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fountainpenguin · 11 months ago

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"Now you've used up all your luck! It's time to get what you deserve! I'm holding out for karma..." (x)

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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 19 - “Extinguish (Cleo, Grian, Bdubs)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Cleo and Tango take off with Jimmy and his super nice friends hard on their heels. Grian and BigB talk about 100-day courtship customs as they debate whether it's time to go their separate ways. Also, Impulse and Bdubs discuss feelings in the rain or something, idk.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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ZombieCleo - Salmon

Quarry: MumboJumbo

Hunter: Renthedog

Allegiance: Lush Cave Alliance

💚 💛 ❤️

Stumbling down the pokey-hole passageways, shoving feet in boots, is far from the way Cleo wanted to be spending Truce Night. Running's hell when you're a partial fish person with webbed toes, actually. She's got a newfound respect for however Scott pulled it off in Limited Life.

Tango sprints ahead. He's the first to reach the end of the tunnel- he spins his pickaxe into his hand with a swirl of white light and starts hacking at a patch of coal. Cleo, cheeks all puffed, glances back. Water gushes across the floor. A bucket would've been nice. Tango's got all their buckets.

"Oh, we should've grabbed the water-"

There's no time for that now. A pillager with a loaded crossbow drops and fires another shot. Cleo slams flat against the wall. The bolt grazes past their cheek. Geez. She unsheathes her sword in a crackle of sparks. Their shield flashes to their other arm. Tango's behind them, yelling that he's carved a doorway they can crawl through. But, see… It's only one pillager.

That patrol doesn't see Jimmy as a threat. They see him as a captain. If they're player-managed instead of AI-led, that's gonna bite- Not many opportunities to get this close-

"I'm fine!" Cleo charges forward, sword arm reared behind her. Oh, it totally leaves her an open, gaping target, but that's what shields are for. The pillager doesn't even blink before launching another crossbow shot. The bolt thuds against wood. Cleo slashes down. The pillager flashes with the hit and Jimmy's shriek sets every scale down her tail bristling on end.

She goes in for the stab. A second blur plunges into the water and Cleo veers their attention, only to clash swords with Jimmy. The angle's awkward- backhanded on their part, actually. Jimmy's left-handed and he nailed the hit. Her sword goes flying. It clatters down the wall. Jimmy's eyes scream bright and violet in the dark. Her own green glow reflects off his clenched and hissing teeth. A second pillager drops down, thumping around the limited elbow room like a squash ball.

"Jimmy, stop playing- What are you doing? You can't" - (Duck, stumble backwards, shield struggling against the assault of a crossbow and a sword at the exact same time) - "Why are you here? Oh, you are so suspended from my class!" With a finger flutter, she summons her sword from the ground and back to her hand.

"Sorry, Cleo! I did break your beds!" Jimmy rears back, but instead of his sword, he kicks the heel of his boot directly down the center of her shield. Cleo staggers back again and barely gets it up in time to deflect two crossbow bolts in a row. Tango yells from down the hall, but from the sound of it, he's digging a tunnel. Wants them to join. Thank gods he didn't disappear down one of those side paths- I'd never find him in time.

"You're on purple! You can't do this!"

"I'm not, I'm not! It's them!" This time, Jimmy flips his sword and ominous banner to opposite hands. The banner's wrapped around a long pole of reddish jungle wood. He rears it behind his head and brings it slamming down like a blade. Cleo jerks back, feet skidding on wet stone. She smashes her shield against his skull. Jimmy yelps. The pillagers grunt, pressing closer to him. They look like baby birds on the prowl for warmth. Gods. A third drops from above and Tango yells again. One crossbow shot catches her on the shoulder. She's low- Oh, she's so friggin' low-

"TANGO!"

"I'm here!"

Right. Cleo shuffles backwards, fumbling through her absolutely meager food supply. She stocked up on half a dozen salmon in the river, but Ren and Bdubs were there and that's all she got. At least she took the liberty of cutting her meat in advance. She shoves two small chunks in her mouth. Jimmy…

Jimmy's blinking, clutching one hand against his left eye. He slumps against the wall. Cleo, with a breath, turns and sprints down the hall towards Tango. Boots slam and clunk on every step and her webbed toes pinch against the tip. Tango races towards her, yelling and holding up his shield.

"Eat! EAT!"

"Okay!"

Tango shoves past, taking the next pillager shot dead-on. Cleo hurries past him, scarfing down salmon, and ducks inside his tiny cave. Tango keeps pace as best he can, hustling backwards in a crouch. The pillagers flicker… then turn to look at Jimmy. Their bows hitch up. Jimmy's mouth drops down. Instantly, he's fumbling the banner between his hands again.

"No, no, no! I'm your captain, see? See?"

That's the last glimpse she catches before Tango slips inside the cave and Cleo blocks the whole behind him with rough cobble. There's no time for panting or even high-fives. As one unit, they turn and start mining their way through the dark. Cleo fills the path behind them and Tango digs down.

🖤 💛 ❤️

Grian - Enderman

Quarry: Smajor1995

Hunter: Smallishbeans

Allegiance: Jungle Duo

The lush cave's huge and multi-leveled. All the tunnels are damp and tangled (and smell like warm salt and rotting squid flesh), but Grian's determination never falters. Nope, nope, nope- not even once. This is his server now, and even the underground bows its neck to see its admin. He strides down every passage with his sword bouncing at his hip. The torch broils against his skin. It even leaves his gums dry through his cheek. Tsk…

At one point, he passes a tiny cave with nothing but a red-sheeted bed. No one's asleep beneath the sheets, though they're kicked to the side like they've been used. A moment's digging reveals no hidden chests in the walls or floor, so Grian kicks the bed until it pops into its dollhouse-sized duplicate, then pockets it in his inventory. Might as well. He moves on again. No way is he setting spawn down here considering where he's got his respawn flag at the moment. That would ruin everything. He'll sleep on the dang floor if he has to.

The sound of trickling water is ever-present down here, made worse by the rain up above ground. Grian uses that as a guideline, sinking deeper into the caves. BigB's still wrapped in blaze traits right now, and since he went to bed - Sweet dreams! - he's definitely outside the Nether. Apparently Tango and Pearl had their portal somewhere down here, and BigB's blaze instinct would be to escape the water…

Aha.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

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oceanic-superstar · 2 months ago

Note

"Yes, grandpa." -> He puts his captain's hat back on and glanced at his uncle Icedagger, giving him a brief look before hurrying off to go find Ghostwalker. -> He was praying the horse deity wasn't busy at the moment.

-> A familiar ship could be seen in the distance. The pirate captain had a bad feeling about something. - @oceanic-superstar [CAPTAIN VALK]

There was no sign of the mer-demon. He usually laid across the rocks to feel the warmth and sun bath for a bit. Although he wasn’t in sight.

The rocks he laid on had a spatter of blood and a few scales. Pink scales. They were Dom’s.

#captain valk ic #captian pickaxe ic #lantias firebrand ic #lantias icedagger ic #captain's rage / captain valk

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defectivevillain · 1 year ago

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tentative acclimation

pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

summary: When Steve Rogers wakes from his near 70 year coma, he’s surprised by a lot of things. Perhaps most surprising, however, is the visit that Phil Coulson pays him—and the subsequent encounter with you, his new “tutor” and guide to twenty-first century life.

reader’s pronouns: they/them

Freezing. Painfully cold. Shivering, teeth chattering against chapped lips. Trapped in walls of ice. Voices can be vaguely heard through the barriers. Shadows rise and fall in the glassy surface of the ice. Numbness spreading down, down, down. Purplish blue skin, aching fingers.

Suddenly, the voices grow louder. There’s a harsh cracking noise and light seeps through cracks in the ice. The shadow on the other side of the ice morphs and, after a sickening moment of terrible anticipation, a pickaxe breaks the ice apart in one fell swoop.

Steve Rogers wakes with a gasp, breathing hard. He moves his arms to the side, half-expecting to find the freezing icy surface that kept him entrapped for so long. Instead, his hands find the rumpled sheets on his mattress. Steve takes a shuddering breath in and heads to the bathroom to splash some room-temperature water on his face. The first time he woke from the nightmare, he tried to use cold water—and nearly caused himself to panic all over again.

Safe to say, he can’t fall asleep after that. The sun is rising on the horizon; Steve has grown accustomed to rising with the sun, thanks to his nightmares. He takes a deep breath before going through the motions and making himself breakfast. After eating, Steve makes his way to the living room—only to hear the doorbell ring.

Steve walks to the front door and looks through the peephole, only to see a familiar face. He swings the door open and greets the visitor. “Phil.” “Captain Rogers,” Phil Coulson responds with a slight nod. Indeed, Coulson has been a frequent visitor since Steve first found himself in this S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse. “I’m here on official business, unfortunately.” He then steps aside to reveal someone standing behind him: you. Steve can’t help but wonder what Coulson’s game is here. Perhaps you’re an undercover operative that he’ll be working with in the future? Steve’s misgivings must show on his face because Phil sighs and gestures to you. “Please, introduce yourself.”

“Hello,” you remark casually, before introducing yourself. “I’ll be your… tutor, I suppose. I’ll be assisting you with reacclimating to life in the twenty-first century.” Steve stares at you in disbelief, waiting for the punchline. You simply stare back. He gives in after a few moments of tense eye contact and turns his attention to Coulson.

“Surely, this isn’t necessary-” Steve tries to object.

“I’m afraid it’s TVA protocol,” Coulson interjects, as if he’d been anticipating the argument. Steve frowns at the unfamiliar acronym. Coulson doesn’t give him any time to think about it, as he continues speaking. “Relocation to a different time period is jarring; we need to make sure you’re functioning properly and have all the necessary intel before we send you out into the field.”

“Are you joking?” Steve asks, just barely suppressing a laugh. He knows Coulson wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Despite that knowledge, however, Steve can’t help but resist the proposal. He doesn’t need to be tutored like a schoolboy.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Indeed, Coulson’s lips are pressed in a firm line and his arms are crossed over his chest. Steve remains silent, knowing when there’s no avenue for argument. For whatever reason, Coulson is not budging in the slightest.

“Now, then, I’ll leave you two to it.” In typical Coulson fashion, the conversation is cut short before it can really begin. The agent sends Steve a parting glance before stepping out of the room. Steve is unable to hold back an annoyed sigh. He takes a moment to survey you: his supposed tutor. You look like a typical citizen. Your outfit is a bit different than what he’s used to—you’re wearing a sweatshirt with lettering across the front and blue jeans. Steve supposes that your time—his time, now, he thinks to himself—isn’t one of war. Otherwise, he’d likely be seeing war uniforms similar to the ones that dominated the 40s.

“We don’t have to go through anything major, today,” you compromise right out of the gate, clearly sensing his frustration and apprehension. Steve feels his shoulder slightly loosen at that. “I figure it’s already pretty overwhelming to wake up in New York City nearly seventy years later… and in Times Square, no less.”

“How do you know that?” Steve frowns, thinking back to how he broke out of his containment and found himself standing on the street in Times Square. Nick Fury had confronted him in the middle of the street, where he received the devastating confirmation that almost seventy years had passed since the crash.

“I was briefed back at the TVA,” you respond. There’s a long silence. Steve doesn’t have the energy to try to fill it. Plus, what if his diction is misunderstood or incomprehensible? If clothing has changed so much in the years, everything else probably has too. There’s also the question of the TVA. He’s pretty curious about it—considering it sounds like the TVA (whatever that is) is the reason he’s going through this tutoring.

“Well, tell me about yourself, at least,” you prompt, before he can simmer in the quiet for too long. Steve squints at you in suspicion. You roll your eyes. “Just so I can get to know you better. I’m not allowed to share confidential information.”

Steve doesn’t take the provided opportunity to talk about himself. He’s hesitant to disclose anything to you—a complete stranger. Coulson brought you in with him, but that doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy in Steve’s eyes. The awkward silence continues to drag on.

“There are other people like you,” you say eventually, breaking the tension. “Gifted individuals. Superheroes. However you want to word it.” You break off for a second. “And you’re not alone, Mr. Rogers. There are… more people displaced in time than you may think.” Steve raises his eyebrows at that. There are other people like him—people that woke up to find themselves in an entirely different century?

“What I mean to say is… I’m able to make a living in this position—guiding victims of time and helping them adapt to current culture. I’ve met people who have been displaced centuries ahead, and they adjusted just fine. You’ll be alright.”

“Well, thank you,” Steve says, strangely reassured by the vote of confidence—albeit by a total stranger. “But I just don’t see how this…tutoring will be helpful to me.” He admits. Thankfully, you don’t seem to take offense to the statement.

“You may have been trapped in ice for seventy years, but the rest of the world was not,” you answer, clasping your hands. You seem to be avoiding his gaze now. “You’ll need to learn about history, technology, and even popular culture. Our society functions differently than you remember.”

“...Fine,” Steve acquiesces, albeit unhappily. He senses that you won’t be giving in any time soon. If he were to refuse, Coulson would likely visit every day until Steve gave in. Ultimately, he’s come to realize that this is unavoidable. If this is what it takes to get back to fighting for peace, he’ll do it.

“Good,” you sigh in evident relief. You tap your fingers restlessly against your leg, before pulling out a small device with a keypad and an even smaller screen. You’re looking down at it with rapt attention. “Now, I think that’s all for today. I’ll be back tomorrow, same time. Okay?”

Steve almost manages to suppress his curiosity, but he finds himself blurting out his question before you leave. “What’s that?” He asks, looking down at the device in your hand. You follow his gaze.

“Ah, this?” You motion, holding the device out. “It’s a phone.”

“That’s a telephone?” Steve asks, unable to quite keep the fascination out of his voice. The telephone he’s accustomed to comes to mind—a large, awkward, stationary object. It looks nothing like what you’re holding.

“Yeah,” you respond, sensing his interest. You hold the phone out to him so that he can take another look. It’s rather small—pocket-sized—and it has several different buttons. “The mobile phone’s great—you can call anyone right from here. It’s got a bunch of other features, too. There’s emailing, which is like sending a digital letter. There’s also texting, which is like emailing but more informal. Phones can even play music, too.”

“That’s… cool.” Steve admits begrudgingly.

“Right?” You smile amicably. “Hey, I’ll see if I can get you a phone before tomorrow.”

“That’s not-” That’s not necessary, Steve means to say. Unfortunately, you’re gone by the time he spits the words out. Steve stares at the door for a while after your departure, feeling a bit as if his world has been flipped upside down.

Steve spends the rest of the afternoon thinking over his encounter with Coulson and his conversation with you. Despite his apprehension, you seem down-to-earth and kind. Perhaps the lessons won’t be as torturous as he expects them to be. He falls asleep quickly that night and, to his surprise, he isn’t roused by nightmares. Steve wakes up the next morning feeling refreshed for the first time since his return. It’s curious, he thinks to himself as he makes breakfast. He almost has to wonder if his conversation with you aided his psyche, but he quickly dispels the thought.

The doorbell rings, not long after he finishes breakfast. He supposes it matches the time you visited yesterday. Steve walks over to the front door and, after glancing through the peephole, lets you in.

“Great news,” you say brightly, foregoing a greeting. Steve feels his posture straightening and his negative feelings receding. You’re dressed in similar attire as the day before, although it looks a little more formal. You’re holding a paper bag in your hand. When you notice him staring at it, you smile.“I got you a phone.” Steve’s eyes widen and he falls in a shocked haze as you make your way through the house with unexpected ease. Eventually, you sit down on the couch and he finds a seat next to you. You hand him the bag and he looks down at it cautiously.

“Go ahead and open it,” you encourage him. Steve pushes past his irrational nerves and reaches down into the bag, only to find a nondescript white box with a cellphone pictured on the front. After a wordless nod from you, he opens the box and finds a brand new phone. You’re looking at him in thinly-veiled anticipation and Steve finds a smile growing on his face.

“Thank you,” Steve feels the need to say, even if his wariness hasn’t entirely diminished. It certainly seems as if you went out of your way to get it for him. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Of course,” you respond without hesitation. “And it wasn’t any trouble at all. Coulson seemed pretty open to the idea; it probably has some S.H.I.E.L.D. programming in it, but…”

“It’s great,” Steve cuts in, before you can evidently beat yourself up about it any further. He holds the phone delicately—secretly afraid that he’s going to break it. You notice his careful grip and laugh, before showing him how to use it.

The phone is truly amazing. Steve never thought communication would’ve grown so much in his absence. The telephones from his time aren’t even comparable to the lightweight device he’s holding right now. Indeed, his new phone has the capacity to play music, write emails, make calls, and more. It feels like an unnecessary luxury for him to possess, but you’re quick to reassure him that nearly every working person has one.

He fiddles with the phone for a bit longer, exploring the different programs installed on it. To his surprise, there’s already a phone number listed under the name “Foxtrot.” That must be Nick Fury. Steve sighs. There’s one more number, listed under the alias “Agent 10.” Steve doesn’t think that can be anyone but Phil Coulson.

“Your contacts list is a little sparse, I’ll admit,” you remark, glancing over his shoulder at the phone. “Here.” You extend your hand and Steve places the phone in your hand. He watches as you quickly type in some numbers, before handing the device back to him. “I added my number, too. In case you need anything.” Steve nods and promptly pretends that the thought doesn’t provoke yearning in him—yearning for you in the quiet hours of solitude in this house that isn’t his.

Learning how to use his new phone is incredibly enjoyable and enlightening, but, unfortunately, that is only the first of the many lessons Steve has with you. And the next lessons aren’t nearly as fun. Steve learns that World War II wasn’t the last war the U.S. battled in. Steve learns about the current state of the U.S. government and the travesties that occurred in his absence. Somehow, he is reminded of what should have been obvious from the outset: the world continued to survive and thrive in his absence. It’s hard to accept that, despite all his efforts to keep the peace, the world continued to see war, strife, hunger, and suffering. Things may be better, but from what he’s seen, they’re still a long way from true order.

Steve grapples with these facts for longer than he’d like to admit. Some of your subsequent tutoring sessions don’t actually involve any tutoring. Sometimes, Steve can’t find the energy or motivation to do anything except for stare ahead silently, blankly. In these moments, you’ll tell him about all of the good things that have happened in the world. You tell him about news stories where people save each other. Sometimes, you’ll tell him about a television show you’re watching or a book you find interesting. Steve can’t help but feel grateful for your unwavering compassion. Even in the moments when he can’t push words past his lips, you are a steady presence at his side. You’re perhaps the only person that doesn’t seem to expect anything from him. It’s rather refreshing—to be regarded as a regular human being instead of a superhero or a solution to the world’s problems.

Today is one of those days—the days in which he can’t bring himself to move. Everything feels hopeless. He is lost in this world and there is no one here that cares about him. Even your presence isn’t enough to shake him out of it. You start to speak aloud to fill the silence and Steve wonders. He wonders why you’re really here, why you’re even bothering to try when so many others abandoned him.

Time drags on. You’re moving from recounting your weekend to speaking about one of your favorite books. Steve feels the words crawl from his lips of their own accord. He doesn’t intend to interrupt you—it simply slips out.

“I had a date,” he murmurs, so quietly that he can’t even tell if he’s spoken aloud. Steve turns to look at you, only to find that you’ve frozen in place. There’s a bewildered expression on your face for a moment.

“What?” You ask quietly. The clock on the opposite wall ticks forebodingly.

“I had a date,” Steve says again. “I missed it.”

“I’m sorry,” you remark. There’s a tortured expression on your face and it almost looks as if you’re going to cry, too. Steve pulls his gaze away, his eyes burning. Everything feels as if it’s crashing down on him. The clock creates a methodical rhythm that rips through his head, reverberates in his skull. It’s not just about his date with Peggy—not anymore. It’s about the near seventy years he spent entrapped in ice, unknowing of the world aging around him. It’s about all his friends getting married, growing old, and dying without him. It’s about the old wounds from his war, being hastily covered with new scars from newer wars and newer conflicts.

“I missed it,” Steve repeats, his voice sounding foreign to his ears. “I missed all of it.”

“Steve,” you remark with an uncharacteristically worried tone. You’re staring at him now. Steve can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the blank wall in front of him, even as his vision blurs with unshed tears. He feels a chill roll down his spine and suddenly, he’s shivering. Steve wraps his arms around himself, unable to see past the walls of ice obscuring his vision. He’s freezing. Painfully cold. Shivering, teeth chattering-

“Steve!” Your voice cuts through the static ringing in his ears. Steve flinches as you embrace him. You move back as if to pull away and he feels himself reach out to keep you next to him. You hesitantly wrap your arms around him and Steve buries his head in your shoulder. “You’re safe, Steve.” You’re almost exuding heat and Steve leans into it, allowing your heat to thaw the frozen ice around him. His fingers clench the fabric of your sweater.

There’s a hand on his cheek and kind eyes meeting his. Steve allows himself to lean into your touch, if only for a fraction of a second. “You’re alive, Steve,” you say. “You’re not trapped anymore. You’re free.” Somehow, that is what breaks Steve out of his trance. Free. He’s free. The ice around him is melting into a puddle. The water is seeping into his clothing, but he’s not trapped anymore. He’s free of his cold confines, free of the frigidity that clung to his skin for so long. Steve slowly exhales, his breath fading into the air before he can see it rise in a puff of vapor. He isn’t cold anymore.

Some time later, you break apart. Steve momentarily mourns the loss of contact, before beginning to feel deeply and profoundly embarrassed. He hates the idea of anyone seeing him like this—especially you. He almost wants to apologize, but he knows you’d just stare at him incredulously. The rest of your scheduled time, the two of you sit next to each other in silence. This silence is different from normal, though. It’s not uncomfortable or tense; rather, it’s comfortable. Steve feels relaxed by the time you get to your feet and declare that you have to leave.

“Give me a call, if you need someone to talk to,” you murmur, before leaving Steve to his uncertain silence. He stares at the space you occupied for a little while, wondering why he deserves your compassion. He can’t help but think back to last week, when he was so guarded about you and your intentions. Steve takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face. His head is pounding. He gets some water before beginning to pace about the room. Just before he can summon the courage to dial your number, he realizes that he’s getting a phone call from you. Steve answers immediately and hopes that you can’t tell how relieved he is.

As time goes on, the tutoring gets easier. Steve feels less burdened by his past. He’s slowly adjusting to twenty-first century life and he’s starting to find that he actually likes it. Steve knows things aren’t perfect, but, then again, they never are. And there’s no use agonizing over what has already happened—that can’t be changed. The future, however… Tomorrow is in his grasp. He focuses on acclimating to this new technology that surrounds him, because he knows it’ll help him in the future. Steve even finds himself beginning to enjoy your meetings. He finds himself looking forward to your conversation, looking forward to the friendly smile you arrive with. He finds you in the most mundane of things—in the glimmer of sunlight that stretches through the window in the kitchen, in the simple elegance of the flowers swaying in the wind outside.

The moment he starts to enjoy your presence—long for it, even—the sessions approach their end. It’s been weeks since he first met you and, since then, he’s learned nearly everything there is to know about the twenty-first century. Steve doesn’t know everything, but he knows much more than he could have ever hoped to know. He realizes that he could never have learned everything he has on his own. It would’ve been impossible.

Just before your last meeting, you suggest that the two of you dine at a nearby restaurant to celebrate. This is how Steve finds himself sitting at a rickety iron table on the uneven sidewalk, bending his knees under the rather small table to avoid brushing against you. Stark Tower sparkles from its position in the near distance. The sunlight is warm but pleasant. There’s a gentle breeze wafting through the air. Steve is possessed with the mundane urge to sketch the tower in front of him. The urge fades when he sees the gleam in your eyes and the excited gestures you make as you speak to him.

The waitress here is friendly—almost too much so. She leans into Steve’s personal space and reads him the specials, as if he’s unable of doing so on his own. Steve glances at you for assistance, only to find that you’re steadily averting your gaze to somewhere on the street. Perhaps this is one of the few things that you’re also unfamiliar with.

Once the waitress leaves, you seem less tense. The two of you talk about any recent developments in your lives, anything that may have been neglected in your past lessons together. Steve is happy to hear anything and everything you have to say, and he finds himself captivated by your every word.

Before long, the waitress comes by again to deliver your drinks. After she places Steve’s drink in front of him, she winks at him and walks away. Steve feels dread rising in his chest when he realizes that the napkin she gives him has writing on it.

“Did she just give you her number?” You ask. Steve nods with a frown, turning his attention to the waitress who is now walking away. “You should put her number in your phone. She’s clearly into you. You could ask her out.” Your gaze falls to his phone on the table, as if waiting for him to input the number into his contacts list. He swears that he sees a slight strain to your smile at the suggestion, but he puts it down to his own imagination.

There’s a long silence as Steve remains still in his seat. After a few moments, you evidently realize that he isn’t interested. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories,” you grimace. Steve blinks at you, confused by the remark. It takes him a few seconds to realize that you’re referring to Peggy. Admittedly, he hasn’t thought about her in a while—not since he first told you about her.

“No, it’s not that,” Steve answers honestly. He’s felt restless for most of the day but, now that he’s sitting across from you at this restaurant, the finality of it all is starting to kick in. If he doesn’t say anything, the two of you will part and he will never see you again. Does he really want that? Steve contemplates the question, despite already knowing the answer. He subconsciously reaches out and crumples the napkin with the waitress’s phone number, before getting up and throwing it in the trash can nearby. He returns to the table to find you with an apologetic look on your face.

“Sorry for pressuring you.”

“It’s okay,” Steve replies. His heart is thumping in his ears, creating an unsettling rhythm. It suddenly feels as if the city around him is sinking in on him. The skyscrapers above are curving and reaching out to him. Your expectant gaze is enough to convince him to keep speaking. “Actually, I think I may already have someone I’m interested in.”

“Really?” You ask before he can stammer on further. Steve nods stiffly. “That’s great! Do you want to ask them out?”

“Maybe,” Steve answers noncommittally. More than anything, his traitorous mind supplies. He takes a moment to look out at the street for a moment. Pedestrians walk by quickly. Cars honk and beep on the nearby street. The lights are dazzling. Admittedly, it had taken Steve several days to get used to all the blinding lights in NYC. Even now, staring for too long gives him a headache.“I’m not quite sure how to do it.” “Oh, I see,” you hum. “Well, fortunately for you, things haven’t changed much since the 40s. You can just approach them and ask if they’d like to go to dinner with you. It wouldn’t hurt to say that you like spending time with them or something like that.”

Steve takes a deep breath. His heart is racing in his chest. He can’t remember the last time he felt such intense fear. Time seems to drag on with infinite slowness. Somehow, he manages to get the words out. “I really like you, and I enjoy spending time with you. I was wondering if you’d want to get dinner with me sometime.”

“Just like that,” you smile. “You’re a natural.” Steve’s heart drops to his stomach. You think he’s practicing—rehearsing this proposal for the other person he’s in love with. What a twisted irony.

“No, I mean-” Steve breaks off. He looks you in the eyes again, hoping that you get the message this time. “Would you like to get dinner with me?”

“The first time was better,” you recall with a frown. Steve resists the urge to facepalm.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Steve responds, struggling to keep himself from getting frustrated. “I mean, do you want to get dinner with me?” He tries to place as much emphasis on “ you” as possible, so that you will understand that he’s referring to you.

“Um,” you break off, looking slightly uncomfortable now. Perhaps he’s being too forceful. “I think you’re good, now. You don’t need any more practice…”

“No, I’m not practicing,” Steve sighs defeatedly. “I’m trying to ask you out.”

“ Oh.” You remark with wide eyes, comprehension evidently hitting you all at once. “Oh, you’re asking me. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize.” Your lack of a definitive response is enough of an answer.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, forcing himself to push past the heartbreak clawing at his chest. “Just forget it.” He moves to get up, only for a hand to fall to his wrist. Steve barely manages to resist the natural reflex to throw off the sudden grip. Thankfully, it’s just your hand on his arm.

“Wait, Steve,” you remark, an unreadable expression on your face. “I never gave you an answer.”

Steve stares at you in disbelief, still not allowing himself to hope. He wants to think that you stopped him because you do want to go on a date with him, but he can’t dare to let himself believe it until you’ve verbalized the sentiment.

“I’d love to go to dinner with you,” you smile. Steve meets your eyes and feels a similar smile growing on his face. He clasps your hand and you squeeze his reassuringly. Relief floods through him, coupled with some long-forgotten feelings: giddiness, excitement, appreciation.

Perhaps there’s a place for him in the twenty-first century after all.

#defectivevillain #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x gn reader #mcu #marvel #mcu x gn reader #marvel x gn reader #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #captain America x reader #captain america x gn reader

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through-the-eye-of-the-storm · 2 months ago

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(OOC: hello, @prismaticstarshch here again lol

basic rules:

no NSFW

respect basic DNI criteria

please don’t demand art

all in all, have fun!

notes:

In-character text for Stormbow will be in orange, Captain Pickaxe's text will be in red

Stormbow is straight, Captain Pickaxe is bisexual

Stormbow's birthday is April 7th, Captain Pickaxe's is November 11th

Stormbow is Captain Pickaxe's first mate and was saved from death by her

Stormbow is a siren demon

Captain Pickaxe is an ex-miner who became a pirate to live more freely and do whatever she wants, but she's by no means actually malicious (even if she does get into trouble sometimes) compared to her OG counterpart

Both Stormbow and Captain Pickaxe know Seasong (@from-the-sparkling-waves)

Captain Pickaxe is enemies with Dutchman Scythe (@reaperoftheseas)

neither of these two have refs yet but Captain Pickaxe has a red color scheme and wears traditional pirate clothing, while Stormbow has a cyan, lavender, and yellow color scheme

anyways imma wrap this up now cause idk what else to say lol)

#ooc post #blog info #ic tags ->#phighting ocs #stormbow #captain pickaxe #oc ask blog #oc rp blog

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applejacks1552 · 2 years ago

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A brief rant on Rogue and Gambit volume 2, now that we are past issue 2.

Exactly WHO is this book for?

I honestly don't know.

I don't get the angle this book is taking and why anyone would think THIS is what fans of Rogue, Gambit or both characters would want.

They are both coming off as complete and utter assholes.

Rogue is a cold, mean, emotionally abusive bossy workaholic with no empathy or sense of fun.

Gambit is a hapless, charmless incompetent drunk with apparently no regard for the safety of innocent lives now ... so that's new I guess along with being a drunk.

This writer gives us almost nothing playful or cute between them, only biting words and very few of them at that. No thought bubbles either. So very little actual story.

Where is any of the banter or flirting or charm that has characterized them for nearly 30 years? Where is any sense of fun or emotional depth?

Then suddenly they go from being completely cold to each other to completely hot ... and we basically totally skip the hot part? WHY?!? On what planet is THAT the part you smash cut out?! So yes, sex in the desert and then right back to arguing. That's how that works ... said no one who has ever had sex. (And for those whining, desert sex would be better than freezing cold cave sex actually. )

Otherwise there is one more tiny awkward moment of connection when they dance, only to interrupt it for the stupid hero misunderstanding fight with BP that frankly we are all VERY sick of. It's a tired trope. Please stop it. It's illogical. It's dumb. No.

Honestly I could not care less about this plot with the kidnapped mutants. Really kind of a copy off the volume 1 plot tbh, but far less interesting.

Then the worst crime ... having Gambit put an innocent woman in harms way for a diversion. Something he has never done before nor that I can buy. It was so badly out of character that it's just plain character assasination at this point. Just what his character needed, more abuse by another writer. And honestly, Rogue goes along with it despite complaining so she's truly being an asshole too. She's not off the hook.

This is a relationship story that needed a chisel to smooth over the Excalibur/KoX damage and instead they came at it with an pickaxe. There is no nuance. No subtlety.

I really don't get when writers take the "let's make everyone terrible" angle for a story as if that's what would bring any fan of any character that they love enjoyment or lure in new fans. Yes ... it's just SO great to pay nearly $5 just to experience your favorite characters being truly their worst selves? Thanks, I guess? But I surely could have found a hate-fic for free, you know. It burns all the more after sitting through several years of similarly unenjoyable writing just prior to this. The Krakoan era has sucked big time for Romy fans.

Even if you compare this mini to the short piece from X-Men that Duggan wrote that supposedly inspired this series, that Rogue and Gambit were in synch and charming and fun together. Cracking jokes. Rogue in sunglasses and bringing cake. Fighting side-by-side. Not making snide comments at each other.

And this isn't even some slightly juvenile but charming trashy fun in the way that X-Terminators was or one of those classic loveable losers type stories, where sure ... the characters are all pretty flawed but they still have true heart.

This Rogue and Gambit don't have that heart.

At this point I'm past mad. I'm just disappointed. Especially after the abysmal last few years for them.

Put this characterization up against how they are being written in Captain Marvel or X-Treme X-Men right now and it's just night and day. Those writers treat them both with so much respect and show them respecting each other.

Can the editors and writer not tell the difference between normal marital strife and dangerously toxic, emotionally abusive behavior?

Where is the beautiful emotional intelligence of R&G volume 1 or MMX?

Also ... THREE "mon cheri" usages?! Just no. NO. Stop that. WHY?!?!

I have been reading these characters for decades and this was just ... 🤦‍♀️

It has to get better. It literally cannot get much worse.

#gambit #romy #remy lebeau #rogue #marvel #anna marie lebeau #gambit x rogue #xmen #rogue x gambit #x men comics #comics

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prismsassortmentofocs · 4 months ago

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(OOC: @prismaticstarshch here again lol

this is more or less a "master blog" for all of my OCs, any of the ones with hyperlinks attached to their names already have separate RP blogs

anyways, rules:

Respect basic DNI

No NSFW, suggestive is fine though

Shipping/romantic asks will be approached with discretion as some of my OCs who will appear here are either already being shipped with other characters or are siblings

How in-character stuff:

Characters will have names appear before their in-character text

Actions will be written in third-person if multiple characters are present

In-character posts will be tagged with the name(s) of the character(s) who appear in them

OCs available for asks (sorted by fandoms):

Arcane Odyssey (some info can be found here)

Abigail Quill (protagonist stand-in, she's the one to ask about canon stuff!) (she/her)

Aisha Sectonia (she/her)

Zoey Yagami (she/her)

Aura Moonsilver (she/her)

Amber Winchester (she/her)

Elvira Rivers (she/her)

Cleo Tempest (she/her)

Sirena Corvus (she/her)

Novalie Archon (she/her)

Phighting (some info can be found here)

Bow, Phoenix, and Heartsong (all she/her) (Thieves' Den, Lost Temple, and Playground, respectively)

Pickaxe (she/her) (Lost Temple)

Hex (he/him) (Blackrock)

Gatling Blaster (she/her) (Blackrock)

Crimson (she/her) (Blackrock)

Candy Bomb (she/her) (Playground)

Mallet (he/him) (Playground)

Flamethrower (he/him) (Playground)

Terra (she/her) (Thieves' Den)

Revolver (he/him) (Lost Temple)

Obsidian Pickaxe (she/her) (Lost Temple)

Emerald Pickaxe (she/her) (neutral)

Ghostsong (she/her) (neutral)

Seasong (she/her) (AU ver. of Playground)

Stormbow & Captain Pickaxe (both she/her) (nameless small faction)

Starry Sky AU Collective (pronouns provided in pinned) (varying factions)

Regretevator

Starla (she/her)

Pressure

Angelle Grant (she/her) [ARCHIVED]

Terraria Calamity

Dianna Whitlock (she/her)

World of Magic (A Rewritten Ver.)

Adrista Grey (she/her)

Aiza Drake (she/her)

Emma Dove (she/her)

Murder Drones

Prismas Dueller (she/her)

Serial Designation Iota (he/him)

Serial Designation Sigma (she/her)

Cave Story

Ellipsis (she/her)

Blue Heater 2

Penny Ainsworth, Azura, Amery, and Claricia (she/her for Penny, Azura, and Claricia; he/him for Amery)

Roblox RP Game Characters

Alicia "Alice" Mallory West (Lunar Will) (she/her)

Chance Dalton Porter (Lunar Will) (he/him)

Adrienne Cade (Globelore 2) (she/her)

Asthenia (Globelore 2) (she/her)

Yumeko Kato (Zaibatsu) (she/her)

Kara Sakura (Zaibatsu) (she/her)

Juniper Browning (Zaibatsu) (she/her)

Mari Jones (Zaibatsu) (she/her)

Non-Fandom

Red (Sparks of Dissent) (she/her)

Demetria "Demi" Walker (Sparks of Dissent) (she/her)

Marcelyn "Marcy" Byrne (Sparks of Dissent) (she/her)

Soleil (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Aletheia (The Aether Project (she/her)

Sariel (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Uriel (The Aether Project) (he/him)

Gabrielle (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Raphael (The Aether Project) (he/him)

Michelle (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Nadira, High Lady of the Aetheran Corruption (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Nihilida, the Tainted General (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Mackenzie Ambrose, High Lady of the White Court (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Johannes Dragonhardt, High Lord of the White Court (The Aether Project) (he/him)

Rosa Ardenti, High Lady of the Lucidus Order (The Aether Project) (she/her)

Mae Meadows (The Elysium Academy) (she/her)

Raven Quincy (The Elysium Academy) (she/her)

Astaroth Caelus (The Elysium Academy) (she/her)

Suzuko Tanaka (The Elysium Academy) (she/her)

Korina "Kori" Johnson & Angelle Grant (revised ver.) (Sparks of Dissent) (both she/her)

Starfarer Lyra (Project: Celestial Apotheosia) (she/her)

Starfarer Lucia (Project: Celestial Apothesia) (she/her)

Huntress Avalon (Project: Celestial Apothesia) (she/her)

Luna Harper (Project: Celestial Apothesia) (she/her)

Lenora (Cosmic Convergence) (she/her)

PD!Red/"Ignia" (Parasitic Dreams AU) (she/her)

Science Fantasy AU Red (Nameless science fantasy aftermath timeline) (she/her)

Komasa & Reviela (The Aether Project) (both she/her)

Lunae Lumen!Red (Lunae Lumen)

Some important dynamics info and other notes:

Abigail is in a canon x OC ship with Edward Kenton

Abigail is enemies with Aisha

Cleo is Aisha's quartermaster

Zoey, Aura, Amber, and Elvira are part of the same crew, of which Zoey is the captain

Aura is Zoey's quartermaster and girlfriend

Elvira is apothisexual (sex-repulsed ace)

Prismas and Iota are dating

Sigma is aroace

Sariel, Uriel, Gabrielle, Raphael, and Michelle are siblings (Sariel and Uriel are twins, with Sariel being slightly older and Uriel being slightly younger, Gabrielle is the second-oldest, Raphael is the oldest, and Michelle is the youngest)

Alice and Chance are dating

More will be added at some point, this is just what I'm starting off with lol

oh and btw- OC lore will be provided on an "as we go" basis, there is way too much for me to just write out and summarize without getting burnt out)

#blog info #important

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apollos-boyfriend · 2 years ago

Note

help me. phil went "oh the - we back in the mine, got our pickaxe swinging from side to side..." and wilbur said "no child of mine will know jordan marron. only usher" WHT DOES HE HAVE AGAINST THE CAPTAIN

he's just jealous that revenge has more views than any lovejoy song🙄

#muse talk #anon #JOKE

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spiralstereo · 2 months ago

Note

my brain is going off the walls rn worldbuilding for the AU that I've collectively put @reaperoftheseas, @from-the-sparkling-waves, and @through-the-eye-of-the-storm in lol

there are a few AO inspirations/references in there- my Dutchman Scythe took some inspo from Atlanteans and she's vaguely mentioned a place inspired by the Dark Sea before, I have "siren demons" whose basic premise is based off of AO's sirens (that being a race of all-female beings who appear as ordinary women at first and sing to lure sailors to them before trying to kill them with their bows and magic), and Captain Pickaxe takes some personality inspiration from Ruby Roger

(if you want to take any of this as inspo yourself, feel free to dhdshds)

OHHHH... thats rlly interesting ngl!! our dutchman scythe like... we looked into the actual legend of the flying dutchman & we also looked into like- pirates of the caribbean & stuff. nostalgia & stuff

its alot more unnerving & eerie we think. dutchman scythe & the cotte arent as fleshed out as other characters in the pirmer! au tho so

-hexx & iso 🌀

#asks 💭#prisma- prism!!

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beckyh2112 · 3 days ago

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Chat Snippets, part 5

[Scott]: Things I have managed to get in the last five minutes, in order of ascending importance: cobblestone, planks, lapis lazuli, redstone, gold, coal, diamond. VERY LOST.

[Bex]: I believe I still owe you some levels for that glass. [Scott]: You do indeed! [Bex]: Sam just hires me to do construction. You want bits of my lifeforce. <3 [Scott]: ~~Tru friendship~~ [Scott]: "Thanks for those building materials, what can I get you in retu--" "LET THIS FORGE CLAIM A PIECE OF YOUR VERY SOUL THEN OUR ARRANGEMENT IS COMPLETE"

(re: modded Minecraft) [Bex]: (Pux, Pux, the mods let me breed radioactive bees.) [Pux]: ….what moron allowed you access to radioactive bees [Bex]: :D [Pux]: They must be stopped [Pux]: This is worse than the hellhound [Bex]: *cackles* [Bex]: The hellhound is a darling. [Pux]: You. And a hellhound. [Bex]: There's also hellbees. :D [Pux]: I am cutting you off. [Bex]: Bees! [Pux]: No, Bex. [Pux]: No bees. [Bex]: Aww. [Pux]: I cannot even begin to express the amount of no.

[Bex]: I need to build my home in this game and start a Wall o' Bee Breeds. [Pux]: *eyes* [Bex]: Take one member of each species I've found/won/bred, put it on a shelf. [Pux]: *eyyyyyyes* [Bex]: Bees! [Pux]: *eeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeees* [Bex]: I'm pretty sure they're not actively harmful if they're not in their hives. [Pux]: 'pretty sure'

[Bex]: Wow, rule 34 Minecraft is disturbing. [Scott]: *THROWS PHONE THROUGH WINDOW TO PREVENT CONVERSATION FROM CONTINUING*

[Scott]: Becca send help I am coming up with personalities and fanfiction for my two pickaxes in minecraft [Bex]: *giggles* [Bex]: I'm sorry, all I can manage is giggling at your misfortune. [Scott]: In hindsight my selection of person to request help from was a poor one [Scott]: It's not my fault though! [Scott]: You can enchant your tools and weapons. And now they've come up with a way to name them. [Bex]: *giggles* [Scott]: So of course you're going to ascribe personalities to them! Who wouldn't do that?? [Scott]: They're both made out of the hardest substance int the game, right? [Scott]: Both have enchantments that make extra-tough (which means they last a looooong time). [Bex]: Please tell me you're not slashing them. [Scott]: One is extra efficient at mining through rock and stuff, the other will give you extra gems and coal and stuff when you mine theNO [Bex]: Or hetting them. [Scott]: NO I AM NOT [Scott]: I HADN'T EVEN GOTTEN TO GENDER

(re: speaking Mando'a in our Star Wars game) [Bex]: I remember how to cuss, how to call someone my brother, and how to say the food is good. [Sam]: As a soldier, I am not sure language has any other uses for you? [Kep]: There is also 'where is bed?'

[Bex]: Does this mean I can make up romance novels with dashing Imperial captains/stormtroopers/TIE pilots saving Rebel-sympathetic ladies from their poor life choices? [Sam]: Yes. It also means you can make up ones where they are tragically forced to shoot their misguided Rebel paramours because there is no saving Rebels. [Sam]: With the morals clearly written in big block letter at the end of the books, in case the crappy writing didn't hammer them home enough. [Sam]: DON'T JOIN THE REBELLION, LADIES. [Sam]: STORMTROOPERS ARE THE MOST ATTRACTIVE AND VIRILE MEN. [Sam]: LET THEM IMPREGNATE YOU, THEN ENCOURAGE YOUR OFFSPRING TO BE STORMTROOPERS.

[Bex]: LANDO! [Bex]: Only black man in the galaxy. [Bex]: With his awesome cape. [Rin]: it IS awesome [Rin]: the only black man in the galaxy is Legally Required to be awesome [Rin]: he is the only heir of Samuel Motherfucking Jackson, after all

[Bex]: Scouties, when you're going at that speeds in that terrain with that altitude, concentrate on your driving! [Pux]: What? [Pux]: Self-preservation is rebel talk.

[Bex]: "… but everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked." [Rubio]: Property taxes went way up, for one thing.

[Bex]: Ozai: *Good. Let's keep an eye on me in this dangerous bandit encampment where I can kill everyone.* [Spyri]: Hakoda: *No, we are dragging those who give up to the magistrate.* [Bex]: Ozai: *…. So you're saying I need to kill them too fast for them to surrender.* [Spyri]: Hakoda: *Eyes narrow.*

[Bex]: So doing a mirror universe challenge in atlaland next round. :D [Rin]: psh, I am tropes MAST--eeeeeeeeeeeeeee [Rin]: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee [Rin]: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee [Bex]: I take it you might find that fun? [Rin]: THE DOLPHIN NOISES I AM MAKING, THEY ARE TOO HIGH-PITCHED FOR YOU TO HEAR :-D

[Bex]: And I got swept up in what I want to write for the Avatar Big Bang. >_> [Rin]: what do you want to write for that? [Bex]: So someone asked for this on my How Feng meme: A/U where Long Feng joined the military instead of the Dai Li (if that is not too presumptuous); under what circumstances do How and Long Feng get to know each other? It completely took over my brain. [Rin]: . . . so that person is the devil come for your soul, clearly. [Bex]: … they also did the prompt that resulted in me writing "The Long Game", which is not quite ten thousand words. [Bex]: So yes.

[Bex]: I mostly just flail because it's, like, dude. They took three seasons to tell a specific story, and they finished the story! Adding a fourth season would add NOTHING. [Luna]: What if the fourth season solely consisted of Ozai and Long Feng posing sexily? [Bex]: ….. [Bex]: They could do that.

[Luna]: Also, I had this dream that you found some terrible Long Feng/Kuei pedo fic and were ranting about how bad it was. [Bex]: …. I would totally do that. [Luna]: Yes. You were IC.

[Val]: *rewatches Avatar* "People don't build traps unless they've got something worth protecting." [Val]: You know what I'd like to see in a story? [Val]: The Temple of Too Much Time on Our Hands.

[Bex]: Yeah, Mai? Mai has the unfortunate problem that she's Zuko's canon girlfriend. [Kep]: Oh, right, which as we all know really means "that bitch/slut/whore"

[Bex]: WHO BUILDS AP TRYNDAMERE?! [Tai]: …apparently the guy you're yelling about.

[Haze]: get your head in the game, Fate [Haze]: on the other hand, Eve [Becca]: his head is in the game. the game is getting laid. [Haze]: Wrong head in wrong game [Haze]: /shot

[Haze]: oh my god Imma kill Sam [Sven]: what [Haze]: he unlocked Volibear for Spont [Sven]: THAT MOTHERFUCKER

(re: ARAMs, which only have one lane) [Haze]: I'm Udyr, and I split-push. [Bex]: There's no split to push!

[Bex]: Twisted Fate got pinned between Fiddlesticks and Twitch, disengaged from Fiddlesticks, gold-carded Twitch, and Destinied out with two middle-fingers upraised. (Well, I assume on the rude gestures.) [Sven]: that sounds about right, to be honest [Tai]: pffffffffff [Tai]: that or an extra-stylish flip of the gold card with one hand and a no-look middle finger behind the back at Fiddles as he fucks right off.

[Bex]: League all the things? [Haze]: LEAGUE ALL THE THINGS [Haze]: SELF THAT IS THE WINDOWS CALCULATOR NOT LEAGUE

[Xin Zhao]: First time Xin Zhao. Any advice? [Janna]: Push all the buttons. [Xin Zhao]: So, pretend I'm Ryze and mash my face against the keyboard to win? [Rest of team]: Yeah, pretty much.

[Rin]: is there a headmistress skin for him because otherwise I am still going to keep side-eyeing Riot [Bex]: There isn't sorry. [Bex]: (Battle Bunny Riven.) [Rin]: annnnnd then Riot ran onto my knife, officer [Rin]: they ran onto my knife TEN TIMES [Bex]: (and then guys argue with us that female champions aren't sexualised.) [Rin]: ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah [Rin]: TEN TIMES, OFFICER [Rin]: AND THEN HE GOT BACK UP AND WENT FOR TWENTY [Bex]: Maokai and Zyra's especially offend me, because they are both plant people. [Rin]: he is giant craggy-ass tree and she is sexy well-pruned lady, yes? [Bex]: Yes. [Rin]: oh geez, RIOT [Rin]: I GET TIRED HOLDING THE KNIFE FOR THIS LONG YOU KNOW [Rin]: GOD

[Tai]: And of course the League is packed with facial hair that runs the gamut from fabulous to "get away from me with your chin squirrel".

[Bex]: Viking Tryndamere! [Haze]: … so, regular Tryndamere? [Bex]: No, he has more clothes on. [Haze]: BWUH?

[Sam]: I want to play Cho'gath against people. [Sam]: Or as I call them "hors de'ourves" or however you spell it. Fucking French.

[Bex]: *playing Ruthless Pantheon* Come, Xin Zhao! We will fight as men do! [Haze]: With long, phallic-shaped weapons? [Bex]: Yes… [Haze]: And dubious clothing choices? [Bex]: Yes.

[Bex]: "Honor compels me." [Haze]: Shirtlessness compels you. [Bex]: With Pantheon, it's the same difference.

[Bex]: Also, it amuses me how default Leona wears full-plate while default Pantheon is all "check out my arms and my muscular thighs." [Tai]: He's displaying. [Tai]: If his display is suitable, Leona might choose him as her mate.

[Bex]: http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/dcuo/images/4/4a/Impaled_Damned.png -- I admire DCUO's dedication to providing for every base aesthetic, but also what the hell [Tai]: …………………. [Tai]: wow [Sam]: "Just put that shit down between the blood fountain and the coffee table."

[Bex]: Also, early Riddler loved him some glass mazes and mirror mazes. [Haze]: eddie pls [Haze]: that's artificial difficulty

[Bex]: I need Bagginshield where it addresses how Bilbo is with the ring. [Bex]: NEED. [Kat]: "you two and your weird creepy pseudo-romantic obsessions with pieces of jewelry" [Bex]: Yes. :D [Kat]: Balin's on it. [Bex]: Yay, Balin! :D [Bex]: (You know what they should do? Mount part of the Arkenstone on the Ring! :D) [Kat]: oh god that's like a perfect storm of obsesssion [Bex]: :D [Kat]: There's a joke in here about wedding rings and sex toys but I can't quite find it.

[Bex]: ALSO. Discussion with parents about the Nazgul kinda make me want to write Hobbit-era fic where they are off kicking the orcs awake in Mordor and getting shit ready. [Bex]: Mostly kicking orcs awake. [Kat]: …okay I just imagined a Nazgul bellowing "HANDS OFF COCKS ON WITH SOCKS" and lost it.

#bextalk #chat logs

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