#like a prized racehorse….

[wheels-of-despair]

Live A Little | A Worth It AU | Ralph Penbury x You | Masterlist

In This Edition: Our adventure begins! Words: 1.4k

The Series Announcement may be a helpful read before diving in!

"Let that girl live a little!"

That phrase, once shouted by your dear Aunt Molly, had been constantly playing in your mind since Christmas.

Your favorite aunt had come north to spend the holidays with you, your mother, and your father. Molly was your mother's sister, but the two women could not have been more different.

Your mother was cold and calculating and cared far too much about what other people thought of her. She craved attention and approval and took great pains to insert herself into every situation which might allow her to move up the social ladder. She'd married your father for his money and family name, not caring at all that he was a kind and loving person with human feelings. Sometimes you think he's the only reason you're still moderately sane.

Aunt Molly, however, was warm and funny and had a boisterous laugh that seemed to put everyone at ease. She'd married someone your mother deemed poor and unworthy, but a few wise investments turned his dream of someday owning a racehorse into a reality. They'd moved to Kentucky, bought a small farm, and turned it into a breeding empire. Even as his fortune grew, your mother never warmed to him. "You can't buy class," you'd heard her sneer on more than one occasion.

Uncle Dan had passed away suddenly last summer. You'd all come down on a train for the funeral, but you hadn't stayed long. Aunt Molly handled the situation as she handled all situations; with her head held high. She was a businesswoman, and when something needed to be done, she'd do it. Even if that something was burying her husband and running things by herself. "Animals don't care if you're in mourning," she'd said. "They still have to be fed. People still have to get paid. As long as you're able, you have to keep on living."

She'd stayed for almost a week at Christmas-time, a personal record for her. Perhaps she was growing lonely with Uncle Dan gone. But for you, her loneliness led to the opportunity of a lifetime.

You'd been coming down the stairs for breakfast when you heard your mother and aunt screaming at each other in the parlor. Your father, lingering in the hallway in case they came to blows, looked up at you with a exasperated look. You stopped on the bottom step to listen.

"Let that girl live a little!" Aunt Molly yelled.

"She'll remain here and live a respectable life!" your mother shrieked.

"You're selling her off like a prized cow!"

"Civilized people do not insert livestock into every conversation, Margaret!"

"I'll insert a--"

"They've been at this for fifteen minutes," your father interrupted, before you could hear Aunt Molly deliver her killing blow. "I think that's enough."

He made his move and opened both parlor doors. You remained by the stairs, but saw both women turn in shock at his entrance.

Your mother glared at your father for daring to interrupt her quarrel, but Aunt Molly spied you lingering in the background.

"C'mere, darlin'," she called.

"Margaret, I will not allow it," your mother seethed through clenched teeth as you approached.

You resisted the urge to cower behind your father, and stood beside him instead.

"I have an amazing opportunity for you," she began.

"I said no!" your mother hissed.

"Let's at least let her hear what Molly has to say," your father, the eternal peacekeeper, chimed in. "Why don't we all take a seat and discuss this calmly?" He guided you to the sofa, and sat beside you. Your mother and aunt sat in opposite armchairs, facing each other. You wondered who would launch themselves across the coffee table and attack first.

"I'm heading to Europe next month," Aunt Molly said. "And I want you to come with me."

"I told you, she is engaged!"

"And I told you, she needs to go on an adventure before she settles down and starts poppin' out kids!"

Your father cleared his throat, and Aunt Molly returned to her sales pitch.

"I've sold a colt to a man in England. He's one of Dan's old friends, and it's for his daughter's birthday, so I told him I'd escort the young fella there personally. I'd like for you to come with me. After that's done, we can explore England, France, Italy. Anywhere you want to go. I need a vacation, and I think you'd make a great traveling companion."

You stared at her in wonder. It had never occurred to you that visiting all the wonderful places you'd read about could actually be possible. To walk the cobblestone streets that Dickens walked, to see the Eiffel Tower and the Sistine Chapel with your own two eyes! To eat real foreign cuisine and learn a new language and sleep in luxurious hotels and swim in different oceans!

"She has a wedding to plan!"

And just like that, all of your dreams popped like bubbles and were sucked down the drain, leaving you with the reality you tried so hard to avoid. You were marrying Donald Andrews, a boring yet respectable man of your mother's choosing, in just a few months' time. You felt yourself deflate, and lowered your gaze to the floor.

"Darlin'?"

You looked up to meet Aunt Molly's kind eyes.

"Do you want to come with me?"

More than anything in the world. But you have commitments to keep. You said yes to Donald when he proposed, although you're still not sure you meant it. It had been at dinner with your parents and his, in the most expensive restaurant in town. Everyone had turned to watch when he tapped his glass and sank to one knee. Every pair of eyes in the restaurant was on you, waiting for an answer. You'd panicked. When you stuttered out a "yes," the entire restaurant had applauded. Your mother finally looked happy with you, for the first time that you can remember. That was a good sign, right? You figured you could learn to love him. Perhaps even find something charming about him…. after you pop out five or six dull little children that look exactly like him and are tied down in domestic hell forever with no hope of escape or a moment to yourself ever again.

"Yes," you answered.

Your mother seethed, but Aunt Molly's face lit up.

Things were tense in the weeks leading up to your departure. You assured your mother that there would be ample time to plan your wedding after your return in April. International travel would make you appear cultured and give you things to discuss at dinner parties, after all. She remained unconvinced - and quite crotchety - but the thought of escape kept you going.

The morning you were scheduled to board a train and travel south to meet Aunt Molly and a colt named Kentucky Bluegrass - Blue for short - you sat at your vanity and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your bags and trunk had been packed and moved downstairs the night before. Nancy, your family's maid, had come in early to help you dress for your departure. Physically, you were ready to go. But as you stared at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't help but notice that something felt different. Final, somehow.

"It's time," your father announced with a quiet knock on your door.

"I'll be right there," you called, staring at your own face in the mirror as if it were the last time you'd ever see it. You took a deep breath, stood, and reached for your gloves… but you hesitated before putting them on.

You stared at your engagement ring for a second. The hideous, bulky thing that Donald had shoved on your finger in front of all those people. You remembered how they'd ooh'd and aah'd and how he'd pinched your skin in his hurry to get it in place.

You ran your thumb over the stone rising from your finger… and then you pulled it off, dropped it in your jewelry box, and let the lid fall closed with a thump.

The ring couldn't have weighed more than a few grams, but you felt ten pounds lighter without it.

You took a deep breath, pulled on your gloves, straightened your hat, and stepped out of your childhood bedroom.

This girl is going to live a little.

[sparklepocalypse]

Hello hello! My thanks to @wordsofhoneydew, @getmehighonmagic, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @kiwiana-writes for the tags, and to @priincebutt and @piratefalls for the open tags! My tag is always open as well, but I haven't seen anything on my dash from @whimsymanaged, @duchessdepolignaca03, @firenati0n, or @thinkof-england yet, so tagging the four of you specifically! 😘

Shoutout to priincebutt and @cha-melodius for the very essential "horsepicking" services they provided for this snippet, because ya girl Mags is a little scared of horses, but ya girl's muse insisted that horses should be in Facing Tempests (AKA KHIX (AKA The Big Giant AU)). Giving you more paragraphs than usual because there wasn't a great cutoff point anywhere in the middle of this chunk of fic...

It’s probable that Henry will be rendered utterly insensate by the end of their ride. Alex had taken to Mr. Filibuster as well as Henry had hoped, and now sits astride the dun gelding as comfortably as if he’s been riding him for years. The breeches he’d loaned Alex are… well, the only reason Henry can’t claim that they leave nothing to the imagination is that he doesn’t need to imagine, thanks to Alex’s half-asleep locker room behavior the previous day. Currently, Mr. Filibuster and Henry’s own mount, a bay mare called Billie’s Royal Aurora, are meandering at a leisurely walk. But the moment they begin to trot and Alex starts flexing his frankly ridiculous thighs to post, or, god forbid, the way his hips will move at a canter – Henry might spontaneously combust. It’s his own fault, really. Henry could’ve asked one of the household staff to look for a pair of breeches that were better suited to Alex’s measurements. At the time, he’d stupidly allowed his cock to make decisions on his brain’s behalf, and his cock had insisted that Alex wear Henry’s spare riding breeches for… reasons. Thus far, Henry’s strategy to avoid blatantly staring has been to casually attempt to keep Billie a half-length or so ahead of Mr. Filibuster. However, this has led to a secondary dilemma. Trying to prevent his own breeches from causing permanent damage to the organ that had gotten him into this situation in the first place seems to be inspiring both horses to lean into the strong competitive instinct prized in Royal Stud stock. Both Mr. Filibuster and Billie’s Royal Aurora are decorated veterans of the stakes, and after about ten minutes of Billie pulling ahead and Mr. Filibuster strategically catching up, the horses are raring to be given the reins. “It seems like they want to run,” Alex says, and his gelding whickers as if in agreement. “Of course they do,” Henry replies. “Can hardly expect a racehorse to want to plod along like a Clydesdale.” Alex gives him a sly, sidelong grin that has Henry’s heart kicking in his chest and his cock kicking in his breeches. “Wanna let them?”

[wyrmmaster]

I look at what's happened with Blue Archive fanart over the past year or so and it's wild but understandable.The characters are fun, the story's good, the music's phenomenal and it also very intentionally presses the Joshikousei button incredibly hard. Not a surprise that it eventually took off like a rocket, fanart wise.

Thing is, I look at that and my immediate thought is we dodged a bullet.

There is a universe out there in the infinite beyond where the Horselords were dragged into their meeting with Cygames, told that the gijinka of their multimillion dollar prize racehorses were probably going to get a truly unholy amount of porn fanart and and they were like "Fuck yeah!" instead of "...Please don't?"

That would've unleashed something beyond comprehension. Blue Archive was a small lightning rod for what that would've done; it's arguably why the game survived after a bad start. That shit would've gained sentience and ended all life on the planet.

[valmare]

having big tc thots today, and this is something i've wanted to play around with for a couple of weeks. Days of Thunder, 1990. Cole Trickle. 90s Tom Cruise. need i explain? so here's a teaser of something i may potentially work on. thoughts?

Redline

(Teaser)

"Cole! Cole, honey, can you hear me–? Let go of me, I wanna talk to them–COLE!"

Harry shoves her away from the mic hard enough that she slams into the faceless body with enough force to rattle her teeth, without apology.

Daytona heat all but rolls under the denim draped heavy across her shoulders. She can't even feel her own heart that racehorses against her ribs, can't hear past the roar of a gasping, on-their-feet crowd. Has all but forgotten how to breathe, even with Harry's iron grip now, somehow, on her forearm.

His low tones remind her with rhythmic examples of what she's supposed to copycat.

"In, out....that's right, darlin', in....out...." but it's lost when sunlight hits the gleaming, steel rail of the ambulance gurney. Taxiing the only thing she ever remembers caring about, the last six months.

Unable to look past the blood and rubber and black exhaust that's painted him like a work of art, her eyes weld to the EMT taking scissors to his prized SuperFlo suit. He loved that logo, the look of the get up.

He loves. Present tense.

She forces herself to remember he's, divinely, alive.

"Can't ask for a sponsor with a better look, sweetheart."

Every one of her internal organs make a mad dash up into her ribs when the gurney cuts sharply to angle by Harry and the rest of the pit. All but jumping the partition, Harry tosses the headset to the tar beside the familiar denim jacket. He hauls her over with him.

Breathless, trembling, and every organ all but screaming the same Pleasedon'tlethimdieGodpleasedon'tlethimbedead, her hands wrap home around the gurney's rail as it slides up beside her. No doubt the timing of God allowing her a moment in the mess the Firecracker has become.

The rail's surprisingly warm. No surprise, really. It's one hundred and eight degrees in the shade on this track.

It's Harry who manages to speak first, eyes flicking to the EMT ripping open the familiar suit.

"What've we got, doc?”

Half registering the fact this woman is an EMT, not a doctor this situations so desperately needs, she bends deeply over the rail. Hustles along the gurney that hasn't stopped moving like a pace car since it had scooped his body off the track.

Fingers slipping across the mess on his face, the familiar touch prompts a reaction. Eyes shifting back and forth rapidly behind closed eyes, his head lolls into the touch, heavily. Lips part with a soft moan that's more pain than recognition, though the attempt is there. From here she can feel his heart redlining in his chest. Against her fingers.

Matching hers, pace for pace. Like always.

"Cole. Baby, it's me–"

And his eyes flutter open, fan of lashes and all. There's instant recognition. That cocksure smile, the little light in the corner of his eyes. Sparkle of an ego that's too big to drive, too big for this whole world.

Fat, hot tears slip down her own face, to the mess his suit has become. The EMT has already cut through his underclothes, his skin is flaming. There's a scent of gas in the air, of exhaust. Steel, rubber. Familiar, all of it, but there's the sharp sting of antiseptic. Something coppery, almost.

It's blood. So much damn blood.

His smile grows when her eyes shift to consider his state. A quiet "Hi," is all he manages, lifting a slow hand to rub a curl between his fingers.

"Get her out of here!"

Wanting to respond, the EMT smacks his hand down and shoves her off the gurney as if it'll bite. Stumbling foot over foot, it's Harry's strong arm catching her elbow and tugging her along that sets her after them in long, purposeful strides. Strides that feel heavy, uneasy. Like walking on wobbly noodles. It takes every ounce of willpower she possesses.

She's swallowing air faster than she's breathing. Hiccups come, then sniffles. It's impossible to keep the race of thoughts lapping her brain at bay, and they begin to filter through her mouth without so much as a breath.

"Harry, is he–? I wanna––"

"I know, darlin'," his voice is certain. More certain than she's ever heard Cole's best friend be, when he's not cussing the pit out or chewing Cole a new ass through the mic. Jaw set, the vein in his neck strains with the effort of hauling her at elbow through the massive crowds that have gathered to see Cole to his shiny new ambulance ride. "I'm gonna get us there, that's a promise."

And Harry keeps his promises, almost all of them. That's something Cole had assured her, a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. It's hard to remember.

Has. He has assured her. He's alive.

Remembering is really the only thing the two of them have.

divider by: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @soulmates8 @chicomonks @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @your-local-crzy-lady @horserad-ish @bisexual-watermelons @mongoosesthings @gothidecorem @philcoulson-redtapeninja @itsgoghtime

[unholy-screeching9]

I m sorry to bother you but…..do you think you could do KD x reader where they both have a shitty day and just need each other? Like they cuddle? Everybody needs comfort, even the greatest showman on inkwell isles!^^

You don't even know how much I needed to write this. These past few weeks have been hell for me, so it was so nice to finally be able to write something again, especially something comforting <3

There's some suggestive content in here still, so I advise everyone to be careful!

SUGGESTIVE CONTENT WARNING! 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI.

💋

King Dice x Reader "Bad Day Headcanons"

SONG RECOMMENDATION: “I’ll Never Smile Again” - Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey

King Dice x Reader “Bad Day” Headcanons (GAME)

If anyone were to ask King Dice what it’s like to be the right hand man of the Devil himself, why, he’d say it’s a dream. The best thing that’s ever happened to him. Well, maybe the second best. Marrying you will always come first. 

He really does enjoy his job as the casino’s manager, and doesn’t mind the workload. To be surrounded by fawning fans and patrons, collecting their wallets, possessions, and damn souls from right under their noses? The job is certainly never boring. The poor fools who enter make sure of that. 

King Dice always enjoys a good gamble. Whether it’s a friendly game of poker, craps, roulette, or even a bet on which racehorse would take the prize, the manager clings to the thrill of the risk like a drug. 

But the thing about addiction is, you never realize how much you’re suffering until it’s much too late to do anything about it. More often than not, you tend to bite off much more than you can chew. 

Dice occasionally finds himself in this position, having become in over his head. Sometimes, the die gets a small reality check of his own. 

This reality check comes in many different forms. Not that he ever loses a bet, of course. The King never loses, and he intends to keep it that way, no matter how dirty his hands get. There’s a reason why the house always wins, and Dice is that reason. 

Instead, his reality check comes in the form of angry patrons who have had one too much to drink, picking a fight with the manager. A demanding boss constantly looming over his shoulders, nitpicking Dice’s methods and making it incredibly difficult for him to do his damn job. 

The crushing weight of pressure to keep up a perfect approachable appearance, luring the poor fools of Inkwell inside the Devil’s mitts like a lion tricking its prey. 

Not to mention the heavy workload of papers to sign, contracts to file, tailoring appointments to keep his style consistent with whatever trends might be appearing, exhausting measures to keep his boss happy, stocking of supplies, the list could go on. 

Normally, it’s manageable enough. Some of the tasks overlap, and Dice manages to find a nice, smooth routine to keep everything in order, especially with the help of his cards. 

Typically, they will work behind the scenes while Dice manages the front, filing his papers for him, checking the drink stocks from behind the counter (the Tipsy Troop is of very little help at times), or even just forging Dice’s signature on a few of his contracts to lighten his load. 

This way, all the King really has to deal with is a few tiffs with particular drunkards, looking pretty, and keeping his staff in line. 

However… sometimes, the workload is just too much for Dice to handle, even with his cards and his staff scrambling to help the poor man keep a level head. 

Sometimes, Dice is kept after his shift usually ends, signing contracts until he can barely see straight, fingers ready to fall off. 

Sometimes, Dice gets scuffed up during a fight, causing a small crack in his head, or a few rips in his suit. 

Sometimes, the Devil is too irate to effectively calm down, and Dice is on the receiving end of his boss’s wrath whether what caused the ruckus was his fault or not. 

Sometimes… Dice just can’t take it. 

There have been numerous occasions where you’ve watched him trudge inside your chambers, completely worn out, a sour expression on his face. Dice can’t even smile at you or offer any kind of greeting as he shucks off his shoes and jacket, frustratedly kicking the objects off to the side. 

You hate seeing him like that. It’s not like him, at all. He deserves so much better than what he’s given, and you wish you could do something about his awful working conditions. 

On the nights your husband returns to you looking beaten and weary, you do the one thing that you know he’ll never oppose. You guide him into laying on top of you, his aching head resting over your chest, listening to your soft, steady heartbeat.

You simply hold him in your arms and hum a relaxing tune, your fingers gently running over the crisp edges of his head. It relaxes him almost instantly. 

Very few words are exchanged between the two of you. Dice is too tired and frustrated with everything to vent, and you don’t push him. You won’t even try to make small talk. Sometimes, there’s just no point in speech. 

No… sometimes, things are meant to be silent. And comforting Dice after a horrible day at work is usually one of those times. 

In the early hours of morning, you may occasionally wake up and find Dice staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep with too much on his mind. It is here when he finally opens up to you, spilling the details of why he entered your chambers in such a cranky mood. 

You say nothing, just letting him speak, not even flinching when he occasionally raises his voice, gesturing irritatedly with his hands. You barely even bat an eye when he lets out a frustrated huff, grumbling under his breath about how different he wishes his life turned out, falling onto his back with a defeated sigh. 

What does get your heart caught in your throat, is when his hand finds yours from under the covers. When he gives you a gentle squeeze, shifting close to you and rubbing his thumb over the smooth, shiny gold of your wedding ring. 

“You’re the only good thing that’s come out of this mess, doll.” 

Before you can even respond, Dice is asleep, his hand still squeezing your own like a lifeline.   

Well, that certainly gets your heart to flutter. 

You can absolutely relate to his struggles, as you have had many, many bad days of your own. More than you can count. Fortunately, it’s usually nothing you can’t deal with yourself.

You can handle a hard day with your own job. You can handle coming home to the casino’s chaotic ambiance after a hard day at work, with a couple drinks and a quick smoke for good measure. You can handle the long wait for your husband to return from his shifts and into your quarters. The wait is a hundred times worth it for that sweet, sensual embrace he gives you (and whatever follows afterwards). 

What gets you slightly miffed is the treatment from the folks around you who are cautious, curious, and just damn nosy over your relationship with King Dice. Repeated. Near constant. 

If you need to answer one more goddamn question about Dice’s ability as the Devil’s right hand man to love, one more inquiry over whether or not the man has you in some sort of trance, one more jealous complaint from the filthy drunkards who can’t learn to keep to themselves, your head just might fall off its shoulders.

It’s not that you’re not used to the comments and questions, it’s not that you can’t handle the occasional jab from another being. It’s definitely not that you’re protective of your husband, when he can certainly protect himself and you as soon as he feels the need to. It just… it gets so god damn annoying after a while.

And some days, you just can’t. 

The pressure of your job, worrying over your lover and his duties, dealing with the obsessive freaks? It’s certainly difficult not to crack. 

What ends up tipping you over the edge is any extra conflict life decides to throw at you on that particular day. Your boss gives you a hard time over something unwarranted. Someone bumped into you and spilled a drink all over you, so you have to work in soiled clothing.

You’ll never admit it to yourself (or anyone else), but you’re a ticking time bomb on the daily, waiting for one final push into detonation. And when that push comes, well, you’re nearly inconsolable. 

You barely make it through the rest of your day without killing someone. As soon as your shift ends, you head back home, attempting to take the side door to avoid the casino’s loud, unbearable ambiance. 

The door is locked. God fucking dammit. 

You let out a frustrated shout, banging your fist against the golden door frame before stepping away. You bite the inside of your cheek to distract yourself from the growing pain in your hand, and the fact that you now have to make your way through the suffocating atmosphere just to get to your room. 

Holding your breath, you quickly throw open the double doors, effectively silencing the whole room with the sheer amount of force you use as each door slams against the walls with a bit of recoil. 

Ignoring the stares and slight whispers of the folks who recognize who you are, you make your way through the maze of tables and machines, passing by the Blackjack table where your husband sat at the head, his deck of cards slipping from his hands and falling into a heap on the table. 

He stares at you in surprise, eyes desperate to reach yours, feeling crestfallen when you never meet his gaze. 

Watching you effectively slip past the crowd and head into the private halls, Dice makes a mental note to grab a bottle of wine for you on the way back to his chambers. He notices the clusters of people continuing to stare at the door and whispering in suspicion, and quickly becomes angry over their inquiries. 

Gathering up his deck of cards with one swoop of the hand, he brings his other fist down on the table to grab everyone’s attention, glaring menacingly at the wide eyes of his patrons. 

“Well, get back to it, will ya?! Don’t you fellas know it’s rude to stare at someone and start talkin’ smack when they’re no longer present? Forget what you saw and move on!” 

The powerful bellow of his voice combined with his threatening gaze was enough to jumpstart the casino into action once again, the games and chatter continuing like nothing ever even happened. 

With an aggravated huff, he turns back to his own table and silently deals the deck to his slightly shaky players, ignoring their hesitant movements and fearful eyes on him. As long as they aren’t focused on you anymore, he doesn’t give a damn.

When the day finally ends, Dice makes a beeline towards his room, a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. For once, he’s silent as he opens the door and steps inside, quietly stepping over to your curled up form on the bed. 

A gentle hand rubs over your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise before you slowly relax into your husband’s touch, your eyes slipping shut as you do your best to collect yourself. 

Dice notices you trying to calm down and shakes his head, setting the wine and glasses down on your nightstand and taking your hands. 

“It’s alright to be angry and upset, sweetness. Don’t try and bottle it up for my sake. If you need to yell or cry, go ahead. I’ll spare your dignity.”

That’s all you need to hear. Dice silently nods along in understanding as you tear into the horrible day you had, letting you yell out your frustrations, his hand gently running along your inner thigh in an attempt to comfort you. 

If you start to shed any tears in the middle of your rant, your lover offers you his handkerchief, continuing to listen to you as he pours you a glass of liquid happiness. 

The rest of the night is filled with tears, alcohol, and eventual silence as you both finish off the bottle, settling down for bed. You’re more than eager to sleep off the struggles, in hopes that tomorrow will bring you fortune. 

You both are there for each other when you need it, and that’s something you’ll always cherish about your husband. How someone as intimidating and evil as him could be so sweet and caring with you, you’ll never understand. But you are grateful for it. 

Dice is just as grateful for you, for dealing with his messes. For putting up with his work life, for loyally waiting for him every night, no matter how late it gets. For looking past his ‘rough and tough’ persona, and learning to love his broken, messy interior. 

Your love for each other is what gets you both through even the hardest of days. 

That includes, when both of you aren’t exactly having the best time. It’s rare for you to have an off day at the same time, but in the unfortunate case that something like this happens, well… you lean on each other more than ever. 

Both metaphorically and physically. 

As usual, you return home first, making your way through the casino’s main floor and biting your lip to keep from shouting at the drunkards who bump into you, whoop and holler in your ear, or simply stare at you in disgusting infatuation. 

Except this time, Dice is too distracted with his own hardships that he doesn’t even notice you come in. This time, it’s his eyes that fail to meet yours as you pass by, creating a slight twinge in your heartstrings. 

It seems today is just shitty all around, you suppose.

Stopping by Dice’s office, you grab a couple books from one of his many bookshelves, and head back to your quarters. Maybe some light reading will help you get your mind out of reality for a while. 

Dice’s escape from reality… isn’t quite as healthy.

With a cigar in his mouth and a glass of scotch in his hand, he finally makes his way to the room with heavy footsteps, just wanting to see you. To hold you. To lament to you. 

He knows in his heart that all you want is the same. It’s what you both need right now. You just need to be near each other. To hold each other. To kiss each other. To forget the stress of the day, and just focus on what’s most important. 

Your love for one another. 

The quiet creak of the door opening followed by the light of the hall flooding the room catches your attention, your head lifting from your book and finally meeting Dice’s eye as he steps inside, taking a drink from his whiskey glass and setting it on his bedside table. 

You’re up in a moment, the book forgotten about as you make your way over to him, helping him remove his jacket, carefully draping it over a hook and hanging it neatly. When Dice kicks off his shoes, you move them underneath his hanging tailcoat for him. 

The only sounds in the room are the rustling of fabrics being taken off, the soft pads of footsteps trailing to the bathroom, the running water from the sink’s faucet, and the aching ringing in your ears. 

Dice washes the makeup from his face and steps back into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with you, clad only in his boxers. His movements are tender and careful as he cups your face with his hands, his fingers slowly covering your ears, helping to finally rid you of the god-awful sounds plaguing your brain and causing a headache. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you rest your pounding forehead against his bare chest, taking in that addicting scent of smoke and musk. 

For the first time in a while, Dice chuckles slightly, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. While you rest against him, he helps you rid yourself of your top and bottoms, leaving you in your undergarments. Shivering slightly, you shift closer to him for warmth, and Dice responds by pulling you into his lap all together. 

He peppers you with all the kisses you’d ever need, holding your face in his hands as he makes his way over your cheeks, forehead, nose, and finally, your lips. 

Oh, hell, his lips are magical. They’re so soft against your own, and the taste of alcohol and cigar smoke is always welcomed. It’s incredible. Your favorite way to take your whiskey, if you were honest with yourself. 

Your arms find your way around his neck area, and his around your waist. Both of you are itching just to get a taste of each other, your tongues meeting and mingling with one another. You both are exhausted and frustrated with your lives, but it’s the kisses you share that make the day worth going through. 

Dice scoots back into bed with you in his lap, laying down on his back, letting you sprawl on top of him. Skin against skin. Lips against lips. Hands interlocked. Neither of you want to be anywhere else. 

After a while, you both are content with just relaxing in each other’s embrace, unwilling to move. You’re warm. Comfortable. Almost happy. Almost. 

It’s not enough to completely fix the horribleness of your days, but it’s damn near close. It’s enough to convince you both that the hard days are worth it. It’s enough to bring small, peaceful smiles on your faces, providing comfort for each other when it’s so desperately needed. 

“Darlin’?”

Your husband finally speaks, bringing you out of your thoughts. You turn your head to look up at him, your eyes locking in with his bright green ones. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, hesitantly, already knowing the answer. You understand what he’s really asking– he wants to know if you’re willing to talk about it, or if you just need time in silence. 

You sigh softly to yourself, contemplating your reply before you flash him a soft smile, gently rubbing your hand over his chest. 

“I’m okay, my love. It was just a rough day today.” 

Dice understands your reply and nods, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead as he shifts on his side, letting you shift with him so you both are in a spooning position, with your partner hugging you from behind. 

“Alright.”

Silence falls over the both of you, and you are left with your thoughts, occasionally shifting closer together for comfort when you remind yourselves of what you’ve gone through that day. If Dice’s leg finds its way over yours, you don’t mind at all. If you let out the occasional sniffle as your emotions threaten to take over, Dice pretends he doesn’t hear. 

If your shoulders begin to heave slightly as you silently cry to yourself, Dice’s soothing hand makes its way towards your back, rubbing reassuringly. If Dice squeezes you closer in an effort to quell his own shakiness, you rest your back against him, nestling your head under the bottom edge of his cubed head. 

After a while, you turn around to face him, wanting to bury yourself into his arms. The smile that had temporarily graced your lips is gone, replaced with a dispirited frown. 

Dice looks down at you in concern, gently caressing your cheek, his thumb wiping away the occasional tear that fell down your cheek. 

“You’re not alright, are you, sugar?”

A shaky sigh leaves your lips as you shut your eyes, a couple extra tears lining your eyes making their way down your cheeks. Dice takes care of those as well, his fingers gently massaging your face in comfort.

“No, I’m not.”

Not that you needed to tell him that. He knows. He always knows. And he understands, you know that. Because he’s not alright, either. Neither of you are. 

You’re both in pain. Exhausted. Frustrated. Angry. You aren’t even in the mood to be intimate tonight, neither of you have the energy. 

Even so, you find yourself pressing closer against him, relishing in the feeling of your skin contacting his. Falling intoxicated to the addicting scent of smoke and citrus that at this point may be Dice’s natural musk. 

Sometimes, just cuddling with each other without any clothes on is just what you need. It’s physical. Intimate enough. Comforting. Relaxing, even. It’s nice, when you want the blissful feeling that sex leaves you, but when neither of you have the strength to move. 

The slow, slightly shaky rise and fall of Dice’s chest keeps you grounded in reality, and simultaneously, your erratic heartbeat fluttering against his own keeps your lover’s own emotions in check. It’s a silent reminder that you’re okay. You’re safe. You’re not going anywhere. 

If there’s one thing that you both can count on, it’s that you’re secure. Dice would never let anything happen to you, and you would always be there to pick up the shards and piece his life back together. 

You both lock eyes with each other, silently proclaiming your love for one another, and kiss once more. Your breathing slows as you relax once more, just focusing on the comforting tastes, scents, and soft groans coming from the King. 

Dice pulls you closer to him, holding you tightly as he runs a gentle hand through your hair. The feeling is soothing to him; your hair is so soft. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else. Luckily for him, neither do you. 

Eventually, you both slip off to sleep, finding contentment from being wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging gentle snores with one another as you finally get some rest. 

At 6:00 am sharp, Dice’s alarm goes off, the man groaning in irritation as his hand lazily swats at the damned thing before yanking out the plug. With a yawn, you sit up and stretch, sighing to yourself as you mentally prepare yourself for what you hope to be a better day at work. 

Before you can get far, however, Dice’s hand grabs your wrist, pulling you back into his warm, relaxing embrace. 

“Dice, we need to-”

“Five more minutes, doll. Please.” 

You sigh, shaking your head as you squirm slightly, not wanting to be late for your job.

“Dice, I can’t. We can’t. Your boss would use your head as game dice for the craps table if he knew you had–” 

“To hell with the boss.” Dice grumbles crankily, insistently pulling you closer. “My boss, and your own, can wait five minutes.” 

Well, you suppose he does have a point. Besides, he’s so comfortable, it’d be a waste to get up now, when you both still have a little time. So, you reluctantly give in, settling back down and shutting your eyes again. Surely, the day can wait a little longer. 

And when you both wake up a half hour later, scrambling to get up and make yourselves presentable, as much as you want to say otherwise you can’t help but think to yourself…

It’s worth it. 

King Dice x Reader “Bad Day” Headcanons (SHOW)

Many believe that becoming a beloved star in showbiz has to be a dream come true. 

Let’s face it, the showmen get everything they could ever ask for. Doting fans who would bend over backwards just for a damn signature, the ability to pick up anyone they want for a partner, all the money in the world, and an influencing presence on some of the highest officials in town. 

Being a star should be the best thing that could ever happen to a man. And if you were to ask King Dice how he views his job, he’d certainly tell you how splendid he has it. 

After all, running a game show where he can sing, dance, and talk all he wants, with an enormous crowd screaming his name before he even enters the stage? Why, it’s magical. 

The King loves his job, dearly. He doesn’t see himself doing anything else. He’s even found himself enjoying the thought of what happens to the foolish fellows who stumble upon his spotlight, happily playing his game, and falsely believing they’ve won. Sure, they may have won on paper, but here's the catch: King Dice never loses. 

There’s something so satisfying about the idea of those pests who are so desperate to touch him getting what’s coming to them. It’s a nice little bonus to the job, knowing that those he severely disliked would be taken care of. 

However… sometimes, King Dice gets the occasional contestant who isn’t so horrible. A contestant who’s surprisingly respectful of his boundaries, plays the game perfectly, and doesn’t give him any trouble whatsoever. 

Dice would be lying if he didn’t feel a little twinge of guilt as he watches the poor thing happily wave to the crowd before waltzing into the Mystery Prize Room, expecting a wonderful bout of riches and earthly pleasure. The showman closes the door quickly, signing off before leaving the stage in a slight rush, not wanting to think of it any longer. 

King Dice is selfish. Egotistical. Arrogant. Self-absorbed. The perfect fit for the Devil’s ‘Number One.’ He couldn’t care less about what happens to others; it’s none of his concern. 

But yet… that unfamiliar sting of regret still finds its way to Dice’s cold, dead heart. 

It’s uncomfortable. Awkward. Foreign. It shouldn’t be there. 

It sours his mood. He curses that contestant for being so unlucky. He curses his boss for putting him in this position, knowing fully well that for the sake of his job, he’s lost the trust of one of the good ones. But most of all, he curses himself, for not giving enough warning. 

Being a splendid actor, Dice is able to finish the rest of the night without a hitch, but there are other things on his mind. His head is no longer in the game. 

And the occasional guilty night is only one hardship Dice puts up with as a star working for the Devil. The list could go on for miles. 

Unpleasant conversations with his boss when one of his contestants came close to losing. The headaches from the constant flashing cameras fighting each other for a good angle of him. The carpal tunnel from signing every damn scrap of paper his fans shove in his face. The numbness in his cheeks from smiling all day long. 

That’s not even half of it. 

The truth is, being a star isn’t all it's cracked up to be. It’s hard work. Exhausting rehearsals. Pounds of makeup. Putting up a charismatic persona under layers of clothing, under hot lights. For hours. A lot of sacrifice is put into making sure everything is perfect, and some days, Dice wonders whether or not it’s worth it. 

You’ve spent many nights as Dice’s support system, guiding him out of his dressing room and into the waiting limo from the back way, to avoid the crowds. Letting him rest his legs in your lap as the limo takes you home, and massaging his aching feet as he sips tiredly at his champagne. Helping him up to your chambers, removing his jacket for him and hanging it up neatly by the door to be used for the next day. 

Unbuttoning his vest and undershirt, tossing the clothes into the hamper for his cards to wash, and gently massaging his bare chest. Allowing him to melt into your touch with a gentle moan as you slip his slacks off for him, setting them off to the side as you coax your lover to lay down. 

Wiping off his makeup for him as he complains to you about the exhaustion he feels, and the mess he had to deal with that day. Letting him rant out his frustrations at how disgusting his fans can be, and how he sometimes wishes he hired a few bodyguards to keep the pests away. Consoling him with a soft, soothing voice, validating his struggles and perhaps even appealing to his ego, letting him know just how patient and strong he is for dealing with such nastiness all day. 

Dice is grateful for your help, every time. And he’s sure to let you know that as you work your magic. 

“You’re the only one who could ever bring me true joy, doll. I adore you.” 

You smile and shake your head, kissing his cheek as you peel off your own clothes, tossing them off to the side and laying down with him, allowing him to rest his pounding head over your chest and relishing in the contact. 

“And I you, my King. Please, get some sleep. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.” 

He obeys, but only after you start humming to him. Your voice puts him right out, and he finally finds the relaxation he’s been looking for. 

Your job complete, you allow yourself to snuggle close with him, watching over him and making sure he’s safe and secure. Eventually, your eyes slip shut, and you both rest together, allowing the past to wither away in preparation for the next day. 

You understand where your husband is coming from, sometimes. Every job has its faults and struggles, including the job of singing and putting on a show for others’ enjoyment. Including your own job, which leaves you with many, many days where you wonder if it’s even worth the effort. 

After all, Dice makes more than enough money to keep you both well off for the rest of your lives. You don’t necessarily need to keep your job, but it’s something to do during the day while your lover is at the studio. Something to keep you busy. Something you’ve earned for yourself. An accomplishment. It’s hard to give up. 

Even though sometimes, you heavily consider quitting in favor of keeping your husband company. It’d be nice to let go of all the hardships of your job for good, and bask in Dice’s presence all day instead. 

The worst of it all is when you work overtime, and you miss Dice’s show entirely. You sometimes get so occupied you can’t even tune in on the radio. It makes you unbelievably aggravated. Not only that, but you can’t even make it to go home with him at times, having to catch a cab back to your quarters. 

Even so, Dice waits for you. Greets you as soon as you trudge through the door, taking care of your bags, your coat, and your shoes. Drawing a bath for you, and helping you undress. Undressing himself, and joining you in the tub. He washes the grime off of your body for you, singing a soft, comforting melody as you rest your head on his chest, your sore voice trying to match his rhythm. 

Soon enough, you both are softly singing together in harmony as Dice massages the tension out of your shoulders and back, effectively distracting you from your heavy responsibilities. 

Once you’re clean and Dice is satisfied with his work, he pulls up the plug and drains the tub, carrying you out and drying you off. He secures his fluffiest robe around you, tying the knot with a pretty little bow before drying himself, shucking on another robe for himself, and guiding you out into the bedroom. 

A slow jazzy song is chosen from his record books, and the gramophone plays the tune gently, prompting a slow dance between you and your husband. His hands guide you into the proper positions, and soon he’s swaying along to the song with you, singing to you and sneaking in a few kisses until a smile finally graces your lips. 

You admire his ability to bring you joy, even when you don’t feel like smiling at all. It’s so unbelievably sweet of him to treat you so kindly, especially when his job is just as difficult. 

Once you’re worn out and you’ve forgotten all about the struggles you faced in the day, Dice will remove your robe and his own, carrying you off to bed to turn in for the night. 

He holds you. Tightly. His lips grace your face and neck, planting several kisses over your skin along with the occasional love bite. He understands you may be too tired to be intimate, but he figures he can at least make a mark or two to let others know you’re taken. 

His teeth and mouth feel exquisite against you, and the gentle nipping and biting make you chuckle occasionally. He tickles, especially when his mustache grazes over your skin just slightly. 

Dice longs for your laughter. It’s all he ever wants to hear from you. He hates seeing you upset, and if he can help it, he’ll chase all of the horrible feelings away, leaving you a relaxed, giggling mess in his arms.  

“Dice…” You manage to mutter between your laughter. 

“What is it, angel-eyes?” 

“Thank you for this. I appreciate it. You never fail to take the pain away when I need you the most. I love you, so so much.” 

Dice simply smiles at your words, bringing the duvet over you and covering you up so only your head is sticking out. With a kiss to your lips and a caress of your cheek, he murmurs into your mouth some of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard him say. 

“Anything to see your smile again, my dear. It breaks my heart to see you so upset. Please, lean on me when you feel like you’ve lost your smile. I’ll always be willing to help you find it.” 

He seals the promise with another sensual kiss to your lips, bringing you into his chest as your tongues explore each other’s mouths. You’ll never understand how he sweeps you off your feet with something as simple as a kiss, but you won’t complain. You love it. 

He’s yours. And you’re his. No one else will ever have the privilege of his gentleness, or your loyalty. No one else deserves those privileges. They can rot in hell, for all you care. 

You eventually find yourself nodding off in his arms. With a fond chuckle, Dice pulls his mouth away from you and lets your head drop onto his shoulder. Your ear is filled with your husband’s sensual whispers of praise, successfully lulling you to sleep. 

Wanting to keep you relaxed even in the early morning hours, Dice wakes up before his alarm and shuts it off before it even has the chance to ring. Figuring he’s allowed to be a little late just this once, he decides to stay with you an extra hour, humming quietly in your ear and massaging your shoulders. 

When you finally wake to get ready for work, you find a small box of chocolates and a cup of your favorite morning drink along with a single purple rose resting on your nightstand. 

That cheesy bastard, you love him to pieces. 

Taking a sip of your drink and indulging yourself in a few of the chocolates, you decide that you can finally move forward, and strive to have a better day. With Dice’s sweet gesture, you’re already off to a pretty good start. 

Through your hard days and his own, you and Dice are always there to pick each other back up when you need it. You’re each other’s rocks. Best friends. Spouses. You wouldn’t want to share this type of bond with anyone else. When one of you is down and broken, the other will always be there to pick up the pieces.

However, there is the rare occasion when both of you are down. When both of you are tired, struggling, and ready to quit. Those days hit especially hard. 

You can already tell it’s one of those days when you trudge home late after work, and find that Dice isn’t even home. He must’ve gotten caught with the crowd, or was dragged off to some damn party that he really didn’t want to go to. Dice hated any parties that involved other celebrities. Hoity-toity bastards. They make him sick to his stomach. 

Even though a huge part of you wants nothing more than to curl up and sleep, you know that you won’t be successful until your husband comes home. You can’t sleep as well when you’re alone, especially when you’re emotionally struggling. You need him. 

And when Dice finally steps into your quarters, barely able to stand on his own as he lets his tailcoat fall to the ground, you can tell that he needs you just as much. 

Exhausted, you make your way over to him and just wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest. After a few moments of processing, you feel Dice’s arms tightly wrap around you as well, pulling you against him as his shoulders sag slightly. Jeez, he’s so weak and tired, it makes your heart break for him. 

“Shitty day?” You ask, your voice muffled from your face being snugly buried into his chest. 

You hear a dejected sigh from above you as Dice rests his head on top of yours, nodding slowly. 

“Shitty day. You?”

“Mhm.” You mutter back, hugging yourself closer to him for safety and relief. 

Dice coos sadly in response, kicking off his shoes and sliding them in a heap by the door. You yelp a little in surprise as he lifts you up, carrying you over to bed and sitting down on the edge with you. 

You watch as he runs a defeated hand over his face, shaking his head in resignation. He looks worn and ragged, like he had been run through a road roller. Dice certainly feels that way, at least. 

He looks down at you with an unreadable expression, cupping your face and examining your eyes. Your beautiful, glossy eyes that are incredibly easy to get lost in. They’re truly a wonder, in Dice’s head. You yourself, are a wonder. A joy. A prize. 

He wishes you didn’t feel so low today. 

“I’m so sorry, my sweet. But I don’t believe I have the energy to help you find your smile tonight.” 

That sentence is enough to shatter your heart, but not in the way you’d think. You’re not upset that he can’t provide the comfort he thinks you need. You’re not upset that he can’t make love to you, or run you a bath, or dance with you until your feet hurt. 

You’re upset that he’s been run down to his last thread tonight. You’re upset that he feels guilty for being unable to help you in the way he would like. You’re upset that he’s had such a horrible day, when he should’ve been enjoying himself. 

In response to his apology, you lean forward and press your lips to his, gently nipping at his bottom lip and coaxing a small groan from his throat. 

Helping him undress completely, you mumble in his mouth in a voice that’s barely audible:

“Dice, don’t think that you need to pamper me to help me relax. Don’t think that you need to sweep me off my feet and carry me everywhere to make you happy. Don’t think that you need to do all of these sweet little gestures to bring me comfort.” 

You run your hands up and down his sides, memorizing the way his smooth ivory skin feels against your fingers. 

“All I need tonight is you. And you’re here now. That’s all I could ever want. I just want you.” 

Dice is at a loss for words, opening his mouth to say something, but nothing coming out. After a minute, he sighs hopelessly, shaking his head and just holding you in his arms, searching for solace in your loving warmth. 

You both sit together, naked and weary, just embracing each other. Loving each other. Not daring to move, in fear of stumbling or breaking the quiet atmosphere. It’s… surprisingly wholesome. 

Who knew that all you both would ever need when you’re down is a hug? That was all it took to make you at least a little content with where your life is? You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised, after all any type of contact with Dice is enough to bring you peace. 

You contemplate in his arms for a moment, remembering that new blues song that was playing on the radio over your workplace a few days ago. How did it go again?

Oh, yes. You remember.

“I’ll never smile again…” you start, your voice hesitant, wondering if you had heard the lyrics right. “Until I…”

Recognizing what you were trying to sing, Dice finds the corners of his lips turning up in a soft smile. He kisses your forehead, hugging you close and slowly swaying back and forth with you from where you were both seated on the bed. 

“Until I smile at you…” he finishes your open sentence, gently rubbing your back as his mind recalls the melody himself. 

“I’ll never laugh again… what good would it do?” 

You close your eyes, peacefully swaying along with him as you both slowly make your way through the song, taking in the quiet, soothing notes of the melody. 

“I’ll never love again, I’m so in love with you…” 

As you harmonize with your husband, you eventually feel a small, blissful smile finally reach your face. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, smiling tiredly with one another as you finally conclude with the last line of that song you both had just gotten familiar with.

“Until I smile at you.”  

Silence greets your ears once again, but this time, there’s a feeling of satisfaction in the air, rather than misery. And what’s even better is, you both are smiling with one another. 

You chuckle quietly, your hand tracing up and down Dice’s bicep as you gently kiss and bite at his collar bone. 

“You know, you had apologized earlier for not having any energy to help me find my smile. But I don’t think you realize that all I need to smile again is you, Dice.” 

Dice stares down at you in slight awe, slowly processing your words and taking them to heart. You feel yourself get slightly squeezed against him as he lets out a quiet, teary chuckle that brings out a couple tears of your own that you didn’t realize you were holding back. 

“I… I guess I never thought of that, babydoll.” 

He wipes away your tears as he blinks back his own, lowering his head down and pressing tiny kisses to the top of your head, little bursts of love and warmth exploding from your chest. 

You ache for him. He puts so much unnecessary pressure on himself, sometimes it’s hard to watch. You wish he’d give himself a break. He deserves one more than ever. 

“Tomorrow’s your day off, right? It’s Saturday, so I have off as well. Maybe we could dedicate it as a recovery day.” You offer quietly, rubbing in between his shoulder blades to help him calm himself. 

With a gentle sniffle and a moment of thought, Dice smiles sadly once again, nodding thoughtfully and taking your hand. 

“I’d love that more than anything, sweet one. We’ll spend the whole day together, just the two of us.” 

Just the two of you. No one else. Not a single coworker to deal with, or a boss screaming in your ear. Not one nasty admirer clinging to Dice’s leg, begging for one picture. Just you, Dice, and the peaceful quiet that home brings the both of you. Yes… that does sound perfect. 

“It’s a date then.” 

Content with your plans of a better tomorrow, Dice crawls back into bed and lays down with you, curling up under the covers with you snuggled perfectly in his arms. Once you both settle down, you sigh quietly together, your heads slowly resting against each other. 

Your hands connect with each other, the soft metal of your wedding rings clinking together as your fingers interlock. The clear diamonds sparkle and glisten as the pale moonlight peaks in from the window, hitting the stones at just the right angle. 

Dice grins warmly in amusement, his thumb rubbing over the rings in curiosity before he squeezes your hand reassuringly, bringing you closer. 

“Now that I think about it… I wouldn’t have my life any other way. I think I’ve done well for myself.” 

You laugh softly, your nose gently brushing against the pip on his face as you nod in response, agreeing with his statement.

“I wouldn’t either, sweetheart. You’re worth all the bad days in the world.” 

You relax in each other’s arms, peacefully satisfied with where you both are at. As you start to nod off, you hear Dice begin to quietly hum the tune you were both singing together earlier in an attempt to lull you off to sleep. It works, rather quickly. You’re passed out by the time he reaches the fifth or sixth line. 

For a moment, Dice watches you resting against him, enjoying the feeling of your chest slowly rising and falling against his own, your heart beats slowly coming together and finding a steady rhythm. 

He’s right; he wouldn’t have it any other way. This is perfect. All he needs. 

You’re all I need, the showman thinks to himself as his heavy eyelids finally close, and within mere seconds, he’s fast asleep, holding you securely in his embrace. 

You both sleep well into the next day, taking the time to recuperate and take care of the exhaustion you were dealing with. By the time you finally rise, you keep the promise you had made to each other, spending the day making each other laugh, sing, and dance together. 

Your love for each other really is worth all the bad days in the world.

[hexjulia]

Greek horses were smaller (by perhaps some two hands on average than the average cavalry charger early this century), stockier, more cob-like than those we are used to seeing or riding. Stallions were not gelded, which did nothing to assuage their tendency – shared by the mares – to bite. Nor did the rider operate with such seemingly indispensable modern aids to balance and control as stirrups and saddle. The horses for their part went unshod. The nature of the beast meant that the horse was a hugely expensive commodity; the price most commonly paid for a horse in the fourth century was up to three hundred times the average daily wage of a skilled worker. The expense was especially magnified by a climate and terrain generally lacking in extensive lush pastureland. Only the seriously rich could hope to maintain a horse, let alone a stable or stud, and the horse correspondingly functioned as an obvious status symbol marking out the elite and often aristocratic few. It followed that even fewer Greeks could afford to own let alone breed racehorses – hence the quite prodigious extravagance implied by Alcibiades’ boasting that he had entered no less than seven teams of four-horse chariots at the Olympics of (probably) 416: this was the ‘blue-riband’ event of the Games (cf. Hiero 11.5), and Alcibiades not only won the first prize but had four of his teams in the first seven finishers. Small wonder that he commissioned Euripides to write a commemorative and celebratory ode, besides exploiting his triumph shamelessly for political purposes. The young Xenophon must surely have been hugely impressed.

Paul Cartledge in the introduction to Xenophon's (possibly?) On Horsemanship.

[spine-buster]

That Which We Are, We Are | Nathan MacKinnon | Prologue

A/N: HERE IT IS!!!!!  I’ve been waiting so long to post this and I’m SO excited to get this story going!  Though it’s only the prologue, I hope you enjoy!  Let me know what you think!

Nathan MacKinnon would rather be in Halifax than anywhere else in the world, but at this particular moment, he would have rather been playing in the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

That dream was clearly not meant to be this year.  Despite a strong showing and a hard-fought effort, he couldn’t get it done.  He blamed a lot of the failures on himself.  Though he was part of a team – a very good team, filled with friends and mentors and guys he considered his brothers through the ups, downs, and battles they faced together – the pressure he put on himself was immense.  Because of this, he thought it was his responsibility, and his alone, to get it done.  To advance in the playoffs.  To get over the hurdle of the second round, which it seemed his team was perennially stuck in.  Alas, he came short.  As was the story nowadays.  The Colorado Avalanche couldn’t get it done.  Nathan MacKinnon couldn’t get it done.  

Being back in Halifax was always his favourite part of the year, because he loved his hometown and city with all his heart.  But this time around, things stung a little bit more.  Things hurt.  Not anything to do with the city – the city was beautiful, and in the summer, it was even better.  Mentally, things hurt.  The mental weight of not being able to get it done lay heavy on his chest and in his mind.  It started the second his flight landed.  It continued as he passed through customs, got into a taxi to his parents’ house, and walked through their door.  It continued as he woke up in his childhood bedroom the next morning, got into his Range Rover, and drove to his house on Shubenacadie Grand Lake.  It continued as he stood in his house, alone with his own thoughts and deafening silence, not knowing what to do with himself.  

There was only so much he could do.  Plus, he could only wallow for so long until he became a caricature.  It would be on the back of his mind the entire summer, until he got back to training camp and his mind reset – he knew that.  But he also knew he needed to find happiness somewhere.  An equal balance.  Something to focus on other than hockey and his shortcomings.

It would be hard.  

Hockey consumed him.  It was his life.  He was like one of those racehorses with blinders on, not being able to truly see anything around him – especially during the hockey season.  Part of it was that it was how his mind worked; the other part of it was that he knew he needed to be that way.  People like that succeeded – they were able to attain the highest level of glory, which he wanted.  Sid certainly did, which people liked to remind him of constantly.  He reminded himself of it constantly.  Sid already had a Stanley Cup by his age, and was on the road to getting his second and third, which he would win by the age of thirty.  He, at twenty-six, still had more than most – he’d won a Memorial Cup, the Calder and the Lady Byng, and a World Championship – but he hadn’t won the Stanley Cup.  That was Nathan MacKinnon – always coming up short of the ultimate prize.

He stayed in his house alone for a few days, eating whatever healthy food his parents had stocked for him when he told them he was flying home.  He took calls from only them and his sister – his agent knew to leave him alone, as did his nutritionist, trainer…basically everybody else.  It would take a while for him to feel normal again and want to communicate.

It was only after he’d been home for a few days that he ventured to go back outside – to Halifax, specifically, and its downtown core.  Despite it being busy, with people out for work lunches and the like, he flew mostly under-the-radar.  It was why he liked Halifax so much.  People knew who he was, so they left him alone.  They took care of their own.  Of course people still came up to him occasionally, especially people with kids (and he always accommodated the kids), whenever he was back in Halifax, he was left to live his life.  He had parallel parked his car on Bedford Row and began walking with no end in mind.  When he didn’t like the look of the buildings, he walked a block down and found some he did like; when he couldn’t see the water, he walked south so he could see it as the blocks opened up.  

He was wandering.  And he was a guy who didn’t exactly wander.

His stomach began to grumble, so he knew he needed to find a place to eat.  Not willing to go into a restaurant and blow his cover, he slipped into a tiny, unassuming café on Granville Street, along the cobblestone streets of Granville Mall.  It was in a very artsy area of town, near the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, so he knew being recognized was slim.

He got a table alone.  His waitress was nice, and he ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with fries, and he just kept to himself and his own thoughts.  The café wasn’t too busy – he’d say about half full – and it was only when he was about half-way through his meal that he noticed his waitress interact with another person – a woman, alone just like him, sitting closer to the front display counter and till.  His waitress gabbed enthusiastically with the woman, who had a head of long, long curly hair that was impeccably kept and styled.  She wore a fashionable outfit of a long, sleek blush-coloured blazer (currently hanging on her chair), black dress pants, and a white shirt.  On her feet were a pair of flat, ankle-laced shoes.  Nate was in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and kept his baseball cap on inside.  

Every member of the staff was kind to her.  They all approached her to say hello, apologized about distracting her from her work (she had an iPad Pro perched on the table behind her plate) stayed for a quick little chat, then went on their merry way.  

“What are you working on now?” one waitress asked.

“I’m still working on curating the upcoming exhibit I mentioned last time,” the woman said with a smile.  “It’s almost done!  I’ve been working on it for so long now – I feel like it’s my baby or something.”

“My friends and I are going to get tickets.  When it was announced, we were so excited!”

“Good!  It’s going to be great, if I may say so myself.”

Nate felt like he recognized the woman’s voice.  There was something about it that made it sound familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d heard it before.  Then, she turned around in her chair to get something out of her purse, and he was able to see her face.  Even her face looked familiar.  Fuck.  She had makeup on, but not so much that it completely covered her features – it was well-done and professional.  He swore he’d seen her somewhere before.  He swore he knew her.

But he couldn’t figure it out.

Nate continued to eat and continued to listen to her interact with the waiters and waitresses.  When he was done and it was becoming socially unacceptable to just be sitting around at his table listening in on conversations while he tried to pinpoint exactly where he knew her, he got up from his seat to approach the till and pay for his meal.  As he waited for someone, he looked over at the woman.  She didn’t notice, as she was focused on her iPad.  He did it a few more times until he was able to tap his card.  He left a hefty tip and put his wallet back into his pocket.

He was supposed to leave.  He was supposed to walk right out the café doors.

Instead, he approached her.  

“Um, excuse me?” he said softly, just loud enough to get her attention.  When she looked up at him from her seat at her table, her eyes were wide and beautiful.  “Hi, I—I’m sorry to bother you,” Nate stuttered out.

“That’s alright,” she said in an equally soft yet confident voice.

“I just—I—do I know you?” he asked.  

“Nope, but I know you!” was what he was expecting to hear.  Everybody said it to him, because he was home in Halifax, because, well…mostly everyone knew him.  But this woman, whoever she was, looked him dead in the eye and shook her head.  “No,” she said definitively.

Nate was slightly taken aback by her directness.  He couldn’t help but let out the slightest of chuckles, mostly out of nerves.  “Sorry, I—I swear I recognize you and your voice, but I don’t know from where.”

The woman smiled – grinned, really, since she showed no teeth.  “I must have one of those faces or voices,” she said politely.  “Sorry I’m not who you’re looking for.”

Nate accepted the reality.  He nodded his head quickly, bringing his hand up as if to wave off his own behaviour.  “Sorry to bother you,” he apologized.  “E—Enjoy the rest of your lunch.  Have a great day.”

“You too, sir.”

Sir.  He’d just been called sir in his hometown.  He wanted to shudder.  

He left the restaurant without another word.  He knew he was in an artsy part of town – and the woman was clearly involved in art, since she was speaking about curating something – but Nate still found it a bit odd that she didn’t recognize him.  Most people did, even if they were polite about it and pretended not to, or only showed they knew who he was at the end of the conversation by calling him by his name or Mr. MacKinnon.  But she didn’t do any of that.  She denied knowing him, didn’t recognize him, had no ideas who he was.

But he was determined to remember where he knew her.

[seancamerons]

i am sooooooooooooooooooooo glad finally the world is seeing what scum justin is. he profitted off slandering women. multiple women. unfaithful, scummy, cultural appropriating and made a career off of ripping off michael jackson. the beatboxin', the improvizational vocal styling, the layered tracks, the dancing, the slandering his 'crazy' exes, the luxury he must've had.

must be nice. what a little cry baby bitch boy. what goes around comes around, like it's a friggin boomerang. ew. it takes two to tango, you're the one with the victim mentality. a class act, and i mean that in the most downright low down way i can muster. he is horrible. the absolute worst. he did the women in his life so dirty, it's never his fault, god forbid. pathetic.

boo fuckin' hoo, your anniverary was interrupted by your own dirty laundry, so what? what else is new, besides the fact you slandered britney. you threw janet and her 20 year (at the time) career under a bus. idk what he else he did, but he also cheated on jessica "let's evolve" biel, but that's not about her but, bold words for someone who took back their scoundrel, cheating ex boyfriend who cheated on her. i guess she likes sloppy seconds, they seem like they're so great. must be nice, once again. even if he has the upper hand, or control of the narrative or had it for, oh wait, oh about 20 years.

you know what the ex, the puppy love turned real, your childhood love, arguably the once 'love of his fucking life', in a romantic sense best friend, the girl jt was so into that he apparently was about to give her his name, and you do her dirty? dude, you can be so dumb, sure it was a sly dick move, but damn. that says way more about him that it be about her. life hands you lemons, you blame others and squeeze the juice in their wounds, liar liar liar.

so justin, while britney nursed a broken heart and had to grapple with a decision you issued this 'ultimatium' whatever, you didn't say you were gonna be respectful? i imagine they probably talked beyond the text to be like, whatever it's done closure for the pair, par for the course. when you were the first to be cruel, you were the aggressor, you were the liar, you weaved this narrative that it was ALL her. remember this, there's not a relationship with you, there's the other half, who should be your 'better' half, who was miles humble and sweet compared to him.

not to be all will smith or nothin' but keep her name out your fucking mouth if you have nothing good to say, that goes for everyone. like who are people who don't work, have retail, food service, regular people jobs with regular people problems, middle class judging a woman who makes money when she shits, sleeps, eats, dances and posts videos on instgram. why is it such a thing as to have silence in the peanut gallery in regards. "it would never happen to anyone" sure, jan. keep sippin't he coolade. cool.

so weird flex, idk. i'm glad i never bought into "big bad britney" the worst girl, the delinquent deviant, the seductress Jezabelle manipulator, evil woman, ice, stone what have them, there's always gonna be haters, but like f that. I'm on the right side here, not that it's a contest, race, spill tea, money grab whatever. idc who you are, but britney should be referred to as someone who isn't a tabloid joke, but a survivor with resilience and humility and someone who had unrealistic sometimes or big dreams but never really gave up completely even if times were shitty. she always had things to live for, and to do, but some f the things she endured were totally beyond her control.

she was very much chewed up and spit out. adored and then hated, and all the people going, "oh i had no idea, i feel so bad" i really think it comes too little too late, because for years i always assumed there was a lot we didn't know, and that wasn't really anyone, especially her family who treat her like a prized racehorse or cash cow, and not a human.

for 13 years, almost 15 years, she was a second-class citizen in her own home, a literal prisoner, she had zero say in anything. she couldn't drive or vote for a president/elected official. she was unjustly put under a hold that turned into a little over quarter of a decade imprisoned, her civil rights were infringed upon. yes that is something to share that must burden her, sometimes the truth is something that will set her free. her speaking i believe, equates to her healing. i know i said i wouldn't say things about this until i finished up the woman in me memoir, but i can't keep this from coming out.

it's just for once, this girl can catch a break and do what she loves. she speaks very candidly on her fans who she appreciates even at her lowest point, even if she wasn't necessarily 'running the show', she still had personality, passion and intensity that will keep her 'youthful' in the eyes of the world forever. her legacy is so strong, and i hate that it'd been marred by lies for years. slanderous, sensationalized journalism and south park, punch lines, digs, and general biased hate from other fans of pop (tbh all genres) music and more. if beyonce did any of the things briney did they'd (general public) turn their back too or they'd fight for her just as strong as barmy/fandoms related to britney spears/fans of other artists. some artists could get away with literal killing or unaliving someone, and britney would be like going to prison or some mental hospital for LIFE locked up till the 12th of never to be released and her family would assume control and she would die in literal captivity. people act like jamie was looking for brit's

his meal ticket, of course. of course she's married this guy who (i will say he takes care of mostly if not all of his multiple children with more than one mother, not that there's anything wrong with having biracial or even children who are from different mothers. out of his idk how many kids, he has 2 children with britney from when they were married for roughly three years who don't speak to her because they'd been fed this narrative for so long they see no different. federline literally implies she's nuts, so she's not credible so people find her narrative to be false, or use the rhetoric she has mental illness, while that could be something, if she didn't have dementia or some schizoaffective or bipolar diagnosis, well well, she might have some horrible version of post-traumatic stress disorder. everything i'd expected and even things i didn't know or weren't confirmed officially at any time are being corroborated like i didn't want to be right, but i was so on it and everyone thinks she's crazy, and gaslit, enabled this farce of a conservatorship, she needed to be taught how to be an adult, and her family mainly jamie failed her by making every decision for 13 years for her.

i was also ranting that, what kind of crappy luck to have a sister like who ignored her pleas, saw her struggle, and didn't do shit to help her, but freely went on dancing with the stars, the special corps for money grabs, looks so desperate.

she (jamie lynn) wouldn't even be a name out here if she didn't have a sister who was like it or not, britney spears. similar to the plight of ashlee simpson (jessica was the more 'famous' popstar sister, famously had a reality show with her ex-husband nick lachey in 2003 until 2005 or so which the show seemed to seemingly caused them to split by late 2005/2006) , nick & aaron carter (he was the 'kid' brother of one of the lead singers of the backstreet boys, famously dated paris hitlon, was accused by a former girllbander from the girlgroup in 2000-2001 dream.) if my sis was being talked neg about or was being infringed of her citizens rights, i rest my case. i'd go the f off!

i mean let's be serious for a sec, there was so much SO MUCH animosity and jealousy and "living in the shadow" or being "less famous" or too young to remember when things were normal in their families. ashlee simpson famously had a song called 'shadow' (Autobiography, 2004) not to be confused britney spears' "shadow" (In the Zone, 2003)

i do not sympathize with her. in wise the words of mean girl janis ian. listen up.

As Janis Ian once said, "There are two kinds of evil people in this world. Those who do evil stuff and those who see evil stuff being done and don't try to stop it."

[wedreamedlove]

Hi! Can you explain what is happening on Stranger Games Event?

it's a death game AU that you can say is heavily inspired by squid game. in this world, there's a strict caste system and aristocrats treat normal people like ants and stole the heroine's escape game show to turn it into death games, which are undisclosed to the public.

in this particular event, we focus on one game zone in particular, angel factory, and these people are collaborating with a scientist who is researching cloning technology. the angel factory supports his research and he provides them his skills. they lure normal people into this game by promising a huge prize pool and then trap them there to play their death games.

when you win, you either get sent to the labs to be cloned or you continue to go through more of these games. when you lose, your organs get harvested. meanwhile, aristocrats bet on players like they're racehorses (of course these bets are rigged to let these death game factories earn money).

the heroine was forced into these games, won the first championship, and then was cloned for her "special genes" to be transplanted in other experimental subjects. you play as a clone for this whole event. all of the men have new identities too (naturally carrying elements of their real world counterparts).

what's most unique about this event though is that light and night is using their silhouette cards for these card stories, so they have one true ending and one merry bad ending. and the writers were not playing around when they did the merry bad endings...

for those who don't know, merry bad endings are endings where the audience finds it sad or disturbing but the character themselves are happy (ex. the heroine becoming corrupted, going insane, becoming broken, or resigning herself to her fate with an equally messed up love interest).

[windermeresimblr]

When you get this, list 3 facts about your favorite sim and send it to the last 3 people in your notifications! Let’s get to know each other's sims 💕

Well...I suppose we're going to use Alasdair again! You all don't mind? Right?

Alasdair once had a Scottie named Wee Lassie. I really ought to bring her back, although she's perhaps too modern for his current save. No matter the era, he's secretly very soft-hearted when it comes to animals. Except for deer.

His red hair came from both sides of the family, although his dear Mama is as blonde as they come. (I like to think it's primarily a recessive O'Brien gene.)

Alasdair was born almost immediately after his mother won a very long game of faro at a party. (As in he was almost born in the litter back to the Ducal townhouse. That the Duchess made it to the drawing room was a minor miracle.) The Duke had gone to a friend's hunting lodge because both he and the Duchess assumed they had another few weeks until Alasdair's arrival; he was very surprised to come home and find the child already named. The other contents of the prize pot were £200, a racehorse's next foal, and a set of opal-and-onyx bracelets. The bracelets would have been in Alasdair's trousseau had he been a girl.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

it started with the five of them—roy, donna, dick, garth, and wally—clustered around the fluffy rug in wally's room, staring at wally's battered old computer. wally knows them all so well, could pick any one of them out of a face-less line up by a hitchhiker's thumb or a freckle on the knee or an ugly scar, he knows them all so well and he's terrified.

or maybe it could be traced back to weeks ago, with roy and dick, their resident rich kids, helping wally pick out a prom outfit. it was quite the memory, an awkward and gangly wally west being shoved around in the fanciest clothes his tiny local mall had to offer. his cheeks were flaming red but roy was all casual confidence and an ease wally envied, and dick was like lightning, wild and luminous against his insipid town, and his eyes lingered on them both a hint too long. (wally could barely get his chosen shirt on anyway, because it had these ribbons in the back and—well, wally isn't sure he's ever had his hands in something this expensive, and that includes the time he was bitten by a prize winning racehorse.)

or maybe even before that, with an offhand comment roy made to garth, their childhood rivalry tempered by time to a certain sort of bickering that made the rest of the titans just sigh, at this point. roy had been needling garth, ("aww c'mon, leave the fishboy to his eighty-seven page soliloquy on dick's tiny waist or whatever he's fixating on this week—", "—shut up roy, it's an assignment from atlantis"), when wally had startled and looked away from his plate of pop tarts to stare at roy, feeling something shift, feeling the tilt of the galaxy, because he hadn't been aware that was even an option that was allowed.

however it started, it had ended up here: the five of them in the room wally has in the west-allen household, as opposed to the west household, because if wally's parents ever caught the slightest hint of what wally was looking up, he was pretty sure he'd be shipped off to live with aunt iris permanently.

"oh, i'll do it," donna finally said. she turned on the computer, waiting the minute or so it took to boot up. then, she grinned wryly at the result on the screen, the reason wally had called them all here in a series of panic-induced phone calls.

"it's still there, isn't it?" wally said, flopping face-down on the carpet.

"you know those things aren't even all that accurate anyway, right?" said roy.

"well if i thought i had reason to take it in the first place, then it can't be all that wrong, can it?" came the muffled reply.

donna turned around to frown at the back of wally's head. "i'm still not completely sure why you're so worked up about this anyway."

"i am," dick said. "y'know, i didn't think your conservative midwestern parents could ever have anything in common with gotham's upper class, but apparently i was wrong."

the five of them stared at the computer for a little longer before wally burst out, "what does 43% queer even mean?"

"maybe it means you're only gay from, like, your head to your stomach, and maybe one of your arms. and the rest is straight," roy offered, poker-face impenetrable.

garth threw a pillow at his head. "it doesn't mean anything," he said. "it atlantis, these things don't really matter. the only thing that does matter is what you think, how you take it."

"but this isn't atlantis, garth," wally said, lip raw and red from his compulsive habit of biting it when he was stressed, and lord jesus was he stressed right now. "things are different here."

roy and dick shared a glance because, as wonderful as atlantis and themiscyra sounded, things were different here. dick's rather progressive high school in a progressive city on the east coast was one of the first to have allowed what they delicately phrased "heterosexual and non-heterosexual couples" at prom, but some of the violence that happened at other schools across america was well-known. not to mention the prejudices wally's parents had shoved in his head, everything he'd taken the effort to unlearn and everything the rest of them had taken the effort to teach him, shoving it off bit-by-bit like a barnacle-ridden anchor slung with seaweed and shit.

a pause, then. "they're gonna hate me for this," wally mumbled.

and the other four could bring themselves to disagree, because they didn't know, they didn't know. they were kids—grinning wild in the gleam of moonlight with stars on their skin and comet-dust in their hair—only just children. and the world was a cruel, battering storm that they got up to fight every day, them and hundreds of others, and some days it seemed as though it was never enough.

"barry and iris won't," dick said resolutely. "and we definitely won't. you're our friend bar nothing, wally, and that isn't going to change."

wally isn't quite convinced, his mind completely blanking right now while flirting with the edge of sheer panic, but looking at the care, the protection, the torn-lipped love on his friends' faces and the sound of uncle barry and aunt iris bustling in the kitchen makes it—better, somehow. and so, a little weak and a little wavery, with the slow, yawning grace (or lack thereof) of a turtle churning its way out of the muck, wally smiles up at them.

---

give it like 5 years wally they'll all realize they're queer. happy pride everyone!

tag list: @woahajimes @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @screennamealreadyused @clamityganon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical @queenofbooknerds @queen-of-ice494

[thetorturedarchives]

why is being a swiftie so hard. with any other artist ppl might hate them but generally if you like their music ppl can be respectful of it and just go ‘they’re not for me’ but i cant even breathe with some anti swift making some comment abt how Objectively Terrible taylor swift is. the way ppl talk abt her you’d think she’d killed their prize racehorse cut off the head and stuck it under their duvet.

[dinoalexander]

Your Moment of Zen: The World Famous Semi-Quotable 2023 Quotedown Quotetacular (NSFL)

The following is created from encounters from many friends and loved ones over the past year. And it is my honor to say... READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. === Y'all know what this is... We've done this 21 times before... Here comes #22.... ... as we proceed... ... to give you what you need... ... 2023 QUOTE WALL, LET'S GO! === “Happy 2023! Everything has been perfectly fine the first 2 minutes. Don't screw it up for the rest of us over the next 364 days, 23 hours, and 58 minutes.” -Klaussie

“We won the game. You get a prize, honey. And here is mine!” -The Fifteenth Doctor

“You did the first good thing of 2023. Now you have 364 days to fuck it up.” -Jay “And you know I will…” -C “Multiple times over.” -Jay

“Looks the same, but all the racehorses are one year older.” -Joe T.

“I think Will’s favorite line is “it feels good to be a gangsta” … every time he helps a perp walk.” -Bing

“On New Year's Eve, everyone says that they support you when you fall. On January 2nd, the only thing that's going to support you when you fall is the floor.” -G.

“ I can smell your throat and want to murder you every moment of the day… Romance.” -Shannon

Gordon: BAD BAD PLANT! Jason: I have to report it to PPS Gordon: PPS? Jason: Plant Protective Services Gordon: He's so bad

“The things I miss when I go to bed at the crack of 10.” -C

“Printer + Edge of Table = Always Trouble.” -Hollywood

“So I've been downgraded from hated to just disliked. That's progress.” -G. “Listen… if you don’t go out and get your Monday… somebody else will.” -Miss Sarah

Gordon: You want to see Scream 5? Carlos: I live in your apartment. I think that movie is not gonna scare me

“All hail the Mighty Pop-Tart!” -Hirsh

Gordon: My plant pooped a $100 Money egg. Chico: Hope you wiped afterward. Gordon: Always

“He showed talent, which disappointed me.” -Jay

“You know these are people you want to work with when we are not just talking about The Joker's Wild, but The BILL CULLEN version of The Joker's Wild.” -G., geeking out. “You’re working with keepers.” -Chico “"nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" That's cute and all but have you ever had street tacos while drunk at 2am sold by a nice old Hispanic lady saying "¡Qué lindo! ¡Estás demasiado flaco! ¡Come más!"?” -Kim

“Covid Rica.” -G.

“And now here is your deep thought for a Friday. The first person who ever saw a parrot talk was probably not OK for quite some time afterwards. Think about it.” -Brian

Keep the masks on! -G. I was in the bathroom -Bowler You don't pee through your nose -G.

Get me a ferret or I will cut your balls off - Carlos

I'm pretty sure I didn't intentionally create a User Access Denied page to block me from working -G. ...Or did you? -Boss “FAA had to unplug it and then plug it back in again.” -Heather

“Nothing left to do but throw it out into the universe in the hopes that NMRK course-corrects.” -C

“Listening to country music and sitting on a bed of nails must be similar experiences.” -Sarah

“I’d rather roll in honey butt naked and sprinkle sugar all over myself before jumping on an ant nest the size of a Walmart before ever wanting my baby daddy back. I barely wanted him the first time!” -Jenn

“YouGov paid for my last pair of AirPods, and I’m sure they’ll pay for my next pair as soon as I lose these.” -John Lang, Audit the Audit

“Don't forget the rings. You know what finger they go on, right?” -Carlos “Yes, they are right next to the F*ck You Finger.” -G. “YES! Ha ha ha ha ha ha” -Carlos “Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox Mailbox” -Carlos

“On a side note, I got the lewdle quicker than the wordle, which should surprise no one.” -G.

“O Canada, je suis la jeune fille.” -Statboy “He spoke French, but he’s not French. He’s American!” -Brian

“If you can eat it and like it, I'll be moving towards getting the sponsorship. If it kills you, then I won't.” -G.

“And now the 49ers are in a dire situation at QB… and wait, something’s happening in the stadium tunnel.. good God that’s Colin Kaepernick’s music!” -Mark Ellis

“No one likes Butt-Ass Naked Lanes.” -Panther

“My plant has the munchies.” -G.

“That hairstyle was a choice.” -Brian

“Ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff.” -George W.

“We may have a bigger bunch of haterade next week.” -G. “I'll bring the Church Key.” -C

“Can’t play Lingo without my lucky balls.” -RuPaul, host of Lingo

“Come. Let us play night.” -C

“When you’re in the toilet in Scotland, the smell of cow shit and horse shit overpowers the smell that any human can produce.” -Q

“I'm a stay at home pro bowler.” -Charles K. “You're a stay at home cabbage.” -Justin K.

(Watching Meta taking a Dive) JD Witherspoon somewhere is laughing sipping some tea. -G.

“Herb Abrams! HE FAT!” -C “Next time you're about to complain about cancel culture just remember that a man who is currently under investigation for attempting to overthrow the United States government just got cast as like the Happy Li'l Slice o' Cake on The Masked Singer.” -Dave Holmes

“Can a Game Show stop a Civil War?” -Dave Statman

“Nestor Cortes is on the 15-day DL.” -Greg “Oh, that gives him 15 days to go molest somebody.” -Klaussie

“We’ll get started once we figure out what all these wires do!” -Cory

“What the hell is this nonsense?” -Jordan, on a Dook sweater in the Dean Dome

“Not this game show shit again.” -Carlos.

“Let’s take their Chinese balloon money.” -Jay

“Shut the front door!” -Q “The door is firmly shut. And bolted.” -cruise director Lee

“Kath & Kim… and the Power Rangers Razzle Dazzle Show!” -Klaussie

“A mountain is only unclimbable until it’s climbed.” -Q

“It’s only a Champagne Ranger if it comes from the Champagne region of the Morphin Grid.” -somebody re: Russell Curry’s Cosmic Fury costume

“There is no saving throw for bullshit.” -someone at Jay’s D&D.

“If you are showing any foul play, you will be sent to your dressing room. And if it is really dirty, you’ll be sent to mine.” -The Governess

“No spoilers! I don’t want to know how it ends! Oh wait…” -Paul, re: the HQ Trivia doc

“He couldn’t have been more open if he was wearing a neon sign that said ‘Throw it to me, you idiot!’” -Brian

“Tomorrow's going to be a real banner day for Rich People Who Like Wearing Fancy Hats to Things.” -Kit, on May 6

“Applebee’s food is piss. Even the Hooters we have is slightly better.” -Carl “That’s because Hooters piss is $2.50.” -Kim

“Student: "What's that (you're eating)?" Me: "Prosciutto wrapped around mozzarella cheese." Student: "What's prosciutto?" Me: "A kinda-salty, kinda-fatty ham, just like me." Student is dead.” -Klaussie

“That was uncomfortable. I enjoyed it.” -Jay

“I’m not ashamed. I’m a gentleman. There’s a difference.” -C

“This car is on firrrrrrrrreeeeee!” -G

“What is it with animals and me and shit?” -Q

Jay; “yeah that means…” C: “I KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS JASON!” -subject; Bad Bunny’s “Titi Me Preguntó”

“Dad humor numbs the pain.” -Swoop

“Who shot Lee Harvey Oswald?” -Quizmaster “THE CIA!” -… somebody.

“K-LOVE… Imagine what would happen if Great American Family was a radio station.” -C

“TL;DR: Arte Moreno is a cheap, money-grubbing piece of shit.” -JVG

“I’m In Denver for a few while I make my connecting flight to Atlanta. And I’m not gonna lie to you the thin air at this altitude is starting to get to me… for starters, I’m beginning to think this unicorn named Sylvia that I’ve been talking to for the last 30 minutes isn’t real.” -Brian

“Ahh Facebook, still can't tell a joke from your own assholes, can you?” -Justin

“The Giants can have a hot chick as a quarterback and still fail to score.” -G

“My brain is not braining right now…” -everyone.

“You can tell the writers are on strike because you’d never put a hurricane and an earthquake in the same episode.” -Buzzy

“Because Pete Davidson is a man-whore, that’s why.” -Tom

“If I have to ride my autodrafted fantasy team’s ass with a known sexual deviant to the finish, so be it!” -Jay

“New York is the greatest city in the world. Toronto isn’t even the greatest city in Canada.” -The Professor

“Swifties could find Emily Miscavage.” -Emily

“WLTI has been brought to you by Outside your Bubble Burst. Watch JD Witherspoon and others notate on the demise of Facebook and Spotify. Very. Very. Slowly.” -G.

“It's a cross between a Jackson Pollack painting and a Quentin Tarantino movie.” -Evil Travis

“They look like rabbits who have been through some shit.” -Caitlin

“Whoever dances to Beauty and the Beast gets an unfair advantage. All they have to do is recreate the ballroom scene. And they get votes! Dance to the Gaston song. Everyone hates Gaston. Turn that into a dance that gets you votes.” -Q

“Have you ever considered using your gifts for good?” -me after Q pretty much nails how to use “Beauty and the Beast” as an advantage on Disney+ Night of Dancing With the Stars.

“Dangerous fluids everywhere.” -Jay, on Megan’s house

“If you work hard as a kid, you will play hard as an adult. If you play hard as a kid, you’ll end up working hard as an adult.” -Q

“Boy Zaxbys just out here saying to hell with all y’all.” -Big Rick

“My plant is bloated.” -Gordon “It needs an enema.” -J Block

“If I wanted a slide, I would have written in a slide!” -Heather

“You cheerin’ like you gon’ git some of this Whammy money. Girl, bye.” -Q getting WAY TOO INTO a Press Your Luck rerun.

“Now I do NOT recommend you do this but…” -Ken “That’s a green light if ever I saw one!” -C

“Look for the Technicolor yeti.” -Erskine

“(In my best Craig Ferguson voice) Did you guys hear the news, apparently, Tom Brady has decided that he’s going to become a minority owner of the Las Vegas Raiders! I know! And the two are very different of course. One of them is a football institution whose fans are some of the most annoying, sycophantic and overbearing in the world of professional sports, who has been hyped up to hell by people despite success eluding them in recent years, and many people are annoyed by how they skate by on previous success despite many recent failures. And the other are the Las Vegas Raiders.” -Brian

“Nobody wants a WEBP file. I repeat: NOBODY wants a WEBP file. WEBP's own mother doesn't want a WEBP file. If WEBP was an ice cream flavor it would be Moist Gym Socks. If they ever make a movie about WEBP it'll star Dane Cook, Amber Heard and a 3D hologram of Richard Nixon. Go away forever, WEBP format.” -Justin

“Bryce Young is ass.” -Daniel

“Viva Mark Mothersbaugh.” -Tommy

“Sometimes it's a W. Sometimes it looks like a W but it's only 2 crooked L's” -Chris 'Strike Tyson' Schenck

“The mystery is… How does Gritty take a piss?” -Klauss “Sam has done something no one has ever done before! They ate at Cook-Out… sober!” -Cody Dove

“Roosevelt won us the war, but Marshall won us the peace.” -Q

“He still has a whole ass empty hand, quit whining sir.” -Rooks

“BTW - this game is going to be as painful as putting your own junk in a vice grip.” -Jay

“Even though this has been a real pain in the…” -Susan “… TUCHUS.” -C

“Everyone in McKinney is dead. It is hot in McKinney.” -Pete Delkus, on a heat index of “101,105”.

“…stank.” -Brian

“‘Yesterday’s price is NOT today’s price.’ -Fat Joe” -Zenith Ranger & dead ringer for Obama Russell Curry

“Hello trouble!” -Sav “Hello trouble!” -Julia

“Duck Mycinko.” -Ben Potter “Brian Bumblepiss.” -Peter Austin “Hot Fresh Science Fox.” -Ben Potter “Ashton Catthews”. -Peter Austin “And… Billy Ray Walrus.” -Both -TripleJump’s Worst Games Ever

“Life’s too short, so don’t waste time on nothing but the good stuff.” -C

“All this talk about whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie but no one ever fights about whether The Hunt for Red October is a Halloween movie.” -Cara

“Stairs. They’re the tweaker’s natural enemy.” -C

“Those edibles ain’t shit!” -Christian

"i like a good, firm banana" - @BenHigginsSD

“I am Allstate and you are in good hands!” -Q, with a snap and a head bobble

“I’m going to the loo.” -Zoombelina “Make sure you use the toilet!” -The Boss

“… you guys have any Anacin?” -C “What is this, Bill Cullen’s The Price Is Right?” -Jay

“WHO IS HEATH LEDGER?!” -TJ

“If you've lived in New York, being an a-hole is a requirement.” -G.

“Spam is just pantry wagyu.” -Alvin “Heck of a Hill to Die on But Whatever” Zhou

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” -Danielle “But I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.” -Jordan “But I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” -Danielle “Will someone go to the bathroom?” -C

“I have a shameful confession to make. I get Alan Tudyk and Paul Bettany confused. I'm not proud.” -Jonathan

“Can someone tell me what channel the Taylor Swift game is on?” -Cindy

“Laughing for “Our Lady of Perpetual Tournaments” and because my parents are going to be REJOICING.” -Jenny & Chelsea re: J!

“But Chico…. Chaos is good!” -Q

“I’ve Got a Secret. Hosted by Kanye West. The game no one wants to play.” -G.

“My family now refers to me as Chaos Auntie.” -Wingo

“Day 1 down and no one wants to kill each other. Yet.” -G.

“To be the only carrot in a room full of hungry rabbits.” -Q

“So I went from leaving last night to 3 meetings and a great adventure trip. I completely expect to hear from tbs today and if you've seen everything everywhere all at once I expect my fingers to turn into hot dogs.” -G “So a typical morning then.” -C “Yup.” -G

“What happened in Florida, Whitman?” -Greg

“Third down and Roger Goodell’s penis.” -Jay

“McKeever, McIver, MacGruber, MacGyver. Whatever.” -C, trying to pronounce the name of the actress who plays Sam on “Ghosts”.

“You: “Bowls are meaningless now!” Bowls: “It is now time to sacrifice the mascot so that the victors may enjoy their spoils.”” -Joe Ovies

“We're going back home because the Uber Driver is the worst.” -Carlos (Gordon changes the station) “Who changed my music?” -Carlos “The Worst Uber Driver in the World.” -G.

“That was his throwing ankle!” -Brian

“If you have sex with Godzilla, you'll need more than a pill to protect you...and your city.” -Nikki

“Gonzaga is Gonzarbage.” -Daniel

“Elon is proof that nobody can ever have everything. No matter how rich, powerful, or smart he is, he'll never actually be the one thing he wants to be: funny.” -Chelsea

“Show the buzzer kindness, and the buzzer will respond in kind.” -Ben Ben

“Politics is just show business for ugly people. -some guy idk” -Jonathan “J Aubrey” Aubrey

“… why they always gotta have their shirts off?” -Pierogi “Sampson County smells like Darth Vader’s farts.” -Q

“Carbs oh how I missed you.” -Jay

“$5000 says Cat Stevens gets the chair.” -“Pete Rose”, 2004

“All the trivia nights we’ve been to, and you remember the one where Quisla brought up Pokémon-inspired sex positions.” -C

“I’m just gonna bleep the bitches because it’s funnier.” -Greg

“My sensors are detecting a vibe.” -Alpha 9 (Richard Horvitz)

“Brain Return on Lane 41.” -G.

“The people who watch The Bachelor for drama watch NASCAR for the wrecks.” -Jay

“An Afghan, an Albanian, an Algerian, an American, an Andorran, an Angolan, an Antiguans, an Argentine, an Armenian, an Australian, an Austrian, an Azerbaijani, a Bahamian, a Bahraini, a Bangladeshi, a Barbadian, a Barbudans, a Belarusian, a Belgian, a Belizean, a Beninese, a Bhutanese, a Bolivian, a Bosnian, a Botswanan, a Brazilian, a Brit, a Bruneian, a Bulgarian, a Burkinabe, a Burmese, a Burundian, a Cambodian, a Cameroonian, a Canadian, a Cape Verdean, a Central African, a Chadian, a Chilean, a Chinese, a Colombian, a Comoran, a Congolese, a Costa Rican, a Croatian, a Cuban, a Cypriot, a Czech, a Dane, a Djibouti, a Dominican, a Dutchman, an East Timorese, an Ecuadorean, an Egyptian, an Emirian, an Equatorial Guinean, an Eritrean, an Estonian, an Ethiopian, a Fijian, a Filipino, a Finn, a Frenchman, a Gabonese, a Gambian, a Georgian, a German, a Ghanaian, a Greek, a Grenadian, a Guatemalan, a Guinea-Bissauan, a Guinean, a Guyanese, a Haitian, a Herzegovinian, a Honduran, a Hungarian, an I-Kiribati, an Icelander, an Indian, an Indonesian, an Iranian, an Iraqi, an Irishman, an Israeli, an Italian, an Ivorian, a Jamaican, a Japanese, a Jordanian, a Kazakhstani, a Kenyan, a Kittian and Nevisian, a Kuwaiti, a Kyrgyz, a Laotian, a Latvian, a Lebanese, a Liberian, a Libyan, a Liechtensteiner, a Lithuanian, a Luxembourger, a Macedonian, a Malagasy, a Malawian, a Malaysian, a Maldivan, a Malian, a Maltese, a Marshallese, a Mauritanian, a Mauritian, a Mexican, a Micronesian, a Moldovan, a Monacan, a Mongolian, a Moroccan, a Mosotho, a Motswana, a Mozambican, a Namibian, a Nauruan, a Nepalese, a New Zealander, a Nicaraguan, a Nigerian, a Nigerien, a North Korean, a Northern Irishman, a Norwegian, an Omani, a Pakistani, a Palauan, a Palestinian, a Panamanian, a Papua New Guinean, a Paraguayan, a Peruvian, a Pole, a Portuguese, a Puerto Rican, a Qatari, a Romanian, a Russian, a Rwandan, a Saint Lucian, a Salvadoran, a Samoan, a Sammarinese, a Sao Tomean, a Saudi, a Scottish, a Senegalese, a Serbian, a Seychellois, a Sierra Leonean, a Singaporean, a Slovakian, a Slovenian, a Solomon Islander, a Somali, a South African, a South Korean, a Spaniard, a Sri Lankan, a Sudanese, a Surinamer, a Swazi, a Swede, a Swiss, a Syrian, a Tajik, a Tanzanian, a Togolese, a Tongan, a Trinidadian or Tobagonian, a Tunisian, a Turk, a Tuvaluan, a Ugandan, a Ukrainian, a Uruguayan, a Uzbekistani, a Venezuelan, a Vietnamese, a Welshman, a Yemenite, a Zambian and a Zimbabwean all go to a bar… The doorman stops them and says “Sorry, I can’t let you in without a Thai." You're welcome.” -Blish

“Meetings, meetings, meetings.” -Carlos “Welcome to America, the land of meetings.” -G.

“This April, you will know his name. You may not be able to spell it, but you will know it.” -C re: Brian

“You're full of Moo Poo.” -G.

“The cheek! The nerve! The audacity! The gall! The gumption! The Aggro-Crag-sized global guts on you!” -C

“I'll take dumb people who should be strapped to a nuclear warhead for $1,200, Mayim.” -G.

(Watching Jeopardy) “I hate this shitty program.” -Carlos (Ed: get out)

So playing Jeopardy: Fish or Foul for $200. The Answer: Where Foul Go to stay for the night. The Question: What is Chicken Inn? -G. That’s 🥚-zactly the spirit! -Dave S.

(Quisla eats a basket of French fries while waiting to pay for them…. Then looks at Chico’s basket of fries… which also haven’t been paid for.) Q: “You gonna eat those?” C: “MINE!”

“BEHOLD… THE DECABOX!” -VRM

“And that Travis is getting too much TS lovin’.” -J, re Travis Kelce

“I’m in Dunkin getting a coffee and this lady is trying to start a Christmas Carol singalong. Girl, if you don’t sit your Disney movie ass down somewhere!” -Bruce

“I just saw an ad on NBA TV for a podcast with Ernie Johnson and Charles Barkley. Paraphrasing... Barkley: I want to get an M tattooed on each butt cheek. Johnson: Why? Barkley: If I'm standing up, it says MOM but if I'm standing on my head, it says WOW.” -NBA on TNT

““Callahan! That 34 Oz. Hickory bat you’re swinging is against regulation! In this clubhouse, we do things by the BOOK!”l -Brian, on Willie Stargell looking like every cinematic police chief.

“I’d like to recommend reading the Up With People Wikipedia page as a lesson the subtle art of criticism.” -Muffy

“Can’t spell Dallas without two straight Ls.” -BFG

“Can we stop saying the word ‘buttcheeks’?” -Eli Manning

“Give this man a Sharpie.” -C to Brandy re: new hire, channeling his inner Black Panther.

“‘You sure you don’t want me back?’ I will write it in blood if you need me to.” -Q, re: Jenn’s baby daddy quote

“So apparently I found out that our new son tried to burn down the apartment, which at least would stop you from complaining about how messy it is.” -G.

“Watching this Mar a Lago speech is worse than drinking unflavored Trilyte colonoscopy prep & when you finish the gallon they bring a beer bong w/6 more gallons for you to consume while listening to your uncle w/dementia & halitosis muse about the raging dysentery he had in Korea.” -Mattie Timmer

“$50,000 for a helicopter ride? For $50,000 it better transform into a Gundam.” -C

“Isaiah Pacheco does his shimmy. It drives the women in Kansas City crazy!” -Brian

“What were you doing on your birthday?” -C “Working.” -Q “What was I doing on my birthday?” -C “Working.” -Q “So what are we doing here on vacation?” -C “Talking about working.” -Teddy

“Enjoy Drake Maye stinking it up in Arizona.” -Greg

“Fortune favors the bold. And the chickens who maintain the inn.” -G.

“Muffy Marracco: Helps You Get Drunker By The Hour.” -Muffy

(Planning Bowling matches) “We're matchmakers now as well lol.” -Rudy F. “Which one of us is Tevye?” -G.

(Wearing a brown wig) “It's not TV, It's Wiggyvision.” -Douglas H.

“What oil pattern is this?” -Joe P. “This is the famous Oil of Olay pattern.” -G.

“Let’s rush’em! They can’t stop all of us!” -Q

(After getting Jasser a sandwich instead of what he wanted) I ask for Chetos. You get me a sandwich - Jasser Chetos in Spanish means Cheetos. It does not mean Sandwich -G. Si -Jasser (scowling) “The Word of the Day is Banhammer.” -Nick G.

So you want a little of everything -G. Yes. I want a smorgasbourg. I want a Smorg. -Lauren R.

“I have no idea what is going on, and I am here for it anyways!” -Carl K.

“Man, I REALLY hate those Pfizer ads…” -Ian

“I got nothing, but hey, I’ve got a lot of it!” -Jill

“Hi Ted, Ron here. Listen, I know how tempting it is to appeal to the real lowest form of humanity here in the United States, the bottom feeders, people who pride themselves on hatred and un-education and inability to read and inability to understand the difference between true patriotism and the bulls*** you’re selling. I know how tempting it is to play to those people, because at least you have a base, but Jesus Christ Ted, for somebody with a really, really small d***, you get to be a bigger p***k every f****** day. Go f*** yourself.” -Ron Perlman to Ted Cruz.

“Is Austin Reaves the best undrafted player of all time?” -somebody on Twitter. “Ben Wallace won Defensive Player of the Year four times and is the reason Kobe & Shaq didn’t win four. This app needs an age limit.” -Somebody else on Twitter

“Do I want to sleep to Special Forces or do I want to sleep to Baltimore/Cincinnati?” -G

“Wanna try street hockey?” -Jordan “I gotta pee first.” -C

“Somebody hit somebody!” -Brian

“I am about ready to trade Drew Lock for a reconstituted and reanimated Sean Lock. It could scarcely be any worse.” -Evil Travis

“Debate: Does Yoda sound more like Grover or Miss Piggy?” -Dane

“NFL uses CONFUSION! It’s super effective!” -Tom

“This is how riots begin.” -Robin

“Hey! Tom Brady… We don’t believe you.” -Jay

“That man is gonna move to the Triangle and bring every convo you have with him back to the fact he’s from New York and that you can’t find any good takeout around here.” -Joe Ovies, re: Tommy DeVito

“Programming note… the CFP show will air upon the conclusion of the basketball game featuring Fuck U and Tossoff State.” -C

The most frustrating part of hoping to get a phone call from a number you don't know: You have to answer EVERY call and suffer through every robocall and solicitation. -Sonic Whammy I'm sending you every single Car Insurance Warrantee call that comes my way, just to let you know 😃 -G. Gordon Pepper I'm touched -Sonic Whammy

“Latte - $5.00. Bottle of Water: $40.” -Richard Barone

“Quisla, stop turning off the television!” -C

“No… also no.” -Victoria “The Queen” Groce

Give these steps a go for me please -Worker Doing that now...I'm getting a picture of an apple and no loading bar -G. If you’re still holding the keys you can let go and see if the loading bar appears after -Worker Nope. Still the apple menacing me lol. Thoughts? -G. You mind sending me your Mac serial number? You should see it in very very tiny print on the back -Worker If you tell me that It's a demon MAC possessed by goblins and I need to leave the house immediately. I could believe that -G. At this point I think that’s the only logical conclusion -Worker

“Predetermined Bullshit. The latest fragrance from Calvin Klein.” -C

“The first steel coaster was opened in 18-rickety-dickety-doo.” -Chris aka Airtime Thrills

“I don't follow enough sports to properly complete this joke but "[INSERT FOOTBALL TEAM HERE] is looking as useless as a back button on Facebook today".” -Terry

“This song has an instruction to "Think Dolly" and feels the need to explain who Dolly Parton was. HOW DARE YOU. I blame the young people.” -Heather

I need Chicken -Jasser

“Lydia’s animated. Quisla’s animated. Get’em together, it’s the Cartoon Network.” -C

Ezra Miller, who was a contestant on Jack Black's 'Jablinski Games', is playing a new game called 'Why am I in your Bedroom?' -G.

“Great effin’ job, Al, on that call with all the enthusiasm as watching a janitor mop the floor at McDonald’s at 3 in the morning.” -Greg

“So I just had a rep from SiriusXM call me to sell me radio. I bought a new car recently. Of course it comes with a 3-month trial, and I love it. I try to explain to her that I work in REAL radio, terrestrial radio, local radio, actual RADIO radio. She’s trying to tell me how streaming is so much better… THAN WHAT I DO FOR A LIVING! ….bitchgetoffmyphone!”- Miss Sarah

“Fancy hotel shower.” -Q

“I’m a benevolent quiz overlord… not like those bastards at Jeopardy!” -Buzzy

“i look forward to everyone in my hometown reacting to this in a completely civil manner, with no anger whatsoever!” -Jordan

“Barnacles.” -Paul

“I don't like strikes. They are bad for you.” -G. “Just make your spares, Gordon.” -DouglasVision

“Gordon bowls? I've never seen Gordon bowl.” -Brandon B.

“I take one whiff downwind of the cafeteria and I thank every god in the multiverse that I have brought my lunch today.” -C

“We’re putting a helmet on RJ.” -Jordan

“I can't make strikes!” -G. “We know you can't make strikes. There's something wrong with Gordon.” -Douglasvision

“You broke him, Kimberly.” -C “Sucks to suck.” -Kim

“In addition to a quote wall, I think a wall of AI images is needed. The world needs 7-finger McLean Stevenson.” -Klaussie

(Carlos walks in) Gordon: I'm teaching Jasser English. Carlos: eh? Gordon: Agua Jasser: Water Gordon: Leche Jasser: Milk Carlos: My turn. Gordon: Ok Carlos: Fuck me in the Bathroom Gordon: (Faceplant) Carlos: Fuck me in the kitchen Gordon: Jasser, no digate nada Carlos: Pierro is a Cum Whore Jasser: Pierro is a Cum whore Gordon: (Faceplant) Jasser: Que? Carlos: Pierro gusta luche para mi chorizo a se boca Jasser: Ah Pierro: Jasser, repita por favor: Carlos is a nasty bitch Jasser: Carlos is a nasty bitch Gordon: Dios mio.

“Plot twist: the cat is the actual "Person of the Year". So all the haters can quit their seething now, kthnxbye...” -Dane

“The real Daily Doubles are the friends we made along the way.” -Emily

“Friday is Leg Day, as in put those legs to work by getting 3 dozen donuts.” -Klaussie

“I'm mad Gordon cashed in the tournament. (Bleep)” -Douglasvision

“I regret emotional investment.” -everyone experiencing disappointment and having seen Strange Planet.

“You needed to be here to ride coasters with Danielle because that's a hell no from me.” -Jordan

“Bobby Hill is a Disney Princess confirmed.” -Chelsea

“(The Shark Tank Sharks’) ‘success rate' at funding successful companies is at best comparable to the batting average of below-average baseball players.  They get lucky and confuse it with acumen.” -David B.

“Riverside, motherfucker!” -Carl

“I’m sorry, but even inside a store… With the factory seal still on… I refuse to believe there’s cookies in this tin. And my therapist wonders why I have trust issues.” -Brian, on Royal Dansk cookies

“Ending of UNC vs. UVA providing drama on @thecw I haven't seen since Gossip Girl went off the air.” -Joe O.

“Nick Adams, YOU CAN SUCK MY DICK!” -Tom

“The Titans wearing throwback Oilers uniforms against Houston feels so wrong.” -Jay O’Brien “Peak petty.” -LaKedra

“I’m on pins and needles to see if you bought this!” -Jess, re: Brian’s Danish cookies

“I would’ve been better if the person I was bowling was a righty like myself. But noooooo Gordon Pepper was on a better side. The left side. The not so used side. Good job Pepper. Hope you take home the cheddar as in Moola.” -Elijah B.

“The internet was doing so well with the submarine memes, and then I saw that.” -Klaussie, re: Dunkaccino

“I don’t know but whatever it is, it’s covered in cheese.” -C, on breakfast casseroles

“Makumba!” -Carlos

“"Well, it's-- Ah, you wouldn't be interested. It's too lowbrow." "No...I'm QUITE lowbrow."” -Brian

“This is a pretty blue car...” -Car Insurance Agent. “Well it was a pretty blue car. Now it's a pretty blue accordion.” -G.

“If Bob Iger were to purchase the WWE, it would make it officially a Mickey Mouse organization.” -Klauss

“Fook.” -G.

“I am officially "ooh, who knew LL Bean had such nice things" years old.” -Wingo

Why are the lanes so dry? Who oiled them? -Bradley E. It was supposed to be the Tin Man from Oz, but he needed the oil more -G. That explains everything -Bradley E.

“Interesado -Mike D.

“I try not to take too much stock on what people say on social media because Twitter is the mark of the Beast and I refuse to go to Hell for my job.” -C

“I apologize for being over-the-top obnoxious. I only wanted to be semi-obnoxious but I got carried away.” -G.

“No money, no honey.” -Jasser

From the creators of 'Why am I in your bedroom?' comes the new game show called 'Why am I hitting you with a chair?' -G.

May we all strive to be 😎 better than Ezra. - Doug M.

“My commencement speech: if you're a gorgeous 20-something... get you some ugly friends. B/c their reality is your future. You need to prepare for a time when you're not getting all the world's favors. Now I'm not saying these friends need to be butt ugly. But they need to be avg enough that they've had to a) develop layered personality b) have some shrewd sense of how to operate in the world c) been mistreated enough that they have thicker skin d) have perseverance and know how to bounce back from the world judging them by their book cover. We all get less attractive as time goes on, but do you have a beauty retirement plan? As I get older I'm meeting more and more former playboys and faded hotties who are bitter, confused, and totally unprepared for not getting the free drink from the bartender and the extra guac on their taco. They didn't have a beauty retirement plan, and it's rough out there. Bikini cute is just a short minute. But the future always belongs to the plain-looking, middle child wearing boxers and New Balance sneakers. Look at Silicon Valley, look at DC, look at who runs the world. It isn't Fabio.” -Aurin S.

“We need to go to Fright Fest so I can feed you to the zombies.” -G.

"In 2020, Madison Cawthorn became the youngest Republican elected to Congress in American history. In 2022, he became the youngest Republican to lose re-election to Congress in American history," -Ben Collins

“Stop acting like a psychotic Oompa Loompa.” -G.

“I’m doling out truth bombs! Who wants to get blown?!” -C

“FAT FUCK MAGIC!” -Jay re: the Detroit Lions

“Chatting on Facebook - is that part of the work you do?” -Carlos “Why yes. Yes it is”. -G.

“Quisla Quisla Quisla Quisla… the vacation… begins in your mind… before you EVAH leave the house.” -C

“Guess who blew me off for Valentine's Day.” -Lisa D “I'd rather he blew you.” -G.

“Put your pants on, Chico. We’re getting a car.” -Quisla

Carlos: I made like 500 usd for 10 years of service Gordon: You'd make more in New York for 10 hours of service.

“Holy Hannah!” -Klauss

(Points to the Special K Box) - Now this is a real cereal -Carlos You're only saying that because there's a giant cock on the box -G. (Carlos stares at the box. Gives the finger)

There was a United Nations summit in Central Park -G. How many delegates -Ben T. Enough for 6 continents. And stenographers -G.

“Better send those refunds.” -Joe Burrow

(Walks into Carlos watching the X-Men in Spanish) OOh! Is this the X-Men? -G. Noooooo, It's Porn -Carlos (Points to Nightcrawler) It's not just his tail that's long and pointy -G.

“Waffles are just pancakes ribbed for your pleasure.” -Jay

“I’m leaving this in as punishment to myself.” -C

“If it was Tom Brady or anyone on the Cowboys, Skip would want the season cancelled.” -best. Comment. Ever.

“Fragile ego. Fragile body. Weak mind. Weak spirit.” -Jon Moxley

“I don’t miss.” -Jessica

“I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, then... you're doing things you've never done before and more importantly, you're Doing Something.” -NEIL GAIMAN

“In hindsight, I preferred it when Will Smith’s love interests just vanished with no explanation or sense of closure.” -Adam

“Aren’t you supposed to call a doctor if your election lasts this long?” -Daniel

“Every time I hear a government official describe Russia's invasion of Ukraine as "an imperialist land grab" I'm like "oh, so you do know what that means..."” -Wingo

“I vow to be a cleaner MK in 2023. And when that's busted at 12:10 AM on 1/1/23, I'll be back to my usual raunchy, ribald self.” -Klaussie

“I’m not that good! I’m just the best at… fucking.. TRYING! I’m the best at fucking trying.” -C

“When you eat a poop sandwich, but the bread is terrific. Then you go to the restaurant and get the same sandwich with different bread.” -G

“Take the last two off the year sign and shove it up the ass of an elephant. Someone gimme that 3.” -Carl

“Yes, we all know MTV used to play music. It’s time to let it go.” -Josh

“Why don’t you force an answer out of yourself for a change?” -C

“When I said, “South Carolina is so pretty—we should spend more time here,” I didn’t mean driving the entire state at 35 MPH.” -Clay

“I finally get Taskmaster.” -C

“A clown’s average yearly salary is $40,000-$50,000. And here you are being one for free.” -Anneke

“And remember.. you can’t spell ‘similar to but legally distinct from’ without TEMU.” -C

“Hi good morning it’s Monday it’s foggy but it’s warm enough to sit outside I already took an everything shower and scrubbed off every skin cell that was present in 2022 and moisturized from head to toe so I’m a newborn baby glazed donut girlie with clear hair love you ok bye.” -Shannon

“PUT THAT… IN YOUR COMIC BOOK… AND SMOKE IT!” -Joe O

“It’s better than buying the new Blad Bhabie single. And for the Americans who do not understand that reference…. Ignorance is bliss, my friends. Ignorance is bliss.” -The Right Opinion

“GOODNIGHT EVERYBODY!” -C whenever Jay says something remotely profane. Which happens once every…day. === And goodnight everybody...everybody. Come together, just think of tomorrow. :)

[wishingforatypewriter]

4, 6, 9 and 27 for Linzolt!

4. Who initiates affection? Why does the other not initiate affection as much?

Zolt typically initiates affection. Lin doesn't initiate affection as much because her personality is more reserved, and I imagine there wasn't a whole lot of physical affection in her upbringing, so it takes her some time to get used to it.

6. How do they make up/apologize after an argument?

Their arguments usually end with one of them asking the other if they're hungry/offering them food. That's generally understood to mean a ceasefire between them. A kiss would also do the trick most of the time.

9. What do they dislike most about the other? Why?

Lin doesn't particularly care for how cynical Zolt can be. Based on some of their earliest conversations, she knows he has a deep understanding of what's wrong with government and society in Republic City. But instead of choosing to do something about it, he decides to make things worse as a crime boss, and this makes her incredibly mad at him sometimes.

Zolt doesn't like how Lin sometimes tries to hide from complex emotions by retreating into dichotomous thinking. It takes literally all his patience to try and reason with her when she's in that space, but he always does it because he adores her.

27. How do they say “I love you” non-verbally?

Zolt makes a lot of grand gestures (like renting a yacht for her birthday and buying her a prize-winning racehorse) because he's extra, but it's actually the little things that really make Lin feel truly loved. He picks up the dry cleaning she keeps forgetting about, rubs her shoulders after she's spent all day hunched over case files, and cooks when she's too exhausted to go out.

Lin, on the other hand, is very subtle about her feelings. She shows her love by ironing his suits when he doesn't have the time, always keeping the kind of tea he likes around in her apartment, and finding new restaurants for them to try together.

Ask me about ships!

[koboldgirltail]

im going to breed you like a prized racehorse

youre going to sell my cum to the highest bidder?

[evita-shelby]

Hi! How are you doing today?

Could you please elaborate on "the Intern" with the two going out for drinks, being suggestive with each other (only of you're comfortable writing that)... just fluff?

Thank you! 🌸

The Intern

Part two

Gif by @twvstedsouls

“What will you do now that you found me?” you ask with a wicked little smile. You had plans for him, plans you can already tell he will like.

Even if it’s a one-time thing it will all be worth it.

“Drinks, maybe some dancing, maybe some fucking.” He practically whispered that last part in your ear as you stood there in the quad in his arms.

Who knew the son of a vicar could be so forward?

“Your place or mine?” you ask as you let him guide you to his car. It was the nice and sleek nondescript black Bentley you’d spotted a week and a half ago.

“Depends, Y/N, depends if we even make it to the pub.” Isiah kissed you just under the earlobe and then nipped on your earlobe playfully.

He was right, you might not even make it to the pub, you been wanting to ride him like the prized racehorse Shelby lost to his ex-wife ,Grace, last month.

Oddly enough, you made it all the way to his place, well, his couch before the two of you finally got what you wanted.

Just a one-night stand, a meaningless fling, that was what you told yourself and your friends afterwards.

That was an obvious lie to anyone who knew you.

You wanted him, you wanted more than just meaningless sex from him. You can bet twenty quid no one who’s had him were okay with it just being a one-time thing.

When your phone rings you run like it was life or death and squeal like a teenage girl when you see its him.

“Did you think I’d forgotten about you, love?”