DOUBLE DOG DARE YA!

[dogdare]

#DOGDARE. micro / beta test thread multi muse. written by jordy (they/it/he), '95, other accounts here. this is a side blog. i follow from @eyeshone.

RULES + ROSTER ⤵️

RULES.

this is my beta test account for me to write: 1.) casual micro threads (approx 1-3 sentence max) 2.) badly / not my best 3.) texting threads 4.) silly aus (e.g. school teacher au) 5.) test muses. i ask that your replies to this account match my short length restriction—or else. let’s boogie.

ROSTER.

any muses i write across all of my accounts. including but not limited to:

DECORUM cast @keyhop

frederick chilton @hypocratic

mr. johnson @alulars

lee melanthom @soothfog

the luteces @timeloooop

mim @mimicic

willy wonka @goldticket

anyone from my multi @eyeshone

+ requests (seriously!)

[dogdare]

like or reply to this for a VERY experimental very absurd muse.

[bluedprints]

"are you a strong swimmer?"

[dogdare]

Too personal.

"Yes. Are you a strong skinny dipper?"

[bluedprints]

he seems to have to think about it. like holding your breath to listen for another's through a crack in the door. "until observed, she'd be in both states at once." he doesn't know.

[dogdare]

"That must be why she likes swimming naked in the dark."

[bluedprints]

@dogdare x

"if she was a naturist it would only be in the sense where it pertains to natural selection. less people around at night to hear you call. darker water."

[dogdare]

He doesn't digest humor very well.

"..."

Carefully said—

"Is she alive?"

—as if asking if she's 'asleep'; as if it is a condition Margot can and does not wish to disrupt.

[dogdare]

only swim at night. that's what my mother told me. (will margot. or margot-as-mason go where you feel)

"Why?"

"Was she a prudish nudist?"

[dogdare]

"there's, like, whores here and stuff." -- jerald for bev (lol)

"Oooh boy. Yeah. Cool. Yeah, yeah. Uuhh. Maybe we use person-first language. For them. Because— not because it's shameful. Because it's not. Right. I don't think that. It just, like, it humanizes them. Sooo... 'People whooo partake in intercourse as a source of income'?" Bev shrugs, shoulders then full arms like the world's whitest, saddest hip-hop wave: "It's something." He pulls an old ball gag out from his leather satchel. Bite marks crater the rubber. "Uhm. I'm actually here to identify the make and model of this. Do you... recognize it?" He's holding it like a fob watch.

[eviji]

@dogdare @vitalphenomena

"I'm good in a tight spot. Yes, hello, Margot."

[vitalphenomena]

"You're barely in one piece. We should leave now."

@dogdare

[dogdare]

Frederick rests a bouquet of flowers at Rifat’s blanketed feet to free his hands. He grabs the patient chart hanging on the edge of the hospital bed. He casually peruses the notes as one would a restaurant menu they regularly frequent. “Your rotator cuff is torn.” He re-hooks the chart and cradles the gangly bouquet, one-armed. Demure pride, smile pressure-seal-concealed—gaze meeting Rifat’s: “Three stitches." Smugly ambiguous: "A good doctor.”

@eviji

[dogdare]

OKAAAY.

“Kinsey Nolan?!”

Admonishing herself: “Dena!”

“Sorry. That’s what my friends call you. You are a lot of people’s gay awakening.” The Kinsey Scale climb.

“I love girls.”

Oh my fuck.

“Final girls.”

[jupiterfree-a]

now. now dena decides to recognize her. speaking of,

"your name is dena?" just trying to get any information.

"that all is really sweet of you, yeah."

"but the thing is, I'm on a really tight deadline. and I came all this way..."

[dogdare]

Someone who looks like Kitsey Nolan walks into your town’s morgue. You don’t assume it’s actually Kitsey Nolan. You think: they look familiar, did I go to high school with them? then they look a lot like that one actress then can’t be then as you’re coming out to her—gay—she comes out to you—Kit-say—and you lean against the morgue door and it drops open like a head nodding asleep. That’s how that goes. In case Kitsey needs notes for her well deserved biopic.

Dena stutter-steps into the morgue room, preventing a fall. “Come on in, Kitsey Nolan.” Full name: the same intrusive indulgence one has when standing next to a bowl of free chocolates at a receptionist desk—you have to. Dena eyes Kitsey’s clothing. Respectfully. “You’re going to be cold in that. Civs don’t think of it, but morgues are just morbid people fridges.” She’s never said the word ‘civ’ in her life.

[dogdare]

How ‘encroaching’ is it if Frederick allows it, enjoys it, rises to it in more ways than one?

“You avoid the word ‘please’ with me like it is the name of an ex-lover.” Mentally handsy. Sensual. Like a finger tingle-tickling the reeded curve of her spine. Teasing, riling, chin tilting up: “I would like to hear you say it.”

[vitalphenomena]

PLEASE DOESN'T HAVE THE SAME RING TO IT AS BEATRICE, DOES IT?

With played-up skepticism: "I'm not sure you know what you're complaining about." Because if he did, he wouldn't be making a point of this at all, right? He loves this.

"I would really appreciate if I had control of the iPad, Doctor Chilton."

[dogdare]

She didn’t say ‘please’. Frederick’s eyes roll and loiter under the severe awning of his brow line as he considers how strict to act. Then, his stare—sharp—drops to Margot like two skewered green olives plopped in a dirty martini. He smiles—slim. He hands her the ipad with a flourished flick of his wrist.

[dogdare]

Yes, a standard deviation collects where her gaze grazes him—quantifiable, quintessential bell curve: mouth-heavy inhale.

Her repartee is as evocative as her chess. Frederick is no grandmaster, but he is a prolific grandstander.

“A demonstration on what strokes you know could prove beneficial.”

[vitalphenomena]

"If you insist. Give me that, then."

She's impatient. She reaches for the iPad, leaning into him—his space fully encroached upon.

[dogdare]

How ‘encroaching’ is it if Frederick allows it, enjoys it, rises to it in more ways than one?

“You avoid the word ‘please’ with me like it is the name of an ex-lover.” Mentally handsy. Sensual. Like a finger tingle-tickling the reeded curve of her spine. Teasing, riling, chin tilting up: “I would like to hear you say it.”

[dogdare]

“Psychology is interpretive. Closer to naming synchronized swimming routines than” his head cants like a near-empty merlot bottle, mind deliriously wine-dark, pouring out what little he can: “the marine biology lurking below.”

[vitalphenomena]

HER GAZE, LAZY AND UNHURRIED, DROPS TO WHAT LURKS BELOW THE WAISTBAND OF HIS PAJAMA PANTS. Then, to the now-unremarkable iPad. Finally, up to Frederick's face—far from unremarkable.

"If you're struggling to identify schools of fish and plankton—or—oh, I'm sorry—backstrokes and butterflies—you only need to say that. I'm sure I could step in wherever necessary."

[dogdare]

Yes, a standard deviation collects where her gaze grazes him—quantifiable, quintessential bell curve: mouth-heavy inhale.

Her repartee is as evocative as her chess. Frederick is no grandmaster, but he is a prolific grandstander.

“A demonstration on what strokes you know could prove beneficial.”

[dogdare]

Frederick is eerily motionless. Mentally stalled and enthralled. A short, delayed pause—as long as it takes a boiler to hum hot after twisting a mercury thermostat up. Heat is rising. Silent, he nods. Equally agreeing and urging her to go on.

[vitalphenomena]

HIS LACK OF A REACTION IS DISAPPOINTING. Not only because she, on some level, craves attention—but also because of what it indicates about him.

She'll have to accept his nod for everything it's possibly worth. She grows smug. His arousal, she would argue, is contagious.

"How much of your management relies on implication?" she wonders, tone indicating she thinks she knows the answer. "I wouldn't leave anything up to interpretation."

[dogdare]

“Psychology is interpretive. Closer to naming synchronized swimming routines than” his head cants like a near-empty merlot bottle, mind deliriously wine-dark, pouring out what little he can: “the marine biology lurking below.”

[dogdare]

“Mmm.” Schrödinger's cat(tiness): a hmm or a moan?

“I am typically accused of hailing from the lower divine provenance.” Frederick smirks. “What would you be?”

[vitalphenomena]

SEE, THIS ISN'T THE FIRST TIME HE'S LEFT IT UP TO HER INTERPRETATION HOW AROUSED, FRUSTRATED, AND/OR HELPLESS HE IS. In fact, she suspects he's doing it all on purpose.

"I'm sure that you are," is all she says at first, curt as one can be when they're also completely in love.

Then: "I'm not particularly angelic, am I?" Or is she fishing? "And in a professional capacity, well—I'd do my worst."

[dogdare]

Frederick is eerily motionless. Mentally stalled and enthralled. A short, delayed pause—as long as it takes a boiler to hotly hum alive after twisting a mercury thermostat up. Heat is rising. Silent, he nods. Equally agreeing and urging her to go on.

[dogdare]

“Uh, no.” The ipad screen blinks blank-black. Frederick’s attention is fully alight to this tantalizing hypothetical.

“Why don’t you tell me more about your sensible regime change.” Tone dropping like unbelted suit trousers: “How would you do it?”

[vitalphenomena]

SHE LIKES THIS. She likes this a lot, actually. There's something undeniably arousing about the concept of a regime change.

She tilts her head up, haughty. No spreading of legs, no parting of lips.

"Well, I wouldn't treat myself as their higher power, first of all." A reference to his consistent observation. Their makes her feel distant from the inhabitants of Dr. Chilton's hospital, even if she's only narrowly evaded their fate. "It's very Orwellian. Your patients could easily draw all sorts of assumptions."

[dogdare]

“Mmm.” Schrödinger's cat(tiness): a hmm or a moan?

“I am typically accused of hailing from the lower divine provenance.” Frederick smirks. “What would you be?”

[dogdare]

@rekant for eva stratt.

“I teach superheroes.”

[rekant]

"i imagine they're harder to train than other people."

[dogdare]

Historically, Stephaine doesn’t divulge clientele or confidential anecdotes, but Stratt feels kindred. A momentary gossip slip she will undoubtedly regret later:

“The Hulk” not to be confused with Bruce Banner “thought CPR stood for ‘civilian public relations’. I asked him what he knows and he posed for a selfie.”

[dogdare]

Okaaay.

“They’re all bedicked.” Eyebrow waggle. “Bejeweled. Endowed.” Dena is worried Kitsey isn’t getting it: “All the corpses in there have penises and balls. Is that… to your liking?”

As smooth as those corpses’ callus-crunchy heels.

[jupiterfree-a]

does she like dick and balls?

"I'm... an open minded girl."

"you know I'm not a pervert,"

"I'm an actress."

[dogdare]

OKAAAY.

“Kinsey Nolan?!”

Admonishing herself: “Dena!”

“Sorry. That’s what my friends call you. You are a lot of people’s gay awakening.” The Kinsey Scale climb.

“I love girls.”

Oh my fuck.

“Final girls.”