Duplicity Game Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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duplicitymemes2018-09-12 11:51 am
duplicitymods) wrote in duplicitymemes2018-09-12 11:51 am
Entry tags:
TDM #1
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It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy. This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses. To counteract the discovery of the Deceit Gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the L.I.E.S. program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the Deceit Gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from L.I.E.S. after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues. |
 After stepping through the door and participating in orientation, LIERS are assembled together in the Up for a tour of Duplicity in its entirety. Seats are in pairs and randomly assigned to Dominants and Submissives alike. Traveling from Fiddler's Square, the train journeys through various parts of the Up, showcasing society and examples of lifestyle. Along the way, frequent stops are made; a variety of passengers can be seen exiting and entering the doors. A Dominant with a kneeling Submissive takes a seat near the front of the train at one stop. A small group of Submissives board and sit closer to the LIERS at another, all seemingly content in their roles. As the tour continues through the Up, the train passes close to the Market and White Wall Bridge and zips by North Park before heading into the Down and bypassing Red Wall Bridge and South Park. The train makes a "final" stop at Riddler's Square, where inhabitants of the Down are instructed to return to their temporary housing. Those who live in the Up are permitted to stay on the train and revisit the same locations while returning. |
 While the societal climate between Dominants and Submissives remains somewhat neutral throughout Duplicity, there has been the occasional whisper of defiance and call for equality. Yet, demonstrations and visible proof of this unhappiness spreads faster by word of mouth on a day exactly when you need it most. Welcome to Autonomy, a "traveling" nightclub that is never in the same place twice. People wanting to attend only learn of its lucrative location and password hours before it opens for business. Tonight, I choose the third door will get you inside and into the temporary freedom club Autonomy has to offer. In this circle, there are no assigned designations and no consequences for taking a role that isn't the one given by society. So, a Dominant may become the Submissive they've always wanted to be—or vice versa. Dominants and Submissives alike are able to mingle without repercussion and be themselves. Food, drinks, and private areas for more intimate – or if your preference is sexual – encounters are provided. Donations are accepted at any point during the night to further Autonomy's attempts of spreading the fulfillment that comes from being untitled. On the night you choose to visit, Autonomy is holding a random lottery for temporary connections. When entering, you have the choice of submitting your name into this drawing to be paired with someone else in the club regardless of designation. A short while later, a message will pop up on your device with the name and information of your partner, and whether or not you choose to meet them is purely at your discretion. Having more than one connection isn't completely unusual either. |
 Gratification of being a successful Dominant or Submissive isn't necessarily simple. Learning curves are to be made, and mistakes will happen. Led by a Dominant and Submissive couple – Miriam and Victoria, who have been paired for twenty-two years – a monthly meeting for unattached Dominants and Submissives is held in the conference room of Morning Wood motel in the Down. The meeting starts a few minutes after nine and has no designated end time. The couple introduce themselves and explain the purpose of the meeting: learn the proper method for a new kink and possibly find your perfect partner. The space is intimate and well-stocked with refreshments. To begin, Victoria, while blindfolded, balances on her hands and knees with her back perfectly level. Her partner, when ready, places various items on the level surface–a full cup, a plate. The Submissive is meant to hold the items until the Dominant believes she's reached her limit. The exercise is one of trust and understanding. The demonstration is a short one, followed by Miriam removing the blindfold and soothing her Submissive. The words are whispered low and with care, clearly a method that is specific to this couple. The process is concluded with the pair handing out workups, videos, and answering questions. Anyone wishing to practice Purposeful Submission can do so in the open room with a random volunteer, aided by the couple, or can find someone to take to one of the rented rooms. Sex may follow any scene but is not necessarily included. Experimenting with unattached Dominants and Submissives allows for new relationships to form. |
Please read carefully. On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles based on birthdays; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, character will still have gone through the doors but assignments OOCly are still randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chose "left" or "right". When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass". This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice. To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide. For characters with a birthday falling in the months of January to June, their designation will be Dominant. For characters with a birthday falling in the months of July to December, their designation will be Submissive. For characters with an unknown birthday, their designation will be Dominant. Arrival into Duplicity has not been used as a prompt as it is a rather large part of introducing the game and will be saved for the first in-game log. But feel free to thread it on the TDM. Also, any locations throughout Duplicity are available for TDM prompts as well! Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!! |
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Three two five- the numbers register first because they're seared into his brain, a string of them murmured over and over again to nothing and no one, his legs slow to a stop and subconsciously his mind starts to fill in the pattern in tandem five seven zero-
That's about when he recognizes the voice yelling them, and he turns with lips parted and brow drawn knit. It takes him a second of searching the crowd because he's looking for someone standing, it doesn't dawn on him until seconds later that Steve could be a sub.
There's no denying that his eyebrows shoot up when their eyes lock, and even from clear across the room he can probably see Bucky mouthing a disbelieving: ]
Steve?
[ But Steve is right, it wasn't very submissive of him to speak out of turn, and a rather stringent looking man with some sort of tool strides forth. Barnes clears the room faster than anyone really ought to be able to, a long-legged stride that puts him right up in the guy's personal space before he can so much as raise the paddle.
A metal fist curls in his shirt, and Barnes doesn't say a fucking word to the guy. Just stares at him a couple inches from his face with a searching, daring gaze. A tense moment passes, and the other dominant raises his hands tentatively in surrender.
Bucky releases him, and the guy takes one hesitant step back, followed by another, all the while never breaking eye contact with a stone-faced Barnes. Once he's out of earshot, Bucky shifts to the back foot, ducking down to a crouch until he's on Steve's level. ]
The hell were you thinking? You tryin' to get yourself caught?
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Steve isn’t expecting for it to actually be Bucky — isn’t expecting to see the familiar sight of Bucky’s face, searching for Steve in a crowd. Their eyes lock, he sees his name being mouthed, and Steve feels a sudden gladness and relief well up inside him because it is Bucky. Not a mirage. He hears footsteps behind him, curt and clicking against the floor, can guess what’s coming, but he doesn’t even have time to brace himself.
Bucky’s footsteps, headed his way, are faster. For a moment, all he can see are legs — Steve doesn’t bother craning his head up to see what’s transpiring, figures if Bucky needs backup he’ll indicate it to Steve somehow — and then the other fella’s backing off. Walking away. Then Bucky crouches down, and Steve’s mouth twitches into a smile at the familiar sound of his best friend chewing him out. ]
Ain’t scared of a spanking. [ The defensive reply is automatic, but much quieter than his recital of Bucky’s serial number had been. ] Besides, I … I had to know it was you.
[ So clear a moment ago, Steve’s voice goes a little hoarse on the last word, his wide eyes taking in everything. And as he does so, the momentary happiness from earlier fades. Bucky, crouching down in front him, looks nothing like the young man Steve saw off at the train station. And despite the fact that Steve’s nothing like the scrawny little guy Bucky left behind in Brooklyn, his friend doesn’t seem shocked to see him this way, tall and broad. It's as though Bucky already’s used to seeing him like this, and —
Something’s wrong. ]
It is you, right? [ He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but it does. Bucky’s packed on muscle that shouldn’t be possible in the few months since Steve last saw him, and his hair shouldn’t be this long either, and — Christ. He looks at least five years older. ] Bucky?
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His eyes have always been keen, he's had a knack for detail even since before the serum (part of what made him such a good sniper), and as they take in Steve's form they note a few subtle differences. Hair being the most obvious, but the most telling would be the slight ease of the otherwise rough edge he carries nowadays. Fewer wrinkles, a little less stubble, a jaw less clenched with spite and not quite as burdened by the weight of something impossibly too large to shoulder.
He's different, and for a wild second, he doesn't even believe it's Steve- maybe a test, a trick, a replicant. His gut protests that notion, though, he'd know his best friend anywhere. He can tell Steve's picking up on those little clues too, like a reflection in a mirror. ]
Last I checked.
[ He agrees with a murmur, trying for levity but probably failing. He's not quite as charismatic as he used to be, all things considered, so even that little bit of snark comes out sounding flatter than it would have if he were seventy years younger.
As if to grind the point home and reassure Steve, a flesh hand comes up to settle on Steve's shoulder near as he can get to neck, thumb nearly curling to his throat. A gentle squeeze follows it, a reassuring little grip and the faintest attempt at a smile he can muster. ]
We got eyes on us, I gotta do something or they're gonna step in, okay?
[ It's true, the dom from earlier circles like a hawk and a few people are starting to join him. There's a balance here, a system, something that needs to be enforced to maintain the status quo. Society functions on a certain set of behaviors and rules, and if a sub acts out a punishment is expected. It's either Bucky or some other asshole, and he'd rather not have to add another notch to his kill count when some idiot raises a paddle to Steve. ]
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It’s his eyes. They’re his, that’s for damn sure — Steve would know them anywhere, would be able to pick ‘em out from a crowd, would recognize them when he wouldn’t recognize anything else. But there’s something in their depths that Steve doesn’t remember, a nameless dark lurking just out of reach. His brows furrow as he keeps staring into them, like Bucky’s a puzzle he can figure out if he just keeps looking for the answer.
Except this isn't the time to go digging for answers. Besides, it’s why he’d used the serial number instead of Bucky’s name, ain’t it? A hallucination wouldn't be able to note a detail like that, Steve reminds himself, and some of the uneasiness loosens inside him. The hand at his shoulder grounds him further, the squeeze sending him back to a cool fall afternoon in 1938 — a memory. Him, standing on the steps of his shitty tenement, a foot shorter and about a hundred pounds lighter. Bucky’s thumb pressing in close, his eyes solemn, a promise ringing in Steve’s ears. I'm with you.
Steve nods. ]
I trust you. [ He clears his throat and adds quietly, while Bucky’s still close by: ] It’s okay, just do what you have to.
[ His eyes flicker to the hand farthest from him, and his confidence falters for a second, confused at the glint of metal and unable to make sense of it. It’s like … it’s like Bucky’s wearing a gauntlet. Steve resists the urge to shake his head to clear it, knows it’ll make the glassware on his back shake and maybe even fall off. He can already sense there’s attention honing in on the two of them, courtesy Steve’s outburst — no use adding more blood to the water.
So he just straightens himself out, facing his head forward once more, hands still splayed out to balance himself just right. When he speaks, it's loud enough to be heard by passersby but nowhere near as loud as he'd been earlier, and — ]
Correct me. [ … okay, he didn’t mean for it to come out sarcastic. ]
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It's up to Bucky to bring some credibility back to this act, and he pushes upright again. Removes the tray of glassware delicately from Steve's back, freeing him from his rigidity only for a moment. Along the walls are disciplinary tools, some that are truly mind-boggling that Bucky can't even look at for too long without feeling uncomfortable.
He settles on a basic looking thing he guesses is meant to be used as a paddle or something, god, what the hell does he know about this whole scene? He's shaking his head even as he positions himself just off of Steve's flank, and he passes a hand over his face like he can't believe he's doing this. ]
Remember when things used to be normal?
[ He muses, more to himself than to Steve really. Once upon a time they used to do their homework after school in Brooklyn and then wash up for supper. Now he's spanking Steve on an alien planet and what the fuck is their lives? Seriously?
He settles a metal hand along Steve's spine, somewhere just below mid-back in a gesture meant to be soothing. ]
You ready?
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His ears pick up on Bucky’s words, so quiet that Steve wonders if he was meant to hear them; well, meant to or not, he mumbles a little reply of his own, low enough that he knows nobody else around him’ll be able to hear it. It’s something to do with the serum, he thinks; being able to hear better than others, able to speak at a lower pitch and frequency than normal. ]
Nothin’ normal about you, pal.
[ The removal of the tray is both a literal and figurative weight off of him, and Steve finds himself relaxing minutely, no longer focused on not letting the glassware slip. It dissipates, however, when he feels the touch to the middle of his back; despite his best intentions, Steve tenses. It’s … not even just the prospect of what’s going to happen, suddenly a lot more real than it had been a second ago. It’s the hand. Bucky’s touching him with that metal glove, and the strangeness of it raises the hair on the back of Steve’s neck. He swallows once, and braces himself. ]
Yes. [ Steve hesitates, wondering if he should add a title but incredibly unsure of which applies here. In the end, he settles on a confused-sounding: ] …mister.
[ Oh, Christ. Just put him out of his misery already, Barnes. ]
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Apparently, that's about to change.
A tense moment of silence and stillness passes between them after the word mister wherein Barnes braces himself to do this thing. It almost feels charged, he thinks, though that may just be him. May just be the inexplicable spike to his heart rate, or the paranoid feeling that the people around him are watching.
Despite Steve's tour around the music circuit, Bucky knows Steve couldn't act his way out of a god damn paper bag. Not without his lines written out and rehearsed anyway, and there's no real way to spontaneously fake something like this. If they want to sell this, he's going to have to be real about it. That's the only way to do it, no corner cutting. At least he knows Steve can take it, considering he personally beat the guy to a bloody pulp a few years back.
This is different. Minutely, enormously different.
He draws the paddle back, falters in the air, puffs out an apologetic breath, and then brings it down with a stinging smack.
Therein might lie Steve's first red flag that something is wholly amiss; a normal guy with normal strength probably wouldn't even phase his super-serumed ass, not even Bucky in his post-basic army glory could've put a dent in Captain America. This, though? Had just enough momentum and just enough force to sting.
He pauses to let that settle in, brow wrinkling as he leans over to study Steve's face. To gauge his reaction. Checking in for harm. ]
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A hallucination couldn’t, either. That’s two options, gone with the first swing of the paddle, and Steve’s mind — frozen for a split second — whirrs back into action. It’s Bucky, but different, and in a way that means he can hurt Steve even in this new body. Which is kinda back to status quo, isn’t it.
But whatever Bucky it is, it’s still him, the proof of it in the way he’s leaning over — Steve can sense the change in the air, can feel that being looked at. He wants to look up, make eye contact — Bucky’s checking in on him, and Steve’s the one who told him he was ready, so he should be the one to reassure him about it. Maybe crack a line, like You been waitin’ to do that, or what? because what the hell, Bucky. That stung. Or maybe some more sarcasm, Don’t hold back —
They’re in this mess because Steve let his mouth do the thinking, though, and his brain pulls the reins just in time. Steve takes in a breath and lets it out slowly, keeping his eyes where they are, letting his face go blank again. Voice steady, he says: ]
One.
[ Ain’t really his first rodeo. Teachers don’t like being mouthed off at, even when they’re wrong. Especially when they’re wrong, and Steve remembers how this goes. How it’s supposed to go. ]
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As long as he's been looking out for Steve, if anyone's entitled to deliver a little corporal punishment over his bad behavior it'd be James Barnes.
Steve's fine, just as logically Bucky knew he would be, but it's something else to hear him count off like grade school. It was always tense watching a kid get bent over for something and made an example of in front of the class, and he has memories just as vivid as Steve does of that count. One, two, three - five if it was bad, ten if it was serious. Three, five, ten. This is only a three offense, but that means two more to go.
Two more, and the pooling of a weird sensation in his gut he doesn't want to think about too hard right now. Maybe later, when there's privacy and time for introspection. In the meantime, that metal arm slides down Steve's back in warning, and if anything the second swat is a little harder than the last.
Because of the aforementioned hairbrained troublemaking coming to mind, surely not because of that feeling in his veins. ]
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But hold it in he does, pressing his lips together so no one can tell the expression he really wants to make. Anyone looking in might even mistake it for contrition, the way his head’s still tilted downward, gaze lower still. And just in case there really is some kinda weird telepathic link between him and this strange not-Bucky-but-yes-Bucky, Steve thinks at him, You hit like crochety old Mr. Schroeder, intensely and repeatedly for a few seconds.
Then he continues the count, still steady and quiet. ]
Two.
[ There is a part of Steve that’s unsettled, but it’s not the beating doing it. Beatings never did throw him off his axis, whether they were from bullies or from teachers. The fact that it’s Bucky this time around is obviously new, but again, Steve understands the situational aspect of it. No, it’s that ... that gauntlet Bucky’s wearing, the way its touching him — Steve doesn’t know how, but he can sense a dexterity to it that shouldn’t be possible in a glove. ]
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You're gonna get them in trouble, Rogers. Again, for the mllionth time, you're gonna get them in over their heads because you can't just settle down and be good for once. That consternation might be what goes to Bucky's head, or maybe it's that rehabilitation center and what they've done to the people who they thought wouldn't quite embrace their roles so good. Whatever it is, it drives that coal of a feeling in Bucky's stomach into sort of an ember.
So he brings it down for a third time with an actual pop to it. ]
Lemme hear you say sorry, and we'll see if we're done.
[ Because by god, if he hears anything other than contrition so will everyone else around him and it'll mean Steve hasn't learned a damn thing from this exercise. ]
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He mulls over it for a couple of seconds, the pain echoing in the background, not so much a disturbance as it is a callback to when he'd be hurting one way or another in his old, broke body — just a scant number of months ago. And then Steve comes to the conclusion maybe the opposite is needed in how he's taking this.
Letting his shoulders wilt a little, neck drooping forward, he says with as much contrition as he can muster: ]
Three. [ and lets the word trail off, turning the intonation upward at the end a little, like it hurts. Well, it does hurt, but vocalizing pain is something Steve's never allowed himself to do, a luxury he's never indulged in. First time for everything. He takes in another deep breath and deliberately lets it go shaky on the exhale, wondering how many more of these he’s supposed to take. ]
I'm very sorry. [ Still contrite, and somehow "mister" doesn't sound like it fits, so Steve pauses for a second before adding softly, ] Sir.
[ There. That's better than his best, pal. ]
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It's a lesson, not pain for the sake of pain. He's not a sadist. It's for Steve's own good, whether he sees it yet or not.
He passes a careful palm down Steve's back again, just the faintest caress with the metal hand he instinctively dislikes. It's an apology and a soothing touch all in one, and he'd do more but he can't do it here.
He shifts the wood in his hands, his grip switched in a quick flip so that he's holding it by the flat end and offering the handle forward. ]
Put it up and we can get a room. Go somewhere private.
[ Because it's safe to do that now; it's expected, even. They talk about safety, they talk about emotional security, and aftercare comes after a correction. In this case, it's a suitable excuse for a secret conversation in a rented room. ]