Slay Girl Quotes

I, Geric-Sinath of Gerhard, declare that you're beautiful and you're perfect and I'll slay any man who tries to take you from my side. Goose girl, may I kiss you?

Stories have changed, my dear boy,” the man in the grey suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. “There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep overlapping and blur, your story is part of your sister’s story is part of many other stories, and there in no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act? Though perhaps it is a singular wolf who goes to such lengths as to dress as a grandmother to toy with its prey.

Vlad made a mental note to amend the friend code: thou shalt not date the girl that thy best friend has a crush on...nor shalt thou try sticking thy best friend in the chest with a sharp hunk of wood.

ONCE UPON A time, there was a king who had three beautiful daughters. He loved each of them dearly. One day, when the young ladies were of age to be married, a terrible, three-headed dragon laid siege to the kingdom, burning villages with fiery breath. It spoiled crops and burned churches. It killed babies, old people, and everyone in between. The king promised a princess’s hand in marriage to whoever slayed the dragon. Heroes and warriors came in suits of armor, riding brave horses and bearing swords and arrows. One by one, these men were slaughtered and eaten. Finally the king reasoned that a maiden might melt the dragon’s heart and succeed where warriors had failed. He sent his eldest daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, but the dragon listened to not a word of her pleas. It swallowed her whole. Then the king sent his second daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, but the dragon did the same. Swallowed her before she could get a word out. The king then sent his youngest daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, and she was so lovely and clever that he was sure she would succeed where the others had perished. No indeed. The dragon simply ate her. The king was left aching with regret. He was now alone in the world. Now, let me ask you this. Who killed the girls? The dragon? Or their father?

A different kind of knight, one who'd chosen to protect the girl the world wanted to destroy; one born to slay dragons, but maybe to befriend them, too.

The last time Assistant Principal Parker called, a girl in the school's locker room had accused Julie of being a whore during the two years she'd spent on the street. My kid took exception to that and decided to communicate that by applying a chair to the offending party's head. I'd told her to go for the gut next time- it left less evidence.

Revenge itself may indeed be the best revenge, but slaying one's enemy does not give back what they stole.

not all of us were drawn to Prince Charming. Some little girls ate up the stories of ball gowns and castles and knights who slayed the dragon . . . While some little girls read the stories of a dark pathway into the woods . . . a twisted mansion with black windows and fog covering the grounds . . . That’s where we wanted to go. No matter what we might find inside . . .

Butterface - How does a guy slay dragons for a girl when they're all in her head?

I – talked to her. She understands. She won’t do anything stupid.” He didn’t look at Claire when he said that, and she wondered what kind of talking that might have been. Her mother had always said, when in doubt, ask. “Was it the kind of talk where you gave her something to live for? Like maybe, um, you?” “Did I – what the hell are you talking about?” “I just thought maybe you and her–” “Claire, Jesus!” Michael said. She’d actually made him flinch. Wow. That was new. “You think banging me is going to make her forget about charging out to commit cold-blooded vampire slaying? I don’t know what kind of standards you have on sex, but those are pretty high. Besides, whatever’s between me and Eve – well, it’s between me and Eve.” Until she tells me about it later, Claire thought.

And in all the stories my daughter shall hear, it will not be princes that slay the dragons, but little girls that believe in magic with big, brave hearts and even bigger dreams. She will learn to rely on her own sword in every battle, in every struggle, in every war because she will learn how to devour every single monster from their very core.

How many dragons does a girl have to slay to get some respect around here?

The kind of handsome a girl might raise an army for, slay a god or a daemon for. This girl, at least.

His green eyes sparkled. 'I think you're the first girl I've ever met who would rather slay a twelve foot snake than face one teeny, tiny spider.' 'Spiders are scarier,' she murmured, staring ahead.

If I could have one friend, just one in all the world, I know that I would not seek out a boy or pretty girl. The friend I’d dare to choose to stand by me each day would be a dragon fierce enough to scare the world away.

Housewife (n)—a light, worthless woman or girl —Oxford English Dictionary, compact edition, 1971

In the beginning there was darkness, and in the darkness was a girl, and in the girl was a secret

People don't need to know how good you are. Just smile, just slay and just show.

My husband has no more consideration for me than a dog, she said. He goes off and screws little girls with the other men and we sit home like good little women and wash their shirts and pack their bags for their sex trips. We keep their houses warm and clean for when they’re ready to come home and shower off some other woman’s perfume before tucking their children into bed. For years I’ve pretended I don’t know where he goes, or who those girls are on the phone, but every time he comes home, I lie there in bed beside my husband, who doesn’t touch me, who doesn’t talk to me, who doesn’t love me, and I pretend I can’t smell some twenty-year-old’s body on him

Watching you with him nearly killed me, it did, and I pushed through, but that’s done. You, you…slay me, baby girl.

The quest for good is a marathon and not a sprint; it is measured over years, not fleeting moments; over failures and missteps and, of course, successes.

You think her innocent/ Your little lost girl/ Caped in Inquisition red/ Yet when she leads you hunting Hyde/ Mind don't slay Jekyll in his stead

Instead of batting their eyes at idiots, young girls will start taking up stick swords to slay a dragon and save the prince.

the runway style. With her short hair freshly died platinum blonde she had to slay the scene in a black Crooks and Castle snapback, diamond stud earrings, gold collar necklace, red Crooks and Castle sweatshirt, Cartier gold men’s watch, black leather leggings, Saint Laurent suede peep-toe lace-up booties and a extra sickening red $7750 VBH Brera ostrich satchel bag.

I’ve always seen white picket fences in your eyes when you look at me. I was positive I wasn’t that guy. I was wrong. One of these days, when you’re ready, I’ll give that dream to you. And you’re going to give me a gorgeous little girl or two with your dark curly hair and smiles that slay me.

So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I was applying for campus housing and overheard Andy telling my mother that the only way I was going to be safe from all the sexual assaults he'd heard about on National Public Radio was if I lived in an all-girl dorm. Never mind that I have been kicking the butts of the undead since I was in elementary school, and that almost the entire time I resided under Andy's roof, I had a hot undead guy living in my bedroom. These are two of those secrets I was telling you about. Andy doesn't know about them, and neither does my mother. They think Jesse is what Father Dominic told them he is: a "young Jesuit student who transferred to the Carmel Mission from Mexico, then lost his yearning to go into the priesthood" after meeting me. That one slays me every time.

It’s not too clever for a girl to be clever,’ and they laugh at us and think we only care about our hair. The only books they give us are cookbooks because in their minds we are silly, lightweight know-nothings. And you’ve just proven them right.

Girls wear their hair colored, curled, laid, and slayed. Got me feeling basic as hell with my ponytail. Guys in their freshest kicks and sagging pants grind so close to girls they just about need condoms. My nana likes to say that spring brings love. Spring in Garden Heights doesn't always bring love, but it promises babies in the winter.

grabbing the sword Gillian Gallagher used to slay the guy who was going to kill Abraham Lincoln—the first guy, that is. The one you never hear about.

My eyes are not sparkly! I’m not a sparkly sort of girl … I go around with dirty knees and slay dragons in my spare time, for the love of … oh!

Smile and Slay. You have to slay it in life or life will slay you.

But to die as lovers may—to die together, so that they may live together. Girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be f nally butterflies when the summer comes

For some girls it’s sexy when a guy bench-presses or throws a football, but he’s slaying me with the book references.

Fisherman?", Butcher scoffed. "I ought to box your bloody ears, girl. Could a fisherman slay Caelinus the Longshanks in single combat in front of twenty thousand people? Or gut Marcinio of the Werewood like a fish?" "Aye", Sid said. "A fisherman could probably gut a man like a fish, Butcher." "I was a pirate, you fucking cunts", the Liisian blustered. "But...", Mia frowned. "You were seasick, Butcher. You spewed your guts out the entire way from Whitekeep to Galante." "Well, I was a shitty pirate, wasn't I?", the man cried. "How d'you think I ended up a damned slave?" "O...", Mia nodded. "That... makes a surprising amount of sense, actually." "Point is I grew up here", Butcher scowled. "I know this city like I know women." Ash raised her hand -- "Don't", Mia hissed.

Whatever you say, Grace," Kitty said, thrusting mugs of wine into everyone's hands. "Five children live in this house and it's eight years before the oldest one moves out. If I don't get some adult conversation tonight I'm going to blow my brains out." "Hear, hear," Maryellen said. "Three girls: seven, five, and four." "Four is such a lovely age," Slick cooed. "Is it?" Maryellen asked, eyes narrowing.

But, that's the way dragons work. They convince you that nobody wants to hear your busted-up sob story and that it's best to just shut your mouth, put your big girl pants on, and solve your damn problems yourself.

Stories have changed, my dear boy,” the man in the grey suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. “There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister’s story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act? Though perhaps it is a singular wolf who goes to such lengths as to dress as a grandmother to toy with its prey.

My promise to you … I’m going to do my best to slay your dragons, to watch you soar, and pick you up when you fall. I’ll be by your side helping you to achieve your dreams and will hold you when you need held. I’ll never leave you, sweet girl.

There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister’s story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act? Though perhaps it is a singular wolf who goes to such lengths as to dress as a grandmother to toy with its prey.

There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister’s story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl.

Elephants don’t belong in rooms, and damaging thoughts don’t belong in our hearts. I am going to kick the elephant out of the room, slay this shit, and embrace the most important truth I’ve ever learned. I am not what I do or what I look like. I am just who I am.

He laughed with a mix of amusement and surprised appreciation. She couldn’t win. She had to know that. Yet still she fought. He hadn’t known there was a Summerlander alive still willing to confront him with such spirited defiance. Entire armies had fallen before him, yet this slight wisp of a girl dared to grapple, barehanded and defenseless, with the Winter King, a man who could slay with a glance. He dodged a fist meant to break his nose and laughed again, enjoying himself for the first time in a very long while. How lucky for him so few of Verdan’s soldiers had possessed such raw, reckless courage! A thousand like her in their ranks, and the war might have ended quite differently. His humor apparently didn’t sit well with her. She snarled and aimed another blow at his chin, which he blocked, as well as a vicious kick to his groin. He managed to block that, too—barely—but the hard toe of her boot still came close enough, with enough force, that his balls tingled from the near miss. He quit laughing. There were some things a man just didn’t find funny.

When the train arrives, I climb on and sit opposite a girl who smiles at me. She’s wearing loose trousers and a stripy top with a cardigan. She has her hair in a bun on top of her head. She looks like an ally. The kind that doesn’t know any queer people but makes her boyfriend watch Drag Race. I wonder what’s going on in her head when she looks at me. Probably nonsense. Slay coochie mama queen yes god tongue pop!

Rosabella Beauty was the daughter of the famous Beauty, a girl whose love had turned the Beast back into a prince. Darling Charming was the daughter of the renowned King Charming, whose royal storyline stretched back to the very beginning of stories. The Charming men had always been known for their heroic deeds, luxurious hair, and enchanting eyes. Darling's two brothers were expected to follow in King Charming's heroic footsteps by saving damsels, slaying dragons, and basically conquering whatever evil stepped into their paths. Darling, however, was not a son. She was a daughter. And being a daughter was a different matter altogether. No heroic deeds were expected of her. No quests or adventures. While the activities of the Charming princes had always been celebrated by poets and storytellers, the Charming princesses had a singular destiny- to be damsels in distress waiting for rescue.

Stories have changed, my dear boy,” the man in the grey suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. “There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister’s story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act?

Closing the distance between them, he had savored the modest allure of her walk and felt his body respond to the graceful sway of her hips as they approached the pool. He had envisioned her taking off her robe and showing him her slender nakedness, but instead, she had just stood there, as though searching for someone. It skipped through his mind that when he caught up to the girl, he would either apprehend or ravish her. He still wasn't sure which it would be as he stood before her, blocking her escape with a dark, slight smile. As she peered up at him fearfully from the shadowed folds of her hood, he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had only encountered that deep, dream-spun shade of cobalt once in his life before, in the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral. His awareness of the crowd them dimmed in the ocean-blue depths of her eyes. 'Who are you?' He did not say a word nor ask her permission. With the smooth self-assurance of a man who has access to every woman in the room, he captured her chin in a firm but gentle grip. She jumped when he touched her, panic flashing in her eyes. His hard stare softened slightly in amusement at that, but then his faint smile faded, for her skin was silken beneath his fingertips. With one hand, he lifted her face toward the dim torchlight, while the other softly brushed back her hood. Then Lucien faltered, faced with a beauty the likes of which he had never seen. His very soul grew hushed with reverence as he gazed at her, holding his breath for fear the vision would dissolve, a figment of his overactive brain. With her bright tresses gleaming the flame-gold of dawn and her large, frightened eyes of that shining, ethereal blue, he was so sure for a moment that she was a lost angel that he half expected to see silvery, feathered wings folded demurely beneath her coarse brown robe. She appeared somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two- a wholesome, nay, a virginal beauty of trembling purity. He instantly 'knew' that she was utterly untouched, impossible as that seemed in this place. Her face was proud and weary. Her satiny skin glowed in the candlelight, pale and fine, but her soft, luscious lips shot off an effervescent champagne-pop of desire that fizzed more sweetly in his veins than anything he'd felt since his adolescence, which had taken place, if he recalled correctly, some time during the Dark Ages. There was intelligence and valor in her delicate face, courage, and a quivering vulnerability that made him ache with anguish for the doom of all innocent things. 'A noble youth, a questing youth,' he thought, and if she had come to slay dragons, she had already pierced him in his black, fiery heart with the lance of her heaven-blue gaze.

It’s probably long overdue for us to throw out what we think we know about love. Girls have grown up with too many fairy tale/date movies/romance bodice-rippers racing around in our heads—the warrior with his rippling muscles and the golden-maned damsel clinging to his breeches. The title is something like Savage Heat or Destiny’s Desire. This is the fairy tale world where men and women always orgasm at the same time or where the man wakes the sleeping princess with a kiss, or where the hero slays the dragon and rescues the damsel from a tower, or where, essentially, everyone lives happily ever after and no one writes what happens next. What happens next is that reality sets in. The golden bubble bursts. There are bills to pay. Someone has to walk the dog and clean the cat litter box and go to the grocery store for milk.

Stories have changed, my dear boy," the man in the grey suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. "There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister's story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act? Though perhaps it is a singular wolf who goes to such lengths as to dress as a grandmother to toy with its prey.

Life within a Templar house was designed where possible to resemble that of a Cistercian monastery. Meals were communal and to be eaten in near silence, while a reading was given from the Bible. The rule accepted that the elaborate sign language monks used to ask for necessities while eating might not be known to Templar recruits, in which case "quietly and privately you should ask for what you need at table, with all humility and submission." Equal rations of food and wine were to be given to each brother and leftovers would be distributed to the poor. The numerous fast days of the Church calendar were to be observed, but allowances would be made for the needs of fighting men: meat was to be served three times a week, on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Should the schedule of annual fast days interrupt this rhythm, rations would be increased to make up for lost sustenance as soon as the fasting period was over. It was recognized that the Templars were killers. "This armed company of knights may kill the enemies of the cross without stated the rule, neatly summing up the conclusion of centuries of experimental Christian philosophy, which had concluded that slaying humans who happened to be "unbelieving pagans" and "the enemies of the son of the Virgin Mary" was an act worthy of divine praise and not damnation. Otherwise, the Templars were expected to live in pious self-denial. Three horses were permitted to each knight, along with one squire whom "the brother shall not beat." Hunting with hawks—a favorite pastime of warriors throughout Christendom—was forbidden, as was hunting with dogs. only beasts Templars were permitted to kill were the mountain lions of the Holy Land. They were forbidden even to be in the company of hunting men, for the reason that "it is fitting for every religious man to go simply and humbly without laughing or talking too much." Banned, too, was the company of women, which the rule scorned as "a dangerous thing, for by it the old devil has led man from the straight path to paradise the flower of chastity is always [to be] maintained among you.... For this reason none Of you may presume to kiss a woman' be it widow, young girl, mother, sister, aunt or any other.... The Knighthood of Christ should avoid at all costs the embraces of women, by which men have perished many times." Although married men were permitted to join the order, they were not allowed to wear the white cloak and wives were not supposed to join their husbands in Templar houses.

Closing the distance between them, he had saved the modest allure of her walk and felt his body respond to the graceful sway of her hips as they approached the pool. He had envisioned her taking off her robe and showing him her slender nakedness, but instead, she had just stood there, as though searching for someone. It skipped through his mind that when he caught up to the girl, he would either apprehend or ravish her. He still wasn't sure which it would be as he stood before her, blocking her escape with a dark, slight smile. As she peered up at him fearfully from the shadowed folds of her hood, he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had only encountered that deep, dream-spun shade of cobalt once in his life before, in the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral. His awareness of the crowd them dimmed in the ocean-blue depths of her eyes. 'Who are you?' He did not say a word nor ask her permission. With the smooth self-assurance of a man who has access to every woman in the room, he captured her chin in a firm but gentle grip. She jumped when he touched her, panic flashing in her eyes. His hard stare softened slightly in amusement at that, but then his faint smile faded, for her skin was silken beneath his fingertips. With one hand, he lifted her face toward the dim torchlight, while the other softly brushed back her hood. Then Lucien faltered, faced with a beauty the likes of which he had never seen. His very soul grew hushed with reverence as he gazed at her, holding his breath for fear the vision would dissolve, a figment of his overactive brain. With her bright tresses gleaming the flame-gold of dawn and her large, frightened eyes of that shining, ethereal blue, he was so sure for a moment that she was a lost angel that he half expected to see silvery, feathered wings folded demurely beneath her coarse brown robe. She appeared somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two- a wholesome, nay, a virginal beauty of trembling purity. He instantly 'knew' that she was utterly untouched, impossible as that seemed in this place. Her face was proud and weary. Her satiny skin glowed in the candlelight, pale and fine, but her soft, luscious lips shot off an effervescent champagne-pop of desire that fizzed more sweetly in his veins than anything he'd felt since his adolescence, which had taken place, if he recalled correctly, some time during the Dark Ages. There was intelligence and valor in her delicate face, courage, and a quivering vulnerability that made him ache with anguish for the doom of all innocent things. 'A noble youth, a questing youth,' he thought, and if she had come to slay dragons, she had already pierced him in his black, fiery heart with the lance of her heaven-blue gaze.

There’s my girl.” He tossed the rag to the hearth. “Now, cuddle up. Do you know, I think you put bruises on my arse, woman?” He stretched out on his side, right smack beside her. “You have slain me, Emmie Farnum.” He sighed happily and felt cautiously for her in the dark. His hand found her hair, which he smoothed back in a tender caress. “I badly needed slaying, too, I can tell you.” He bumped her cheek with his nose and pulled back abruptly. “I would have said you were in need of slaying, as well,” he said slowly, “but why the tears, Emmie, love?” There were women who cried in intimate circumstances, a trait he’d always found endearing, but they weren’t Emmie, and her cheek wasn’t damp. It was wet. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, pulling her over his body. He positioned her to straddle him and wrapped an arm around her even while his hand continued to explore her face. He thought he’d been careful, but at the end, he’d been ardent—or too rough? “Sweetheart.” He found her cheek with his lips. “I am so heartily sorry.” “For what?” she expostulated, sitting up on him. “I am the one who needs to apologize. Oh, God, help me, I was hoping you wouldn’t learn this of me, and I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t… I just…” She was working herself up to a state. Even in the dark, her voice alone testified to rising hysteria. “Emmie.” He leaned up and gathered her in his arms. “Emmie, hush.” But she couldn’t hush; she was sobbing and hiccupping and gulping in his arms, leaving him helpless to do more than hold her, murmur meaningless reassurances, and then finally, lay her gently on her side, climb out of bed, and fish his handkerchief out of his pockets. All the while though, he sorted through their encounter and seized upon a credible source of Emmie’s upset. “You were not a virgin,” he said evenly as he tucked the handkerchief into her hand and gathered her back over him. “I was n-n-not,” she said, seizing up again in misery. “And I h-h-hate to cry. But of course you know.” I do now, he thought with a small smile, though had he thought otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so willing to bed her—he hoped. “Cease your tears, Emmie love.” He tucked her closer. “I am sorry for your sake you are so upset, and I hope your previous liaisons were not painful, but as for me, I am far more interested in your future than your past.” A moment of silence went by, his hands tracing lazy patterns on her lovely back, and then she looked up at him. “You cannot mean that.” “I can,” he corrected her gently. “I know you were without anyone to protect you, and you were in service. One of my own sisters was damned near seduced by a footman, Emmie. It happens, and that’s the end of it. Has your heart been broken?” She nodded on a shuddery breath. “Shall I trounce him for you? Flirt with his wife?” “That won’t be necessary,” she said, her voice sounding a little less shaky.

No settle for basic, sis. God don get somebody special for you, so keep slaying and wait for am to show. A beg, a beg e go worth the wait. - Psalm 37:4 Psalm 37:4: Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart

The Peggot girls slayed. Then

Up in the Chamber where the secrets are stored The Boy Who Lived raised the Sword of Gryffindor! A green-eyed hero so stalwart and stout He held it true, he drove it quick! He drove it up into the mouth And Harry Potter slayed the Basilisk! So if you didn't know, he slayed a Basilisk He'll tell you twelve more times if you forget the jist. If you're Ravenclaw Seeker, he'll yell it till he spits Though the poor, poor girl might rather he just quit. But if you fancy, Potter, I'm ready for the risk Raise that Gryffindor Sword at me, even if... You're that Chosen Potter, who slayed a Basilisk!

Oh no.” Julie clicked her tongue. “Did the mean human girl pick on you? Does the little bouda boy want his mommy?” “Untie me!” “Awww, the little baby is crying. Boohoo. Does the baby need his bottle and his teddy?

These Bellamy men, when they love, they go all in. And my poor Gregory, he couldn’t survive losing his baby girl. It was the helplessness that got to him—not being able to fight her dragons for her, slay them.

Seriously, though. Don’t waste this moment. If your heart’s telling you to follow something—go for it. Don’t let anyone hold you back, because life is too damn short. Build your empire. Slay dragons.” “You should put that on a T-shirt.

I brought you onto the ship, Thick. Because we need your help if we are going to slay the dragon.” I put all the warmth and excitement into my voice that I could muster. “Don’t you want to help the Prince? Don’t you want to be part of the adventure we’re having?” He squinted at me as if I were crazy. “Adventure? Puking and eating fishy food? Going up and down, up and down, all the time? Going around people who wonder why I’m not dead?” He crossed his arms on his chest. “I heard adventures in stories. Adventures have golden coins and magic and beautiful girls to kiss. Adventures aren’t puking!

She was so sick of it— sick and tired of being told to sit down and shut up, that she couldn't fight or sail or wear pants or study the seas and skies because she was a girl. To hell with it, she thought. No one could stop her anymore.

I've been reading Dracula. It's a cautionary tale. A warning to young women not to give in to the seduction of a man who wants to devour you. And yet ... not all of us were drawn to Prince Charming. Some little girls ate up the stories of ball growns and castles and knights who slayed the dragon...

Hear me now. If the legions of heaven stood between me and that girl, I would slay every angel in the Host to get back to her side. She and I have walked through hell together. I will never leave her, you hear me? And I would never hurt her.

Worry's what keeps us safe, girl,

Fairytales are simple. The hero slays the wolf, saves the girl, falls in love. But that’s assuming the wolf is the bad guy. That she wants to be saved. That there are heroes at all. Not just villains and lies.

She will slay the girls’ weekend. She will be the MVP.

Being a teenager isn’t a number,” Maryellen said. “It’s the age when you stop liking them.” “You don’t like the girls?” Patricia asked. “No one likes their children,” Maryellen said. “We love them to death, but we don’t like them.

Once a generation there is a girl born who is destined to slay the vampires.

What are you saying, Argus?” Jason came out of the darkness like a murdered man’s ghost. “I heard you mention my name.” “Only telling Atalanta here about your own exploits as a hunter,” Argus said as naturally as if it were true. “You ought to show her that leopard-skin trophy of yours. It’s a beauty.” “There’ll be time enough to show her that later.” Jason tried to look annoyed, but I could tell that Argus’s smooth talk had flattered him. “When I choose to do it, not when you try to send me off on an errand. I still lead this venture, not you.” I hated his arrogant attitude toward Argus, to whom he owed so much, but there was little I could do about it. The best I could manage was a ruse to divert him. “A leopard skin?” I put the proper note of awe into my voice. “You should wear it when Lord Aetes summons us to his hall. One look at such a prize and he’ll know who our leader is without asking!” “You think that will be necessary?” Jason growled, giving Argus a hard, resentful stare. I pretended I hadn’t heard that. “A leopard! Not even Herakles could boast such a kill. He wore a lion’s pelt, but brute strength’s all you need to slay one of those beasts. You need strength and brains to overcome a leopard.” “Would you really like to see the pelt?” Jason asked eagerly. I nodded. “For you, then, honored huntress,” he said in a low, honeyed voice. He leaped back aboard the Argo with so much vigor that Argus had to bite his lips to hold back the laughter. “I’ll never call you ‘girl’ again,” Argus said to me. “A woman twice your age would envy your cunning!” “If I were still ‘Glaucus,’ you’d say I was smart or clever, not cunning,” I chided him. “Pfff! What does one little word matter?” “So you won’t mind if I call the Argo a ferryboat?” I replied sweetly.

She turned, pasting a brilliant smile on her face. She was going to charm this man until - until - well, until he was charmed. She opened her mouth to slay him with something utterly witty and sophisticated, but before she could form even a sound, he leaned in closer, his eyes warm and dangerous, and said, "I find myself unbearably curious about that smile." She blinked. If she didn't know better, she'd think that he was trying to charm her. No, she thought with a mental shake of her head. That was impossible. He barely knew her, and while she wasn't the ugliest girl in all of Surrey, she was certainly no siren.

What sparked my imagination as a little girl stirs my faith today, reminding me that a misogynistic king running a dangerously dysfunctional superpower is nothing new and nothing God can’t handle. Maybe a little biblically inspired dark comedy is just what we need “for such a time as this.

They left him with a broken jaw, black eye, and stitches in his face. St. Louis Mayor Francis Slay came across Quain in the gutter, unconscious: The group walked in front of the mayor’s car, across Grand. Slay noted how relaxed they looked. He glanced back at the library. He saw a man face down in the street, motionless, feet inches from the curb, blood pooling on the pavement. … They looked like little kids, he thought. They laughed and held aloft cellphones like they were snapping pictures.1

NEW DELHI — The rape and slaying of two teenage girls in an Indian village threatened to touch off wider strife Thursday, when the father of one of the girls said the crime was the product of a conspiracy among Yadavs, members of the dominant caste in the area.

I’m sure I’ve read too many fairy tales. The prince is supposed to slay the dragon, defeat the villain, and marry the servant girl, and carry her off to his castle.” “Fairy tales are best read as entertainment,” Harry said. “Not as a guide to life.

There’s just something about this girl, small, sweet looking, innocent smile.  It makes you want to protect her, slay dragons and lay their heads at her feet.

Your final movie will contain your accomplishments instead, the people you’ve loved, the places you’ve been, and all the pussy you’ve slayed. It will consist of the pleasant moments that made you who you are and made life worth living. One day you will die. Just go up to her and say the words.

At last, when the dust settled, the Queen and the Jinni stood on the mountaintop and looked down on the battlefield and the bodies spread like leaves across the desert. The Queen fell to her knees, wearied and wounded, and her sword dropped from her hand. Before her, the doorway to Ambadya burned with fires of every color. “All I wanted,” said the Queen, “was peace between our peoples. But I see now that this is not possible, for my people are ruled by a dreamer, and the jinn are ruled by a monster. My only consolation is that thou art by my side, my Jinni. I would die in the company of a friend, and give thee my final breath. For I have one wish remaining, and it is for thy freedom, yea, even at the cost of mine own life.” At this the Jinni shook her head, replying, “Nay, my queen. The time for wishing is passed. For here is the Shaitan, Lord of all Jinn and King of Ambadya.” And even as she spoke, the fires in the doorway rose higher, and through them stepped Nardukha the Shaitan, terrible to behold. “O impudent woman,” said the Shaitan, looking down at the Queen. “Wouldst thou dare make the Forbidden Wish?” “I would,” she replied. “For I fear thee not.” “Then thou art a fool.” As the Queen’s heart turned to ashes, realizing her doom was upon her, the Shaitan turned to the Jinni and said, “Dost thou recall the first rule of thy kinsmen, Jinni?” And the Jinni replied, “Love no human.” “And hast thou kept this commandment?” “Lord, I have.” And up she rose, as the Queen cried out in dismay. “Are not we like sisters?” asked the Queen. “Of one heart and one spirit?” And the Jinni replied, “Nay, for I am a creature of Ambadya, and thus is my nature deceitful and treacherous. My Lord has come at last, and I would do all that he commands.” The Shaitan, looking on with approval, said to the Jinni, “This human girl is proud and foolish, thinking she could rule both men and jinn. I am well pleased with thee, my servant, who hast brought her to me. Slay the queen and prove thy loyalty to thy king.” And the Jinni grinned, and in her eyes rose a fire. “With pleasure, my Lord.” Then, with a wicked laugh, she struck down the good and noble Queen, the mightiest and wisest of all the Amulen monarchs, whose only mistake was that she had dared to love a Jinni.

In books, even when bad things happened, better things seemed to follow. The boys and girls in the stories could somehow slay the dragon or save the wounded animal or solve the mystery. Good saved the day, and villains were banished forever.

...the dark femme de-centers men entirely from her life. If she wants to seduce something, she seduces success. If she wants to slay something, she slays her business/career. She's her own dream girl.

Leo wanted to slay my dragons while I attempted to outrun this kingdom, but the earth was nothing more than a curve that would always lead me back home, no matter how hard or how far I ran. So I stopped running. I picked myself up off the floor, and I became a girl who didn’t have to fly away from her pain. I learned to fight it.

Yeah, who’d assume that a D-rank adventurer could’ve slayed 10,000 monsters? Add in the fact that said adventurer is a girl in a bear onesie, and…

It’s not long before my thoughts return to Ellie. In a million years, I would’ve never believed that sweet, shy freckle-faced girl could’ve grown into the hot little number she is now. But it’s more than her looks. She’s always slayed me with her hypnotic stare. Those mesmerizing green eyes silently daring me to acknowledge her.

Elephants don’t belong in rooms, and damaging thoughts don’t belong in our hearts. I am going to kick the elephant out of the room, slay this shit, and embrace the most important truth I’ve ever learned. I am not what I do or what I look like. I am just who I am.

And yet . . . not all of us were drawn to Prince Charming. Some little girls ate up the stories of ball gowns and castles and knights who slayed the dragon . . . While some little girls read the stories of a dark pathway into the woods . . . a twisted mansion with black windows and fog covering the grounds . . . That’s where we wanted to go. No matter what we might find inside . . .

Go to sleep, cuore mio. I’ll be here to slay all the monsters that try to get into your dreams,” I promise her.

There was a moment, sivamet--my love--when I awoke to your cry, and I was encased in the soil and powerless to help you. Only my fury fed the storm. As I clawed my way to the surface, I felt every slice of the blade, and I knew I had failed you. In that moment, Raven, I faced something so terrible, so savage and monstrous in me, I still cannot examine it too closely. If he had slain you, no one would have been safe. No one.” He made the admission in a tight, controlled voice, his back rigid. “Not Carpathian, not human. I can only pray that if such a thing should ever happen again, Gregori will slay me immediately.” Raven stepped in front of him and framed his face with her hands. “Sometimes grief brings things out in people better left hidden. No one is perfect. Not me, not Eleanor, and not even you.” A faint, self-mocking smile touched his well-cut mouth. “I have lived centuries and endured vampire hunts, wars, and betrayals. Until you came into my life, I have never lost control. I never had anything I wanted so much. I never had anything to lose.” She pulled his head down to her and pressed little healing kisses to his throat, to his strong jaw, to the hard corners of his mouth. “You are a good man, Mikhail.” She grinned impishly, her blue eyes teasing. “You just have too much power for your own good. But don’t worry, I know this American girl. She’s very disrespectful, and she’ll take all that arrogant starch out of you.

They send a girl to slay a god.

From new title ATOMICAS Shatter the Dream A WORD from the ATOMICAS I wake up every morning hearing the bell for Round One La Porcelana Fight until they can’t KISS US Army SGT. Team Black Damaged women are the most dangerous kind, because they already know they can survive. My enemies will not be so fortunate. OVERLOAD Mess with the ATOMICAS and I will rust your blood. Rusty If I ever let my head down, it will only be to admire my shoes. Ms. Newton Throw me to the wolves. I will return leading the pack RABID and Theodore Chaos is loved by the wild, not the weak FERAL and Genovese I will destroy my enemies in the most beautiful way possible, and when I leave, they will know why storms are named after people. Sea Wasp A Princess becomes an ATOMICA when she slays her own dragons. Shatterdream I will shake my bloody knuckles in my enemy’s face. A fight with the ATOMICAS is a fight to the death. I’ll slap an egg out of you. Thunder Girl I like my sunshine with a shot of hurricane. CRISIS In my defense, Mother, the moon was full, and I was the only witch unburned. Merga Starpattern I go from zero to beating you silly really quick. ZAG I’m stuck between a rock and someone I want to hit with it. Conduit Wink at Death and then beat him down like it’s your job. VOX I would rather be strong and scary than pretty and useless. I fight things that would set your soul on fire. Poltergeist

Don't date just to escape the "Im Single" status. Don't marry just to tick off a checklist. Life is NOT a grocery list. Find yourself first, then find someone who can accommodate the talents, the vision and the ambitions in your heart, someone who can be the enabler for you to emerge into your greatness. Find someone who believes in you, supports and encourages you even when the world laughs at your guts. But first, find yourself because it is far more important to be the right person than it is to date/marry the right person. Become a person of value. Don't go looking for a good woman until you've become a good man. And ladies, don't go looking for a good man till you've become a good woman. If you want a loving, honest, faithful, supportive and rich partner; first become what you are looking for. You must meet the requirements of your own requirements! Leaders, vision bearers and dream chasers look for character, commitment, vision, grit, faith, etc...but ordinary people look for coca-cola bottle shape kinder girl, a six pack kinder guy and a heavy bank balance...but dear men, it's her character that will raise your children not her beauty. It is character that makes a great wife. Dear ladies, It is character that makes a great Dad/husband not a car or a big wallet. Take note good people, you don't need to die to go to hell...misalignment of core values/purpose In your relationship/marriage is the beginning of your own hell right here on earth. In my humble opinion, misalignment of core values is worst than cheating. Yes, both are evil but cheating is a lesser evil compared to misalignment of core values. Trust me, you don't want to test this theory, you may not come out alive. So, leave the girl/boy down the road to a boy/girl down the road. Leave slay queens to slay kings. Leave party queens to party kings. Leave nyaope boys to nyaope girls, drug addicts to drug addicts, leave weed girls to weed boys, playboys to playgirls..,,AND legacy builders to legacy builders!

He has the kind of physical beauty that is literally stunning.  Golden hair that falls around his shoulders in thick waves. Eyes so piercing blue they hurt to look at. Skin carved of golden marble. A face that could slay armies with its beauty. A body that is so perfect he looks unreal. Like, I can't walk anymore, because I'm literally stunned into place. When he sees me, he smiles and I nearly choke on my own tongue.

Does that sound naïve?” “Yes,” he said flatly. Poppy’s lips quirked, although she felt nothing close to actual amusement. “I’m sure I’ve read too many fairy tales. The prince is supposed to slay the dragon, defeat the villain, and marry the servant girl, and carry her off to his castle.” “Fairy tales are best read as entertainment,” Harry said. “Not as a guide to life.

Okay, what are you two doing to my girl? No making her cry. I told her everything would be okay, are you trying to make a liar out of me now?” He is at my side and running his thumbs over my cheeks to check for any lingering tears in a heartbeat. He leans down and kisses my mouth. “What’d they do, darlin’? You know I’d slay any dragon for you.” I smile up at him, overcome by how lucky I feel, how happy I am that he loves me, that I can have this. “They were happy tears, cupcake. Stow your sword and remember I’m no damsel in distress. I can slay dragons all on my own.” “Yes, I know you can.” He says, his deep, rich voice serious. “But you don’t have to, Chloe Jane. Never again.

I hated men like this. I hated men who used their power to gorge themselves. Hated men who thought it was acceptable to murder their own people as long as it gave them one more chance at hanging onto their golden toys. I hated the men who sent their own terrified people into a stampede to stop us. Hated the men who burned a little girl alive. I hated them all so much, and I loved that I felt that way.

In this age of Glocks and AR-15s, of pipe bombs and high-capacity magazines, the arsenals of our movie monsters seem quaint... Why do they chalk up such low body counts with these crude implements when they could mow down dozens of victims with a semiautomatic rifle? ...The reason is simple: we need to believe death has meaning. Each murder must be unique, each victim must meet his killer one-on-one, each slaying must be given an appropriate amount of scream time.

Of course she would slay her own monsters. My girl is a knife; brutal, unforgiving, beautiful.

For the girls who don’t want a knight to slay their demons, but a villain to hand them the sword. Who don’t want to be given flowers, but the heads of their enemies instead. And lastly, for those who don’t want to be seduced in a bed of roses, but fucked in a pool of blood.

I’ve been reading Dracula. It’s a cautionary tale. A warning to young women not to give in to the seduction of a man who wants to devour you. And yet . . . not all of us were drawn to Prince Charming. Some little girls ate up the stories of ball gowns and castles and knights who slayed the dragon . . . While some little girls read the stories of a dark pathway into the woods . . . a twisted mansion with black windows and fog covering the grounds . . . That’s where we wanted to go. No matter what we might find inside . . .

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