These are my rapists, the ones that turned me inside out, ripped my mind from my body and shredded it. They are also, unfortunately, hot as hell.
Cease speaking, wench. You will bring that sweet ass over here and kiss me now.
When we’re kids,” Dancer said, “we’re made of steel. And we think we’re invincible but stuff happens and that steel gets stretched and pulled and twisted into impossible shapes. Most people are torn apart by the time they’re married and have kids of their own. But some people, the few, figure out how to let that steel heat and bend. And in all the places other people break, they get stronger.
I always get them to call me whatever I want. I’m always in control. Isn’t much I like more than a beautiful woman tied to my bed while I make her come till she passes out. So what’s my problem?
If you’ve read any comics, you know superheroes have a critical vulnerability: the society they protect.
You only know who you are in opposition to something, what you choose to fight for and against. The rest doesn’t matter.
I’m as weak and helpless and doomed as any other person. I’m a willing victim, ready, waiting, eager to be destroyed. I know with one part of my mind how horrifying that is, but with another part of my mind – a much larger one – I don’t care. Being a victim to eternal pleasure sounds like the most perfect state of existence I could ever imagine.
I’m not afraid of Hell. I lived there once. And if I have to go back again, I’ll swagger through those gates with fire in my blood and war in my heart. And I’ll. Take. No. Prisoners.
She’s brilliant and kind and has the heart of a warrior but she doesn’t have ice and razor blades inside where your soul is supposed to be. She loves. And she doesn’t know how to take it back when you have to, because sometimes you sure as feck have to. Got to grab it up with both hands and pull it back before somebody turns it into knives and uses it to cut you to pieces.
I will never again permit myself to forget that isolation is the first step to defeat.
I want to be like them when I am a man: wide-shouldered, with a ready laugh, a spine of steel, and courage beyond compare.
He was obsessed, and obsessed men are dangerous men.
Ego and superego were dispatched with a single swift, killing blow and in swaggered my new ruler – that primitive little hedonistic bastard, the id.
I lived with the constant awareness that if I cared about you and you figured it out, you’d leave.
You can’t unkiss a man you’ve kissed. I.
Joy, that elusive, priceless commodity, was once again his.
I have enormous respect for our military men and women, the everyday heroes who provide the security the rest of us enjoy. I don’t like them in front of that door.
She had an inner fire that begged provoking, just for the pleasure of watching it burn. Right.
This close to him I must bite my tongue to prevent myself from moaning with need. This close to him I feel like an animal.
Confronted by something she couldn’t explain, she pretended it wasn’t there. Dude, ostrich much?