👉👉 pew pew

Ace Visconti is; Dead by Daylight 

[sevensrule-blog]

*Shit Ace Says Before Being Sacrificed to the Entity*

Ace: Goddamn, you cunts are so boosted!

Ace: Remember the alimony!

Ace: Guess I'll just die.

Ace: I could use a small loan of one borrowed time.

Ace: Do you know our lord and savior, Kobe?

Ace: Joke's on you, I've got slippery meat. Enjoy the runs.

[pericote-deactivated20171229]

Grandpa Bill x Grandpa Ace? :O

[bledovt-deactivated20180906]

"Just thought you should know that Nea's looking for some gardening advice. Something about 'plowing'." Yes, he's going to be this way.

‘Ace, you realize ‘plowing’ is for farming right so that line doesn’t really work.’

[sevensrule-blog]

   “Farming’s just large scale gardening, anyway.” It would take more than one thorn of a quip for him to slink off and lick the puncture wounds in his pride. “Go big or go home...” He covers his mouth with his fist, feigning a cough as he hurriedly hacks up a coy conclusion. “...with Nea.”

[aprettygoodjobsofar]

Ace: I’m a cool dad. That’s my thang. I’m hip, I surf the web, I text.

Ace: LOL - laugh out loud, OMG - oh my god, WTF - why the face.

[sevensrule-blog]

@anoldsoldier

Truth to be told, Bill would gladly take on any Killer if that meant for his teammates to leave the trials alive. So if one would show up right now and Ace would ask if he could handle it, the old Soldier would probably answer along the lines of ‘Damn Straight and now get the fuck out of here’ before starting the old game of Cat and Mouse. Sometimes the grizzled veteran wondered if Ace even appreciated efforts like this, always coming to the conclusion that the Gambler just took them for granted. Which made him want to punch that smug grin out of his face every time. Again and again he had asked himself why he would stick his neck out for a sleazy snake like Ace but then again the lucky man always managed to wiggle his way back to good grace. It was an unsolved mystery how he did so.

Gladly there wasn’t any Killer around who would shove their filet knife between their ribs right now, only Ace and his elbow. A slight 'Oof’ came from the Soldier as the Gambler poked him with the pointy part of his arm and Bill shot him an angry gaze, he always managed to catch Bill of guard, no matter how many times the told himself that this was the last time. For a moment it looked like the war Veteran would really consider taking the tricksters Hand. But instead of taking the paw offered to him the Soldier grabbed passed that and took a firm grip on Aces collar. “Just get over 'ere and shut yer trap” the grey Wolf barked and dragged Ace with him over the street to the next generator.

 Most survivors had nothing but sour looks reserved for the gambler whenever he slunk out of sight at their expense. After all, he was the tallest target among them that killers both eagle-eyed and blind as bats could spot from afar. Though it wasn’t really his fault when, upon their obvious approach, the company he’d collected for the sole purpose of leading the killer on a wild goose chase bolted while he calmly resumed their work on a half-juiced generator, smiling all the while as if he’d started the thing himself. At least Bill seemed willing to pull agro while the gambler scavenged in the safety of a fresh chase path complete with upturned dirt and torn undergrowth. Needless to say, Ace was charmed to stick to the soldier’s side like a leech hungry for nicotine over blood; at least Bill didn’t need convincing to handle the sticky situations Ace preferred to keep his hands clean of. And that alone much made him pleasant enough company for Ace.

  Bill’s livid expressions were about as effective deterrents as barbed wire was to a sly fox scoping a hen house in that—they weren’t at all. Partly because Ace was well aware the soldier wouldn’t risk the other lives in the trial with them by shorting them one pair of hands (idle as they were), and mostly because there was hardly anything threatening about two bushy eyebrows that looked more like caterpillars kissing when furrowed. He’s surprised when he doesn’t feel his hand immediately slapped back into his face, and no amount of coyly flexing his fingers seems to ward off the awkward pause Bill takes while actually considering his offer. He almost withdraws his paw when the soldier reaches out, prepared to drop a “psyche”, but all he manages to emit is a series of stuttering grunts as his spine bends over with a yank firm enough to have him hopping down the street on one heel to avoid a skin-shredding kiss from the uneven asphalt. 

  “Dragging me off to a generator already?” He scoffs, giving the soldier’s wrist a plaintive squeeze. “You know, I like to be wined and dined before getting the old pistons pumping.”

[sevensrule-blog]

ofthanatophobia:

   a hint of HESITATION lays in her motions when he gets down on his knee, and instead of shortening the distance between them by teleporting on top of the old harvester, she waits — and WATCHES, the glowing ball remaining on her hand. his words turn the dark expression on her face into a somewhat DANGEROUS smirk, and within a second, she’s moved closer to him, onto the side platform.

   INSTANTLY, her hands wrap around the survivor’s throat in a grip that’s firm but not too tight, as she leans in close enough for their faces to ALMOST touch.

               “ — ‘til death do us part, darling. “

   Hesitation is—by no means a sign that his last-second serenade has succeeded. The monstrous beings, including her, may hunger for his luck-laced blood, but even they were human once, and apparently still susceptible to unexpected gestures that briefly broke them out of their merciless trance. Granted, the reprieve was often so short of one, there was no time to take advantage of blips in their cruel concentration, and with his back to a wall of forgotten machinery, there was little room for Ace to try. The second he ran, she’d be on him again like a swarm of angry hornets in half of the second. No, he’d rather gamble on if she had a heart for him to steal.

  His wide shoulders flinch straight as the nurse appears beside him. Tense and trapped within the tight seams of a tuxedo that had shrunk from too many soaks in the swamp, the added pressure to his throat does little to alleviate the feeling that he might soon make like a balloon—and pop. A flush of sunburnt color floods the bridge of his face beneath his shades as she tests how tightly his vocal chords are stretched, almost as if she were deciding the merits of an instrument’s worth over a husband’s. With his lips trembling around his grin ever so subtly, the gambler reaches up in what may be his last gesture until he woke up again with chew marks on his soul, and cups the supple curve of her wrist. “Shouldn’t you wait until I’m insured, dumpling?”

[sevensrule-blog]

I'd like to know a little about the mun!

Well, I’m the mun from @begrimedchains. I make too many blogs, and Feng Min stole my hair.

[hex-devourinqarchive-blog]

How do you even pick me up, you swamp smurf?

Her eye socket twitches and yeah, she’s been called lots of names before. She couldn’t have really helped the way the Entity decided to bring her into its world.

But, just him; this cocky gambler spitting an insult put a sour shard into her.

“I’m actually pretty strong- even when I was human; unlike you, you limp armed noodle.”

[sevensrule-blog]

   His mouth has never been his friend; it’s gotten him into more easily avoidable situations than he had fingers to count on, but it was hard to hold back when his face was practically dragging the ground because his captor refused to tug his waistband a little and scoot him up further along her sinewy shoulder. The result? A heavy layer of swamp mud coating his sunglasses so that even when he manages to tilt his head to the side to let his cheek suffer the slide through swamp muck, he can’t see shit through the soiled mirror shades for the sacrifice to really matter much. “Well forgive me if I seem unconvinced, but you can’t be too terribly strong if you have to resort to dragging me.” At least the Nurse could float a ways off the ground to keep him airborne. This abuelita was going to skin his face off on the stray rocks before he even hit a hook. 

[aviatorhead]

sometimes life just decides it wants to take a shit on u for no particular reason

[anoldsoldier-blog]

❇️ Let's get you across the street, old man.

Bill looked suspicious at the Arm offered to him “I’m not falling for that one Ace, you just want to get close to me so your little, dirty fingers can search me for my cigarettes when I’m not looking. Besides… ” he took an overly long drag from his coffin nail to mock the Gambler “… I should walk you over, since you can’t see shit with those glasses.“ whenever Ace wanted to get too close to him Bill became a little paranoid because of the last few attempts to steal his smokes.

[sevensrule-blog]

   The sidewalk is the last place anyone would want to linger in the quaint neighborhood of Haddonfield where streetlamps were adorned in hooks meant for hanging handsome devils like himself. That apparently isn’t enough of a deterrent to stop the two codgers from huddling by the street’s side, Bill enjoying his cigarette and Ace...not really enjoying the empty feeling in his pockets. Of course, knowing his luck, the killer was probably off looking for prone survivors in backyards because surely they were not mindless enough prey to stroll around the street leaving a faint trail of smoke behind their not-so-inconspicuous bickering. Maybe they looked like sitting ducks to any pale faced stalkers in the bushes, but Ace counts on the war veteran to show himself as an ornery goose when the time for confrontation with a meat cleaver came alongside the gambler’s slinky departure and his encouraging words of ‘you got this handled, right?’.

   “So the deaf is volunteering to lead the blind? Can’t think of a better way to get hit by a bus.” He bites back smartly, showing off how “blind” he is by jamming a perfectly aimed elbow into a gap between the soldier’s ribs. Whether the grisled grandpa would actually drag him by the arm or the ear across the road was a gamble his lobes were fully prepared to take. “Sure you’re not just trying to hold my hand?” He remarks, tipping his hand palm-side up under the soldier’s nose for Bill to take or slap away at his leisure. “I promise it’s not as sticky as my fingers’ reputation.”

[sevensrule-blog]

notthebasement:

“Hey!” he widened his eyes, his first reaction was standing up to try to take his notebook back. It was more of muscle memory than because he wanted to hide the things that were written in the notebook. Oh, the memories of those times at class. How much he missed to be messed with by normal people rather than by murderous humans? at least twice his size.

Now he felt awkward in front of everyone because of that reaction. What were they thinking now? Hopefully nothing bad about him.

He just sighed and sat back down at the log, keeping his gaze on the fire. “Joke’s on you, that was already written in the journal” he jokingly narrowed his eyes at him. “That journal belonged to some guy called Benedict… he seems to have disappeared. Maybe when I disappear it’s useful for whoever new person finds it”

   Dwight’s first mistake was thinking he could simply swipe the journal away from the skyscraper of a man known to few others as: Ace Visconti Inc. Really, the gambler might not have been able to duck behind most knee-high crates or any of the debris that made the Entity’s lair into a playground of stealth without sticking out or throwing out his back from trying to, as the kids liked to put it, “get low”, but what he lacked in stealth, Ace made up in luck. Probably the only flip-side to the unfortunate length of his spine was that he hadn’t lost a game of keep-away yet, and most likely wouldn’t until he tried to play a similar game with some knuckle-dragger like David who’d just deck him until Ace dropped what he’d hoarded faster than if his name was actually Franklin.

 Chuckling at the frail excuse Dwight finally manages to give him after its clear he won’t grow a few more inches to help him retrieve the tattered book, Ace tauntingly thumbs through a few more pages--just to show he could. Just as long as the leader knew he couldn’t just demand things of the gambler and have them happen is enough of a victory in Ace’s mind to relinquish the book by balancing it on top of the kid’s head once he’s had his fill of shaky looking scrawl. “Well, it’s no Kama Sutra, so the only use I can see anyone getting out of it is a twenty page vacation from wiping with ferns.” There was nothing quite like collecting spores around one’s genitals to remind someone just how much of a luxury toilet paper really was in this place.

[sevensrule-blog]

//Just wanted to say I really like how you portray Ace. People tend to think of him as this happy go lucky guy, but you remind us that gamblers have poker faces, and sometimes they hide some unpleasant shit, and I love it. 👉👉 pew pew!

👉👉  // Wao! Thank you so much, I thought I was doing a terrible job, honestly. I feel like there’s more of his seedy past I’ve yet to uncover yet, though I have some ideas brewing and hopefully they will come to the surface as he interacts with others. He’s hiding a lot behind those sunglasses, that’s for sure.

[sevensrule-blog]

   “Thought I heard somebody gettin’ their totem cleanse on around here.” Strolling past the exposed lovers, he doesn’t give them the satisfaction of him slinking off immediately. Not when there’s a chest right beside them ready for searching. “Guess it was just you two sucking face.”

[sevensrule-blog]

anoldsoldier

"Limp armed noodle, I have to memorize that"

   “Pretty sure you’ve passed the age for reliable memory some long while ago.”

ofthanatophobia

-is kinda somehow married to the limp armed noodle-

   Grinning, he yanks out his wallet and proudly shows off some photos from their wedding night.

“Look how firm my arms look in this one.” So much for Hag’s diagnosis of upper arm strength. 

[sevensrule-blog]

m-a-s-h-t-y-x:

Nea muttered something, and although the words were audible, they were indiscernible from each other. There might have been a ‘yeah’ in there, but everything sounded so sarcastic, it was obvious she wasn’t agreeing with him. Karlsson turned her back to him, rolling up her right pant leg, and stretching the ankle, seemingly fixated on its movement. She would have been able to block him out, had he not started flapping his arms like a child, the movement kept catching her attention, and dragging her focus away. Finally, Nea looked at Visconti, a dull expression of scorn on her face.

“You’re a real comedian.”  She told him, again, sounding sarcastic. She sighed, shaking her head, and looking back down at her ankle. “You know what I meant, take your hands out of your armpits.” She told him, sounding just a bit less mean than she had a minute ago. She’d rather be left alone after a trial, and flicking her within the first fifteen minutes or so is never a good idea, she doesn’t want to snap at them, but you try being tired, hurt, and then having someone around you be as irritating as a mosquito. “….Technically, yes, that counts as to yourself.” She added eventually.

   “I can’t tell if you’re mumbling right now, or if I need to clean my ears out after unpacking my nose.” Ace chimes over the disgruntled sounds Nea expels, all of which serve to make her sound eerily similar to a slowly deflating air mattress just like the one he’d put out on the deck of his banked boat back when snoozing under the stars seemed like such a great idea before the reality of mosquitoes whining in his ear all night had set in. Surely that was where he’d learned the language of irritation at its most refined form. The only difference between his buzzing and a mosquito’s was that his punctuation didn’t involve punctured skin and siphoned blood.”Or if all that time Bill’s been borrowing has shaven a few years off my hearing. What do you think?”

   Apparently, she thinks he’s ‘a real comedian’, though whether that’s because she wants to placate him into shutting up sooner, or that she actually thinks his stiff rendition of the chicken dance is a real gut-buster, he’s not entirely sure. Sarcasm dripping off her words makes him think it might very well be the former she’s trying to accomplish through the haze of exhaustion and soreness fogging over her expression. “Phew, and here I thought you’d never give me the go ahead.” Ace snorts once Nea finally grants him permission to pry his palms out of the pit-stains of his blazer, and apparently--permission to excavate his nose in her presence. He holds off on that part though, figuring it’ll be harder to place a hand on her shoulder afterwards and give a supportive little squeeze. “Want me to go tell Claudette you’re not feelin’ so hot? I bet she’ll even let you rest your head in her lap.” He adds with a vicious grin eating away at half his face. 

[sevensrule-blog]

@iron-willed

Jake gazes at the darkened panes that shielded the other’s eyes from his own, his reflection warping along the sleek surface as he shifts his weight across his tired feet. Ace had always been a bit of an enigma to the other survivors, but even more so to the hermit. Always smiling, always seeming to be in good spirits. The thing that bothered Jake the most about the gambler, though, are his shades- and not because he can’t see the man’s eyes. More so because there is no feasible way he should be able to see through those lenses with how dark it is in the realm- and Ace didn’t seem like much of a health nut, so him having consumed an absurd abundance of carrots is likely out of the question. Jake feigns a look of being taken aback when the other mentions the tattered appearance of his med kit, one that had obviously seen better days. His dark eyes drop briefly to the satchel, before lifting to greet the glossy surface of Ace’s glasses. Something about not being able to see his eyes settles his otherwise fried nerves. The encounter didn’t feel as awkward as perhaps it would have with anyone else. “So quick to seal the deal. That wary I might cheat you?” He sighs, sounding almost a little offended. The gentle noise of tools sliding around in the metal tin is a cold-hearted taunt. Jake could never hope to be as slick as Ace, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t prepared a card for such a response. “I know you must do a lot of reading, but haven’t you learned not to judge a book by the cover?” The saboteur muses, head tilting as he props the kit on his forearm and against his chest. The noise of metallic teeth being separated fills the air as he pulls the zipper around to the other side of the battered case. With deliberate slowness, the man procures from the dinky kit an intimidating syringe, which is protected by plastic casing. Gripping tightly onto the fabric of the container as not to let it spill onto the dirt, he extends his arm further out so that the other man may have a look inside. Alongside the supplies one might find inside similar medical bags, there seems to be a packet of sutures, still neatly packaged and seemingly sterile. After a moment, Jake gently returns the syringe to its rightful place, pressing the kit’s flap closed with the tips of his tender fingers. He honestly has no idea if this would sway Ace’s interest over his offer, but he can count on one hand how many times he’s seen one of these syringes, and how many times he’s seen them be used on the very few chest hairs that sprout from his skin. “Even if it isn’t very pretty to look at, the guts of this thing ought to carry some weight. Perhaps I’ll just give them to Claudette, if you don’t fancy. Though you’ll have to inform me of the details of your credit contract.”

  Sunglasses were as staple of an accessory for gambling as shin guards were for soccer practice. Particularly for men like Ace with softer eyes than most. The ability to read covert intentions before an opponent even played a card was a paramount skill for detecting deceit and since Ace was fond of figuring out the best means to slip himself a few advantages against those who were not at all shy in doing the same, he wore the darkest, most reflective pair of sunglasses he could find on the discount rack at Bear Guts Bait and Tackle. Gamblers more disciplined than him would have seen a reliance on shades as training wheels, but since he’d perfected a poker face from the nose down, Ace didn’t see why a soulful pair of peepers had to stop him from attaining gambling greatness when he could easily slip into some sunglasses.

  Jake, on the other open hand, speaks volumes to the gambler with an expression raw enough for the wolves gathered round any poker table to gleefully rip apart. On the surface, the saboteur’s cluelessness over quality seemed genuine enough. How could anyone expect this wild child to weight worth when he probably thought a handful of walnuts was some form of currency just because squirrels paid him with their company for a taste of foraged goods?

  Ah, but that was the ace in Jake Park’s hole, wasn’t it? “You would think the heir of a reputable business would offer me something of greater substance.” He shrugs, not at all reserved about reminding the lost boy of his ties to more modern successes. “Kid, don’t take it the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re capable of cheating on an open-book exam.” This could have very well been a compliment to folks with shoes squeakier than his swamp-logged suedes if cleanliness was even possible for Jake to attain.

  Eyeing the kit curiously behind the shadows of his shades, Ace studies the syringe with some smothered interest. There’s no denying it’s a nice find, but nice or not, was it really worth the treasure trove of tools he’d excavated from the Huntress’s lair? “I wouldn’t call an ace in the hole its ‘guts’. Unless you prefer your guts,” he muses, jabbing Jake’s stomach with the corner of the toolbox, “to have a one-time use?” A shitty med-kit, no matter its contents, would remain a shitty med-kit, no matter its contents because once those were used up, nothing remained.  Fortunately for hook-boy, Ace was more of the type to rely on quick thrills to stable reliability. “Offering me add-ons to get your next sabotage fix? You must be getting desperate to hear a hook drop.” Chuckling, he shoves the box further against the puffy layer of Jake’s parka. “Here, I’ll help you out of your hole for now, nene. Think of me as your dealer for destruction. But, you’ll have to keep me in mind when Daddy’s money makes its way to your neck of the woods.” If they ever got out of this place, he was going to live comfortably--one way or another.

[sevensrule-blog]

anoldsoldier:

anoldsoldier:

“Ace, I’m going to Kill you slow and painfully one day”

@sevensrule

hexdevourinq

“How can you when you looooooove him?”

“The only sentence where I would use ‘Love’ and ‘Ace’ together would be along the lines of ‘I’d love to strangle Ace.’“

   This probably wouldn’t be the best time to mention his asphyxiation kink, huh?

“It’ll be slow all right because you’ll need a walker just to catch up with me, Grandpa Moses.”