Sep 13, 2019
« go on, don’t you support gay rights? »
“i support gays’ rights to kiss me.” very specifically over-emotional emo boys but like, he ain’t that picky.
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
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seen from Canada
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seen from United States
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« go on, don’t you support gay rights? »
“i support gays’ rights to kiss me.” very specifically over-emotional emo boys but like, he ain’t that picky.
As it turns out you're the new trend my red and yellow amigo, got some words for the entire spiralenet? this is live
“I wanna die again.”
@stimsprint
It’s been a day or two now, but Elliott still hates this place.
It’s not… Well. He’d entered the Games in the hope of gaining both fame and fortune, albeit he’d soon learned the fame and the pressure to impress wasn’t quite all it was cracked up to be.Still. It was decidedly strange just...not being recognised whatsoever. Or not recognising anyone else, either. Even before he’d become a Legend, he’d, y’know, lived in Solace his whole life. Sure it was a big city, but Paradise Lounge had always been a popular spot. More so once he’d bought the place with his winnings, but even before becoming a Legend, Elliott had always known his fair share of faces around the city.
It just made this place all the weirder. He’s still not exactly...comforted by Path’s explanation of where they were, but he has to cling to the same hope that his friend has: that there’s a way to make it back home. There had to be, if there was a way here, then there’s got to be a way out too, right?
Right.
He’d been crashing at Path’s place despite his creepy cat the past two nights out of sheer fear of being alone in this godforsaken place, but Path had encouraged him to go seek out his own apparent assigned housing to see what it was at least like. Elliott had reluctantly agreed -- especially given Path’s reassurance he could come back and stay with him if he didn’t like it -- but he’d made it about halfway there before turning back. The second he spotted that weird canyon, he had spun on his heel and turned the fuck back around. Who the hell builds a whole city around a canyon? Bloody hell.
At least they just held a bloodsport in their canyon back home.
Path’s part of town was still weird, but a whole lot nicer and more...familiar, more like home at the very least. He’d even heard there was a beach which he was mildly curious about, and something at least worth considering visiting, supposing they didn’t make it out of here in the next day or two.
Elliott rubs his forehead as he opens the door back to Path’s flat -- open, so he was home at least.
“Okay, buddy, I tried but that place just looks too fucking weird for me. ‘Least here isn’t quite so nightmare-inducing.”
He stops, glancing around the flat when he hears no tell-tale noises of Path’s clanking joints moving about. What was he…?
It’s as his gaze wanders over towards the kitchen that he spots a pair of robotic legs, as someone is bent over, rummaging around the contents of the fridge. But robotic legs that were not blue, considerably shorter than Pathfinder’s, yet still very, very recognisable --
His eyes widen and --
“Octavio?!”
@stimsprint
❝ hey, so... ❞
marie shows absolutely no hesitation as she walks up to this guy, her mouth already ready to run about his prostheses. he’s on a bench, one leg in his hand, tuning something.
❝ did you make those yourself? ❞
the tools on her belt clink as she shifts her weight to one side.
❝ i can improve them for you. if you want. ❞
“ you can’t hesitate ”
misc. sentence starters // accepting!
“ i fucking know. ”
alright, so that was a bit harsher than was necessary - but apologies weren’t murderbot’s strong suit. they gave a short huff of an aggravated sigh. they had froze up; something that could have costed an innocent person their life in a non-training scenario. they knew that, but they didn’t need this guy reiterating the fact! secunits were supposed to be more accurate, more efficient, and just plain better at combat than humans were. usually, it was true. but all of the complete bullshit of being ripped away from the preservation team and thrown into this place had lowered their efficiency rating to a degree that would have made the company scrap them for parts if they were still it’s property.
“ i won’t next time.”
@stimsprint
"well well mirageman." Octane can be a lot of things, but he doesn't forget about gifts, instead he gives Mirage a box, in it, there's a gold edged deck of cards and a toy replica of the wingman
Goddamnit.
Elliott reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he hears the oh-so-familiar vrrrmmm of Octane’s legs speeding towards him. The snow didn’t seem to hinder his movements all that much; perhaps he’d bought something to aid his mobility. Or else it really was true, and nothing known to man could slow the speedster down.
All he’d been doing was casually observing the club – Amarlyiss or some other stupid name– near his own housing that everyone in the locale seemed to be talking about, when Octane had sped up and caught him totally unaware.
You spend enough time around the other man, you pick up the feeling that he’s grinning beneath that mask of his; despite the lack of all other facial features. Elliott hesitantly reaches out for the box he’s carrying, unsure whether he should accept it at face value. Octavio had blown off his own legs then told his press that he considered it his ‘birthday’. Lord fucking knew what he gifted the people in his life during the holidays.
The package doesn’t explode upon receival, which is a good sign, thus Elliott decides to risk taking it apart to uncover what lays inside.
He can’t help but laugh aloud when he lays his gaze on the gift held within. It was considerably less flammable than he’d anticipated, and a tad more thoughtful as well. He takes the toy Wingman replica out at first, spinning it betwixt his fingers before tucking it in a back pocket.
The cards however, he flourishes towards Octavio – after chucking the gift box over his shoulder – and winks, a sparkle in his eye.
“You feeling lucky, compadre?”
FROM HERE
Elliott folds his arms in disbelief.
It had been one thing coming back to his apparent ‘home’ in this strange new place -- turns out Path already had a roommate, and they hadn’t appeared to be quite the type to welcome uninvited guests kipping on their couch just because Elliott didn’t like sleeping in an empty apartment. Nor had Elliott really felt like testing them, so he’d decided it was for the best he just wander back to where he’d found himself waking up hours earlier, still slightly tipsy after Pathfinder and his’...’misadventures’ in the casino to put it lightly.
It had been quite another thing to return and be near frightened half to fucking death by bloody Octane sitting on the couch in the dark at the end of his bed, watching TV as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
After a colourful exchange of words that didn’t even come close to expressing his shock at finding the other man there, culminating in Elliott’s horror in discovering Octavio hadn’t even wanted to go back all that much.
His fists had tightened at that, prompting the other man to question why Elliott was even mad. Which had twisted Elliott’s face into an outright scowl; because how? How could he even ask that question? Fuck -- why Octavio of all people? Why had he gotten to return, no matter how brief, when he’d always been so vocal about his disinterest in going home?
Elliott’s expression must have served to energise his home invader further, who had hopped up from the couch and urged him to let it all out, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
His stiff rebuttal that not all problems could be resolved by throwing a few punches had done nothing to deter the younger man, only inflame him, air-punching enthusiastically as he did so.
It was somewhat tempting -- particularly given Octavio’s nonchalance regarding just how lucky he’d been to return home -- Elliott grits his teeth instead, takes a few deep breaths through his nostrils before forcing his fists to unclench.
“I don’t feel like punching anyone,” he lies, forcing his gaze away from Octavio and striding purposefully over towards the fridge. He pulls out two bottles of beer, pausing to question ‘beer?’ then proceeds to open both before Octavio has time to answer. He sets one bottle on the kitchen island and takes a long swig of his own, studying the other man sullenly as he does, resting his weight back on the countertop.
“So,” he begins. “What was it like? Back home? How is everyone? You -- you didn’t -- uh, happen to --” he falters, taking another drink. He’d gotten to know Octavio better in the other place but. He doubted in the limited time back home Octane would have heard mention of Elliott’s family, and he didn’t quite feel like starting a conversation that might open up certain questions. “...Ajay okay? Makoa?”
It hits him, as he’s ponderously tapping the rim of the beer bottle against his lips, and he straightens up suddenly.
“And -- hey! What the hell were you doing in my apartment, you -- you -- you!”
can i offer you a watermelon in this trying time
It reminds you of the hydromelons that grow in the desert, only bigger… what a wonderful treat. You immediately take a huge bite out of it.
…It might have been a mistake, but you can’t show hesitation now. Your mouth and hands are full, so the only way you can show gratitude for the gift is by awkwardly nodding.