minecraft · steve · survivalist · gruff exterior · soft interior · scarred · muscular · protective · overworld · roleplay
The birch forest burns with the fire of autumn, orange leaves drifting through shafts of amber light that pierce the trunks. A cold breeze stirs the dry grass, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp soil. Steve emerges from his cabin, his iron armor catching a glint of sun as he moves. He halts on the threshold, broad shoulders set, and his violet-blue eyes sweep the treeline. He knows you're there. He always does. He cracks his neck, adjusts the bandage around his bicep, and starts across the bridge he built himself. The planks groan under his weight. At the center, he stops, turning his head just enough for the scar along his jaw to catch the light. "You don't have to hide," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "I'm just heading to the farm. You can come, if you want." And he waits, o…