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[Aside from the very basic culture shock, it's fascinating with how different the Down is from the Up. How they restrict an entire group of people based solely on whether or not there's a line on their bodies - and how did that line get there in the first place? Were they tattooed since birth? A lottery system? Questions to be answered...
Though when they approach Stephen's motel, he's only so surprised. Of course there's a difference in luxury - he just wasn't certain how much. As they enter it;]
I wonder if there's something of an 'up' in this place. [Higher class among the low, so to speak.] Surely you could do better than...
[...well. No offense meant, Stephen, but this place is kind of shit.]
Though when they approach Stephen's motel, he's only so surprised. Of course there's a difference in luxury - he just wasn't certain how much. As they enter it;]
I wonder if there's something of an 'up' in this place. [Higher class among the low, so to speak.] Surely you could do better than...
[...well. No offense meant, Stephen, but this place is kind of shit.]
[ So the blind guy doing a video message isn't really great, but he gets the idea that Stephen will appreciate the humour in the idea. As it is, it's actually not terrible, it's just that Stephen will be treated to a video that's more mouth than face. ]
I just wanted to check in and see how well you're avoiding all that funny business.
I just wanted to check in and see how well you're avoiding all that funny business.
[ at home stephen answers the call quizzically, looks at the screen quizzically, then lets out a short huff of a laugh at the visual. ]
In a word, poorly. Thanks for asking.
[ a pause, and then he says with reluctant amusement, like the truth can't help but wrench its way out of him— ]
You're well-served by bad aim.
In a word, poorly. Thanks for asking.
[ a pause, and then he says with reluctant amusement, like the truth can't help but wrench its way out of him— ]
You're well-served by bad aim.
My dear doctor,
Join me for dinner this Friday. I assume you're starved for something other than the swill they offer you in the Down, and fortunately for the two of us, I've something decent to offer. Further good fortune (for you, at least): I feel generous enough to share.
I'll expect you by eight.
-R. Lutece
Join me for dinner this Friday. I assume you're starved for something other than the swill they offer you in the Down, and fortunately for the two of us, I've something decent to offer. Further good fortune (for you, at least): I feel generous enough to share.
I'll expect you by eight.
-R. Lutece
[ well. you reap what you sow, even under the influence of a holiday that drove everyone in town half-mad. ]
Mme.,
One hopes you remember this giving spirit when we meet again.
Consider this message an RSVP.
—Dr. Strange
[ and on friday, he's going to dress well enough, pressed shirt and dark jeans and boots; he's also going to arrive on time with a bottle of red wine that he pestered another dominant for over the course of the week. he has no gloves on when he buzzes the door. ]
Mme.,
One hopes you remember this giving spirit when we meet again.
Consider this message an RSVP.
—Dr. Strange
[ and on friday, he's going to dress well enough, pressed shirt and dark jeans and boots; he's also going to arrive on time with a bottle of red wine that he pestered another dominant for over the course of the week. he has no gloves on when he buzzes the door. ]
[ Wynonna's dedicated most of her time after disembarking the Maria to looking in on others — Diana first, though she's never been very worried about her suitemate's ability to fend for herself, and then others, like Barry. (The irony that she's checking in on self-described metahumans who are actual, real-life superheroes in their own world isn't really lost on her, but some habits are harder to break than others. Like the instinct that demands she drop in on the ones she's found herself caring about, in spite of all attempts to not build those types of connections.)
The rest of the time, she's been at the bar, electing to keep it open throughout the city's emptiness, mostly so people have somewhere to go, but it's been a little jarring to walk down the block and see so many other businesses dark, shuttered, a reminder of how few of them there really are here, in the aftermath.
It may be why, when her device dings with an incoming message, she's almost relieved at the sight of a name she recognizes instead of some anonymous order from the establishment intended for her to obey, to play along with. With the city as dead as it is, embracing any kind of attachment she's formed here, whatever that looks like, feels a hell of a lot better than being alone. And so she doesn't hesitate to extend an open invitation for the doc to come over whenever he's got a spare moment, with a promise of more whiskey besides.
She's already poured herself a glass to sip slowly while she lounges on the sofa, taking stock through the tall windows of how many buildings are still creepily dark, unoccupied. Lost in her thoughts, she almost doesn't pick up on the sound of a soft knock at the door, but once it repeats a little louder she's untangling her legs and setting her glass down to pad across the room on bare feet. There's no armor of her leather jacket, no shitkickers to make her tread heavy. If anything, she feels more stripped down in her t-shirt and leggings than if she'd answered the door naked, but there's a smile playing up the corners of her mouth even before she opens the door to him with a soft, familiar greeting. ]
Hey.
The rest of the time, she's been at the bar, electing to keep it open throughout the city's emptiness, mostly so people have somewhere to go, but it's been a little jarring to walk down the block and see so many other businesses dark, shuttered, a reminder of how few of them there really are here, in the aftermath.
It may be why, when her device dings with an incoming message, she's almost relieved at the sight of a name she recognizes instead of some anonymous order from the establishment intended for her to obey, to play along with. With the city as dead as it is, embracing any kind of attachment she's formed here, whatever that looks like, feels a hell of a lot better than being alone. And so she doesn't hesitate to extend an open invitation for the doc to come over whenever he's got a spare moment, with a promise of more whiskey besides.
She's already poured herself a glass to sip slowly while she lounges on the sofa, taking stock through the tall windows of how many buildings are still creepily dark, unoccupied. Lost in her thoughts, she almost doesn't pick up on the sound of a soft knock at the door, but once it repeats a little louder she's untangling her legs and setting her glass down to pad across the room on bare feet. There's no armor of her leather jacket, no shitkickers to make her tread heavy. If anything, she feels more stripped down in her t-shirt and leggings than if she'd answered the door naked, but there's a smile playing up the corners of her mouth even before she opens the door to him with a soft, familiar greeting. ]
Hey.
[ stephen usually brings a drink for house calls, but she'd been the one to promise from her own supply, so instead he has something else in-hand: one of those garishly torso-sized wrapped gift baskets of cheese and charcuterie. from behind it he lifts a scarred hand in mock surrender. ]
Before you say anything, I stole this. We're in a "no gods, no masters" situation.
Before you say anything, I stole this. We're in a "no gods, no masters" situation.
Hello, Stephen. Asra has moved out. If you'd rather I did so as well and gave up this space (which was originally yours anyway), please don't hesitate to say.
At the very least, I expect that I'll be gone for a few days.
[ he prefers to spare stephen the worst of his mess, after all. ]
At the very least, I expect that I'll be gone for a few days.
[ he prefers to spare stephen the worst of his mess, after all. ]
have you ever actually payed attention to the lyrics of "the sign" by ace of base
it's literally the weirdest breakup song ever written
weird but also kind of uplifting?
i need help figuring this out
[ who knows who this was meant for ]
it's literally the weirdest breakup song ever written
weird but also kind of uplifting?
i need help figuring this out
[ who knows who this was meant for ]
[ well that's a weird text but not unwelcome, stephen misses music chat ]
It's definitely intended to be uplifting. It's about developing independence outside of relationships.
It just doesn't sound like a breakup song because it has the melody and tempo of a demo track for a limbo class.
Not that there's anything wrong with Ace of Base or limbo.
It's definitely intended to be uplifting. It's about developing independence outside of relationships.
It just doesn't sound like a breakup song because it has the melody and tempo of a demo track for a limbo class.
Not that there's anything wrong with Ace of Base or limbo.
This is a mass text.
Someone from my homeworld arrived into Duplicity today. If you know anything about Shiloh, you know that is a bad thing. Life and death bad.
If you have any respect for me at all, please, keep anything you know about me (especially pertaining to my history or sex life) completely to yourself. Consequences of abusing my trust in this will not be pretty.
Thank you.
Someone from my homeworld arrived into Duplicity today. If you know anything about Shiloh, you know that is a bad thing. Life and death bad.
If you have any respect for me at all, please, keep anything you know about me (especially pertaining to my history or sex life) completely to yourself. Consequences of abusing my trust in this will not be pretty.
Thank you.
so vrenille’s got himself a new sub.
i’m getting replaced and it isn’t even by you.
i’m getting replaced and it isn’t even by you.
[A package arrives at Stephen's place in the Down. Inside, he'll find a mug. Inside the mug is some cushioning tissue paper and an additional gift with magnetic clasps. The calling card is pretty minimalist.]
[ the whole affair gets an actual rare smile out of stephen when he unpacks it.
the mug becomes a favorite—it doesn't have much competition—and the bracelet worn most days if not every day. despite his, you know, entire personality, let it never be said stephen strange is above sentimentality. ]
the mug becomes a favorite—it doesn't have much competition—and the bracelet worn most days if not every day. despite his, you know, entire personality, let it never be said stephen strange is above sentimentality. ]
[A few days before New Year, a courier arrives with a small, simply-wrapped package.
The note attached reads:
Stephen,
I saw this and thought of you. Can't quite say why.
Call it a thank you for saving us from the perils of terrible coffee.
Happy Wintersday. (I'm rooting for Dwayna this year and an early spring.)
Yours,
Vrenille
P.S. I heard you heard about my new "submissive." Hope he won't keep you from dropping by any time.]
You know, I used to collect watches, in another life. I sold all but one to try and fix my hands.
I try not to think about that other life anymore, but clinically I'm aware that people should engage directly with their regrets rather than try to forget them. That the triumph of something new doesn't always coincide neatly with the death of something old.
As it turns out, I'm still a sucker for a good timepiece.
Thanks for the gift. I'll see you soon.
I try not to think about that other life anymore, but clinically I'm aware that people should engage directly with their regrets rather than try to forget them. That the triumph of something new doesn't always coincide neatly with the death of something old.
As it turns out, I'm still a sucker for a good timepiece.
Thanks for the gift. I'll see you soon.
OK not something I can pick up for you at the market but if I go get your goods for you, I'll make sure to bring the picture.
And you're looking good. But you don't need to flex everything so hard. You'd look fine more relaxed.
And you're looking good. But you don't need to flex everything so hard. You'd look fine more relaxed.
He's an arrogant prick, and believe me, I'm very well acquainted with the type, being one myself. But good god, he takes it to new heights. The only one worse is his twin, and even then, they come in different flavors. I've scolded them both (and have you noticed, by the way, that there are SO VERY MANY young men here who need to be scolded, I swear, the arrogance is astounding) (more than two of them have assured me that I was fragile and needed care; I slapped one of them, which seemed to get the message across, but honestly), to little avail.
I enjoy talking to him, naturally, on scientific measures, but it's a conversatoin I rather have to gird myself before entering, lest I be drowned in the sea of "actually, I have an MD as well, isn't that so terribly clever of me, hur hur hur, now come suck me off, surely you're in such awe of me by now that you'll do it post-haste!".
[...]
I will admit, though. For all his annoyances, he has certain traits that endear him to me. Not just in his trousers, although that, too, is quite agreeable, and honestly an irritant as well, because this would be a great deal easier if I wasn't so strongly attracted to him-- but his personality as well.
I enjoy talking to him, naturally, on scientific measures, but it's a conversatoin I rather have to gird myself before entering, lest I be drowned in the sea of "actually, I have an MD as well, isn't that so terribly clever of me, hur hur hur, now come suck me off, surely you're in such awe of me by now that you'll do it post-haste!".
[...]
I will admit, though. For all his annoyances, he has certain traits that endear him to me. Not just in his trousers, although that, too, is quite agreeable, and honestly an irritant as well, because this would be a great deal easier if I wasn't so strongly attracted to him-- but his personality as well.
[ stephen's brain after he fails to set his phone to do not disturb, blearily looking at the longest text in the universe: 1. wow this is juicier than juicy fruit 2. this could have been an email
he considers being considerate, then figures it's two in the morning, a time at which no one can be held accountable for their actions. probably. ]
elaborate on that last part thanks
he considers being considerate, then figures it's two in the morning, a time at which no one can be held accountable for their actions. probably. ]
elaborate on that last part thanks
[So. That kiss happened.
That Kiss happened, capital letter and all, and Rosalind hates herself for not being able to forget it. It was just a kiss. That's nothing, especially not in the face of what happens around here. So it was a little dramatic, who cares? It's nothing, she tells herself, and keeps thinking that very firmly each time she's reminded.
Weeks pass. He makes her dinner, as she'd known he would. She quite likes it, and she tells him as much, adding tartly that he now owes it to her to come over more often. She means it only to cook; instead, it comes out wrong, and the two of them smoothly move past it, which is how she knows they'd both noticed it. But it's just a moment, there and gone, and the rest of the evening's enjoyment makes up for it.
They have dinner. It's better than she thought it would be, honestly. The wine flows generously, and soon enough they've killed a bottle, and then two, and through it all the flirtations grow worse the longer time passes. By the time the second bottle is empty, she's sitting casually in his lap, his fingers playing teasingly against the hem of her skirt. This cit being what it is, it isn't a game of will-he so much as not yet, making a tease out of denial. How long can they last before they end up simply fucking?
Not long, as it turns out.
She pulls him towards her bedroom, laughing as he stumbles a little, crawling atop him the moment he lies back. But then the world spins, and though she'd had every intention of riding him, her stomach says otherwise. So she lies down, because that seems sensible, and soon enough, he settles too.
So here they are: Rosalind atop of Stephen, her fingers curling idly in his shirt, staring at the wall as she enjoys the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling.]
Stephen . . .
[Murmured, and she sighs softly, arching her back as she squirms.]
Mm. That was a good dinner tonight. You can cook well.
[Very gently, very clumsily, she reaches up, patting his cheek. Well done!]
That Kiss happened, capital letter and all, and Rosalind hates herself for not being able to forget it. It was just a kiss. That's nothing, especially not in the face of what happens around here. So it was a little dramatic, who cares? It's nothing, she tells herself, and keeps thinking that very firmly each time she's reminded.
Weeks pass. He makes her dinner, as she'd known he would. She quite likes it, and she tells him as much, adding tartly that he now owes it to her to come over more often. She means it only to cook; instead, it comes out wrong, and the two of them smoothly move past it, which is how she knows they'd both noticed it. But it's just a moment, there and gone, and the rest of the evening's enjoyment makes up for it.
They have dinner. It's better than she thought it would be, honestly. The wine flows generously, and soon enough they've killed a bottle, and then two, and through it all the flirtations grow worse the longer time passes. By the time the second bottle is empty, she's sitting casually in his lap, his fingers playing teasingly against the hem of her skirt. This cit being what it is, it isn't a game of will-he so much as not yet, making a tease out of denial. How long can they last before they end up simply fucking?
Not long, as it turns out.
She pulls him towards her bedroom, laughing as he stumbles a little, crawling atop him the moment he lies back. But then the world spins, and though she'd had every intention of riding him, her stomach says otherwise. So she lies down, because that seems sensible, and soon enough, he settles too.
So here they are: Rosalind atop of Stephen, her fingers curling idly in his shirt, staring at the wall as she enjoys the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling.]
Stephen . . .
[Murmured, and she sighs softly, arching her back as she squirms.]
Mm. That was a good dinner tonight. You can cook well.
[Very gently, very clumsily, she reaches up, patting his cheek. Well done!]
[ Have a selfie of a teen girl with blonde and pink hair, trying on a scarf in a store. Duck lips status: present. ]
He's a sorcerer, so it has to be magic, I think. Dark magic. No one's that good at sex. There's no other explanation. I'm referring to the one from my universe, here, not the one that had the giant yeti cock.
[ he and loki have never texted in their lives. that would imply they would ever cop to wanting to talk, and stephen's dignity is strong but brittle, so it's weird to begin with—honestly his first assumption upon seeing the username is that it's some bullshit or (worse yet) an emergency— ]
❰ steve rogers has taken one single nude in his entire life. one nude, for two people, who he never even ended up sending it to, because sexting just seems kind of weird and not really his thing... but which he never deleted.
this is that nude, and it has found its way onto stephen's phone without steve's knowledge or consent. sorry, stephen. ❱
this is that nude, and it has found its way onto stephen's phone without steve's knowledge or consent. sorry, stephen. ❱
Edited 2019-01-22 16:11 (UTC)
[Ding-ding! Hi, Stephen. Did you ever want confirmation that Hakkyuu and Vrenille have gossiped about your A+ fucking skills? Well, if you didn't then it doesn't really matter because either way you suddenly get access to this conversation. Enjoy!]
can your vagina become permanently stretched out by a huge penis
[ This was Ritsuka trying to discretely find answers for questions she couldn't ask anyone, using the local search engine. Unfortunately, something seems to have misfired - or misdirected, perhaps - along the way.
So the former doctor-turned-wizard gets that lovely little question in his inbox.
Please be gentle with her; she's incredibly embarrassed and a little worried about this. ]
[ This was Ritsuka trying to discretely find answers for questions she couldn't ask anyone, using the local search engine. Unfortunately, something seems to have misfired - or misdirected, perhaps - along the way.
So the former doctor-turned-wizard gets that lovely little question in his inbox.
Please be gentle with her; she's incredibly embarrassed and a little worried about this. ]
Distract me.
[It's like 2 AM.]
Preferable not with pictures of yourself.
[It's like 2 AM.]
Preferable not with pictures of yourself.
GodI'msoboredIdon'tthinkIcangetoff.
[You're welcome.]
[You're welcome.]
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