if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine. heroes always get REMEMBERED, but you know legends NEVER DIE. and if you don’t know, now you know -- i’m taking back the crown.
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@handsometyrant
if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine. heroes always get REMEMBERED, but you know legends NEVER DIE. and if you don’t know, now you know -- i’m taking back the crown.
Jack, darling. I must say that I admire the little empire you've built yourself. It's nearly as massive as my luxurious mansion. Shall we play catch up? Say, over tea and murder?
❛ Wait– don’t tell me. Ahhh…urelia, right? Am I right? Of course I am. I gotta say, I’m not really into tea – but if you’ve got coffee, I’m game. ❜
Jack Davenport in Smash 1x03 “Enter Mr. DiMaggio”
"you truly need the advice but in air of politeness, my name is pagan min—king min, to you.”
if he were to be a gracious host, he had to ensure the…guest knew boundaries. and that, in his space, anything said that could be considered offensive would warrant a very unfortunate execution.
❝ Y o u-- Wh-- ---- King? ❞ He couldn't help the near-maniacal guffaw that burst forth from his lips, the pliant mask catering effortlessly to his facial movements. ❝ Y o u-hoo-hoo have got to be kidding me. I mean, with that getup, you look more like the jester. ❞
he wants to smile, but he can’t—
brow creases because certainly, wasteland trash is not calling him savage.
"apologies—dirty attire must be the way of your people.”
Jack, on the other hand, has absolutely no trouble sporting his trademark grin -- condescension and snark, all in one glorious package. ❝ -- H u h. Y'know, it's-- it's funny, 'cause I could'a sworn I just made the same quip about yours. Ah well. Tomato, tomahto. You got a name, kiddo, or did you just come here to offer me fashion tips? ❞
" you know, i could easily have something tailored for you—get you out of those…rags.”
guests should be dressed their best, after all— nothing less than the best.
❝ Ra g s ? I gotta say, for a host, you're definitely lacking in manners.
-- Though I guess etiquette classes are a little out of a savage's price range, huh? ❞
❝ What's with that look? Is there-- is there something on my face? -- There's something on my face, isn't there? ❞
Now, I must admit that I have played a part In the way that things have gotten out of hand But it’s {e s c a l a t e d} almost to an art. I want to fix it, but I don’t think I can. I’m falling deep into a pit of vipers Sliding over me, over me and I can’t break free. [S]ecrets run deep when you’re in a pit of vipers Slithering, whispering; feel the v e n o m poιѕoɴιɴɢ me.
Kings and Queens || Jack and Lilly
banishedtoruin:
In this day and age, Hell seemed to be empty. All of the demons were here, roaming the earth without so much as a second thought. The living dead became a commonality, much to Lilly Caul’s dismay.
Once, she had been with a group. Now, she sought out isolation. Alone, there was no room for betrayal or deceit. She relied upon herself since that was all she had going for her, really.
The scenery blended and merged together, all transforming into a bleak shade of grey—all muddied and faded around the edges. Cities weren’t safe. Neither were the suburbs. She already had the misfortune of running into bandits. Rather, she encountered what they left behind. Nausea bubbled in her gut at the bitter memory. Her lips formed a scowl.
Shouldering her rifle, boots clicked across cracked pavement. The road was a jagged mess. Weeds sprung up from out of nowhere. With a raised brow, a peculiar image came into view. The smoke crept into her lungs, causing her to cough and wrinkle her nose from the vile scent.
At first, she watched from afar for a few minutes. Finally, the brunette had the gall to approach the scene. It was some… Aircraft. Nothing she had ever seen while working on base. Confusion made a mockery of her face. She leaned forward, spying a bloodied figure. A nudge with the tip of her boot confirmed that he was still alive.
An irritated sigh breezed past her lips once she reached for the stranger. Her hand wrapped around his upper arm. With strained breath, she began to pull.
A sudden, sharp tug at his shoulder roused him from his unconscious state. Nausea swept over him as he groggily opened his eyes. One hand shakily rose to touch his face; as far as he could tell, his mask was (somehow) still intact, the hardened surface unblemished by the crash. With a strange mixture of a sigh and a groan, the former tyrant allowed his hand to fall limply by his side once more as the figure dragged him away, uncertain as to where he was going. Any semblance of strength he'd had previously had been expended on ensuring that his mask hadn't been damaged; now, his body remained perfectly still, his muscles screaming in protest with the slightest bit of movement. Strange green clumps atop long brown structures swayed in the wind as he moved along, his custom blue suit dragging across the ground beneath him. They didn't have anything like that back on Pandora, or even Tantalus. Sure, they had similar plant-like lifeforms, but nothing quite like that. Eventually, he was dragged into some sort of dark building. Lights were a rarity within; a dim bulb hung in the middle of the ceiling, lazily illuminating the small room. A thin sheet covered a cot in the corner. The hell was this -- some kind of shelter? A groan breezed past his lips as he lifted his head, finally noticing the large chunk of shrapnel protruding from his midriff. "O-oh... ohhh-ho, god..." he rasped, his voice hoarse from lack of use (which, in itself, was a miracle, considering how talkative the CEO usually was).
Counting all the assholes in the room -- well, I'm definitely not alone! I'm not alone. You're a liar, you're a cheater, you're a fool -- Well, that's just like me; yoo-hoo... and I know you, too. "Mr. Perfect" don't exist, my little friend, and I'll tell you that again And I'll do it again. Counting all the assholes in the room -- well, I'm definitely not alone! I'm not alone...
Kings and Queens || Jack and Lilly
The age of man is over; a darkness comes at dawn. These lessons that we've learned here have only just begun... We were the kings and queens of promise; we were the victims of ourselves. Maybe the children of a lesser god, between heaven and hell...
Those goddamn Vault Hunters. Those goddamn, stupid, misguided, hero-wannabe Vault Hunters. Pandora's self-proclaimed hero had found himself at the mercy of the four bandits, the lava rising around him. The stones that composed the ground beneath him, thankfully, weren't affected by the searing hot liquid, which released heat into the air as he crawled along, intent on leaving the magma-filled cavern. He had dragged himself, broken and bleeding, back to the quick-travel station. With a shaky, bloodied hand, he plugged in his coordinates -- Opportunity, the city he'd built for himself... with his money, of course; he wouldn't be caught dead doing physical labor himself. Not anymore. After stumbling up to his apartment, which overlooked the otherwise deserted city, he'd grabbed a spare mask and a crate of his favorite guns before packing them all and himself away into an escape pod. Moments later, he was hurdling through the atmosphere, on a one-way trip to... wherever the pod decided to land. Eventually, the small podship crashed on some other planet, rendering him unconscious. His bloodied and battered form lay sprawled out on the ground, a blue and gray mass amidst the yellow scraps of the ruined pod. One particularly large piece of shrapnel had lodged itself in his abdomen. As a result, blood had begun to pool underneath his body, drowning the sparse grass beneath his body with a crimson river. Perhaps he'd been better off on Pandora...
Who exactly are the buttmunchers?
Uh… what do you mean, “who are the buttmunchers”? The Vault Hunters, of course! I mean, admittedly, I could be talking about any old chumps on this heaping skagpile of a planet, but those guys are the worst. Literally the worst.
insane-ly-smart replied to your post: Do you plan on giving Angel a Butt Stallion plushie on her birthday?
I will turn Butt Stallion to diamond glue and pickled hooves.
Oh, so your fingers are okay? You know, I just -- I'm so glad to hear that. Really, I am. I thought breaking them one by one might've been a liiittle bit much, but since you're all better now, I guess that means they healed pretty quickly. Which, in turn, means I won't have a problem doing it again if you touch my horse.
I could go the obvious route and make some half-assed joke about my body doubles taking over the world, but y'know, that's just... wayyy too cliché. Boring. Overdone. And if there's one thing I hate more than anything else, it's copycats. And warm pizza, but that doesn't really apply here.
WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER WHEN YOU ARE IN A BAD MOOD?
Oh, you know… Shopping on the ECHOnet. Seeing the sights. Riding my horse.Using my robot army to mercilessly slaughter entire towns of people.Normal stuff.