all_inclusive | Entries tagged with @: door: sexswitch

Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.

NYE 2015 | The Nexus & Elsewhere

In retrospect, Jordan supposed that she and Erik both ought to have known well enough by that point that when the universe gives you such a clear signal to stay in, it's wise to take heed. Being themselves, however, and possessing an innate fondness for (and superiority over) large parties, they neatly made their own beds with a bit of soda water and a hair dryer.

a horizon of painful complications

averygoodshot

Aramis keenly remembers teasing Porthos when he had stepped through the door and become a woman. He had teased d'Artagnan and even Athos.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He had not intended to do anything, really. He spent a good deal of his time praying, a good deal of time trying to atone for his sins.

Instead, this is what happens.

Much as his friends had, he has hitched his clothing tighter so that it may not fall down, and has fashioned something of a harness for ... well, for his new developments, as it were. He knows he could seek out Constance or even, if he was desperate, Milady, but he is not that desperate. He simply makes do and tells himself that God has a reason for everything.

He has always appreciated women and so maybe this is to test that? Who knows. Aramis does not question, at least not much. He is aware, though, that he looks a little foolish, his hair tied up, his clothing, baggy on him as a man, is like a series of large sacks on him, his boots far too big as he makes his way down the hallways. He smiles, though, not having a hat to tip, as he greets people. He knows he's not the only one who's suffered thusly. That's something anyway.

leftwithmybones

It's a bit like hiding in plain sight, but hell, when McCoy had quickly realized that walking through a particular door switched around his anatomy, he'd gone through a few steps:

1) Freak out and doubt the possibilities (at least outside of something like a strange alien planet or a beaming issue gone wrong

2) Realize that the door stayed put and he could easily switch back to normal

and then, finally:

3) Figure out that Jim's here and by hiding out in this strange new body, he can actually figure out what Jim's been up to without getting in his face and demanding the answers

And so that's where he is right now, sipping on a drink in the lobby and keeping an eye out for Jim coming back from one of the wild, mad doors around here, getting himself into more stupid trouble. On a little piece of paper in front of him, McCoy's been writing down all the ways he's seen Jim turn up, as if from a mission, and he's getting ready to come back as himself and ream Jim a new one for getting himself into so much idiotic trouble, but that can come later.

Because right now, he's on the lookout for the next item on his list.

morethanhuman

Mid-July 2014 | The Smoking Room

He was startled to remember how new this still was to Charles. The genuine curiosity in Charles's thoughts had hooked him like a fish, the sudden bright flash of his interest bursting in Erik's mind, irresistible. Charles forgetting to be distant made him forget for a brief instant as well, and he was halfway to asking if Charles wanted company before he remembered that even if he did, he wasn't going to want theirs.

But he hadn't asked Erik to leave yet either.

Erik and a powered-up, genderswapped Jordan find Charles drinking alone, and Jordan uses her new empathy powers to nudge them toward civility.

Nearly complete.

only_hope

Obi-Wan was not the sort of man to shirk from something he was frightened of but this latest development was vexing and troubling to him. Upon encountering the door that, apparently, changed his gender he had tried on several occasions (under a cloak, mind) to change it back. His new form wasn't exactly displeasing in any way but it wasn't his and therefore it was a problem that had to be addressed.

Or, barring that, one to drown in alcohol until he was so drunk that he could forget about it. Since the former hadn't worked and he didn't have enough access to scientific equipment to work on changing his current nature, alcohol was simply going to have to numb his brain until he could find the strength to face his current situation.

He guessed the one saving grace of Jedi garb was the fact that it was intentionally gender neutral. Aside from size, his robes and tunics were exactly the same as those that would have been provided to a female knight and he felt like he would simply dress in them until the situation corrected itself; Obi-Wan was not keen on the idea of having to seek out a dress to wear while temporarily in possession of breasts.

He tried to think about how Qui-Gon would approach this situation through the living Force but everything was coming up blank. "Qui-Gon probably would have laughed and found someone to spend the day with," he muttered, staring at his woefully-empty glass. He lifted it to get the bartender to pour him another and pulled his cloak around him a little tighter, hoping to avoid notice.

Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure that this was the most productive course of action.

armedagainstlove

Athos doesn't even realize what's happened, at first.

Ever since Milady had arrived insisting that Athos had been on his way to meet her, ever since he had returned back to Paris and discovered Aramis' treason with the Queen and the result of such a coupling, ever since Rochefort's rearrival on the scene caused him to slouch back to the Nexus, he has been drinking like he hasn't since right after his wife's supposed death. It is in this state that he'd fumbled through a well-known door that he'd thought harmless to him.

Intoxicated with the red wine, he does not notice the shift of gravity in his body, nor the length of his hair different, swept up by the hat. All Athos knows is that he has drank two bottles and is eager for a third, lest he fall into the eager pit of grief and the other complicated affections that lie in wait for him, all coaxed on by the woman whose locket he no longer wears.

When he arrives at the bar for his usual, he's met with confusion. The bartender states that she hasn't been around enough to have a usual. Athos smacks his palm against the counter, his rage brought forward with the incense of it all. "Wine," he snaps, calming himself before his demands grow angrier and more frustrated. "Just bring me wine," he mutters, voice hoarse from the drink.

He slumps into his seat and peers down for the first time, unsteadily taking account of how his clothes now seem to sag and slump on him. Sighing with the inevitable realisation, he lifts an elegant long-fingered hand to the bartender. "Make that two," he adds, before allowing his forehead to collapse against that waiting hand.

How could he have thought this would pass him by forever?

He grasps both bottles of wine greedily when they arrive, eager to trudge back to his room and escape the prying eyes of the public.

princehonorable

It takes Charming a moment to place herself when she wakes up, but eventually she remembers that for the last few months, she's been here; stuck at the Nexus with little to no idea on how to get back to her family in Neverland. Taming back her hair, she tries to settle that familiar ache in her chest, wondering if Snow is fine without her, if Emma is doing okay with only one mother -- except that's not how the Nexus works.

And, because Charming knows that their family finds each other when they're lost. It must mean that they don't think she's lost. Curling her toes and reaching for her henley, Charming gets dressed and rubs a hand over her face as she wanders out the door, trying to shake the niggling feeling that she's meant to remember something -- something about last night and a door?

She'd been drinking, though, so whatever had happened is lost in a blur, now. As she walks, she begins to tame her hair the way Snow used to, knotting it back and pinning it in place with a few pins while keeping an eye out for clues, any kind of clue that will get her back to the land she's lost -- which, given where she'd been, is almost a touch too ironic.

That's when she sees the glimpse of green out of the corner of her eye. "Hey!" she shouts, trying to get the attention of the person closing it. "Don't close that door, I need to get back there!" But it's too late. She gives a frustrated sigh and swears under her breath. She slams her palm against the door and wonders how the hell Princess Charming is supposed to get home to Snow White, now.

[Find Charming wearing his normal clothes but under the complete belief that he is, and has always been, a shepherdess/princess]

praiseandglory

Porthos was nothing if not stubborn, and he refused to let this transformation keep him down. With no specific deadline to look forward to, he felt that he had no choice but to train, until he regained, even in this body, at least a modicum of skill at what he usually did best: fighting. It didn't help that the breeches he'd secured for himself in this form were a lot tighter than anything he was used to, but he was learning to move about in them well enough.

Much more troubling by far was the weight of his broadsword. The Schiavona was much too heavy for his current strength, but it was all he had to practice, and so he found himself outside in the gardens, going through the basic motions of swordfighting as if he were only getting to know it, hoping that repetition would help. But in this body, not only was his sword too heavy, but his balance was off, and even his very style was wrong for someone who could no longer fight like a force of nature.

Fifteen minutes into his exercises already found his oversized shirt sticking to his back with sweat, and after stumbling through yet another move that should've been easy, he pulled off the kerchief he wore over his hair and threw it aside in a show of temper, planting his sword down in the soft damp soil and looking about as frustrated with himself as a not-a-lady Musketeer could get.

Which was, apparently, a lot.

incurablydishonest

Early September | The Nexus

How many times had Jordan, as a girl, marveled at what it must be like to be a man? The very idea of it had fairly made her head swim, a seeming endless parade of raucous freedoms that were always just out of her grasp for having the audacity to be born female. It had chafed, and eventually she had learned well enough how to turn that friction into a more creative means for grasping freedom, but never was she foolish enough to think it would ever be the same. There was nothing about her gentle or sweet, and yet still she was the gentler sex, placed neatly within a box from which a lifelong battle would never extract her.

Or so she had believed. The hotel, apparently, had other ideas about these things.

"Miss Baker, may I say your suit looks very fetching."

burdenofproof

The sensation of the shift had so abrupt he might’ve compared it to falling, though instead of tipping forward or backward, the whole of him had suddenly downsized into something that was wholly other than what he had been. He’d stared from his new proximity for a good long while at the pants that had slid from his new, slimmer hips to pile up at the floor, at small feet that no longer filled the shoes he’d been wearing. At the hem of a shirt that now reached past his knees and the collar which had dropped down over one newly feminine shoulder.

Luther had been in the hotel long enough to know that this had started happening to others, though he’d never fully considered what might happen were he to transform from male to female with no preparation. It was wholly disorienting, not just the shift in body parts but the sheer shrinking of his size, which had to have been diminished by half in all directions. There was logic still beating about his head somewhere, though for all it told him that he simply had to seek out someone he knew in a request for help for clothes for this new body, he was left to gather up his pants, toss them back in his room, and make his way down to the café in bare feet and the shirt which he supposed covered him well enough to pass as some sort of dress or muumuu.

He wanted a sandwich, so he got one and sat down in a corner table with legs that crossed at the knee far more naturally than he’d ever been able to manage before. Focusing on his food gave him something to do other than marvel at his new breasts, and he very methodically began to wolf it down in a state of borderline but tightly contained panic

trulyoracular

You know, when people head downstairs for a late day breakfast (4PM is never too late, not when you'd gone to bed at 5AM) and turn into a woman, most people might give it a bit of pause. Technically, Olaf does, but he's still really hungover and really hungry and the sausages kind of look incredible, still. He prods and pokes two on a fork before trying to stand in place and accommodate some of his new balance, but that's probably going to take a while (see, the hungover thing).

And normally? Well, normally this would be something to freak out over.

Olaf's never been normal, and seeing as he's watched his grandson get fucked out of a female body, he's pretty sure this is as normal as the Johnson family gets. Finding a seat near the food, Olaf sits with his knees spread wide as he digs into the food, as starved as ever despite the fact that he's suddenly got a lot less body mass to feed. He really wishes he had Stacey or Ingrid around. Dressing himself is always a rough pain and if he does need to get fucked to get normal, he'd rather have a bit of fun with it too (which makes him a bit regretful that he doesn't have a) a video camera and b) Michele).

Yawning and drinking half his coffee cup in one go, Olaf slumps back in his seat, possibly as unladylike as it gets, and debates heading back for seconds.

Really, if this is a god-related switch, he'd get some sort of oracle sign, right?

Seconds, he decides, standing up and getting back in line, peering eagerly forward to see what the roast looks like, which makes his cleavage very, very visible with the lowered line of his white tank-top.

freezedout

"Motherfff..."

Isaac figures this has to be some kind of retribution or revenge or something that the universe is conspiring against him because he's been avoiding Beacon Hills to try not to cope with the weird shit and instead, it happens to him here, again. After the last time he'd spent a few weeks as a girl, he's pretty sure it's the one thing that makes him distrust the hotel and maybe the one thing that makes him think that hiding out here isn't as safe as he wants to think it is and yeah, maybe he should go home.

Right now, though, he's coping with the fact that he'd jogged inside from his run, walked through the front door, of all places, and suddenly his clothes are too big again and the hair is all over his face and one quick glance down shows him yup, he's got a rack again.

Isaac tips his head to the ceiling, frustration singing through him as he wonders why the hell he can't just get a normal sign from the universe, like a signed note or something. Hell, even a voicemail would've been nice, but instead he's got to deal with this.

Letting out a frustrated breath, Isaac hikes his way to the nearest sofa and sits down so he can bend over to retie the sneakers that are suddenly way too big for his feet. He'd wandered in and out of the front door, but nothing. At this point, he's wondering if maybe the only thing that will let him go back to normal is going back to Beacon Hills.

He needs to find the door first and right now, he needs to fix his shoes and get a ridiculous amount of hair out of his face. He blows strands of it out of his eyes with the force of sheer frustration, blinking rapidly when his vision clears and he finds that he's so not alone.

"Uh, hey?" Isaac offers, peering down and slapping a hand to his chest when his tank top is way more revealing than it was when he left for his run. Cheeks flushed red, he lets out another vivid curse under his breath and slumps back against the padded couch. "I'm not trying to flash you, I swear."

71st_victor

april 20th, 2014 | the nexus

Johanna inhales sharply and stares down at her still male body, with the few perks it has, giving Finnick a displeased glare. "Maybe it's shy," she deadpans. "Performance anxiety with you around. It wouldn't be the first time someone failed to live up to expectations with you watching."

Johanna Mason wanders through a door that turns her into a man. At least she's handsome.

PG-13

freezedout

may 5 | nexus hotel

Not exactly himself, Isaac runs into Sif, who is not herself and looks incredibly similar to Derek Hale. Once Isaac realizes that isn't the case, they get to talking about what Derek is to Isaac.

PG-13

seeorseem

The fact of the matter, thinks Eames, is that reality should not be this malleable.

If he were asleep and attached to his PASIV, waking up to find himself in this form would be normal -- expected, even, given his tendency to pick up jobs that challenge him and there's something perfect about making a beautiful woman and assigning her minor flaws in order to keep the dreamer from suspecting that something is amiss. The problem is that he's not in a dream. His totem tells him that this is reality, which is making his head hurt.

It's been two days and Eames still can't shake this forge. He's hesitant to even call it that, but for the sake of his sanity, he's needed to retain that distinction in his mind, lest he go absolutely around the bend. He can't be what he is, and yet, he is. It's not the sort of thing he's come to expect to understand and he can't even find Arthur to search for an explanation.

The good news is that Eames has always been rather fluid when it comes to living in another person's skin. He might be forging in reality, but he will do it perfectly. He knows how to walk as a woman, how to wear the clothes, how to sit, and how to speak. It's one comfort in all this madness because at least he feels at home in his own skin.

If he still is himself. Eames raises slim fingers to the bartender, signalling for another scotch on the rocks being that drinking does tend to numb the worrisome notion that he's slipped so far into a dream that he doesn't know what's real anymore.

"You know," he remarks off-handedly to the companion at his side, "I had thought that I wouldn't have to pay so often for my own drinks. My expectations must be re-evaluated."

thelostprince

Still a woman, and Loki was doing his best not to worry about it. It certainly did offer an interesting spin on things, though, especially when it came to him going out and about in the hotel. When it came to attractiveness Loki had very little opinion, one way or another, regarding his own face. But as a woman he could easily see that he was attractive, at least to a certain type of person, that person being himself. It brought a strange sort of confidence to someone who was already confident, but not in the ways he was aware of.

So in that regard, he had decided, for a moment, to flaunt it. The dress he wore was a weave of green and black, off one shoulder and cut just above the knee, revealing more pale, creamy skin than he ever had as a man. A good section of calves was revealed, as well, topped in heeled, laced ankle boots. Style from different worlds was never something he had much difficulty in grasping, though certainly he had a tendency to stop once he had found something suitable and wearable. This had a distinct brush of Ruby's influence, though mostly he had simply followed the direction she had pointed him in.

While some of his peers from Asgard were more interested in keeping their body tuned, Loki preferred to keep his mind sharp first of all. He was sitting on a bench in one of the hotel's gardens, which he understood had an 'oriental' theme according to Midgard, and beside him there was a stack of books. The topics were all in relation to one another - they were extensive histories of different continents on a certain planet, covering everything from its societies to geological movements from fresh Stone Age to dirty, polluted end. One, however, described the pattern of movement of that planet within a certain solar system. Whoever could have written these documents, he did not know, for it was information that could be compiled only by a strange, vast mind. Yet Loki had read it all, and now he was translating it.

The original text was a very dead language, and he was carefully and calmly inscribing it using pen and notebook into the alphabet of Midgard. He didn't know of anyone who would like to read it, but it was something to do, kept his mind active. Translations were always interesting - though Loki read, wrote and spoke many languages, there were always words that fell into and out of use, or had no counterpart. In that he was entertained.

bornagoddess

EARLY APRIL | THE HOTEL GROUNDS

Wearing her armor's metal plates and metal weapons Sif clashes violently into Erik Lehnsherr, a man who can manipulate metal with his mind. Neither one is in good spirits.

ONGOING|some violence

APRIL 11 | THE HOTEL GYM/HALLS

001: At the gym Sif sends a punching bag flying, narrowly missing Captain America's head. He is impressed, they bond over shields.
002: Later that day Sif meets Joan Watson (not the Son of Wat) during her search for the door back home

001 (ongoing|all ages) | 002 (ongoing|all ages)

APRIL 19-20 (after midnight) | THE HOTEL BAR[SEX SWITCH]

001: Sif stumbles out of her room looking like a man, meets Loki (who now looks like a woman) clad only in a fluffy short bathrobe. It's awkward.
002: Later that same night, Ruby comes tell drunken Dude!Sif that her robe is very nearly open, and offers to get the poor Sif some pants.

001 (complete|all ages) | 002 (ongoing|all ages)

captain_rogers

While the thought of Bucky and the continued fruitlessness of his search for the man weighed heavy on him, there was little different in the routine Steve had taken up in being reintroduced to the hotel. Rising at dawn for a quick, but calorie-laden breakfast, the usual morning run out on the grounds for endurance, time in the gym for strength and flexibility, followed by the insistent growl of his stomach that demanded he rush through his shower before heading back to the Bistro for a second breakfast. All simple, already familiar, and done before nine in the morning.

What was neither simple nor familiar was what happened when he stepped out of the shower with no thought other than that he needed to towel off and dress before he could go out and public to sate the near constant hunger in his belly. He dried his hair with a quick scrub of a towel, wrapped the towel around his hips and padded through the door between bathroom and bedroom with every intention of following exactly that plan. He did not, however, intend on stumbling, thrown suddenly off balance by the length of his legs and the width of his hips and the entirely unfamiliar balance of his body.

He crashed unceremoniously to his hands and knees, shaking his head against the disorientation only to find a cloud of blonde hair in his face. Even as he swept it back with a pass of his hand, wondering at the length of that hair as it fell long past his shoulders, he found himself staring at the delicate and most assuredly feminine hands he held out before him.

Steve looked down at his body as he knelt on the floor, only to just as suddenly jerk his head back up as he flushed red with embarrassment, pulling at the towel around his (too round) hips until it covered him more...more, just more. He didn't want to think of what or how it covered him. There he scrambled for his clothes, hurriedly trying to find something of the too large, wrongly fitted things that could fit over the shape of this too body. A shirt that fell to the top of his thighs and swamped him, a pair of boxers rolled at the waist to fit less precariously, a leather jacket he zipped up over the unfamiliar terrain of his chest, and Steve rushed out the door in the hopes of finding someone he knew or someone who could fix...whatever this was.

freezedout

There's no way this is possible.

Isaac had been on his way to get food, like every other day, and he didn't exactly bother to check whether or not the doors were jimmy-rigged with some kind of weird crap. After all, his werewolf sense have been pretty good about telling him whether or not there's danger ahead. And yet, he hadn't seen this one coming. One minute, he's himself, then the next, everything has changed in the course of five seconds.

"Um," Isaac manages, grabbing his throat when the word comes out high, feminine, and strangled. He loosens his fingers and stares down at his loose clothes and the fact that he barely recognizes himself. Isaac grabs his face and stares in the reflection of nearby glass, realizing that he's not going crazy.

Actually, no. No, this is crazy. Crazy is wandering through a door and becoming a woman. Crazy is this and crazy is the wolf senses inside him going crazy when they don't know what to do with new hormones. He grabs at his hair, searching for a familiar face around him, because this is crazy. Isaac wanders through every damn door he can find, but nothing changes.

This is Beacon Hills level crap and this is supposed to be somewhere where he doesn't have to worry about the kind of crap. Zombies, he can cope with. Rome? Sure. An arena of things trying to kill him isn't exactly awesome, but Isaac can learn how to deal with it. Being in the hotel and turning into a girl on his way to dinner?

"If this is some random wolf crap, Derek did not give me the literature," Isaac growls, tugging at his too-loose clothes with distaste.

All Inclusive

Reboot Marker

i never thought that you would take it this far;

It was bound to happen some time - OTA

no subject

there never seems to be enough time

endless forms most beautiful

Grief is the price we pay for love

mirror mirror on the wall, who the hell is she?

Stubborn problems always require a shift in paradigm.

She's got enough, she's got too much.

Strange and Unexpected Shifts

"God shit happened and I turned into a chick!"

no subject

Let's do it again, sometime

You can sit here and perfect the art of doing nothing.

It's a very subtle art

no subject

Sif's Adventures in The Nexus

Dude looks like a lady

This is so not gonna end well

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