Vicious Prince Quotes

The Fate gave the queen a look more vicious than any curse. 'There is nothing of equal value to me.

The world is vicious.' Thomas brushed a lock of hair back from my face, his gaze thoughtful. 'The world is neither kind nor is it cruel. It simply exists. We have the ability to view it however we choose.

You can tell my uncle boykiller that he can cut the head off every child from here to the capital. It won't make him into a king, it will simply mean he has no one left to fuck.

The dogsman said, 'Tread lightly. Your master's in a vicious mood.' Well, that was order restored.

That was their Prince for you, a twisty, vicious fiend who you should never, ever cross, unless you wanted your gullet handed to you on a platter

I should make you watch, said Laurent, while he's stripped down for every man in the troop to have him." Damen stepped forward. "You don't mean this. You need him as a hostage." "I don't need him continent," said Laurent.

You still want me?" "Still? Did I ever stop?" He brings my hand to his mouth and brushes his dry lips against the skin. "I'll never stop wanting you, belle. You're made for me.

I'm your fiancee, and that makes me your equal, not your toy. If you disrespect me in front of other people, I'll do the same

You don't have to hide your crazy from me, ma belle. Show it, and I promise to feast on it

I can feel your love like a million golden stars in the endless abyss that is me.

I don’t like attention, and it’s not because I prefer staying under the radar like Elsa, but because attention is kind of stupid. What do you do with attention? You can’t even eat it.

The prince then glanced at Chaol and chuckled. "And here I was, thinking that all the ladies were out so early for Roland and me. When all of them catch a vicious cold, I'll let their fathers know that you're to blame." Chaol's cheeks colored ever so slightly. So he wasn't so ignorant of this morning audience as he led her to believe.

Hindsight is a zero-sum game where time is the winner and you’re the loser. Always.

Teal: I stay alone because that’s how I can control my demons. People bring them out.

I was never interested in fitting in. You can't covet something you never actually wanted or even thought about. I have my world, and no one is welcome in.

Okay, maybe mope around is the wrong word. I’m sulking like a whore without clients.

She’s the brightest shining light in the dark. The second star on the right.

At the word sacrifice, something sparked in the Fate's cold eyes. He held the girl tighter, carrying her in his bloodstained arms as he stood and started down the ancient hall. 'What are you doing?' A crack of alarm showed in the queen's implacable face. 'I'm going to fix this.' He continued marching forward, holding the girl close as he carried her back through the arch. The angels who'd been guarding it now wept. They cried tears of stone as the Fate set the girl at their feet and began wrenching stone after stone from the arch. 'Jacks of the Hollow,' warned the queen. 'Those arch stones can only be used one time to go back. They were not created for infinite trips to the past.' 'I know,' Jacks growled. 'I'm going to go back and stop your son from killing her.' The queen's face fell. For a moment, she looked as old as the years she'd spent lying in suspended state. 'This is not a small mistake to fix. If you do this, Time will take something equally valuable from you.' The Fate gave the queen a look more vicious than any curse. 'There is nothing of equal value to me.

You think I'm crazy?" My voice is barely above a whisper, and I hate it. "I don't think it. I know it." This time he does run his finger over my lips as if he's smearing my lipstick, just like that first time he touched me in the library. "And I want every last bit of your craziness.

Dear Lord Wadsworth, esteemed Baron of Somerset, I write to you under great duress. I cannot seem to properly ask to formally court your daughter and ought to be put out of my misery at once. Please send a vicious brood of vampire bats to dispatch me at your earliest convenience. It would clearly be an improvement over this letter… Your daughter’s hopeful yet stupid suitor, Thomas

Don’t cry, little girl,” he says. “It was a long time ago.”  “Yes, but time means nothing to heartbreak.

I am the slave of what I have spoken, but the master of what I conceal.

Too bad, because you’re going to listen, Teal. You’re going to listen to the story of a boy who hates himself so much he needs other people in order to exist.

It's like you want to engrave yourself on his skin." "I do not." "Yeah, you do." Kim pokes my shoulders. "He's the same, you know. He looks at you like you're the greatest and most fascinating riddle of all.

Who said anything about a blowjob?” He grips my chin, once again forcing me to be trapped by his glimmering gaze. “I’m going to fuck your mouth, belle.

Here’s the thing, belle.” My voice drops. “Since you came into my life, I don’t need people anymore. I just need you.

Let’s dry our eyes and go murder our mother.

I have lived a long time and I’ve seen a great many things, and I can assure you, there is no point in the future where problems do not exist. Where your doubts are no more. Your hardships gone. Where things are easy.

The embroidery came later, in the retelling, as the story was told again and again by the men, taking on its own character as it passed over camp. The Prince had ridden out, with only one soldier. Deep in the mountains, he had chased down the rats responsible for these killings. Had ripped them out of their hiding holes and fought them, thirty to one, at least. Had brought them back thrashed, lashed and subdued. That was their Prince for you, a twisty, vicious fiend who you should never, ever cross, unless you wanted your gullet handed to you on a platter. Why, he once rode a horse to death just to beat Torveld of Patras to the mark. In the men's eyes the feat was reflected as the wild, impossible thing it was--their Prince vanishing for two days, then appearing out of the night with a sackful of prisoners thrown over his shoulder, tossing them at the feet of his troop and saying: You wanted them? Here they are.

Nicaise had picked up a gilt three-pronged fork, but had paused before sampling the dish in order to speak. The fear he'd shown of Damen at the ring seemed to still be there. His knuckles, clenched around the fork, were white. 'It's all right,' said Damen. He spoke to the boy as gently as he could. 'I'm not going to hurt you.' Nicaise stared back at him. His huge blue eyes were fringed like a whore's, or like a doe's. Around them, the table was a coloured wall of voices and laughter, courtiers caught up in their own amusements, paying them no attention. 'Good,' said Nicaise, and stabbed the fork viciously into Damen's thigh under the table. Even through a layer of cloth, it was enough to make Damen start, and instinctively grab the fork, as three drops of blood welled up. 'Excuse me a moment,' Laurent said smoothly, turning from Torveld to face Nicaise. 'I made your pet jump,' said Nicaise, smugly. Not sounding at all displeased: 'Yes, you did.' 'Whatever you're planning, it's not going to work.' 'I think it will, though. Bet you your earring.' 'If I win, you wear it,' said Nicaise. Laurent immediately lifted his cup and inclined it toward Nicaise in a little gesture sealing the bet. Damen tried to shake the bizarre impression that they were enjoying themselves. Nicaise waved an attendant over and asked for a new fork.

Satan has certainly been the best friend the church has ever had, as he has kept it in business all these years. The false doctrine of Hell and the Devil has allowed the Protestant and Catholic Churches to flourish far too long. Without a devil to point their fingers at, religionists of the right hand path would have nothing with which to threaten their followers. "Satan leads you to temptation"; "Satan is the prince of evil"; "Satan is vicious, cruel, brutal," they warn. "If you give in to the temptations of the devil, you will surely suffer eternal damnation and roast in Hell." The semantic meaning of Satan is the "adversary" or "opposition" or the "accuser." The very word "devil" comes from the Indian devi which means "god." Satan represents opposition to all religions which serve to frustrate and condemn man for his natural instincts. He has been given an evil role simply because he represents the carnal, earthly, and mundane aspects of life.

I think you care very little,” she goes on, “because you think that keeps you safe. If you care for very little, you have very little to lose.

Time means nothing to heartbreak.

I'm completely fine with Ronan finding me and punishing me and everything in between. Because the truth is, he's not normal, and neither am I. And maybe, just maybe, that's completely fine.

I never allowed myself addictions before, because addictions screw you up and mess with your logic and your head. But as I hug Ronan, I know I have no choice in this addiction. It's the type you just surrender to. You fall into it and let yourself float.

I've always hated other people's secrets, but hers are that forbidden fruits I can't ignore, whose temptation I can't resists. I want to claw into Teal's skin, and not only physically — I want to invade her head and see past it, inside it, everywhere in it.

I see it now, his name — the reason he’s nicknamed Death. It’s not because of his playing or any of that. It’s the way he finishes lives without making a sound. He’s discreet but ruthless. Appears loveable but is actually domineering. Death.

To my son, the crown prince of Arnes, when it is time know that a father lives for his son, but a king lives for his people.

I look around the room at the four men before me, on their knees. I love them, each of them, in my own way and they love me in turn. My vicious men. All of them, mine.

I’m no artist, but I’m an expert at violence and I will paint a fucking masterpiece with your blood.

Apparently us Darlings have a thing for morally grey assholes with rock-hard abs and cunning good looks.

Mine. Only fucking mine,” he growls before he claims my lips in an animalistic kiss.

The love of one’s fate. Sometimes I think about those words. It takes just one decision. It may seem small at the time or inconsequential. But that one small decision can change the course of everything.

But Rhy did walk among them, because he was their prince, and because he could not sleep, and because he knew what it was like to be held by a spell, to be dragged into darkness, to be bound to something and yet feel utterly alone.

People react differently to trauma. There are those who lean on their closest family and friends. There are those who fight so they can smile again. And there are those who close in on themselves and eventually spiral out of control.

Over my opponent's shoulder, I saw Other Ash block an upward strike, then lash out with a kick that sent Puck sprawling onto his back. The reflection stepped forward, raising his sword, but Puck reached back, grabbed a handful of twigs and flung it at his assailant. They turned into a swarm of yellow jackets, buzzing around the fake prince, until a vicious burst of cold sent them plummeting to the ground, coated in frost. "Hey!" Other Puck stabbed forward viciously, making me keep back to avoid him. "The fight's here, ice-boy. Don't worry about your boyfriend, worry about yourself.

(…) But I have never known jealousy until I was introduced to it aboard the Etruria. I want to deny it, to pretend I’m some perfect, unfeeling machine who didn’t care, but that’s a vicious lie. I cared. I cared so much I wanted to punch a wall, as senseless and idiotic as that would be. I considered shoving that pompous ass of a ringmaster right off the deck, knowing I’d rejoice in his drowning. It gave me unparalleled pleasure just imagining his demise. You have no idea the strength it takes, shoving that beast inside, remembering that’s not the kind of person I want to be. Not now, or ever. I will not become a monster for you. The kind of love I crave isn’t cruel or possessive. Do not expect me to act either way. I will never beg or use subversive tactics to win your heart. I will earn it because you choose to give it to me of your own free will, or I won’t have it at all. I will never manipulate you. No one should. And if they do? They aren’t worth your time.

I don't have a problem w/ people not knowing about oppression & social issues. I DO have a problem w/ people standing their ground in ignorance. Viciously, even violently, protecting that ignorance from the light of truth. I do have a problem with that.

A king belongs with his people. A prince belongs with his king.

Some are born for peopling; I was born for anything that doesn’t include that.

The beginning is the end. The beginning is when you decide how the finale will be. For some people, the ending is a mystery and the greatest discovery of all.

Have I mentioned today how much I love you, Ronan?” “I must’ve forgotten.” “I love you,” she whispers in my ear. “Not more than I love you, ma belle.

They say you should find what you love and keep it close. The same can be said about what you hate.

But what if you forget yourself? Who you were and who you wanted to be?

I’m only sure about one thing, and it’s you, Teal.

Darling, did you ever in your wildest dreams imagine you’d get fucked by four men at once?” Her answer is breathy but excited. “It was on my bucket list.

And thinking about his mouth being wicked makes my insides clench up with excitement. “She’s already thinking about getting fucked,” Vane says. “Hey! Quit reading my mind.

Swallow your food before you choke on it.” I do and then, “So it’s okay to choke on Lost Boy cock, but not chicken and biscuits?

If there’s a next life, let’s meet there, okay?

They said you should find what you love and keep it close. The same can be said about what you hate.

I don’t make girls sore — I make fucking love to them, but not with you, belle. I want to fuck you like a dirty little whore.

I heard her tell Agnus I’m a well. She said there’s a lot of digging that needs to be done, and I’m not allowing her to do that.

I’ll burn down the world before I let them touch you.

I don’t care what he says. He definitely has daddy energy.

The Fate gave the queen a look more vicious than any curse. "There is nothing of equal value to me" - Jacks, Prince of Hearts

The people turn out to be—well, people; a collective noun for all those individual men and women, none of them perfect, some of them downright vicious, most of them monumentally stupid. As stupid as the emperor, the great hereditary lords, the priestly hierarchs, the General Staff and the Lords of the Admiralty, the merchant princes and the organised crime barons.

And cried for mamma, at every turn'-I added, 'and trembled if a country lad heaved his fist against you, and sat at home all day for a shower of rain.-Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the glass, and I'll let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those two lines between your eyes, and those thick brows, that instead of rising arched, sink in the middle, and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devil's spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes-Don't get the expression of a vicious cur that appears to know the kicks it gets are its desert, and yet, hates all the world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers.' 'In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton's great blue eyes, and even forehead,' he replied. 'I do - and that won't help me to them.' 'A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,' I continued, 'if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that we've done washing, and combing, and sulking - tell me whether you don't think yourself rather handsome? I'll tell you, I do. You're fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows, but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week's income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors, and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!

I don't have a problem w/ people not knowing about #oppression & social issues. I DO have a problem w/ people standing their ground in ignorance. Viciously, even violently, protecting that ignorance from the light of truth. I do have a problem with that.

Ronan: I’m at the Meet Up and I kicked everyone out to smoke weed and think about you in peace. I miss you and I’m going to fuck you when I find you, my crazy belle. Oh, and my calls have started with the PI. I’m going to convince Ethan to file a missing person report. You’re going down. Ronan: I fucking miss you, though.

Ronan Astor. An earl’s son with a Prince Charming complex. Nicknamed Death for his position on the team. He doesn’t know that death isn’t a title. Death is the beginning of every war, and I’ve already started mine. I stole his will, his future, and soon enough, his life will follow. I have a secret, I’m a thief. Ronan Astor is my next target. As well as my future husband.

Let me see if I understand this," Jaenelle said. [...] "You and Falonar have decided to go your own ways," Jaenelle said with a patience that made Surreal wary. She shrugged. "It was a mutual decision." The bastard. "Uh-huh. So you packed your bags..." "It was his eyrie," Surreal cut in. "I certainly didn't want to live there." And I didn't want to watch him courting Nurian in ways he never thought to court me. "...and left Ebon Rih without telling Lucivar." "Who would have strung Falonar up by the heels"... or by the balls, which might have been interesting to watch... "before having a little chat." "No," Jaenelle said, "he would have waited for Chaosti to show up, and then he would have strung Falonar up by the heels." She paused. "Maybe by the heels." Which just confirmed why Surreal had slipped away from Ebon Rih before Lucivar had time to notice. As the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih dealing with a Warlord Prince who was his second-in-command, Lucivar would have been nasty and explosive. Chaosti, the Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon and a kinsman on her mother's side, would have approached Falonar with the protective viciousness that made Warlord Princes such a deadly facet of Blood society. Dealing with the male relatives she'd acquired since coming to Kaeleer was so much fun. "And you entered the Hall through one of the side doors to avoid seeing Daemon, who's working in his study and would have met you before you got out of the great hall." Feeling more wary by the minute, Surreal did her best to look indifferent. "No reason for him to get involved in this." Sweet Darkness, please don't let him think this is any business of his. "Besides, I don't need either of them getting all snarly and protective over something that was a mutual decision." "So instead of mentioning this to either of them, you went to the Keep and told Saetan." Surreal winced. "Well, I figured I should tell someone before leaving Ebon Rih." "Uh-huh. So you told the High Lord of Hell, the patriarch of this family, the man from whom Daemon and Lucivar inherited the temper you were trying to avoid." Jaenelle pushed the quilt aside and swung her legs over the side of the couch to sit up straight. "Did I miss something ?

It is for this reason that I have so largely set down the particulars of the caresses I was treated with by the jeweller, and also by this prince; not to make the story an incentive to the vice, which I am now such a sorrowful penitent for being guilty of (God forbid any should make so vile a use of so good a design), but to draw the just picture of a man enslaved to the rage of his vicious appetite; how he defaces the image of God in his soul, dethrones his reason, causes conscience to abdicate the possession, and exalts sense into the vacant throne; how he deposes the man and exalts the brute.

vicious actions are not hurtful because they are forbidden, but forbidden because they are hurtful, the nature of man alone considered; that it was, therefore, everyone’s interest to be virtuous who wished to be happy even in this world; and I should, from this circumstance (there being always in the world a number of rich merchants, nobility, states, and princes, who have need of honest instruments for the management of their affairs, and such being so rare), have endeavored to convince young persons that no qualities were so likely to make a poor man’s fortune as those of probity and integrity.

In this piece it was my design to explain and enforce this doctrine, that vicious actions are not hurtful because they are forbidden, but forbidden because they are hurtful, the nature of man alone considered; that it was, therefore, everyone’s interest to be virtuous who wished to be happy even in this world; and I should, from this circumstance (there being always in the world a number of rich merchants, nobility, states, and princes, who have need of honest instruments for the management of their affairs, and such being so rare), have endeavored to convince young persons that no qualities were so likely to make a poor man’s fortune as those of probity and integrity. My

It’s like one of those times where everything feels like too much — the world, the people, even the fucking air. It’s too strong, too potent, and you can’t escape it no matter how much you try. I run, but it follows. I sleep, but it perches over me like a constant weight. People say it’s just a phase and that it’ll eventually go away. It doesn’t. You breathe it in the air, drink it with water, and taste it with food. It doesn’t only become a part of you — it is you. If you somehow managed to remove it, you wouldn’t recognise yourself anymore. It’s not a fucking phase. It’s a state of being. And sometimes, it acts out. Sometimes, you can’t control it even with carefully developed coping mechanisms. I never let anyone see me when it’s about to come out. I run and hide. I purge. The moment I feel it coming close, I just leave.

Once upon a time, there was a princess. All of her life the king and queen told her that princesses behaved like ladies, wore beautiful dresses, trained in proper manners and elegance, and were to always wait for a handsome prince to come and save them if ever needed. Princes behaved like gentlemen, wore the finest suites, trained in swordsmanship and sailing, and were always ready to save a princess. This was the perfect formula for a "happily ever after", or at least that's what her parents always told her. What if they were wrong? Could her "happily ever after" look different? One day, this particular human found herself to be in a bit of a pickle. She somehow ended up in the den of a vicious, multi-headed, fire-breathing dragon. She was not about to wait around for a prince to save her, partly because she didn't have time, and partly because she didn't need a prince. She had no sword, no shield, and no idea what to do. (...) She behaved with nobility, wore the most impenetrable armor, wielded her weapon with stength, trained her brain and her body, and never ever waited to be saved. She could slay dragons and fo to afternoon tea with the queen in the same day. She could marry a princess. She was herself, and she lived happily ever after.

The most poignant lesson, which proved to be the last, was held a few days before the wedding. Diana’s thoughts were on the profound changes ahead. Miss Snipp noted: “Lady Diana rather tired--too many late nights. I delivered silver salt-cellars--present from West Heath school--very beautiful and much admired. Lady Diana counting how many days of freedom are left to her. Rather sad. Masses of people outside of Palace. We hope to resume lessons in October. Lady Diana said: “In 12 days time I shall no longer be me.’” Even as she spoke those words Diana must have known that she had left behind her bachelor persona as soon as she had entered the Palace portals. In the weeks following the engagement she had grown in confidence and self-assurance, her sense of humour frequently bubbling to the surface. Lucinda Craig Harvey saw her former cleaning lady on several occasions during her engagement, once at the 30th birthday party of her brother-in-law, Neil McCorquodale. “She had a distance to her and everyone was in awe of her,” she recalls. It was a quality also noticed by James Gilbey. “She has always been seen as a typical Sloane Ranger. That’s not true. She was always removed, always had a determination about her and was very matter-of-fact, almost dogmatic. That quality has now developed into a tremendous presence.” While she was in awe of Prince Charles, deferring to his every decision, she didn’t appear to be overcome by her surroundings. Inwardly she may have been nervous, outwardly she appeared calm, relaxed and ready to have fun. At Prince Andrew’s 21st birthday party which was held at Windsor Castle she was at her ease among friends. When her future brother-in-law asked where he could find the Duchess of Westminster, the wife of Britain’s richest aristocrat, she joked: “Oh Andrew, do stop name dropping.” Her ready repartee, cutting but not vicious, was reminiscent of her eldest sister Sarah when she was the queen bee of the Society circuit. “Don’t look so serious it’s not working,” joked Diana as she introduced Adam Russell to the Queen, Prince Charles and other members of the royal family in the receiving line at the ball held at Buckingham Palace two days before her wedding. Once again she seemed good humoured and relaxed in her grand surroundings. There wasn’t the slightest sign that a few hours earlier she had collapsed in paroxysms of tears and seriously considered calling the whole thing off.

Now, if there are groups of people who have a claim to other people's labor and self-denial, and if there are other people whose labor and self-denial are liable to be claimed by the first groups, then there certainly are “classes,” and classes of the oldest and most vicious type. For a man who can command another man's labor and self-denial for the support of his own existence is a privileged person of the highest species conceivable on earth. Princes and paupers meet on this plane, and no other men are on it at all. On the other hand, a man whose labor and self-denial may be diverted from his maintenance to that of some other man is not a free man, and approaches more or less toward the position of a slave.

This is as nasty and vicious a war as any that our noble nation has ever been involved in.

Eventually, more than 150 terrorists were killed by the police and several thousand suspects arrested.13 However, the Saudi campaign against al-Qaeda was noticeably less vicious and more targeted than the brutal, widespread repression of the Islamists in Syria, Algeria, and Egypt. This was another clear policy choice: Prince Mohammed bin Naif—who, as deputy minister of the interior, directed government counterterrorism efforts—emphasized again and again that although it was important to eliminate existing terrorists, it was much more important not to create new ones with heavy-handed police tactics.

Aelin shot him a look of pure flame. Good—let the prince deal with her wrath. Even days after the claiming that had left everyone pretending they didn’t notice the two puncture wounds on Rowan’s neck or the delicate, vicious scratches over his shoulders, the Fae Prince still looked like a male who had barely survived a storm and had enjoyed every wild second of it. Not to mention the twin wounds on Aelin’s neck this morning. He’d almost begged her to find a scarf.

He seems to have attained so much faith in himself to a point where he is knowledgeable of his own dominion over me, how he can effortlessly entrap me back into this harmful cycle. What he is oblivious of is the transformation within me, the invocations I have set out to God to ruin whatever it was that kept leading me back to a man who didn’t value me. He is unaware that this time around, instead of leaving him wishing he will unexpectedly turn into prince charming, I am leaving for me. I no longer desire to be a part of this vicious cycle anymore

I’ve wept before, and probably even enough, but it…I feel raw. I’m not sure if I’m more her or more me.” Pain’s knees began to give way for sheer exhaustion, and she sank down into the chair that Charm had vacated. “You are you,” she assured Charm. “But I’m not,” said Charm, her voice veering back toward hysteria. “I’m not one me. I’m two? Four? Six? How many? Who am I? I’m not who I was and I don’t know who I am or who is me.” Pride snatched Charm’s arm. She spun Charm around and gave her a swift shake, her bloodily bandaged hand clutching Charm’s arms. “You are the mother of Evlaina. You’re Charm, enthraller of princes and emperors, feared by bestial men who abuse you in order to expiate their own weakness.” Pride’s teeth bared in a fierce hiss—“You were clever enough to grow into someone who could take her shocks in pieces that could be dealt with instead of dying of them. You were strong enough not to die when anyone else would have. You are Charm.” She shook Charm again, viciously, heedless of her own injuries. “Stand up and act like it!

The Anatomy of Evil.

Calila e Dimna

My granddad used to say that bad weather was god trying to tell us something.” “And what do you think he’s trying to tell us?” “That we’re fucked.

I can feel it,” he says, a soft utterance, a quiet secret. “Feel what?” “Your love,” he says. “In my chest.” He kisses my cheek, lingering close. “I can feel your love like a million golden stars in the endless abyss that is me.

Vane is right—Darling is our weakness and Tink knows it.

Neverland has always been a place of magic and impossibility, hasn’t it, Peter Pan?

We don’t deserve you, Darling.

my heart beats a little faster in my chest as the reality of Neverland and my new life comes into sharper focus. I’m living in a fairytale and this is only the beginning.

amor fati or, the love of one’s fate.

In all my years, I’ve found a common trait among men who erect statues in their likeness: fragility.

Would you like a play by play? Do you want to know where I’ll stick my cock, how I’ll make her scream my name? Destroying something can feel good, Smee. I promise you that.” “You are hopeless,” she says. “Aren’t we all in this godforsaken island chain?

That's what I do when attacked, I attack back, and I'm venomous, like a fucking deadly snake who can never be stopped.

Never King. Never King. Given light, trapped in the dark.

All that time I spent down there with the spirits of the lagoon, you hear many curious things about myths and men, and men who think they are myths.

You cannot save one to sacrifice them all. She

She’s a few inches taller than I am, but I have half the Neverland Shadow, and there’s no way I’m backing down.

All of the best things happen in the dark, so long as there is light to counteract it.