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rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2024-02-07 11:31 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME 005

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:
Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.

THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the any event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.

CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: spiders, aphrodisiac and truth serum effects, public nudity, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, social pressure, and animal sacrifice.

If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.

FAQSETTINGCALENDARRESERVESAPPLICATIONS

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin.

Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.

You seem to be alone. The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards reemerging after a long winter. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, will lead people towards the first signs of civilisation, the cabins of those who choose to live beyond Rubilyskoye's formidable walls.

In the forest, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike.

Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.

This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.

When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.

breaking and entering
If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.



Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. It's already full of people who appeared in the village just as you did today.

finding roommates
Don't spend too much time asking questions in the common areas. You'll want to claim a bedroom quickly because each one only has two full-size beds, and there aren't enough spaces for everyone. Maybe you'll get lucky and run into someone who has decided to move out? (Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements; at this point, many characters have used activity rewards to move to accomodation outside the boarding house.)


Get a good night's rest. By the light of day, locals will help get the new arrivals set up on the coal stove with a breakfast of thick grain porridge and caramelised bananas from the new peaks; these NPCs can also answer any questions about the situation. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. Gossip about new arrivals spreads quickly, and Rubeans who run businesses or train trades are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.


writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing, being offered work, asking questions over breakfast, or staking your claim on a bedroom!



HEARTS FESTIVAL

New arrivals to Rubilykskoye will find themselves strongly encouraged to participate in the current zadza purging festival, and will be assigned either a collar in leather or iron based on their Niez or Wilk mark, or a wrist-strap or manacle that suits the attachment of a leash for those with a Diabel or Skala mark.

Characters are encouraged to embrace this temporary designation as a sign that they will be good citizens; those who object or ignore their designation may find the NPCs try to helpfully guide them, express displeasure at "Void-Touched" who won't assimilate, or in rare cases exert social pressure, coercion, violence or shunning to ensure compliance.

Throughout town various NPCs have set up tents and booths to host myriad performances, workshops, demonstrations, and food stands for their celebration. The foods were made using some of the new flora that have brought back from the peaks. Characters can get their hands on the following heart-themed foods from the second day of the festival onwards:

  • HEART-SHAPED COOKIES: eating these intensifies body heat, making characters a great cuddle buddy for the cold weather and likely to strip down, feeling overheated even in a snowdrift

  • BEEF HEART STEW WITH DUXELLES: eating these fills those who consume it with confidence, making them more solicitous and dominant

  • LIME-GLAZED GOAT HEART SATAY: eating these intensifies sensation, making characters more sensitive to both pain and pleasure

  • CINNAMON GLUWEIN: drinking a cup of this hot beverage will make characters especially honest

The nature of the booths set up for performances, workshops, and other goods focuses around the festival's dominance and submission themes. These persist throughout the day regardless of the hour or the audience, so very few people can be found consistently at their places of work during the day this week. In addition:
  • Skala and diabel NPCs may offer to share their partner(s) with the Void-touched, or ask to share theirs.

  • PIOTR, a farmer, brings tools over from the farm including bridles and saddles, which can be found at a booth near some hunters who've made anal plugs that end with real animal tails, as well as muzzles.

  • The cages from the Moot Hall have been moved into the streets, and people are allowed to move freely in and out of them. One of them has been covered in curtains to function as a glory hole booth.

  • Some niez and wilk NPCs line up near the main event stage and kneel to offer themselves as human furniture.

However, characters may also come across some carnival games operated by NPCs who are eager to help the Duchess find her heart! Some involve slaughtering livestock by removing their hearts—rest assured, these livestock were already on the menu, but their ritual sacrifice will now involve the cutting out of their hearts. Cut out an animal's heart yourself, or just attend the show! Many of the townspeople will get into it, painting their faces with animal blood or drinking from it.

writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try reacting to being assigned a dominant or submissive role, scenes where your character is starting to feel the effects of the food, watching (or participating in) a performance, or joining in on a gory animal sacrifice. NPCs that are usually welcoming may strongly pressure even new arrivals to participate in their cultural festivities.


the fathomless dark

At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches.

In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.

Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.


Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?

In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.

writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!


HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US

Uh oh spaghetti-os.

The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.


Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.

Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.

someone else transforms
Poor Merta Chesnokov, the usually stalwart older woman who mans the Apothecary, has been beset by unusual requests in addition to her regular demands, not to mention sweating blood. The festival, a rash of skala blood flu, and a little extra town chaos in January, has brought a high demand to her little shop. Now there's also a local fashion springing up for teas and herbal remedies sourced from the recently revealed tropical mountains.

After another failed tisane test drive, and the third customer asking for a new kind of aphrodisiac to add to their festival food, she was seen tossing down her work knife with uncharacteristic frustration, and taking an "early lunch" that she didn't return from that night. Though her children, friends and employees reach out to her, there's no sign of her until you stumble upon her in the woods.

Merta overboils with her suppressed fury as her body distorts and her flesh blackens and crusts. Her attempts to hold off her transformation have failed, and Merta turns into a Smoldering Skink, a large repillian creature whose thick scales hold back her magmatic insides. The noise she makes is an unhearthly hissing scream like a boiling kettle, and she attempts to vent her pent-up stress by wildly attacking everything in sight. Immediately, the surroundings catch aflame! There will be a small fire eating at the dead wood of a long winter if it's not put out, but your first priority might have to be fielding a stampeding lizard with massive teeth and burning hot scales...

(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)


you waited too long
At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.

Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.

As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
dawn_is_breaking: (gorgeous)

[personal profile] dawn_is_breaking 2024-02-22 05:07 am (UTC)(link)
Just because you can't use an air fryer here doesn't mean you can't talk about it.
poleaxed: anger; fight (water doesn't)

joan dority | oc | ota.

[personal profile] poleaxed 2024-02-22 04:36 pm (UTC)(link)
a. NAKED AND AFRAID.
Joan fails to cover herself when someone comes upon her nakedness. Six feet tall with long, lean muscle, she learned long ago not to make apologies for her body-- it's not with pride but defiance that she stands among the brush. She's no looker, but fuck anyone who thinks they can use that against her.

Being angry is so much easier than being afraid. She raises her arms, ready to fight. "You did this, sicko?"
b. THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED?
Joan has found ill-fitting jeans (too short) and a shirt made for someone twice her size, but it's good enough for now. She tries to drift into an uneasy sleep, but anyone coming near her will receive, at best, an ill-tempered glare. If someone actually tries to get in bed with her, she'll kick them out, or try to. "Fuck off, pervert!"
c. YOU'RE ALL HEART.
Throughout the festival, Joan fidgets with the strap on her wrist. She's always been twitchy about jewelry, only able to stand necklaces and wristwatches after months of wearing them. Every addition to her person feels like being weighed down. The fact that it's not her choice makes it worse, but even she-- Joan Dority, loud and brash and unreasonable-- can see it's a minor concession at best. She wants to go to the festival. She doesn't let herself wonder why.

(1.) Of course, she goes for the mulled wine first-- gluwein, they call it, and Joan is accustomed to words she doesn't understand. It's such a relief that everyone here speaks a language she can mostly understand; tiny bits of jargon for once don't piss her off. She sips the wine eagerly, letting it go right to her head. She should feel relief, but- "I'm scared."

(2.) As the day drags on, Joan lets herself be drawn into the festivities. It's a sex festival. It's not the sort of thing shed usually encounter, and she wonders if she'd make the conscious choice to go to such a thing if she ever had the option at home. It doesn't matter, though, does it? She has the chance now, and she may never again. Terrible things might happen, and very soon. She should at least investigate.

What attracts her most are the cages, and she watches people move within them, her curiosity abstract, detached. Finally, slowly, she moves toward one with a hole in it. Someone's dick is sticking out of it and, in a moment of daring, she kneels down and runs her finger along the length of it. She doesn't need beef heart stew to make her confident or domineering. She murmurs through the curtained wall, "do you want this?"

There's a sudden thrill-- this person doesn't know what she looks like. They don't know that she's cruel and too tall and ungainly, an ugly failure at feminine grace. She runs her hand over the cock-- sticking through the, what's it called? Yeah, a glory hole-- "Tell me you want it."
d. THE UNQUIET DARK.
(1.) She's not afraid of spiders-- she thinks it's such a girlish thing, squealing from a fucking bug. It doesn't matter that they're huge; she refuses to be cowed, just like she refuses to heed her own sense of mounting dread in this deep darkness.

She sees someone in the nearer distance, just a shadow of a person, a constellated silhouette of pain. Someone caught in a web. "Dumbass," she grumbles, but begins trying to pull them free without question or salutation.

(2.) Deeper in the darkness, things begin to unravel. Joan looses sense of herself, sense of her own body. The chaos and the screaming begin again. She remembers that muddy city on the banks of a river, the running charge of knights, the fire and the fear. Down in the deep darkness, confident she is alone, Joan curls into a ball and begins to sob.
e. EVERYBODY'S GOT THE DEVIL INSIDE.
She's been avoiding people since the darkness, since the memories. She's used to discomfort, and ignores the itch. She's used to anger, too, and it is filed away as normal. But when she opens her mouth, a long, serpent's tongue protrudes. Her vision splits as her irises become goatlike. Horns emerge from her head, curved as like a ram's. Teeth split from her gums, curved and jagged as fang and tusk, until she can't close her mouth anymore. She pants from the heat, and her tongue lolls from her mouth, flicking at scents.

She touches her face, and resolves, in fear, not to look for a mirror; she can't stand the possibility that she's any ugier than she already is. A monster, she's a monster, and she wants--

Joan Dority wants someone to save her. She wants someone to be here with her. All urges she usually ignores, but now- now it's impossible. She slouches toward the nearest person, lays her hand upon their shoulder, feels fabric and skin. Something within her is comforted, but the hunger only mounts. "Please," she manages to push the word through curved incisors. "Please." She doesn't know what she's asking for.
f. WILDCARD.
[hit me up i'm down for basically whatever. feel free to mix and match prompts or make up your own! pm this journal if you have any questions!]
minuteofangle: (105)

Naked and Afraid

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-02-22 06:18 pm (UTC)(link)
It was only a few days ago that Gabe was in the same position as the snarling stranger: naked, disoriented, angry as hell in unfamiliar territory. Now, he’s moved up in the world. He’s got pants, for one thing.

Pants, a jacket, a big old walking stick, and Ye Old Sunglasses to conceal the fact that he came in without his prosthetics. That’s a fact he prefers to keep under wraps, especially when the circumstances swing weird. Apparently the weird might just be contagious, too. It’s certainly spreading out.

He tilts his head, toggling his tech to a higher sensitivity. She’s taller than him. All puffed up and ready.

Gabe snaps his teeth at her, just fucking because.

“Nah. But you wanna go, we’ll fucking go.”
poleaxed: static; angry; hand; fight (Default)

[personal profile] poleaxed 2024-02-22 06:25 pm (UTC)(link)
This seems arbitrary. Some small part of Joan, the part with strategic and logistic sense, says a conflict now would be meaningless and prove nothing. Joan thinks of this part of herself as her weaker self, her hesitant self, the part of her that needs to be folded up and put away. When you're backed into a corner, all you can do is strike. If she hesitates, he'll beat her with that stick, he'll bite her unprotected skin, he'll do whatever he wants to her. He has clothes and comfort; she doesn't. That division is the only thing in the world that matters.

She swings with a hard left, aiming for that snapping jaw.
minuteofangle: (130)

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-02-22 06:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Ah. There it is.

Gabe's smile widens. His tech is working like a dream right now, enough to give him a good picture of how she's standing and how fast her swing's gonna come. He doesn't bother trying to catch it. Just ducks under the blow and swings his stick hard at her knee, going for a hook. Get her on the ground where her height won't matter.

If she wants to fight, they'll fucking fight. He doesn't grandstand, or play. He just goes for brutal.
louisianawolf: itsthathybridhayley @ tumblr (Hayley; phone [3])

[personal profile] louisianawolf 2024-02-22 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
You know, I've never actually tested the exact miles per hour, but fast enough I look like a blur of motion to human eyes. So, fast.
drysdale: (greatnews008)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-22 06:33 pm (UTC)(link)
He isn't particularly enamored of pain himself; he likes to give more than receive, but his general predilection certainly isn't for gentle. Marta might be surprised to learn that this is why he takes control during sex, maybe more so than any general need for control furrowing its way into his peccadillos — everyone gets what they want. (Maybe she wouldn't be surprised. As she's put it herself, he doesn't like her to know anything about him that he hasn't told her himself, which just sums up the whole goddamn problem of Marta Cabrera.) So he lets her soothe his lip, but then he loosens the grip of his other hand and pinches the inside of her thigh.

It's no short, sharp pinch. It's high enough that his fingers find purchase on her skin where the wetness she's smearing onto his dick mingles with traces of water to create something tackier. He uses three fingers instead of two and wrenches her flesh slightly, for a good few seconds before releasing her. If she wants bruises, that will leave one.

He doesn't mind the bite; it feels pretty good. The wanting is good, this . . . assurance that she wants him in fact and not just theory, easy enough to take your clothes off for a guy behind bars who can't actually touch you. Even the pinch itself is confirmation of that, that he can do the things she said she wanted doing and won't recoil from him when push comes to shove.

She can consider it a note.

Anyway, just because Ransom hasn't let himself indulge in play-by-plays, doesn't mean he hasn't made observations or envisioned scenarios. She gets plenty wet to go around, and it's easy to slip his fingers up to her pussy, card them through the folds and drag them back between her ass. A few more times should be enough to get them going, and it's not like she's in short supply. Another thing he knows: Marta's impatient, but he's really not.
princess_of_ida: (99)

[personal profile] princess_of_ida 2024-02-22 06:35 pm (UTC)(link)
It was only because of her success that she didn't chuckle at the response she got once Peony finally broke their kiss. Oh, the smugness was there, the look in her eyes that indicated she was silently gloating in her victory. All she did was lick at the corner of her mouth where saliva had dripped in a salacious manner giving the indication that Ianthe's tongue was perhaps longer than the kiss had implied. Thoughts to burrow in and intrude when the little blonde finally took rest that night.

"Ah... so it's just your cunt that's protected with veils of virginity." Because sex was sex. Hand stuff, mouth stuff, was still sex. "Try not to threaten me with a good time. What ever will I do with your face between my thighs? Such a nightmare that would be," she replied with a grin before quickly stealing another kiss from Peony. She pulled back before she could get bitten in retaliation and leaned back against the bondage table, draping her arms comfortably and confidently across it.

"Are you going to unpin me," Ianthe asked with a pointed look at the thigh her wet cunt was against, pinning her to the table, "or do you think you managed to make me weak in the knees already?"
Edited 2024-02-22 18:35 (UTC)
ghostface: the red road (2015) (pic#16563694)

[personal profile] ghostface 2024-02-22 07:34 pm (UTC)(link)
i murdered q in the woods back in december, right after christmas. everyone got real fuckin' upset about it, then q murdered me back about it.

( their little boy, their little survivor, all grown up. he even used a bear trap, just like evan. )

the entire town also went insane for a month. that was funny until it wasn't.
poleaxed: fight; sad; angry (tries as hard)

[personal profile] poleaxed 2024-02-22 07:57 pm (UTC)(link)
They have the same tactics-- end the fight as swiftly and devastatingly as possible. Joan thinks she has the advantage in surprise and height, if not comfort, and surely desperation makes someone just that much more able. Yet her swing misses, and her opponent moves with serpentine quickness, knocking her flat on her ass before she knows to sidestep. She didn't see him move. Was she drugged? She must have been drugged.

The humiliation of this only furthers her anger, until any rational thought has been silenced in a din of howling, her mind whirling: how dare you, how dare you, haven't I suffered enough, how dare you? She wants blood. A broken nose will soothe her like no medicine can. His or hers.

She tries to redouble immediately, scrambling against the back of a cold oak. Her hands come up like a boxer's guard; her legs do the same. There are not many advantages to being on the ground, except that she's used to fighting men bigger than her. She wasn't always so tall, so well-fed. She waits for the inevitable kick, coiled like a copper spring.
friendzied: (60)

[personal profile] friendzied 2024-02-22 08:06 pm (UTC)(link)
[ yeah, that tracks. people love quentin here, probably more than they did when... when she was last here — god that's a mindfuck — and she's never really understood the appeal. or danny's obsession. he was nice to her and she appreciates that, but nothing stands out over anyone else really. is it just the big wet eyes and the waiting, open mouth? maybe she'd get it if she had a dick, she thinks. ]

[ the thing that really annoys her is that she should want to know more about the town going nuts, but what she wants to focus in on is the fraught murderous romance going on here. not as good at masking as she was, there's a spark of interest that flares when danny mentions it that she fails to hide, but julie is also keenly aware that's less useful for helping her catch her bearings, so. ]


Insane how?
minuteofangle: (116)

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-02-22 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Down she goes. And in a simpler moment Gabe would just kick her in the gut and keep on kicking her until she goes stops thrashing. Get on top and smash her head into the ground until it’s done. You can’t hesitate with these things. You have to go for fucking broke or the enemy will mess you up and there’ll be nothing you can do to stop it. In a simpler moment, he’d end it fast.

In this one, she recovers quick and bounces to her feet. Woman knows how to take a hit, he thinks, and he shifts into a guard stance. Teeth bared.

Oh, she’s a scrapper, huh?

“C’mon,” he taunts, and he swings the stick at her goddamn face. He either needs to keep her at a distance or get close enough to put her into a sleeper—and quickly. Otherwise, she might start to realize certain things.
guitarpicks: (99)

more network time

[personal profile] guitarpicks 2024-02-22 08:14 pm (UTC)(link)
anyone catch you up on the drama yet?

doesn't matter
good news
we have weed now

well
almost
poleaxed: anger; fight (water doesn't)

[personal profile] poleaxed 2024-02-22 08:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Joan was expecting a kick; those are always the most insulting. She should have guessed he'd use the stick again! It's a pattern, maybe a tell. Men love their tools-- never mind that Joan is a mechanic by trade-- or maybe this thing is special to him? It doesn't matter. The stick waves by her, and her arms are up; she grabs at the thing, wanting to take it away, all spite.
friendzied: (pic#16067791)

it's so popular inside julie's head

[personal profile] friendzied 2024-02-22 08:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Almost?
guitarpicks: (122)

[personal profile] guitarpicks 2024-02-22 08:20 pm (UTC)(link)
got seeds

just gotta get some of the people with the right magic to speed things up
minuteofangle: (041)

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-02-22 08:22 pm (UTC)(link)
Question now is whether she’s a bar room brawler or got actual training like Gabe does. He tries to end most fights quick, or from an extreme distance. Neither, apparently, are an option right now.

He laughs low and cool, teeth bared, and doesn’t fight her for the stick. Just drops it and barrels forward, going for a tackle. They'll play this out on the ground, then, while his tech holds out.
friendzied: (104)

[personal profile] friendzied 2024-02-22 08:30 pm (UTC)(link)
You think they will?
guitarpicks: (128)

[personal profile] guitarpicks 2024-02-22 08:37 pm (UTC)(link)
i can be pretty convincing

and one owes me :)
friendzied: (103)

[personal profile] friendzied 2024-02-22 08:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Those big, brown eyes are gonna be doing overtime, huh?

[ wait-- ]

Owes you for what?

[ are you doing CRIMES eddie??? ]
poleaxed: static; angry; hand; fight (Default)

[personal profile] poleaxed 2024-02-22 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)
She was hoping he'd keep on it, and the ensuing tug of war would knock him off balance. No joy there; he lets her have it, and in her moment of imbalance, he charges. Again, she's on the ground, this time with her back shoved into the cold underbrush. She forgets the stick and grapples with him there, all brawer, raw fury tempered only by experience, no guiding hand.

On the ground, she holds him close, a thunderous headbutt delivered brow to brow. Her long legs wrap around him, a parody of intimacy as she tries to find all his soft places. A neck to strange? A face to claw at? Her hands move toward his head, trying to be too quick to get pinned.
guitarpicks: (37)

[personal profile] guitarpicks 2024-02-22 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)
gotta put 'em to use somehow

uh
for doing something stupid that hurt people i care about
( yes but that's not the problem here )
minuteofangle: (003)

cw: eye trauma, internalized ableism

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-02-22 08:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Down they go, a tangle of furious limbs, Gabe laughing as they impact, laughing harder when she headbutts him straight on. The angle’s not quite right to pulp his nose but the impact comes hot and sudden, promising pain when the adrenaline wears off. It staggers him just long enough for the enemy to grab at his face, his throat—

And knock the damn sunglasses right off, revealing that shit he’d been trying so hard to hide. The old shrapnel scars dotting his skin like constellations, and the ugly hollow where his eyes used to sit. Now, there’s just a hollow nothing there. A weakness the enemy will always, always, use against him.

Gabe bares his teeth, nearly vibrating with fury, and he boxes her ears as hard as he fucking can.
friendzied: (233)

[personal profile] friendzied 2024-02-22 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)
I really missed a lot, didn't I?
guitarpicks: (ziCVwXD)

[personal profile] guitarpicks 2024-02-22 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
it's probably for the best, honestly? it was hell

couple things changed with me. i got brainwashed and terrorized the town for a couple of weeks with a bunch of others