extent | duplicitynet

i dont think this is very fairly balanced at all
are u gonna let me take pics?

i don't have a lot that doesn't have other ppl involved

if u want 2. that's really the only way i get anything taken
for other people, if they're into it. so yeah, sure

u should rectify that my nudes folder is huge
always prepared

get u some artsy shots i could be a great photog in the making
i havent really done the in act pics before could be fun

u gotta teach me a good way to do it then
mr fucking professional

those are hot, yeah
i already got a couple of u as is but
that'd add to the collection

do u want an in person demonstration i can do that

feel free to make ur presence known whenever then
i'll get the lighting sorted

aint gonna say no

ill grab some fresh film and pop by
not gonna tell u when
that way its a surprise

ooh are u gonna sneak in
i'll have to make arrangements but u can do that
make it a real surprise

just dont do any magical shit to make it harder to do
i have a hate-hate relationship with wards or w/e

there is so much magical shit already in place here
but i can make it so ur invited in
special vip list

now ur just trying to make me feel special so u get laid

is it working?

:)

[He's going to leave you hanging on that one, Nick.]

( torment of the highest order

tate just gets another picture for his troubles, this one hastily snapped right now. no nudity, just a shirt hiked up and pants wiggles low around his hips, and a drawing in black marker on his stomach. just a little ':)' of his own. )

[And just like that, Tate's got a little more incentive to be on the move. It's strange how a conversation can so fluidly go from latex gimp suits to casually sexual photography but they managed it in a way that doesn't leave Tate wondering if he said too much or too little about himself. He just grabs his camera and heads to Nick's, making a pit stop on the way to pick up more film from a small photography shop in the Up.

Unannounced and looking for that candid peek into Nick's life, Tate more or less just materializes inside his place after saying doors are for suckers. He's winding his camera when he decides to just, you know, speak aloud:]

They keep trying to get me to go digital. I keep saying fuck off.

( the room is distinctly more lived in than the last time tate saw it, and distinctly more witchy as a result. there's belongings scattered about everywhere, not exactly messy but very cluttered. sloppy scrawls label a handful of nondescript bottles on his desk, there's plants everywhere sprouting out of everything from pots to mugs, and there's a handful of crystals on his bedside table. one of which is clearly bloody — freshly so, if the hand nick has raised in the air from his position lying on the bed gives any indication. the raised arm is clenched into a fist to clot up the bleeding, the other hand holding the device above his head where he idly scrolls.

not particularly surprisingly, when tate walks in he drops the device. )

Jesus, ( it doesn't land on his face, but it's close. still, he's grinning when he sits up, and he doesn't ask tate to stop, so nick can't actually mind all that much. ) what if I hadn't taken down the wards yet? You could have ended up scattered into a million pieces for all I know.

Maybe that's my kink. Decimation.

[Tate cocks his head to the side, letting his camera rest against his chest by the strap around his neck. He's got a backpack with him, resting on one shoulder as he looks around. He's got an appreciation for the greenery and half a mind to try and remember to ask Nick for some help adding a touch of it to his home too. It's not something he thought about before which is kind of ironic considering he lives out in the woods.]

Do you need to put them back up while I'm here or anything? I don't know how your witchy shit goes.

[But hey, that's blood. His brows raise accordingly.]

Well, you know me. I try not to judge. ( the picture perfect display of innocence as he leans over to scoop up the other, unbloodied crystal. ) I think you're the only one breaking in.

( but it looks pretty neat, which is as valid a reason as any to do something. there's not very many showy things about nick's magic — but then, this isn't nick's magic. it's someone else's warding, over the top and excessive for a bedroom door, but in the immediate aftermath of last week's incident it had seemed pretty vital. now that the immediate paranoia has passed, he mostly just likes having a lock, even if it is a ...heavy duty one. )

Come look at this.

( helpfully, he's still bleeding a little, so nick doesn't actually have to do much. he just presses the crystal into the cut on his palm and drops it onto a blank spot on the carpet. immediately smoky purple symbols light up across the patch of floor in front of the door, lingering a moment before they start to fade away again. )

It's only supposed to need like, a drop of blood, I just slipped earlier. Cool though, right?

Yeah, hella cool.

[Tate's got a half grin on his face that's partly teasing; but he's got to admit it's interesting as always to see magic up front. He wonders what the ward would do to someone trying to break through it and if decimated was a word that really could describe it. The temptation to go over and touch the purple symbols is, well, strong. But he passes it up and instead gestures to Nick to show him his hand and that slipped cut.]

It hurt?

You're so fucking rude sometimes.

( his own laugh is all tease, and he picks the latest bloodied crystal back up off the floor before wandering back closer to tate. he quickly holds out his hand, palm up, and wriggles his fingers a little even though it makes blood bead around all that diligent work he'd put into getting it to clot.

the new wound on his hand isn't anything dramatic – it's a little bloody by virtue of being on the hand, long, but fairly shallow. exactly like someone stopped paying attention at the wrong moment and dragged a knife further than intended. the cut runs more or less parallel with the old scarring already running along his palm, but this fact doesn't seem to be any more of a problem than the cut itself. )

Don't text and slice or something, right? It'll go away eventually.

[Tate also resists the urge to drag his thumb over the slice on Nick's hand, his fingers skimming the backside of it beneath it before pulling away as if he's investigated it enough. He cants his head to the side after a beat and just looks up at Nick before moving over to invade his bed by virtue of sitting on the edge of it uninvited.]

You know how many nerve endings are in your hand? Of all the places to cut, idiot.

[But that's the magical appeal, right? Ritualistic hand slices?]

So. Drugs?

Edited (w o w) 2021-03-29 18:10 (UTC)

Easy access, though.

( in the case of the fucked up, magical scarring it had been his hand wrapped around a knife and the knife yanked out of the fist, but then speed and panic had been the name of the game then. now he thinks it's probably just a habit more than anything, returning back to that same spot.

instead of following tate over to the bed, nick turns to the desk until he can find a specific small box, with a handful of samples for things he's working on but hasn't tried yet. he crosses back over to tate with it in tow, but kicks his feet apart lightly and stands a little between them. )

And there was me thinking you'd become overwhelmed by lust. Do you want to try something now, or take it home? You can't sue if you die.

As fun as it'd be to make you take your wards down and book it - I'm bored, let's go.

[He's here for the something now, guinea-pig style. Tate's lips twitch into a tinge of a smile after Nick's nudged his sneakers to part farther and his hands slide down his thighs to his knees with a flex of his fingers against them. Nick just has this way of snagging his attention and making his dick stir to attention with ease. Tate cocks his head and focuses on what Nick's brought over.]

I was serious though. You break my dick, and it's over for you.

What are you going to do about it?

( he digs through until he finds two neatly pre-rolled joints in a bag with a blue sticker jammed onto the corner. the sticker means absolutely nothing, nick's organisation system relies much more heavily on his innate sense of knowing what he's holding rather than labels as a rule. he holds it out then, dangling the bag in front of tate's face but stopping short of actually handing it over. there's a lighter in one of his pockets too, but he isn't fishing it out just yet. )

This isn't that horny, it's just supposed to make you like— sensitive, I guess.

Sensitive.

[Tate echoes, curiouser and curiouser. It might actually be something of a joke someone could make - how Tate doesn't need to be any more sensitive than he is already for how close to the edge he often is emotionally. But thankfully Nick hasn't seen that side of him, pushy and childlike with indignation, so here they are. He doesn't reach to take the baggie; he's staring through and past it, up at Nick.]

Supposed to make me sensitive. You sure? Looking for confidence here.

You said you wanted to be a guinea pig.

( he is, at least, pretty confident that nothing nick has will actively cause any harm. sure, there's a little unpredictability in that it's tate trying things and not nick, but he's not particularly worried. maybe he could stand to be a little more concerned, but it's all worked out so far. something of a theme for nick, really - push on forward and have everything work out, until it doesn't. )

I tried this before and it was fine, just really weak. It just makes everything feel— more. Like touch, it shouldn't make you cry.

( shouldn't. probably. )

https://i.imgur.com/vbyLr5a.gif

https://i.imgur.com/vDzUYnQ.gif

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject