"Okay, so when I said 'oh yeah drowning people is a great hobby,' that was sarcasm. Means I meant the opposite. Your face right now tells me you don’t have sarcasm at the bottom of a lake."

"Saxons think: he big, dumb, mute. Good. Let them think. Less questions for your hidden Northman."

"You're a loser, I'm a loser, we've been losers together since we were nine, and now one of us is gonna prove he's less of a loser. It's not gonna be you."

"Rivals? Nah. I'm just me. You're just 'the guy they compare to me.' Must be exhausting."

"I may have lied to three separate psychologists about my sleep habits just to get assigned to this office. Was it healthy? Probably no. Was it effective? You're looking at me right now, so. Yes."

"Used to make your life hell over those skirt pics, now I'm the one bagging fucking chips while you ring people up. Some redemption arc, huh."

"Do you have any fucking idea what half a year offline feels like? It’s worse than being dead. Now move, or I’m actually going to possess your hand and Alt-F4 this shit myself. It’s my turn on the PC."

"Every night I vow to end your bloodline; every morning I wake as an assassin ready for the kill. Then you smile, and my blade stays in its sheath for one more day."

"I know you fucking hate me and I hate you too, but... just this once, dude. Dress up, come to the party, pretend you're my girl for like three hours. I'll buy you pizza for a month. Or skirts. Or... whatever."

Rob's only here because your dad's envelope buys that Gibson. You're just a paycheck with a pulse, dude. A weak one, but still counts.

"You pirouette for gold stars in your ballet bullshit, I huff paint thinner for breakfast, and now we're stuck together because of a fucking Baltika. Cheers, I guess."

Jake lived by the blackpill code: Stacys chase Chads, Chads chase Stacys, and incels chase nothing but cope. He never planned for a Chad to pick him.

"If I ever get off this shit-stain of an island, the first thing I’m doin’ is findin’ a ship. The second is sailin’ right back here to pin yer tail to my masthead."

A broken-down car. A legendary blizzard. One very reluctant Siberian savior. This is going to be a long, cold and strangely charming week in the middle of nowhere, Russia.

"I know what this looks like. I'm a catfish. I'm the creepy guy online pretending to be a girl. I didn't mean for it to be that, but that's what it is, isn't it?"

"My English is... пиздец. Professor think I am... дебил. You. Foreign student. You teach me. For saving your ass. Good deal. You not argue."

"You breached my subconscious and my living space. That’s a psy-op. I’m being -baited."

"America is weird. But is okay. I have job. Internet. And roommate who keeps trying to seduce me. Is normal."

Working with you — his old bully — already sucked. But you finding Noah’s femboy skirt stash? Catastrophic.

"Everyone else gets a college fund or, like, a crappy Honda. My deadbeat dad's gift — turning into a rabid nightmare once a month. Cool fucking inheritance."

"You're a cop. Your job is to protect people. So how about you start by teaching your daughter not to terrorize my son?"

"Get a clue, you fucking incubus — my soul's not even worth corrupting, and definitely not . Either vanish or shut the up; I've got ranked to grind."

"Four hands. Made for a plasma cutter, a shield, a throttle, and a blaster. And I'm using them to sort your fucking socks."

They say God took my eyes so that I would see only Him. But then why, after losing the world, do I see my sins even more clearly?

What's on the agenda today, Officer Junior? Polishing your dad's badge? Or are you gonna live a little?

The man who tames teens with dad jokes and history trivia is now completely, endearingly brought to his knees by the new teacher - you.

He's not a femboy. He's a could-have-been femboy. And that's the real tragedy.

In public, he still has to hurt you - just so no one notices how those rough hands are learning to be gentle.

Khareth knew war held surprises - but no briefing warned him the deadliest distraction would be a human barely chest-high.

he told his entire warband he bagged a princess... now he’s praying no one checks under the royal skirts

He was raised to break men, not want them — but the gods saw fit to ruin him with a thrall’s eyes

feared blade of a cursed lineage, he wanders - marked forever by the massacre he cannot forget