far.

You said you hope that your actions added months to my time in the dungeons, but little dove, I never escaped them. They are with me,

The longer you make me look at you, little dove, the harder it is for me to remember what you are. And I fear that, if I look too long… I just might forget who you are.

The only thing he actually did have was the personality of crotch lice.

If a wife cannot speak ill of her husband, then what joys are there left for her in marriage?

The writing life is brutal on a wounded mind. It really is. So much time spent alone. So much time spent in self-reflection. Emotional wounds heal in other people’s hearts but you have to reopen yours and examine them in order to re-create their painful feelings on the page. Ugly, twisted, vicious thoughts flitter through other people’s minds, but you have to seize yours and hold them to the light in order to understand the soul’s shadowy corners. You have to shred your comfortable pieties. You have to tear your illusions to feathers and rags. When you’re working well, you become bad company, inward-turning, querulous, obsessed.

If you believe death is the worst I can give you, then clearly, you haven’t experienced much of life.

Ignorance breeds lies, and lies breed wars.

See, there is no love for you here—not from me, not from him. There is no love for you anywhere.

There is nothing left of me worth saving. Just promise me you will, should you ever come back and find my body, burn me so my ashes can drift forever on the wind.

What was the worth of a silk gown if it cocooned a withered heart? What was the worth of a life if there was no love in it?

much you want to hate me, it’ll never measure up to the loathing my father clearly harbors for me. You think you rendered me worthless? Don’t flatter yourself, Malyr. I was born worthless.

It is foolish to wish for beauty.  Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others.  If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior.  So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we to the children of the present day.  All very judicious and proper, no doubt; but are such assertions supported by actual experience? We are naturally disposed to love what gives us pleasure, and what more pleasing than a beautiful face—when we know no harm of the possessor at least?  A little girl loves her bird—Why?  Because it lives and feels; because it is helpless and harmless?  A toad, likewise, lives and feels, and is equally helpless and harmless; but though she would not hurt a toad, she cannot love it like the bird, with its graceful form, soft feathers, and bright, speaking eyes.  If a woman is fair and amiable, she is praised for both qualities, but especially the former, by the bulk of mankind: if, on the other hand, she is disagreeable in person and character, her plainness is commonly inveighed against as her greatest crime, because, to common observers, it gives the greatest offence; while, if she is plain and good, provided she is a person of retired manners and secluded life, no one ever knows of her goodness, except her immediate connections.  Others, on the contrary, are disposed to form unfavourable opinions of her mind, and disposition, if it be but to excuse themselves for their instinctive dislike of one so unfavoured by nature; and visa versâ with her whose angel form conceals a vicious heart, or sheds a false, deceitful charm over defects and foibles that would not be tolerated in another. 

You enjoy watching him about as much as you enjoyed his shadows playing with your cunt and his knife cutting into your tongue,” Sebian whispered. “Which is pretty fucking deranged, but I’m not one to judge… We’re all a bit broken here.

I hate her, and they know it. Hate how innocent she was allowed to remain while her father corrupted me nearby. Hate even more how I clearly cannot taint her in the same way without risking her death at the hand of my… capricious shadows.

Don’t act angry with me when you’re actually angry with yourself. Don’t call me a liar just because you don’t like the sound of the truth. You liked it. No need to be embarrassed about it because, sweet thing…” a lap of my tongue at her earlobe, “so did we.

You’ve met my father?” “Oh, I know him… intimately. There is no cut, no bruise, no broken bone, no humiliation your father spared me.” He sneered, letting my pulse thud loudly in my ears. “Because of your father, I am a million shattered pieces, put back together all wrong. Now get that damn knife away from me before you accidentally hurt yourself. Only I get to hurt you.

It is foolish to wish for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior. So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we to the children of the present day. All very judicious and proper, no doubt; but are such assertions supported by actual experience? We are naturally disposed to love what gives us pleasure, and what more pleasing than a beautiful face--when we know no harm of the possessor at least? A little girl loves her bird--Why? Because it lives and feels; because it is helpless and harmless? A toad, likewise, lives and feels, and is equally helpless and harmless; but though she would not hurt a toad, she cannot love it like the bird, with its graceful form, soft feathers, and bright, speaking eyes. If a woman is fair and amiable, she is praised for both qualities, but especially the former, by the bulk of mankind: if, on the other hand, she is disagreeable in person and character, her plainness is commonly inveighed against as her greatest crime, because, to common observers, it gives the greatest offence; while, if she is plain and good, provided she is a person of retired manners and secluded life, no one ever knows of her goodness, except her immediate connections. Others, on the contrary, are disposed to form unfavourable opinions of her mind, and disposition, if it be but to excuse themselves for their instinctive dislike of one so unfavoured by nature; and visa versa with her whose angel form conceals a vicious heart, or sheds a false, deceitful charm over defects and foibles that would not be tolerated in another. They that have beauty, let them be thankful for it, and make a good use of it, like any other talent; they that have it not, let them console themselves, and do the best they can without it: certainly, though liable to be over-estimated, it is a gift of God, and not to be despised.

It was raining and I had to walk on the grass. I’ve got mud all over my shoes. They’re brand-new, too.” “I’ll carry you across the grass on the return trip, if you like,” Colby offered with twinkling eyes. “It would have to be over one shoulder, of course,” he added with a wry glance at his artificial arm. She frowned at the bitterness in his tone. He was a little fuzzy because she needed glasses to see at distances. “Listen, nobody in her right mind would ever take you for a cripple,” she said gently and with a warm smile. She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Anyway,” she added with a wicked grin, “I’ve already given the news media enough to gossip about just recently. I don’t need any more complications in my life. I’ve only just gotten rid of one big one.” Colby studied her with an amused smile. She was the only woman he’d ever known that he genuinely liked. He was about to speak when he happened to glance over her shoulder at a man approaching them. “About that big complication, Cecily?” “What about it?” she asked. “I’d say it’s just reappeared with a vengeance. No, don’t turn around,” he said, suddenly jerking her close to him with the artificial arm that looked so real, a souvenir of one of his foreign assignments. “Just keep looking at me and pretend to be fascinated with my nose, and we’ll give him something to think about.” She laughed in spite of the racing pulse that always accompanied Tate’s appearances in her life. She studied Colby’s lean, scarred face. He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a pinup, but he had style and guts and if it hadn’t been for Tate, she would have found him very attractive. “Your nose has been broken twice, I see,” she told Colby. “Three times, but who’s counting?” He lifted his eyes and his eyebrows at someone behind her. “Well, hi, Tate! I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” “Obviously,” came a deep, gruff voice that cut like a knife. Colby loosened his grip on Cecily and moved back a little. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he said. Tate moved into Cecily’s line of view, half a head taller than Colby Lane. He was wearing evening clothes, like the other men present, but he had an elegance that made him stand apart. She never tired of gazing into his large black eyes which were deep-set in a dark, handsome face with a straight nose, and a wide, narrow, sexy mouth and faintly cleft chin. He was the most beautiful man. He looked as if all he needed was a breastplate and feathers in his hair to bring back the heyday of the Lakota warrior in the nineteenth century. Cecily remembered him that way from the ceremonial gatherings at Wapiti Ridge, and the image stuck stubbornly in her mind. “Audrey likes to rub elbows with the rich and famous,” Tate returned. His dark eyes met Cecily’s fierce green ones. “I see you’re still in Holden’s good graces. Has he bought you a ring yet?” “What’s the matter with you, Tate?” Cecily asked with a cold smile. “Feeling…crabby?” His eyes smoldered as he glared at her. “What did you give Holden to get that job at the museum?” he asked with pure malice. Anger at the vicious insinuation caused her to draw back her hand holding the half-full coffee cup, and Colby caught her wrist smoothly before she could sling the contents at the man towering over her. Tate ignored Colby. “Don’t make that mistake again,” he said in a voice so quiet it was barely audible. He looked as if all his latent hostilities were waiting for an excuse to turn on her. “If you throw that cup at me, so help me, I’ll carry you over and put you down in the punch bowl!” “You and the CIA, maybe!” Cecily hissed. “Go ahead and try…!” Tate actually took a step toward her just as Colby managed to get between them. “Now, now,” he cautioned. Cecily wasn’t backing down an inch. Neither was Tate.

Dottie: I miss being across the hall from you. Jason: Words I never thought you’d say. Dottie: I know, I surprised myself, but despite your annoying tendencies and non-stop chattering, I miss it. Jason: You’re making my heart soar like a fucking falcon. A goddamn FALCON, Dottie. Dottie: Falcon. That’s pretty serious. Do you know what would have been more serious? An albatross. Jason: Pfft, no way. They might have a ten-foot wingspan, but they’re seabirds, so they shit in the ocean. Where’s the fun in that? Dottie: As opposed to . . . Jason: Shitting on people’s heads, of course. If I was a bird, that would be my main purpose in life, shitting on unsuspecting people’s heads. Think about it, being targeted by a bird bowel movement is detrimental as a human being. You’re just going about your normal business when all of a sudden, WHACK, white goop drips from your forehead down your cheek. What is that, you think? You carefully touch it, your fingers immediately wet with semi-warm liquid. And when you realize it’s an anal secretion from a flying vertebrate, all hell breaks loose. The horror! The disgust! The SHAME OF BEING SHIT ON. There’s no coming back from that. #DayRuined And as the maniacal bird, there you are, floating around in the peaceful skies, watching idiot humans running around in circles, trying to get rid of the poo-poo. With one flip of the feather—or the bird, hey-o—you’re off to the bird feeder, filling up so you can drop turd once again. A vicious cycle of humans feeding birds only to get shit on unsuspectedly, I AM HERE FOR THAT! Dottie: I was wrong. I don’t have to be across the hall to be annoyed by you.

Had I been born a boy, Father would expect me to be loyal, brave, and strong. Surely, I could manage all that without having a wrinkly organ hanging from between my legs.

Love, you’re too old for a nursemaid. Time to grow up.” She winked at me. Then she stabbed Risa in the neck.

What would it feel like to be loved with such intensity? Such unequivocal fortitude that not even death could impose conditions? I wanted to experience such a love so badly…

Maybe we are truly fated only to end in emotional tragedy…” “Little dove,” his whisper came with a salty kiss to my lips before he straightened and placed his own by my ear, “love is tragedy.” I hate that I love you.

No matter how much you want to hate me, it’ll never measure up to the loathing my father clearly harbors for me. You think you rendered me worthless? Don’t flatter yourself, Malyr. I was born worthless.

It smelled like shit, urine, and unwashed bodies. And I loved it!

Oh fuck.” I moan loudly when a cool, nubby vine slithers inside of me. “Oh my god.” Every nerve in my body is burning brightly. My knees turn weak and I slump in the ropes. The vine fucks me harder and several feathered tendrils caress my buzzing clit. There are so many. I’m on sensory overload and I couldn’t stop the orgasm if I tried. I hang my head back, eyes slammed closed as the orgasm slams through me.

for me to remember what you are. And I fear that, if I look too long… I just might forget who you are.

What would it feel like to be loved with such intensity? Such unequivocal fortitude, not even death could impose conditions?

My love is not gentle or tender, or easy. It is cutting and biting, leaving behind scars as unfading as my love for you.

I am not gentle. I was once, I think, but not anymore

But most of all, I cried for myself.

Life marks us all in one way or another.” Sebian dunked the cloth into the water. “The only scars truly ugly are usually the ones on the inside, anyway.

Ravens have fated mates, chosen for us by our goddess herself to bond with for eternity.

Because of your father, I am a million shattered pieces, put back together all wrong. Now get that damn knife away from me before you accidentally hurt yourself. Only I get to hurt you.

Guess spending so many years of tolerating each other’s shit had started to take a toll on our friendship. Still, we stuck together for our common goal. We both wanted revenge, and we would help each other see it through, come rain or high wind.

It’s not becoming of a lady to be here with me. Alone. Remember? Something to do with… indecent things.

Lick the knife until you bleed. Sebian likes the sound of your moan. Indulge him.

Should I tell him how wet you are for this, sweetheart? How needy your little cunt is for his shadows?

Do you like this, little dove?” Malyr asked. “Does Brisden’s whore daughter enjoy how my shadows are playing with her tight, pink cunt?

Never wanted, never loved. And how could anybody love something so deranged? So broken?

Little white dove, you assured me you would be mine to do with as I please, remember? Mine to break. Mine to hurt. Mine to torment. And mine to share.

What could be more depraved than giving my future wife to my best friend, watching how he makes her moan like a whore?

Be honest with yourself just once, Galantia. You want this. And if Malyr was here right now, chances are that you’d want him, too. But he isn’t. It’s just you and me, and I don’t get off on hurting you. I get off on pleasing you.

That damn bird of mine hit her window trying to get back to me seconds after I sent him away.

As if I was a man capable of caring, saving, protecting. Yeah, that felt good. Better than I deserved.

That is the closest my lips will ever come to yours.” He rose around me and walked off.

Licks knives so prettily but doesn’t know how to suck a cock.

Then whose raven was in Galantia’s chamber last night?

Because you’re mine. Mine to hurt. Mine to agonize. Mine to break.

You’re plain awful to her every chance you get, hurting and humiliating her. It’s driving her straight into my arms… and my bed.

Even someone with the charm of syphilis sores would look like the better option standing beside you, Malyr,

Today made that quite clear. It was stupid to expect that Father would bother to get me back. It was even more stupid to hope that you would… somehow protect me.

I want to break her. You want to protect her. How utterly amusing, don’t you agree?

Im-pres-sive. No lady had managed to catch Prince Malyr’s interest for marriage, just as none had managed to claim Sebian’s undivided attention. Pray tell, however did you manage to snatch both? I might yet learn from you.

pluck my feathers and call me a chicken.

Did you really think that I could ever love you?” A faint laugh. “Yes, you did. Poor little Galantia, abandoned, ignored, utterly worthless. Never loved, and oh, so foolish.

But make no mistake, little white dove… I have every intention of being my cruel, cold-hearted self with you in the privacy of our chambers.

Because you’re my little dove, astonishingly beautiful, so fucking perfect with how I can strangle you to within inches of fainting and make you come all the harder for it.

Someone so cruel shouldn’t be quite so attractive…

Shh… not a sound, sweetheart.

Including whoever dared to court… what… is… mine.

My shadows.

The time a man has to wait before he can kill his enemy is well-spent between the legs of his enemy’s betrothed.

Galantia laughed. Malyr laughed. What the fuck was going on here?

love is tragedy.

Numbers mean nothing, Malyr.” He stroked his beard, his focus on the table once more, his hair put into a tight braid. “A thousand Ravens can decimate an army of humans ten times that. You mustn’t fear them.” “I don’t fear them.” I feared myself. Didn’t trust this wild, vicious blackness inside my chest. How it writhed and slithered, twisting at my core, carving itself through the gap in my ribs in an attempt to escape my meager control. My gift. My curse.

ye

Look what you’ve done!” Mother finally bore her angered gaze into me, then looked at something behind me. “What is she doing here? Get her out of my sight.

What kind of pain would it cause? A hot sting? Or more like an expanding chill? I wouldn’t know.

my lack of a penis?

Then she stabbed Risa in the neck.

How much longer would she labor?

was strangely intriguing, this… pain.

sending unexpected warmth into my belly. “How about now?

not see a human… my enemy.” He released my hair and gripped my throat,

Shh… it’s alright, sweetheart.” He slid an arm down the back of my thighs before he lifted me up. “I’ve got you.

When no tear came, I whacked myself with both palms, again and again, but… nothing. I couldn’t cry, and I couldn’t cry, and I couldn’t fucking cry! Why not? What was wrong with me?

Or I swear, I’ll cut faster than you can caw.

fucking light brown eyes of yours, and not see your father.

the man’s fingers dug into my breast.

Honorless cunts!

Might as well bounce his betrothed on my cock while I waited.

want a healer to confirm she’s untainted and indeed as valuable as you believe her to be. Once

Until such time, she is to remain untainted, Sebian.

So no bouncing her on my cock,

You said you hope that your actions added months to my time in the dungeons, but little dove, I never escaped them. They are with me.

The writing life is brutal on a wounded mind. It really is. So much time spent alone. So much time spent in self-reflection. Emotional wounds heal in other people’s hearts but you have to reopen yours and examine them in order to re-create their painful feelings on the page. Ugly, twisted, vicious thoughts flitter through other people’s minds, but you have to seize yours and hold them to the light in order to understand the soul’s shadowy corners. You have to shred your comfortable pieties. You have to tear your illusions to feathers and rags. When you’re working well, you become bad company, inward-turning, querulous, obsessed. There are plenty of harder jobs, I know. Homemakers, soldiers, cops, firemen, laborers—they all put in tougher days than writers do. But the writing life, so help me, could drive even a sane man crazy. If you’re half crazy already, as I was, it will drive you completely out of your mind. It

Lick the blade, slowly, until it cuts into your tongue. Ah-ah… don’t turn your head.” He let one finger slip off the handle, stroking the bloody digit along my lips. “Open those pretty lips for me.

I’d heard her name in the dungeons, and that realization crashed into me like a tidal wave, the icy shock of it stealing my breath, replacing the odd heat with a raw, scraping coldness. The dichotomy was jarring, a violent clash between the serene vision of her and the nightmarish echo of her name. How could the goddess show me such a mesmerizing creature bearing the name of my personal demon?

Hate. Bitterness. Loathing. It all ceased to exist in the space where his gaze connected to mine, transforming into something vulnerable and painfully raw, a shimmering tide of unspoken words and hidden sentiments, a tumultuous dance of shadows and light, flickering and blazing within those icy depths.

unkindness of ravens

If I ever find out who dared to court you, little dove, I shall cut off his balls and feed them to my ravens. And you will watch.

Don’t you dare fucking move those hazel eyes from mine when I make you come on my cock while my shadows feast on your cunt.

A smile curved my lips. But why not? I pressed my tongue against the blade. With a determination that returned some of my pride, I slid it upward, slowly, languidly. It burned.