#Bodyswap AU Idea

[theimaginatrix27]

So my brain is mostly Garashir and has been for a week.

And it only just now dropped a bodyswap plot in my lap (probably because it's one of my other favourite tropes). I'm almost sure the only bodyswap Trek episode was the one from TOS, and if there's a fic revolving around Garashir with this premise I would like a link thanks.

But how my brain imagines this roughly going is:

Sometime during canon, probably post Julian being replaced by the Changeling and subsequently retrieved (but please understand this is meant to be a light-hearted incident), there's an incident and Garak and Julian end up in each others' bodies.

And decide they will have to pretend to be each other until they can work out how to fix this, because everyone else on the station has enough to deal with, and they both have excellent memories and have been watching each other do their thing for years, it'll be fine!

Except:

Garak can get most of the mannerisms and accent down, but can't be as casual as Julian is to save his life. Also he's not a doctor.

Julian is trying his best, but his impression of Garak is painfully OTT.

Odo's suss on them immediately. Miles freaks out and thinks Julian's been Changelinged again, or something. Possibly culminating in Julian's body getting decked. Julian-in-Garak hears about this, panics, and goes to find Miles and explain.

He finds Dax first, who believes him immediately because it tracks with everything she's been hearing today. They do find Miles but he doesn't believe Julian's story, at least at first.

Garak also breaks character because concussion/the stress of being human/ill-equipped for the situation and not wanting to admit it, and the minute they're in proximity, which Dax helps arrange, the two of them start arguing. Their back-and-forth is unmistakable and Miles finally accepts the story.

Dax gets Kira and Sisko, despite both Julian and Garak's protests. Nerys finds the situation hilarious for some reason. Ben is on three hours of sleep and just looks at them, sighs, and goes, "Explain."

They explain the situation to the best of their abilities and the situation does get resolved, and does end with Garashir sex.

Optionally, the whole thing is orchestrated by the Prophets because they are sick and tired of them not admitting they're into each other. Seriously, the sexual tension is so potent they can feel it on their plane, and time is not linear. (Look I know they don't do that much interference in canon but this is a fanfic and a comedic one at that!) In this version, the plot is resolved by them doing said confession, at which point they snap back into their own bodies.

I don't have details and unless I get them, I'm not writing this, but I had to get it out of my brain 'cause I'm sleepy and didn't want to lose any bits before it was recorded.

[reichurine]

bodyswap au but a bit of a sad take oops, pt3

pt2 here

[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(101) After a very very secret tryst, Megatron and Optimus Prime swap bodies. They have a rushed conversation and agree to keep it to themselves while they find the stupid artefact that did this to them.

Megatron must practice being kind to his Autobots, and that's bad enough, but Optimus Prime is probably going to be assassinated by the weekend.

However, the important part about this fic is that it alternates between the points of view of Megatron or Optimus and the points of view of their various subordinates while they each flex their dubious acting chops.

[lilliputianmerriell]

I’ve started like four different Snurgie fics all at once, and I am in emotional distress and disarray

[heqvenlymoons]

The Impersonation of Lila Rossi [1]

hihi, giving this concept a try. take this as a pilot chapter. i might continue this because of the potential crack from Marinette impersonating Lila. this is a mlb x dc crossover and i did decide on the ship of daminette (damian doesn't show up in this part though, fyi). let me know what you think of this idea!

Part 1

When Marinette woke up, she would have felt relieved that her nightmare of Hawkmoth getting ahold of the ladybug and black cat miraculous for his wish was just a nightmare. If not for the fact she wasn’t in her room. 

The unfamiliar room sent a wave of uneasiness through her gut. 

Shadows covered the room, reminiscent of the beginning signs of a nightmare. Various masks adorned the fuchsia wall, looking more like a creepy trophy wall a serial killer might keep than decorations for the room.

Marinette had always been aware that bedrooms say a lot about someone’s personality and habits. Nothing in the room screamed it was hers. 

She sat up, moving to the edge of the bed and trying to make sense of where she was. 

Her fingers went to her ears on instinct, checking for the feel of the familiar black studs of her earrings, only to touch the smooth skin of her earlobe.

The flash of panic was immediate. Her breathing quickened, heartbeats increasing in speed. 

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to get akumatized. Not when she was unsure of her surroundings and the location of her earrings. 

Her eyes reopened, and she noted the numerous objects scattering the wooden floor and the magenta rug on the floor in front of the zebra-striped bed she rested on. 

A large printed picture caught her eye from where it hung on the sky-blue wall on top of the bed. She could’ve sworn she'd seen the dark paradise poster somewhere before, and if not for her disoriented state, she could’ve probably recalled it. 

An Italian flag hung near the poster, showcasing the room owner’s heritage. 

Other mundane items on the bed felt almost out of place in the shadowed room. The zebra-striped comforter spread on the mattress, along with two pink pillows. A lamp and a stuffed teddy bear sat on each side of the bed in their corners while a plaided pink blanket dangled from the front board.

A soft voice sounded outside the door, accompanied by gentle knocks on the lilac door, which had colourful frames outlined in dark brown and pink. “Lila!” 

Lila? As in… Lila Rossi?

Before Marinette could linger on the thought, the door creaked open with a faint click. 

A woman of average adult height walked in, holding a glass of water. Her brown hair pulled back into a bun. Her light brown eyes tinged with relief at seeing Marinette awake and sitting on the bed. 

“It’s good to see you awake, Sweetie.” The woman sighed, a look of guilt washing over her delicate features. “I’ve been so focused on my job at the embassy lately that I haven’t checked up on you as much as I wanted to. I found you in the kitchen last night. It seems like you’ve crashed from exhaustion.” 

The unease in Marinette’s gut twisted deeper, her lips quivering. “I’m sorry, Mme… who are you?”

The woman’s look of concern washed away, leaving an expression of unimpressed and disapproval. “Lila, ma chérie, I thought you were well past the lying phase. I know you occasionally slip back, but faking amnesia is not something to joke about.”

This woman was Lila’s mother? But that would mean—

Marinette felt herself go cold. Her hands were getting clammy, and sweat was forming on her forehead. 

The woman— Lila’s mother, frowned at her unresponsive state, reaching a hand out when Marinette shrunk away. 

“D-don’t come closer,” Marinette stuttered out, freezing at the familiar voice that wasn’t hers. 

That voice. Marinette knew that voice. 

Lila’s mother sighed again, drifting her hand away. Her face softened from the way Marinette’s eyes darted around the room like a wounded animal. A worried look overtook her expression at Marinette’s behaviour. “I wasn’t going to hit you. You know I’ll never lay a hand on you. Are you and Adrien okay? He’s not being abusive, is he?” 

Marinette swallowed the panic, her mind racing as she ignored the latter half of the sentence and found the words to respond. “C-can… Can I be alone for a few minutes? I just…”

The desperate look in Marinette’s eyes made Lila’s mother take pity on who she thought was her daughter. “Alright. I’ll check up on you again before I leave for work.”

Lila’s mother set the glass of water on the vanity and left, shutting the door with a click. The footsteps faded away, leaving Marinette alone to her loud, garbled thoughts. 

Marinette wasted no time getting up to the vanity, gasping when the face of Lila Rossi stared back at her. 

The usual menacing grayish chartreuse green eyes that pierced her like a predator’s gaze stalking its prey were wide with fear and alarm. 

Fingers reached up to touch the smooth, light tan skin of her— Lila’s face. 

Marinette’s eyes, now green, went to the hair. It was auburn, with blunt bangs and two short pieces framing the face that tied in a loose hold with orange bands. 

She was undoubtedly Lila Rossi.

[augustjustice]

Feeling half-naked without his rings, Eddie absently flexed his hands.

...Steve’s hands. 

They were broader than Eddie’s own, palms thicker, fingers longer. He was now missing the calluses that littered his fingers after years of playing guitar, but Steve’s hands were still a far cry from the overly soft, prototypical rich boy hands someone might expect. Instead, they were covered in their own map of calluses Eddie would only be too happy to memorize, rough patches that told the story of years spent on the Hawkins basketball team, and the firm grip that had fought off monsters with nothing more than a baseball bat full of nails. 

Based on the stories he’d heard and the things Eddie had seen himself, he knew all too well that Steve’s hands were weapons.

But they were also the same hands that shielded his friends from danger and ruffled Dustin’s hair, that picked the kids up when they were down and carried Eddie, barely breathing, to safety out of the Upside Down.

It was a painful cliché, waxing rhapsodic about his hopeless crush. Still, as Eddie traced the twisting creases on Steve’s palms–the clear curve of his lifeline, his surprisingly long heartline—he couldn’t help but think that Steve’s hands were…really beautiful.

[clickedwrong]

been watching linkclick s1 with my partner and like. we were at the xu shanshan newspaper ep. he took 20s to piece together LTC's control powers FROM THAT ONE LIU MIN CALL.

[discordiansamba]

wait actually. you know what would be really funny.

shiro still dies in the shiro krolia bodyswap and the black lion still preserves his essence. except. it doesn't keep it stored within itself. No, the black lion is quite certain that Shiro would prefer to interact with the physical world. Thankfully, there is already a vessel quite used to his quintessence available.

in other words. the bodyswap evolves into a bodyshare.

(Shiro is so, so sorry. The Black Lion decided this on its own.)

[ethereance]

мιяяσя мιяяσя

“So in this universe—”

“Reality.”

“—Uh. In this reality. Are you and me—?”

“Yes.”

He tries not to squeak. It doesn’t work. “So this means we—?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” she says.

(In which Lance and Allura get fast tracked to their happy ending whilst their alternate selves get thrown back into some robot lion action. Because sure, why not, this might as well happen.)

***

You’ll have to excuse Lance for thinking this is a dream at first, the haze of sleep still a thick fog in his brain, leaving little room for cognitive thought. But here he is, snuggled up under the covers of what’s easily be the cosiest bed he’s ever slept on, face to sleeping face with a certain silver haired beauty he could only ever dream of being this close to, and well, you can understand the confusion. This is Allura he’s talking about here. A princess Lance would compare to Aphrodite had he not gone through a Percy Jackson phase at age twelve and learned all about the consequences of a statement like that. Gods get up to some pretty petty stuff. 

So Lance silently thanks his brain for not only giving him the opportunity to have a waking up in space-Vegas dream about Allura, but making it lucid to boot, and savours the moment, silently begging real life Allura not to choose today of all days to hold an early morning drill, for, as alluring of an alarm clock she is, Lance needs to catch his zzzs somehow. You don’t think he wakes up every morning looking as great as he does without some form of rest, do you? It’s called beauty sleep for a reason, and there’s plenty of beauty in this particular sleep.

There’s something so peaceful about dream Allura’s sleeping face, at ease in a way Lance has only seen once, back when she was suspended in time by that cryopod. She’s a busy woman, always putting every ounce of her time into winning them this war. As much as Lance would love for her to kick back and relax, even just for a bit with them, she simply doesn’t. Maybe, once the universe throws them a parade for karate kicking Zarkon out of business, she’ll finally get the chance. 

Man, even her sleep tousled hair looks ethereal. Lance doesn’t know how Allura does it. He’ll have to ask her what shampoo she uses. L’Oréal for aliens or something. It has to be something other than the ten thousand year old soap they have all been given. Princess privileges, is he right?

Though, if he pays attention, there’s something about her face, subtle as it is, which appears older somewhat? It’s in the cheekbones, the skin. Enough to suggest some sort of passage of time within this dream world, though as to how old she’s meant to be, Lance can’t say.

Allura’s eye twitches, and Lance watches as she stirs awake, looking drowsily around. As her eyes land on him, they widen, snapping into focus. 

“Morning, beautiful,” he says as she sits up, pulling out his flirtiest trump card. Hunk once said his smouldering look makes him look a mix of goofy and constipated, and that it really doesn’t do him any favours—thanks Hunk—but he’s sure dream Allura will appreciate it. 

She stares at him blankly. Guess this dream gets points for its realism. 

“Lance,” Allura says slowly, critically, “Is that you?”

“Well yeah. Expecting anyone else?”

“I wasn’t expecting—do you remember anything that happened?”

Lance feels his face flush. Calm down on the dream lore. “Uh, between you and me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, seemingly appalled at the thought. Ow. “We were with the Prismariums. Do you have any recollection of their festivities? Our fight against the robeast?”

“The prismari…” Lance trails off, blinking away the last of the sleepy haze. He scrambles backwards, almost tumbling off the bed as he does so. “Holy quiznack. This isn’t a dream.”

“No, more like a nightmare,” she says, and again. Ow. 

***

𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚘��𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

You know how it goes. Kick robeast ass, save a planet, stay around for the victory celebration. Lance is kinda sorta a pro at this now. Sure, he hasn’t been doing this gig long, the whole Voltron defender of the universe thing, but he’s starting to get a good idea of what to expect. And apparently what to expect are a lot of super thankful, super cool looking aliens. 

All in a day’s work. Or quintant? Lance thinks that’s the word Allura and Coran have been using. Anyway, it’s just what they do. No need to thank them. 

Though, yeah, all that thanks is very much appreciated. 

(It’s still super weird. Because him? They really have all this unwavering faith in Lance, in all of them, to end a war that’s been going on for far longer than his family tree has been alive?

How could—)

The prismariums are a species that can best be described as what would happen if you squeezed toothpaste into a human-ish shaped mould. That clear stuff with all the microplastics in. Their skin shimmers at the touch, pulsing in colours specific to the individual, blues and greens, and yellows, and reds. There’s this particularly beautiful one at the front of the group with eyes vaguely reminiscent of Allura’s, and pink scales lining her neck and upper arms. Her hair descends just past her shoulders, and has an overall effect that reminds Lance of that one fibre optic lamp he had as a kid, always enthralled by its colours. Even her eyelashes pulse with colour.

She introduces herself as Princess Evuth, the third daughter of Queen Naex, and practically begs them all to follow her to the castle to speak with her mother so she can coordinate the proper ceremony required for saving her people.

“We’re just doing our job as paladins,” says Shiro, who much to Lance’s disappointment seems to have no intention of accepting any reward. “The safety of this quadrant will be reward enough.”

“But it is customary!” Princess Evuth protests, something in her tone triggering immediate action from Allura.

“Shiro,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Lance does his best to suppress the slight pang of jealousy at their closeness. “I think it’s best we agree. We wouldn’t want to offend her people’s customs.” Lance recalls their time with the Arusians, all too ready to throw themselves into a sacrificial pyre. Perhaps Allura is currently doing the same. “And I would very much like to speak to the queen about joining the coalition.”

“Excellent,” says Princess Evuth, beaming with joy. “Please allow me to escort you to the castle.”

Lance hadn’t really had time to admire the sights earlier on, back in his lion, a little preoccupied at the time, but looking at this planet now, it’s easily a beautiful one, flush with greens, fields and hills as far as the eye can see, which it does pretty well, twenty twenty vision and all, rip Pidge (“What do you mean you don’t actually need glasses?”) Between triangular shaped crystal outcrops—their numerous windows suggesting that these are their homes rather than ornamental scenery—copious amounts of trees spring from the ground, leaves oddly translucent, a running theme on this planet. 

And if you think the prismariums are colourful, they have nothing on their castle, a giant glittering set of prisms protruding from the ground, reflecting beams of rainbow light every which way. They truly live up to their prismarium name, so it seems. 

“Ahh, it may be different, but it’s just as colourful as I remember,” says Coran, an achingly nostalgic glint to his eye, “I’ve only been the once. My old band, you see, we wanted to branch out to other music genres, find a wider audience outside of Altea. Those were the days. The Prismariums were famous for their Yarflemfloop, this long instrument that wobbles around like this, see?” He makes this wobbling motion with his whole body, his limbs suddenly jellyified. “Though I never could quite get any of the notes right. It does make for a nice hat. Though I wouldn’t recommend keeping it on unless you want it stuck there. Haha!”

Princess Evuth’s eyes widen, horrified. “Who in the stars would ever put a Yarflemfloop on their head?”

“Oh, you know.” Coran’s smile turns sheepish. “Just a fellow I once knew. Had one too many a pint of nunvil. Nothing worth dwelling on now, it’s all in the past.”

Allura rolls her eyes, shaking her head to herself. And yet, it’s an action that’s so incredibly fond. 

They make their way into the castle with significantly less anecdotes from Coran this time, giving Princess Evuth the opportunity to throw in some tourist trivia as they shuffle onto this large, circular platform to take them upwards into the castle. Stuff about the glamorous views in the Winter months—an approximately nine month long period in their twenty four month long year—and the planet’s musical history, such as how they managed to make their rocks ‘sing’ in a way, achieving notes through contact. 

The castle appears to have a hollowed out centre, though, which becomes obvious when the queen meets them in her throne room, large and spacious with a glass floor that has even Lance—a pilot with no history of having a fear of heights—feeling slightly queasy upon realising how far up they are. He has no idea how Hunk lives like this. 

“Esteemed paladins, Princess Allura, Advisor Coran,” begins the queen, red and purple where her daughter is pink. She rises from a triangular shaped chair to greet them. “I cannot thank you enough for protecting my planet’s safety, and by extension, the safety of my beloved daughters of whom are my greatest treasure of all. Please allow me to extend you my hospitality, and request that you attend our victory celebration later this evening.” She pauses. “I hope my invitation won’t delay you on your mission to recover peace across the universe.”

“We would be honoured to attend,” says Allura, and before they know it, they’re getting a tour of the castle as the chefs prepare. 

The rest of the castle lacks the transparent flooring that distinguishes the throne room, going for all of the colours instead of none. They get led down passageways completely orange, or blue, or whatever shirmple is (“I see. It appears your eyes cannot pick up the varied range of colours as we can.”) to just as vibrant rooms, some of the highlights being the music room (none of the instruments in there remotely resembling anything you’d find on Earth, though Lance does get to find out what a Yarflemfloop is as well as firsthand experience that Coran cannot play it), the golf course (which none of the prismariums refer to as golf), and the swimming pool (Lance does not know what that liquid is but it is not water. Looks rather rejuvenating though. He’d be open to trying it out). Lance supposes that, on whatever planet you’re on, rich people will be rich people.

“The legend goes that our people were cut out of the very rocks that form our land,” Princess Evuth says as they pass through an art gallery showcasing the works of various artists hanging from the walls. One in particular is of a prismarium emerging from a glittering crystal, all geometric shapes and angular lines. “Whilst I’m not sure that it is true, we have always had a deep connection with our land. Not quite in the way the Balmerans do, but enough to rely on the rocks for navigation. They tell stories in a way, echoes of history, and we listen. We are never lost among our stone.”

“Well, princess, if you were a rock, you’d surely be a diamond,” Lance says, adding in a wink for good measure. He ignores the groans, especially Keith’s. That guy wishes he had lines as good as his. 

Princess Evuth blinks. Then giggles. “I have no idea what that is.”

“Oh.”

“But I believe it was a compliment?” the princess adds hopefully.

Lance clears his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

“Then I consider you all diamonds too,” she says with such open earnesty as she leads them down the next hallway.   

“Smooth going there, Lance,” says Pidge, nudging him in the arm. Hunk rolls his eyes beside them.

“Oh shut up.”

***

The last stop in their tour can be summarised as the funhouse mirror room. Just. So many mirrors. Hunk and Pidge are already posing in front of one that makes Pidge look like Goliath rather than three apples tall in comparison to Hunk who looks like he has been shrunk in the wash. 

“Not bad,” says Pidge, raising her hand above her head to compare heights. “You know, I used to love these as a kid.”

“Uh, Pidge, you’re still a kid,” Hunk observes, “We’re still kids. Technically. I mean, my birthday’s coming up… uh… sometime soon. I think. Space time throws my head through a loop. But until then…”

“Well, this was years ago. Back when Mum and Matt would…” Pidge trails off, a nostalgia exchanged for the grim reality of the present. She deflates. 

Hunk squeezes her shoulder, a gentle encouragement. “Let’s look in the other mirrors.”

“Hey, Hunk,” says Lance, waving the pair over. He points at a mirror next to him, one that seems to have an in-built Instagram filter, making his skin glitter as if dusted in stars. “Do you think it captured my good side?”

“You have no good side,” comes a voice that is distinctly not Hunk. Thanks Keith.

“Yeah? Well, who was talking to you, huh?” Lance counters, glaring daggers far sharper than Keith’s ever touched. “‘You have no good side’, puh-lease. I’ll have you know that that was a trick question! Every side is my good side.”

“… Uhuh,” is all Keith says. Lance will take this as a win. 

“Oh man, that is a cool mirror. My skin’s all spacey,” says Hunk, now standing next to him. After waving at himself a few times, his attention is distracted by another mirror nearby. “Oh hey! Look at this one. Everything’s all red. Keith, you should check this one out. That colour’s, like, your thing, right?”

“Yeah, Keith, you should check it out,” says Pidge, a rising smirk that suggests some sort of jab is coming. Hah! Take that Keith. “You wouldn’t want to come between Lance and his reflection after all. Just leave them to it.”

“Hey!” protests Lance, feeling the sting of betrayal, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Allura sighs, shaking her head. “Paladins, please. We’re in company.”

“It’s alright, Princess, no one’s destroyed anything. Yet,” says Shiro, giving off the aura of an amused parent watching his kids scramble around on the play equipment. And he calls himself too young to be ‘space Dad.’

“Agreed,” says Princess Evuth, “You should see me with my siblings.” 

“Uh, Princess. I think your mirror is broken,” says Keith, peering at his complete lack of a reflection in the largest mirror here, with a grand, ornate swirling frame, encrusted with many a priceless jewel. True to his word, its surface remains distorted, a haze of colour and nothing much else. Poor excuse for a mirror if you ask him. Can’t even mirror right.

Or—

“Or maybe you’re just a vampire,” suggests Lance, “Would explain the fangs.” He points to his own teeth. Lance swears up and down, left right and centre that Keith’s canines were a tad on the pointy side when he caught him munching on that space goo. Does he spend all that time in the bathroom sharpening his teeth?

“They’re not—” Keith whirls around to face him. “I have very normal teeth, thank you.”

“You’re joking, right? Have you looked in the mirror lat—oh. Wait.”

“Lance,” chides Shiro, and come on mr. favouritism. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Oh! I see you’ve found the oldest mirror in our collection,” says Princess Evuth, making her way over. “It’s remarkable, really. It predates even this castle. It’s over hundreds of thousands of deca-phoebs old.”

“So it needs a clean, then?” says Lance. He finds it strange how dust manages to land on objects vertically. What’s even keeping it there?

“No, it simply doesn’t reflect. The legend goes that a meteorite fell from the sky unlike any our people have ever seen before. There wasn’t much of it, but my ancestor, Queen Oleeria, had it crafted into this very mirror you see before you by her own hand, wanting a metal so precious to be displayed in her room. It was strange. Despite it not being of our world, she found a way to connect with it in a way that defies words.” 

Lance casts the Princess and Coran a curious look, noticing how they both suck in a breath. Huh.

“They say that it’s a window,” Princess Evuth finishes, “A window to other realities.”

“Other realities?” repeats the echo in the room, Pidge, “Huh. I’ve read many theories about them from plenty of respected researchers, but that’s only speculation. And if it were possible, it would require a device much larger than a pane of glass.”

“Like I said, it’s just a legend. What matters is that my mother holds it dear. Please go careful near it as I… Princess Allura, are you quite alright?” 

Allura seems to snap out of some sort of dazed expression, pulling her hand back from where she was unconsciously reaching for the meteorite mirror. Double huh of the day. It’s not like her to space out like this. Coran similarly regards her with concern.

“Forgive me for interrupting. You were saying?”

Whatever Princess Evuth was saying, they’ll never know, as her eyes seem to fall on someone behind Lance. Turning around, he sees a prismarium with orange scales, dressed in a simplistic attire, signifying them as one of the castle staff. “Ah. Yes?”

“They’re ready for you, Princess.”

Princess Evuth glances at them all. “Perfect. Shall we?” 

***

The dining hall is utterly extravagant, maybe something reminiscent of Altea’s in its heyday, crystal chandeliers and a table so long the only way to communicate with the other side is via messenger pigeon. Atop the table boasts a bountiful feast fit for kings. Which makes sense. There’s a lot of royalty present. 

Princess Evuth ushers them past nervous castle staff and guests to the head of the table where the Queen currently sits, accompanied by two others Lance surmises are the Princess’ siblings, one red, and the other a darker shade of pink. Hot pink. And yet, just as equally hot as her sister. 

“Now this is what I call a feast,” says Hunk as they sit down, Lance opting to take the seat next to him and Allura (heck yeah). Hunk’s gaze lands inquisitively on a dish in front of them, and whilst Lance isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to eat food so fluorescent his insides could be glowing for decades, it’s a step above food goo. And at least it doesn’t move of its own accord. 

“It’s a special occasion,” says the Queen, and then a little louder, projecting her voice so at least half of the table can hear her. “Another quintant of our planet being free of the Galra. Let us pray that they do not find us here. Or if they do, we will have Voltron to keep them at bay.”

“Then can I assume you’re accepting our proposal to join the coalition?” Allura asks, hopeful. 

“Of course. It would be my pleasure. We are long due an era of peace.”

As Lance starts searching around for food he’ll be able to digest with minimal consequences (“Paladin, are you eating garnish?” Princess Evuth asks, clearly amused), and Hunk’s talking to Pidge about seasoning and five star reviews or something, Lance notices Allura’s got that weirdly glazed look in her eyes again. She hasn’t even touched her plate. Or added anything to it.

“Allura?” Lance prompts, his worry growing. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” She seems to come to. “Oh, yes.”

Lance doesn’t believe it for a second. The worry stays.

“Lance,” she says, “I’m fine. Truly. I—” She grunts, cradling her head. 

Coran jumps to attention. “Princess?”

“I’m okay,” she says through clenched teeth. “It’s just a headache.”

“Perhaps you would like to take one of our guest rooms to rest in?” suggests the queen, “I can have one of my staff escort you there.”

“I’ll come too!” says Coran, never one to waver when it comes to Allura’s wellbeing. 

“Please, there is no need to cause a fuss. I should be here to…” Allura winces. 

“It’s no fuss at all,” assures Queen Naex with a sympathetic smile. And before Allura has any more time to insist that she’s okay, she’s being led out of the room with Coran, the latter of the two returning about five-ish minutes later. 

After the feast, there’s a period of time where they mix and mingle, giving the chance for many of the other prismariums to ask them about Voltron, and what it’s like to fly the lions. Lance, of course, isn’t one to keep a crowd waiting. 

Allura’s still gone. 

“Do you think she’s hungry?” asks Hunk, a second conductor on the Allura train of thought, “I mean, there’s all this nice food, and she didn’t take anything. It seems like a shame that she has to miss out.“

“Ooor I could take some to her,” offers Lance, seeing an opportunity to check up on Allura. He’s worried, okay. And can you blame him? She always looks so strong, it’s easy to forget that she’s only human. Or, rather, altean. Guess they aren’t exempt from headaches. 

“Is this really the best time to try and make a move on Allura?” says Hunk, giving him an unimpressed look. 

“That’s not what—just help me find something she might like.” 

Considering they’re guessing here, they pile a plate up, the more the merrier, the greater chance at least one of the snacks will be a hit, and Lance starts making his way to the general vicinity of the guest rooms after getting one of the staff to repeat the direction to him about five times. Hey. He’s just being careful. You could get lost in a place like this. 

He’s about halfway there when he spots Allura, having apparently decided a walk would clear her head. 

“Allura!” he says, rushing up to greet her. “Is your head feeling better? I’ve brought you some food from the feast and… uh. Allura?”

Not for the first time today, her eyes are glazed over. She’s also continuing on her walk, oblivious to Lance’s presence. 

“Allura?” he says again, hoping it’ll snap her out as it did before. When it doesn’t, he starts waving his hand in front of her face, accidentally bonking her on the nose as she walks into it. Still no response. “Yoohoo? Princess? Are you still in there?”

Again. No response.

“Allura? Wakey wakey?”

Nothing.

“Uuuhhh. Are you sleeping beauty, because girl, you’re stuck in a trance.”

Well. Pick up lining her awake doesn’t work. But this does get Lance thinking. It does appear to be some sort of trance, one that started in the funhouse mirror room.

She had been trying to touch that mirror.

And now—

Lance remembers this hallway, remembers the door at the end.

“Nu-uh, Princess,” says Lance, attempting to hold Allura back. “I can’t allow you to do that. I know it’s a pretty cool mirror and all, but it’s super old and grimy. You don’t want to put your hands all over it.”

Allura pays him no mind. No anything. His cheap attempt at restraining her simply doesn’t go noticed when a) she’s under some sort of sleeping beauty curse that’s gonna get her to prick her finger or something on a mirror (?) and b) Allura’s an altean with unthinkable level of raw strength. Lance wouldn’t last two seconds against her in an arm wrestling contest. 

He could really do with backup right now. But he doesn’t have his helmet comms, and there’s no time to run for help. He’ll have to play this smart. 

A barricade. That’s it. He needs a barricade. That should slow her down, long enough for him to get the others. 

Lance runs ahead, and drags some fancy cabinets from the hallway over to the door, mentally apologising to the prismariums for any damages that might occur. It’s very much not a one person job, but he makes do, pulling together a makeshift barricade out of what he has.

“Now, if this can stop you long enough—” Lance is interrupted by the sound of splintering wood as Allura breaks through. 

Oh cheese. Even those barricades you see in movies hold longer than that. 

Lance is desperate now, holding her arm and refusing to let go as she gets closer and closer to it. Lance can power of love this, right? That’s usually the hero’s last trump card, and it always works at the last possible moment. 

“Don’t do this!” Lance says, then starts wracking his brain for other quotes, noticing how the mirror’s surface starts to swirl like rolling smoke. “You have to fight it, Allura. We need you, here, with us, to save the universe. We can’t do that if you get possessed by an evil mirror. Or—Or—Whatever it’s doing to you! Don’t listen to it!”

***

𝙽𝚘𝚠

“But, uh, long story short: you listened to it. So I guess we’re here now?” Lance says, finishing up his own abridged version of the story. There really wasn’t much for him to tell. “Wherever here might be. Hey, does this mean we’re inside of the mirror? Is this some freaky mirror world?”   

Lance has played some horror games like this before. Very brain trippy. The reverse controls were a pain. 

“I can’t be sure. Wherever we are, it’s certainly not Queen Naex’s castle.” Her eyes scan the room, taking in the blue walls, and high ceiling, all incredibly familiar. “The Castle of Lions I believe? Though I can’t say I recall this room. Or this… photo?”

From a nightstand, Allura picks up a photograph, looking at it for no longer than a second before her face is flushing. She immediately presses it down, frame first, back where she found it. 

Now, that’s curious. “Uh…”

“It’s nothing important,” says Allura, not looking him in the eye. Weird. She clears her throat. “Remember what the Princess said? About the mirror being a window to other realities?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s as if it… called to me, wanting to show me something. It felt warm, and familiar, and I at first mistook it for my bond I share with the lions. It felt like coming home.” She takes a steady breath. “There could be truth to her tale. Though instead of a window, it is a door.”

Lance blinks. “Well huh. Aliens and now the multiverse. Sci-fi’s starting to feel like a documentary.”

“You’re remarkably calm.”

“You kind of just learn to roll with it. Takes a lot to phase me, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep,” says Lance, sliding himself off the bed. Huh. Something feels off. “Is it me, or am I taller?”

“It’s not just you. We seem to be occupying the bodies of our variants. They’re a little older than we’re used to.”

Lance splutters. “Older?! Don’t tell me I have wrinkles!? Do I have wrinkles?”

“… Well.”

Her pause is telling. “My skincare routine! How could you future me? What about our future?” Lance laments, a great tragedy indeed. All his hard work and age is failing him. He’s too young to be this old!

“Were you not just telling me about how it takes a lot to phase you?”

“And this is a lot! I mean, we wake up who knows where, in a bed… together. Um.” Backtrack, backtrack. He gulps, feeling his face warm once more. “So in this universe—”

“Reality.”

“—Uh. In this reality. Are you and me—?”

“Yes.”

He tries not to squeak. It doesn’t work. “So this means we—?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” she says, curt, to the point. It betrays no emotion.

“Oh. Okay,” says Lance, that buoyant feeling in his chest sinking into a wreckage of scraps. Cool, cool, cool. No thinking about this very real reality where he and Allura may be in a committed relationship. No prob. 

“We need to focus on finding our way back.”

“You’re right.”

Something in Allura’s eyes softens slightly. “Look, Lance. We can talk later. But for now, we must find our entry point into this reality. Voltron needs its blue paladin.”

“And its Princess,” adds Lance, because if they need him, they sure as quiznack need her. “Let’s get looking.”

[chaoslynx]

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 5821

When Eiji glances at himself, it is Ash's build that meets him, Ash's skin. Everything adds up, but ...

"How did you ... ?" Eiji manages, startled again at the sound of his—Ash's—voice.

"Just a little correction to the banana fish drug," Dino purrs. He places a hand on Eiji's face, palm enveloping his cheek, and Eiji tries to move away despite the restraints strapping him to the thin mattress. "Anything is possible with enough money and power. And you'll learn quickly that you don't have enough of either."

Money, maybe. But if this disgusting bastard thinks that Eiji has no power, he's drastically misjudged how much Ash means to him.

Ash gave himself up to Golzine, with no plans to escape. Eiji, though? Eiji's been planning to get Ash out since he disappeared.

And now he's on the inside. He can get Ash out easier than ever, now.

If there's one conclusion out of this situation so far, it's that Dino Golzine may have underestimated one Eiji Okumura.

While in Golzine's custody, Ash is injected with a variant of banana fish that causes the victim to swap bodies with the person who's most important to them.

[mandokarla-mavrok]

💀😭😂 just imagining Itachi’s reaction to a tiny pink terror screaming at him about revenge

Crack concept: Team 7 time travel where they wake up in their genin bodies and easy-mode the plot, but everyone has woken up in the wrong body.

Sakura is in Naruto's body.

Naruto is in Sasuke's body.

Sasuke is in Sakura's body.

Kakashi gets filled in on what's happened almost immediately, so that he can spend his time running after his disaster of a team and coming up with increasingly bad excuses for why they're Like This

They wake up in the middle of the Wave mission so they have to basically go into battle without any sort of practice at being in each other's bodies

Naruto: HOW DO I TURN ON THE SHARINGAN Sasuke: Just think about the worst thing that's ever happened to you-- Sakura, why am I already tired?? Naruto: SASUKE IT'S NOT WORKING Sakura: Oh my god, Naruto, no wonder you had such bad chakra control! This is more than I had as an adult! Sasuke: Sakura, I'm dying-- (SAKURA BREAKS THE ENTIRE BRIDGE)

Anyway, Sakura-in-Naruto's body is definitely the most useful of the three in terms of combat because her chakra control transfers. All three get to keep their ~experience~ in terms of combat and jutsu (so Sakura can still do medical jutsu, Sasuke can do low-power genjutsu but can't get Sakura's body to fire/lightning jutsu very easily, etc), but jutsu involving a nature transformation that they're not used to/their current body isn't aligned with takes some practice, and obviously Sasuke and Naruto aren't used to fighting without a magic eyeball or demon fox. (Sakura is also not used to fighting without her byakugou to fall back on, but this is much less of an immediate problem for her.)

Naruto tries to send Sakura to go collect the Toad summoning contract and learn the Rasengan from Jiraiya, but she finds him peeping on a bathhouse and flips her shit, and she doesn't get anything out of it.

Sakura: JUST TEACH ME THE RASENGAN YOURSELF Naruto: You can't just learn my signature technique without months of practice-- Sakura: (gets it in about three tries because of her chakra control + overall experience with nature transformation + Naruto's body's affinity for wind) Naruto: are you kidding me

Sasuke wants to go off to Do Something About Itachi immediately but he keeps pushing Sakura's body too far and collapsing. No, he will NOT stop trying; he knows this thing will get super tough eventually. Just.... eventually, okay??

They realize they can pre-empt a lot of bad plot stuff by hunting down Obito and Zetsu, and this leads to a lot of shenanigans like "Naruto collapses out after one (1) chidori even though he still has plenty of chakra, because Naruto is simply not used to having to do anything running on low and thinks he is dying" and "Sasuke remembers some Earth/Water techniques he copied in his previous life and can get Sakura's body to do them, but unfortunately he keeps forgetting he has noodle arms" and "Sakura in Naruto's body is a fucking beast in combat, but she lacks Naruto's charisma and therefore attempts to solve the Gaara problem by Murdering Him"

Orochimaru keeps showing up to try and mark Sasuke (Naruto) and all three just sort of treat him like an annoyance and it's hurting his feelings

Naruto's Talk-no-Jutsu with Sasuke's pretty privilege....... unstoppable???

[niaojirou]

Entry for RoyEd Week 2024! 1st day prompt bodyswap AU 🙌🏻 I was so stumped with no ideas of what to draw until I remember I always wanted to see Roy and Ed as Taki and Mitsuha from Your Name 😔💗 @royedweek2023

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Cookie's Fic Recs

I feel like no one really does rec lists anymore! But last night I was feeling and sappy and mushy and decide to put together my own little list of fics I love. These are in no particular order, and they don't follow any real theme/tropes other than I dearly love them all, and you should definitely give them a read!

*I tried to tag everyone I could find a blog for, but if I missed anyone, please let me know I can tag them!

The Instinctual Gravitation Towards Warmth by kimkhimhant (@kimkhimhant)

This is my comfort fic. No joke, this is what I read when I want to die. It’s angsty as all hell, it’s made me cry, but it is so indescribably good. Kim is an addict going through recovery, finding love and family along the way. He hits rock bottom—arguably multiple times—but always claws his way back, always with the support of the people that love him. It’s such a beautifully written and cathartic story, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it. But it’s almost certainly the fic I’ve reread the most. 

Error in the Code by BlackwaterVial (@blackwatervial)

Sneaking this VegasPete onto my otherwise KimChay list bc it altered me. I think most people already know what it is, but jic: it’s a sci-fi/cyberpunk/android AU, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read. I go feral for androids and this fic delivers in all the best ways. The world building alone makes me weep. But all of the characters interactions, the way we get such an in depth feel for everyone despite the limited PoV, and the most satisfying take I’ve seen on android artificial intelligence ever—I can’t recommend this story enough. 

Idiots & Idioms by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical. This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical.

Silver for Truth by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This fic is the Kim & Khun vs. Tawan team-up we deserve. Kim is a ruthless, demented bitch, that's too cool to beat Tawan to death bc what if he messes up his wrists right before a show?? Big, get 'im. Kim is the feral-est cat ever, leaving behind evidence and bodies for Kinn bc saying "hey bro, I still love you/look out for you" is too much emotion for him. The fic is also from Tawan's PoV which also makes it the funniest thing ever, for reason that I won't spoil <3

The Wiked Lies We Live by shubaka (@shubaka)

Oh my god, this fic. Canon divergence (technically??) where most things happen as normal... except KimChay have been bodyswaped at the start of it. The little twists Shu puts on the events of canon, given it isn't the correct characters experiencing them (such as Big being very confused about why Kim is suddenly nice to him??) are so much fun.

A Portrait of Affection by froginthesun (@froginthesun)

Kim is an artist and Chay is the part time nude model he hires. ‘Nuff said right there, except no it isn’t, this fic is beautiful. Kim’s frustration with his craft is palpable, and so is the way he rediscovers his passion through Chay. The writing is wonderfully detailed, every chapter felt like walking through a museum. And tension slowly building between them—unf. 

Sunshine in My Closet by moneskin 

This is an A/B/O AU that is so satisfying to read. Typical hilarious boundary violations (Chay stealing Kim’s clothes, a bewildered Kim handing over a freshly worn outfit, having barely any idea who this strange kid is) characteristic of the AU, but then the story also delves deeper into more serious topics. Chay has a history of abuse from a past alpha that he has to learn how to navigate with Kim, who is incredibly patient and works hard to make Chay feel safe and loved. Overall a very sweet and comforting read. Seriously, this fic makes me melt.

Your Body Feels Like Disrespect by Blue_Jay (@bluejayfiction)

This fic is so funny because it begins with Kim blurting out, in the middle of an Important Mafia MeetingTM, that he and Chay aren’t having sex, and then wanting to die about it. Followed by Kim’s family trying very hard to both support and terrorize him. It’s hilarious, sexy, and one of my favorite reads when I need a pick me up. (Bless Kinn’s determination to be a Good and Supportive Brother, and Vegas for being the Worst Person Ever.) 

In Silent Screams (In Wildest Dreams) by BelladonnaWyck and StratsWrites 

This is definitely a darker fic. There’s DubCon, Kim is generally Sketchy, but it’s very hot. And I love explorations of his character where he isn’t just outwardly psychotic and cruel. This fic shows the kind of dark that I think Kim could have been, if you just tilted his character a little to the left. He still seems very much the way he is in canon, but he’s also… a lot more calculating and cold, sometimes. I love it. 

Forget-me-always by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

I cannot sing the praises of this fic enough. I think it’s probably tied for IGTW for my most-read fics. I’ve probably read this one more often in reality, but only bc it’s shorter. But oh my god, does it hurt. Kim gets struck with amnesia post-break up, does a little light stalking, and gets Chay to help him learn/remember who he is. In the process realizes that wow his life sucks, and there’s no way he wants to go back to it. Especially if he’s the kind of person that hurt Chay. He would rather start over. (Ofc, he doesn’t get to). This fic makes me cry, it’s so good 

Coffeehouse Play by AirgodSLV

This is a canon divergence AU that I adore. The KimChay characterization is on point. I love that despite everything going on around them, they also get to be two boys that hang out and play videogames and try to shove each other off the couch while Porsche makes dinner. Given the age difference it’s so easy to make Kim Older and MatureTM, but he’s still a kid, and this story never once forgets that. It felt so honest and true to his character that Kim does have a lot of plans, and he’s very smart, but he’s also still so young, and sometimes shit just goes wrong. 

Want and Need by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

God, this fic. T h i s f i c. Post-canon Chay goes to therapy and becomes a camboy (in that order) and it’s delicious. Watching the steady breakdown of his and Porsche’s relationship is so satisfying. Everything one of them does to make things worse feels awful, but is so in character that it’s hard to be mad at them for their decisions. Kim readily giving up control if it means he can be with Chay, and Chay getting a crash course in how to dom. All of it is just. So good. This is such a good fic

Your Look, Through This Lens by WildelyDawn (@wildelydawn)

AU where Chay becomes Kim’s photographer. This fic emotionally hobbled me. Just a fair warning. You will cry. But that said, the ending isn’t nearly as sad as the tags would have you believe! At least in my opinion. I think it’s fairly open/hopeful, and beautiful either way. I love the way this fic shows how Kim balances being Wik while also being part of the mafia. And I love how temperamental he is; always hot and cold, while remaining pretty even as far as how he expresses himself. Always very aloof/detached, just out of reach, with Chay never really sure where he stands/what Kim wants. But at the same time the fic happens just before Kim gets a big break, and the subtle ways he shows his excitement and nerves as things start coming together—it’s wonderful. 

Love’s a Two-Way Dream by giraffeter (@giraffeter)

This fic is dark. Kim atticwife’s Chay and it’s not a good time. But!! It’s not just dark for the sake of it; Kim is a genuine sociopath, yes, but it unfolds slowly. You get a sense of creeping dread as he does things that are just a little bit off, until finally the Big Bad Thing happens. At first he seems normal, playing the part of good and respectful boyfriend. But it just goes downhill from there, and I love every word of it. The ending especially is very satisfying. 

In the Dark of the Night by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

Not to recc everything Bard writes, but… This is a rape recovery fic that I feel handles the subject matter incredibly well. There’s no gratuitous rape scenes, and even with the flashbacks, I don’t remember any of them being incredibly detailed. I think Bard handled the fic with incredible respect and grace. This is another one that’ll make you cry. The way Chay handles his past trauma while trying to have a relationship with Kim is so painfully real. And so is the way Kim wants to help him, but doesn’t really know how. But they figure it out together, and it’s amazing. (Also Kim acquires a stabby child in the form of an OC that I adore.) I just love the path Chay's recovery takes in this fic, it's so visceral and relatable. It's all around just. So good. I love this fic for the same reason I love IGTW and it's because both fics show an excellent depiction of recovery.

Chains and Crowns, A Flower Can Both Make by Sweet_William (@sweet-william-writes)

Incredibly Regency AU. Historical AUs are some of my all time favorites, and this is everything I didn’t know I needed. Sweet_William captures the essence of an Austen-esque style while still making this feel like the KinnPorsche characters. Chay is wonderfully feisty, Kim is delightfully complex, and the various family interactions always had me cackling. 

Simple Little Secrets by CorvusCloudburst (@cloudburst-ink)

Chay sees the future when he touches people. Kim thinks he’s either insane, a spy, or a conman. Oh, and Chay’s visions of Kim? Always sex-related. The shenanigans are endless. What more do you need?? They’re both crazy4crazy and it’s my favorite thing ever. Their banter is snappy and fun, the writing is sexy, and it never once gave me second-hand embarrassment despite Chay’s horrible situations. 

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic is a bodyswap au and I have been WAITING for this one

(630 words.)

As it turns out, it's really bloody hard to pretend to be Sirius. Remus just isn't laid back enough. He can't hold on to that bouncy, bright energy the way Sirius does.

"Padfoot?"

A few seconds pass before Remus remembers that he's Padfoot, turning quickly and shooting James a smile. Oh, it's weird being the same height as James.

"Hey!" He cringes a little at himself. That was way too enthusiastic, he has to find a balance. James catches it too, frowning a little at him.

"Are you okay?" He asks carefully. "You're not thinking about Moony again, are you?"

"No, I'm-"

Wait.

Sorry?

"Moony? Why would I be thinking about Moony?" He tries instead, but James just looks at him like he's spontaneously started speaking a foreign language.

"Sirius, I know you said you'd try to put him out of your mind, move on, but I don't think you should. I really do think you have a chance!"

"...A chance," Remus says slowly, trying to play catch up, slow his heartrate a little.

"Yeah!" James seems happy that Remus, Sirius, is even entertaining the idea. "You should see the way he looks at you! I'm sure he likes you back, Sirius, he has to!"

Oh.

Oh.

"He likes me?" Remus asks, stunned.

"I really think he does," James says sincerely, but Remus' head is reeling. "Ask him out! You never know what could happen!"

At that moment, Remus promptly forgets that he's halfway through a conversation, opting for turning and practically booking it to the library. Sirius is hosting his study session, and Remus should feel a little guilty, but honestly? Nothing matters more than talking to Sirius.

With that decision made, he shoves the door open. Heads turn, and Sirius looks up. Lily, sitting beside him, shoots Remus a glare.

"Uh... sorry. S- Remus, could I, uh... talk to you?"

"Piss off, Black," Lily shoots back, which tells Remus that he never wants to be on Lily's bad side.

"No, it's alright. Yeah, 'course," Sirius says back. "I'll be back in a second, guys."

He's much better at being Remus than Remus is at being him.

The moment they get outside of the library, Remus grabs Sirius' wrist and pulls him into a dark, empty hallway.

"Moony, what-"

"You like me," He states simply, stunned, watching as his own eyes widen. "As in, romantically. You like me."

"How did you-" he starts, cutting himself off as his eyes sink shut. "Prongs," He groans. Remus just nods. "Listen, Moony, I'm so sorry-"

Remus has no clue what motivates him to do this, not when Sirius is literally him right now, but he can't stop himself from leaning in and kissing him.

For a moment, it's really... weird. He's never really fancied kissing himself, to be perfectly honest.

Until time seems to freeze for a moment, and he's himself again. Suddenly, Sirius is gasping into his mouth, lips soft against his, and Remus wraps his arms around his waist, finally, finally lifting one hand and sliding it into Sirius' hair.

He's rewarded with a muffled whimper, as Sirius throws himself into the kiss with an enthusiasm so staggering it makes Remus' head swim. Still, who is he to complain when Sirius tastes like mint and Merlin Remus is in heaven.

It finally seems to click that they're in public, both of them regrettably pulling away. Their eyes meet, and Sirius huffs a gentle laugh.

"So..." He starts, and Sirius grins at him.

"If I'd known that was all it took, I would have kissed you a long time ago. Avoided this whole mess altogether," Sirius says simply, decisively, drawing a laugh out of Remus.

Okay, he's not going to the study group. Not now.

[n-i-m-u-e]

Lucemond bodyswap!AU

This plot was quite popular when I was a teenager (before the dinosaurs), but I've hardly ever seen it in this fandom. And a few days ago I literally had this dream (yes, I resumed taking antidepressants this month and usually when you start taking them, you have very vivid, detailed and interesting dreams at first) I couldn't let go of the idea.

Let's imagine that Rhaenyra and her family stay in KL until Viserys' death to prevent the usurper from taking her throne, and then just stay there because she's now queen. And so, with the help of some bizarre Valyrian magic really don't care the causes, only the effects, Luke and Aemond swap bodies and, according to the classic of the genre, cannot tell anyone about it (although Helaena knows anyway). And of coooourse, they have to work together to get everything back to the way it was.

-----------------------∞----------------------

for me, this is such an inexhaustible endless source of dramedy:

Aemond’s first thought when he looks in the mirror and sees his nephew's reflection is 'What can I do with this horribly messy hair?'

Luke wakes up in Aemond’s chambers and struggles with his new size, bumping into and tripping over everything until he finally reaches the room he’d fallen asleep in the night before, already covered in bruises. There, he sees himself—or is it his body?—turning the room upside down, searching for something. Luke timidly asks what Aemond is looking for, and with a look of wild madness in his eye, Aemond barks: “A comb!”

Luke, on the other hand, doesn't care about Aemond’s hair at all. It annoyed him how long it is, although he's mesmerized by its softness and color. Especially the color, since he’s imagined countless times what it would be like if he’d been born with Targaryen hair. But he can’t deal with the long strands and just ties them into a messy… something. Aemond nearly has a stroke when he sees this vandalism for the first time.

They agree to call a truce until they find out how it happened, but they constantly fight for various reasons. Mostly because Aemond is the one who panics dramatising overreacts about the situation. Luke, as an empathetic child without emotional constipation, even tries to calm him down. But, as expected, only encounters rudeness in return. The uncle says that he has never felt so defective before, even after he had lost an eye. He also says that he is very worried that Luke-in-his-body will now disgrace Aemond with ‘such idiotic expressions’ after Luke-in-his-body cannot hide the obvious resentment on his face.

Their attempts to behave like the other are rather clumsy. Mainly because Lucerys has never really hidden his emotions, while Aemond has never really shown his.

Aemond is shocked to find that in his sister’s family, displays of physical affection without any serious reason are perfectly normal. On the first dinner of being Luke, Aemond reflexively twists Jace’s arm when he tries to ruffle his hair unexpectedly. Later, when Rhaenyra, noticing something is off with "her sweet boy", pulls him close in a gentle hug to figure out what’s wrong, Aemond is beyond errored. And let’s not even talk about how the poor guy feels when Daemon slaps him on the back and asks for his opinion on something. Yes, used to being fairly distant from his own family, Aemond is really stunned by the intensity of the interconnectedness in his older sister's household.

After all this, he goes to complain to Luke, who is also in shock and distressed about 'Aemond's day', but it's more of a ‘Damn Bitch, You Live Like This?’. He hasn't seen any of his uncle's family all day and no one has even looked for him, except for Sir Christon (and it's a pretty enough nightmare). He tells Aemond that maybe understands why he's such a prick - because he hasn't ever been hugged enough.

Aemond, who can't come up with a plausible reason for not training with Jace, decides that he will quickly defeat his older nephew. But he is annoyed to realise that Luke's body is not as strong and trained as he is used to, and he cannot hold a sword of the weight that Aemond is used to. The fact that Jace is only gently encouraging his “brother” irritates him even more.

In the early morning, Aemond forces his nephew to train with him to learn how to use his new body—instead, Aemond cringes as watches Luke struggle to cope with his own. But after a little while, using each other's advice, they have a good sparring. Aemond is very excited about the possibility that having both eyes and the agility of a small body opens up—is triumphant at his victory. Luke look like he doesn't cares (he really doesn't, because he'd rather be in bed at this hour).

But the real hit for Aemond comes when Damon meets him later that morning and tells him that he saw the fight between him and Luke and is really proud of him because he has ‘unexpectedly good technique’. Aemond's fangirl-daddy-issues-emotions run high, and even the warning that ‘needs to be careful with this one-eyed Hightower cunt, because his extreme niceness is too alarming’ doesn't diminish them. By the end of the day, Aemond is mentally running around with the fact that ‘the Rogue Prince praised my fighting skills.’

Luke laughs for a very long time when hears about this conversation. Because ‘Daemon saw me beat you, and according to him, I fight only slightly better than Joff. Joff is six, uncle. Daemon thought "you" went easy on "me".’

They try to find some information on how to get back into their own bodies in Valyrian manuscripts, but Luke discovers just how terrible his uncle’s pronunciation is when he tries reading something aloud. The search is soon forgotten, as their impromptu speaking lesson stretches late into the evening.

The amount of time they’ve been spending together lately doesn’t go unnoticed and starts raising questions. So, the boys decide to split up for a while and conduct their searches separately.

Luke, who is unbearably bored being Aemond and lacking his discipline, decides to find some entertainment. He’d normally call Jace to fly or invite Rhaena for a walk, but obviously, that’s not an option now. So, he heads to see Helaena, who is delighted to have him visit. Luke confirms that his "quirky aunt" is really sweet, but freezes when she declares she’s 'so glad Aemond can see the underside’.

Later, Luke encounters Aegon too, who makes a comment about Aemond-Luke’s hairstyle. And boy, out of habit, reacts in much the same way as he would if something similar happened between him and Jace—he responds with some kind of small joke. Aegon stares at him as if he’s grown a second head—or at least regrown his second eye. Slowly, Lucerys realizes that his stoic, cold uncle is really just wearing a mask. After all, truly coldblooded people don’t flare up at every little remark.

Aemond, who’s genuinely trying to solve the problem, finds a reference to a book that might be in Dragonstone’s library. Without thinking twice, he decides to fly there. Based on who he looks like now, he thinks no one will find it odd if Lucerys Velaryon spends a few hours in the library at his own home. He heads to the dragonpit to ride Lucerys Velaryon dragon.

But dragons are not humans. Arrax is not at all pleased when some suspicious guy—no matter how much he looks like his rider (this no less suspicious point also needs to be clarified)—tries to approach him and decides to take a few bites out of the pretender. Aemond is rescued by Luke, who is on his way to visit his dragon. Unlike his uncle, he did not assume that Arrax could be fooled by appearances.

Luke angrily tells his uncle that he 'tried to steal someone else's dragon again and almost got hurt.' For the first time since they switched bodies, they get into a real fight, almost ending in blows. But when Aemond sweeps Luke off his feet with a well-placed strike from his “blind side” and and falls on top of him, they have some feelings that are… let's say not typical of a fight, which makes Aemond embarrassed and run away. What can you do—they still teenagers🤷‍♀️

And speaking of teenagers. If you wake up with morning wood while in someone else’s body, is jerking off in such a situation still considered masturbation or already sex? Just asking.

Aemond, isolated from his usual routine and still holding a grudge against Luke, decides to “gather some information on the enemy camp,” as he calls it. In reality, he's simply finding out how Luke is treated by his family. And this simultaneously makes him envious and angry on behalf of his nephew. Because he doesn't like the condescending attitude that thrives on Luke. Now it becomes clearer to him why he once thought the boy was weak and foolish, though in recent days, he’s realised that’s not the case at all. But this condescension causes Lucerys’ impostor syndrome to progress. It doesn't allow him to become stronger.

Also, unexpectedly for himself, Aemond finds that he actually likes his cousins, and even little Joffrey is “a decent kid.” Jacerys stops provoking a dull irritation as long as he’s either silent or far enough away that his words can’t be heard.

For a few days, Aemond and Luke avoid each other. But eventually, Luke comes to make peace and finally apologizes to his uncle, not just for the recent incident, but for everything.

They decide to fly to Dragonstone together because Luke knows how to sneak into the castle. After all, he has slipped out countless times with Jace, Rhaena, and on his own.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: Solar Futhark

Dreamling (Solarpunk Urban Fantasy AU) | Rated E | 8.2k words | complete

CW: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Solarpunk, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Drow!Dream, Druid!Dream, Half-elf!Hob, GunslingerBard!Hob, investigators, work partners, partners to lovers, banter, temporary bodyswap, being captured, held prisoner together, starvation, tied together, confessions under duress, love confessions, soulmates, mates, escape, prison break, animal transformation, possessive Dream, matriarchal drow society, subjugated male drow, male gestation, male pregnancy, mention of forced pregnancy, mention of platonic soulmates, Dream has a cock and a cunt, pussy eating champion Hob Gadling, cunnilingus, oral sex, vaginal fingering, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, vaginal sex, anal fingering, hair-pulling, rough sex, cum slut Dream, sex magic, Hob probably has a copy of the Belmont Book of Penis Spells, large cock, multiple orgasms, discussion of fisting, happy ending

(AO3 hates me right now, so I will post this there later.)

Hob cackles as he tucks the large hourglass under his arm and fucking runs.

“Oh, what the hell…” Dream drops the vase of flowers he had been planning on using as an improvised weapon and takes off after his partner. A partner who is rapidly climbing the rankings for stupidest sentient being Dream has ever known. “Gadling! What in the name of every god extant and extinct do you think you are doing?”

The half-elf startles for just a moment as Dream easily catches up to him despite his head start and the crowded market streets. “This is evidence, right?”

At this rate Dream is going to pull a muscle rolling his eyes at Hob. “We do not steal evidence! I do not have the least idea of where you learned how to be an investig–”

“Pirates!” He chirrups happily, skidding around a corner as horns start to sound the alarm throughout the resonant underground halls of the Duergar city.

The answer is so absurd that Dream is struck speechless. 

Then a rumble sounds to their right and it has Dream reaching across Hob's chest to grab his gun in its shoulder holster under his duster. Luckily the gun and the hourglass are not under the same arm, because Dream is completely out of spells, both divine and arcane. He jumps ahead up the stairs and twists, taking two shots at their pursuers and grinning when he hears a shout of explicatives.

Another set of stairs, then they are scrambling up a wall, grabbing the bottom rung of a camouflaged ladder, and are back in the surface’s sewers before the next round of horns sound. Dream slides the cover over the secret entrance and breathes a sigh of relief as, with a golden shimmer, it seals itself once again.

Panting and apparently completely uncaring of the state of the water around their feet, Hob drops to his arse with a thud. Little bits of duckweed and algae slop up onto Dream’s boots.

“We should keep moving.” Dream scowls at his footwear as he also breathes in huge, heaving gulps. “We don't know the power of their artificers and–”

“Don't have ‘em,” Hob shakes his head. “It made bartering for certain items with them a total crapcircus because they didn't value the same basic material goods. Everything they do is mechanical. Non-magic. Luckily we didn't get stuck down there often.” Dream just stares at him; theoretically those are all common words, but fuck if he parses their meaning right now with the adrenaline crash just starting to take its toll. Hob smirks, lopsided and definitely not charming. Absolutely not. “Pirates, remember?”

He feels a headache coming on and so pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you actually trying to tell me that before joining the Houndsguild you were a Hawkshaw?”

“Uh… yes?” Hob blinks at him as if Dream is the one asking the dumb question. “Thirteen years. Is that so hard to believe?”

Dream just stares. If this half-elf was a Hawkshaw, one of the pirate codekeepers (the closest to lawmen such outlaws might ever get), then there is so much more here to uncover, so much more to Hob, that he isn't even sure where to start. Hob drops back down in Dream's mental rankings of stupidity. Dream breathes out and now, a little calmer, some of Hob's behaviors slot into place. The impulsivity. The recklessness. The charisma to get himself out of just about any problem caused by said impulsivity and recklessness. “No, actually, now that I think of it. It makes some sense.”

The smile that brightens Hob's face is also extremely not charming. Or cute. No. Not at all. “Help me up?” He holds out his hand and Dream automatically grips his forearm as he continues to speak, “I know we got off on the wrong foot when we first met, but I hope you are coming to realize that in this, in solving cases like these at least, I am actually competent.”

Dream grudgingly nods, but also cannot resist the opportunity for a good jibe. “It at least explains why when we first met you were balls deep in the barmaid bouncing on your lap in the middle of a crowded tavern.” He smirks back, trying to convey that he isn't really judging, just teasing. “Never met a Hawkshaw who didn't want to be the absolute center of attention.”

Hob splutters out a laugh and gets his feet under him, blushing all the while. “Hey there! It is a specific tactic! Think of it like slight-of-hand and bardic performance had a baby, but it acts on a group level. While everyone is busy watching me…”

“Your fellows are working without being noticed.” Dream shakes his head ruefully, ceding the point to Hob. “Not bad.”

“Fun, too.” Hob's grin goes lopsided again as he waggles his eyebrows and he stares at Dream for a beat longer than necessary. Dream has to resist fidgeting under that warm gaze and so distracts himself with their usual banter.

“If that is your kink, then I am sure it is fun.” Speaking of fun, watching Hob's eyes widen and his neck flush when Dream says the word ‘kink�� is extremely fun. He studies his fingernails and tries to exude nonchalance. “Exhibitionism isn't really to my taste, though. More of a leather and ropes type myself.” He hears Hob inhale sharply and smirks, still not looking up. “Did you know that if you get strips of leather soaking wet they shrink and constrict as they dry?”

Dream looks at Hob through his lashes, sees him open-mouthed and panting, eyes dilated. Delightful. 

Maybe he will be able to get through this partnership with his dignity intact after all. Or, at least, Dream certainly won't be the first one to lose his composure.

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“Got you,” Hob thrills at hearing the voice he now commands come out as that rumbling purr he loves so much. “Do you yield?”

He looks down to see his own face twisted with a sneer that is familiar but he has never seen on his own features. “Absolutely not.” 

It is decidedly strange to hear his own voice this way–not quite similar enough to trigger the embarrassment one feels when listening to a recording, but still disconcerting. 

Then again, all of this is disconcerting and decidedly strange. He is currently inhabiting the body of his work partner, a drow who Hob had fallen ass over tea kettle for decades ago. He is using said drow’s body to pin his own to the dirt in a forest clearing outside the overgrown castle ruins they just investigated. They are now speaking again after a long stretch of silence, a silence that was only interrupted because their respective bosses told them they had to work together on this case. Which was very much not how Hob had imagined their reconnection going, but beggars can't be choosers. Or so humans say.

Hob is learning quickly that drow not only look different than other elf-kin, but that they see, hear, and smell differently, too. It makes sense, given that their senses are attuned to a vastly different environment, but as a half wood-elf he had just never thought of it before.

As Hob lowers his face, Dream's long white hair cascades over his shoulder. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

He flexes his hands around the wrists he has pinned and spreads them wider, giving him a stance with the leverage to hop up and have his feet come down between Dream-in-his-body’s calves with enough force to pry his legs apart. The elf beneath him grunts as his thighs splay and their pelvises crash together. Even through the spelled denim they wear Hob can feel how aroused his friend is, no matter how he denies or ignores it.

“I feel it is rather narcissistic of you to enjoy the possibility of a sexual encounter with your own body.” He relishes the breathlessness he can hear in his own voice, how the body beneath him trembles. Hob knows exactly what has to happen to drive his own body to that point and if he is causing that in Dream… well. He was rather hoping they could have one of their catfight fuck sessions before the curse wears off.

“Come on,” Hob says, enjoying the rough, raw sexuality he can convey with just a slight change in tone with Dream’s vocal cords. “It gives a whole new meaning to go fuck yourself.”

It is fascinating to see what is so clearly Dream's eyeroll cross his own face. Drow vision is far more sensitive to movement than his own and it allows Hob to see even the slightest twitch of brow or flutter of lashes or movement of lips. It is kind of distracting, all this detail.

But that is nothing compared to the distraction of this sense of smell. Hob is no doubt never ever going to get this chance again, so he might as well indulge a little while he can. He drops his face into his own neck and inhales deeply. “Tannatell’s tits do I always smell this good to you?” Hob repeats the act, this time dragging his nose up into chestnut hair as he breathes in. “How can you work like this? I’d be on the edge of coming all the goddamned time. No wonder progress on this case has been so slow, you’re the smart one and you only have half your blood going to your brain. Fuck, it is like I am… your...” he trails off as that thought completes itself in his head. 

Oh.

Now, drow vision might have traded brightness of color for its enhanced sensitivity to motion, but there is no doubt, when Hob lifts back up and looks down, that there is a fiercely red blush on Dream's cheeks. And Dream refuses to meet his gaze.

Hob lets go of the wrists he holds and sits back on his heels so he is kneeling between Dream's thighs. He watches as the other elf brings his hands to his chest, rubbing gently at them where Hob's grip was tightest. Dream keeps his head turned to the side the whole time. 

“Dream, why didn't you t-”

“Don't. Just don't.” His eyes close and his face crumples into something pained. It guts Hob to think that this is something painful for Dream. “The first time we talk about this can't be like… I do not want it to…” Hob has never heard Dream fumble for words and it is distressingly alarming. “I would prefer to be in my own body when we have this conversation, please.”

Hob can't do anything but grant that request.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

“If we get out of this the first thing I am doing is getting a three hour massage, bloody fuck these chains are tight.” Dream tries to twist his wrist to get some wiggle room and can't even manage that; all the movement does is jostle their chairs. His partner whines. “You alright there, Hob?”

They are chained to a pair of chairs, back to back, with heavy steel links. The chains aren't spelled, but they don't need to be when they are this tight: there is no way Dream will pull off even the smallest somatic component restrained like this and Hob certainly can’t play an instrument or draw a gun. Even worse, the room is unnaturally dark.

Dream hadn’t realized how used he had gotten to the sunlight and the greenery of the surfacelands until they were taken from him. For a moment he takes comfort in thoughts of twirling tree branches forming the beams of great towers, arched windows carefully grown in between, columns of elevators going so high they meet the top of the buildings in the clouds. He thinks of winding streets made of sandstone and brass and overflowing with greenery, the whirring music of solar panels as they track the sunlight along with their flower-kin. 

The thought of the movement of the sun reminds Dream that time has been passing, that they have been in here long enough that he is starting to have trouble tracking time–the only clock he has to go by is his heartbeat and that is only reliable for so long. Hunger has long since passed into a dull ache, which tells him it must be more than a couple days. Both of them have vacated all the remaining volume of foodstuffs left in their digestive tracts, removing another marker of time. 

They have not seen another soul since they awoke here. There is a dim illumination that comes from… somewhere, but Dream cannot pinpoint it. It is only enough to see his own knees by, make out the faintest outline of the large stone blocks of the ceiling that is a mere few feet above their heads. It is not enough for Hob to see anything, dull as his half-human senses are. 

Cruelly enough, water drips from the seams in the stone structure in a few places, landing on the top of their heads, on Hob’s shoulder and chest, on Dream’s cheek. It is the bare minimum to keep them alive and Dream suspects that is very much on purpose.

Dream leans his head back with a sigh and it presses against Hob's. 

“You ever wonder what would have happened if we met under different circumstances?” Hob's speech is slurred enough that it makes Dream reconsider if those arrows they got hit with were a poison targeted for those of the surface. It adds a new layer to the puzzle of who has captured them. “Like, if I wasn't working that night in the tavern, wasn't being the biggest distraction possible?” He is silent for a beat. “I would've asked to join you at your table. Started to chat you up properly. Instead of pretending we were old buddies as part of the case I was working. Because we’re not friends, are we?” His chuckle is hollow. “No, most definitely not. Perhaps I would’ve tried to woo you with song… paint you a picture with music. Gods, you were so beautiful. Are. So beautiful.”

“Hob…” He doesn't sound like himself, can't possibly be meaning to say any of this. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Fuck, like all the time. From the very first moment I saw you, the swish-click of your air walker boots on the tavern floor, noticeable to a trained ear even with the din of patrons.” Dream can hear him swallow. “It never goes away, you know? This yearning for you. It lives inside me now.”

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore it. Hob cannot be meaning to say this right now and Dream certainly does not want to hear it without Hob’s consent; he is relieved when they lapse into silence once again. 

But it doesn't last.

“If you get a chance to escape, you have to promise me to take it, even if you can't get me out.” Hob’s voice is a threadbare whisper.

No. They can't talk like this. He won't have it. “Hob, you’re-”

“I am not delirious and I am not talking nonsense!” He is panting now and Dream swears he can hear Hob's racing heartbeat. It is another piece of evidence that he is not himself. “Promise me, Dream. Promise me you will save yourself if you have the chance, even at my expense.”

“No.” Absolutely not. Dream's answer is immediate and brooks no argument; he won't even consider it. The idea is anathema, like teaching the Druidic language outside of a Circle or attempting to unbalance Nature itself. “I will not leave without you.” 

Hob’s breath rate is increasing, pushing into hyperventilating, and his voice is unsteady as a newborn foal’s legs. He sounds almost on the verge of tears and it makes something in Dream’s heart crack. “Please, Dream! I need you to promise me.”

He grits his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. “I will make no such vow.” Dream growls. It is harsh, he knows, but he will also not lie to Hob. Not after everything they’ve been through. 

They never got a chance to talk about it, what lay implied between them from their adventure with that soul-swapping curse. Not properly. Not before this case, which pretty much immediately went tits up. Fuck, they should have spoken about it. 

Dream adds this to his long ledger of regrets.

When Hob speaks again the words are clearly forced through a rising tide of panic. “I need to know you’ll be safe, that y-” 

“Breathe Hob. We don’t need to plan-”

“Promise me!” he sobs. “I need to know you wi-”

The crack in Dream's heart cleaves it in two.

“I will not leave without my Mate!”

For a moment the only sound in the small room is Hob’s panting, then Dream lets his head fall back; this time it lands on Hob’s shoulder with a dull whump.

“You were right. What you felt during the curse.” Dream closes his eyes. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… we were… we’ve been…”

Hob turns his head, twists his shoulders, as much as possible, until his nose nudges the point of Dream’s ear. “Stupid. We’ve been truly. Amazingly. Stupid.” 

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They crawl out of the cave system into a raging thunderstorm. Might as well be a hurricane for how the wind is blowing the rain and trees sideways. However, the sight of cypress trees and the salty smell of the ocean limits the possible places that they have been taken to. 

“Holy shit we're in Port Essen!” Hob gasps in breathless laughter. When Dream looks at him he is smiling, almost glowing, underneath all the dirt and grime and soil and debris they are covered with, that is all rapidly turning to mud as the forceful winds and driving rain wash them clean. He looks to Dream and it is like the sun has risen, warmth diffusing through Dream's skin. “I grew up here!”

That raises a red flag in the back of Dream's mind–he doesn't believe in coincidences. 

“We need to move. Get as far away as possible. Fast. Get on.” Dream doesn't say more, doesn't explain, just grabs some of the reedy dunegrass at his feet and pops it into his mouth as he makes the appropriate hand motions. 

Hob lets out a yelp as Dream transforms into a dire elk, huge and black. He wouldn't be able to fly in such rain and he has no meat for a spell component, so his dragon form is out; the elk will give Hob a smoother ride over the widest variety of terrain. 

Once fully shifted Dream drops onto folded legs, but that still means his back is at about the height of a horse, so he angles his head towards Hob to lend an antler for leverage.

Luckily Hob catches on quickly, hefting himself up onto Dream with a grunt. “West,” he says as he buries his hands in the ruff of thick fur around Dream's neck, “We’ll hit forest and freshwater fastest if we go west.”

Dream stands, looks back at Hob once to make sure he is settled, and then leaps into action. Hob lets out another yelp the first time Dream lands from a bound, but he sets a rhythm and the bard in Hob cues onto it almost immediately. 

Then he outright laughs.

“Dream,” he whispers into his fur, must be leaning over to get so close to his ear, “you are amazing, dove.”

Dream would laugh as well, if he could. 

He has never had a rider before, not in any shifted form he has taken, and that it is Hob on his back, moving fluidly with him, legs around him, clinging to him… well. Apparently one doesn’t need wings to fly.

But first they need to disappear. They need to get gone and regroup and get food and maybe bathe in a cold stream and start assembling their meager knowledge of their captors so that they can send out feelers for information and start the tedious process of revenge. 

Because Dream will eat their hearts raw for making this the bower in which he told Hob the nature of their connection. He will make them watch as he sucks the marrow from their living bones for how they have treated his Mate. He cares not that he himself has been tortured; Dream has done more than enough terrible things in his life to have earned such an experience. But Hob? No. He will not let them survive this insult.

However, getting to that point, when he will be able to revel in the suffering of those who caused so much of the same, will take time. Dream is always thorough in his planning.

And while they wait, keeping to the shadows and gathering their knowledge and power, Dream will sup upon his Mate. He will devour the finest meal he will ever have. Savor the small pieces that he can pick up between his fingers and drop into his mouth and lick from under his fingernails. Drink long draughts of pleasure of Hob’s body and thereby nourish his own soul. Dream has been starving and did not know it, did not really understand what he was missing, until his body was weakened by the captivity and his mind sharpened by the pain his Mate experienced. 

Dream vaults over some rocky ground, avoiding it completely, and then as they crest a hill the treeline comes into sight and he could cry for the relief of it. Within the embrace of the forest Dream will have all the tools he needs to keep them safe. And then he can look towards the future. 

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The most shocking thing, honestly, is how shocked Hob isn't.

“Dream,” he sounds like he is calming a skittish horse, “I have been in love with you for literal decades. This isn't a problem for me. So we're tied together on a metaphysical level, so what?”

The druid just blinks. 

Hob sighs, running a hand through his hair as he relaxes back against the trunk of the tree. It reveals the gentle point to his ears and Dream has a bolt of desire lance through him, urging him to put his mouth there. He shoves it to the side.

They are deep in the densest portions of this forest now, having ridden for hours, past the midsummer sun setting and the quarter moon rising. They slept almost immediately once they stopped running, along the banks of a creek deep enough to wade into. Once sleep was had, Dream went hunting while Hob washed their clothing, which now lies drying on some rocks and tree branches close by. They have been so exhausted that only now is Dream noticing that Hob being completely naked is rather… distracting.

The trees, strangers though they are to Dream, have generously given them ample shelter on the creek’s bank; even if someone does get close they likely won't see or hear a hint of them through the lush greenery. The maple Hob leans against has been particularly taken with the half wood elf, although Dream is unsure if Hob notices the tree doting on him, swaying its leaves to keep him shaded despite the moving morning sun.

“I’ll be the first to admit that I know close to fuck all about drow, your culture, your biology… really just what is told in popular stories, movies, whatnot, which may or may not have truth in them.” His head thumps back against the tree trunk and he has to tilt to the side to look at Dream. “But tell me what I need to learn and I’ll learn it. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. The last thing I want is to be a burden to you, Dream.”

A burden?

Dream shakes his head, as much to clear it as to disabuse Hob of such a notion. “No, Hob, I…” He searches for the words and none come, stubborn as they often are, so he decides on action instead. 

Looking Hob directly in the eyes, Dream crawls across the space between them, over the gunslinger's legs, and sits with his knees on either side of Hob's thighs. He is so warm beneath Dream that the drow shivers, but all Hob can seem to do is stare in shock at the fact that they are naked and Dream is in his lap.

By the Gods it feels good to be this close to his Mate. It will feel better to touch.

Hob gasps when Dream's hands land on his chest, slide up slowly to his shoulders, his neck. He takes time to savor every hill and valley. Mine. One hand moves higher, fingers curling around the top of an ear, petting softly and making Hob’s mouth drop open and his eyes flutter closed. 

“You are not a burden, Hob Gadling,” Dream reassures. “Far from it. You have heard that traditional drow society is matriarchal, yes?” Hob nods but doesn’t open his eyes, instead leans into Dream’s hand on the side of his head. “Add soulmates to that and who do you think gets to end up with the Mate they truly want?”

Hob looks at him at that. “Are soulmates not perfectly matched? Made for each other? Fated?”

“Mmm, a topic of much debate.” Dream cards through Hob's hair with his fingers as he talks. “At its core ‘soulmate’ for drow seems only to mean you are tied to each other deeply. For better… or ill. And it is certainly true that you can fall in love with someone who is not your Mate. There have even been drow who found themselves unattracted to their soulmate, at least sexually.”

Hob’s hands alight oh so carefully on Dream's thighs, a touch radically different than during the adrenaline-fueled ‘work partners plus sex' arrangement they have had for the past few months. And the touch is light years different than their first time together, when an actual duel to the death had turned into a battle of a totally different kind. To be clear, they were no less feral in their fucking when they were high on the rush of escaping imminent danger than when their lust had ignited due to mutual hatred.

Right now, though? Dream lifts up onto his knees, his ass leaving the comfort of Hob's strong thighs, as he leans in to nuzzle into Hob's temple. 

“But attraction isn't in question here.” Hob isn't asking; they can both see their mostly erect cocks laying ignored between them.

“No,” Dream chuckles, “It certainly is not.” He drags his nose down so he can bring their lips close, not quite a kiss. “Rare is it allowed for drow males to be able to truly choose their Mate. So many are deemed unfit, taken to serve only as brooders for the Great Mother’s many children. And so it is not something I dared dream possible for myself. Before now.” He speaks against the corner of Hob's mouth. “I want you to fuck me, Hob. I want to know what it is to feel you spend inside me.”

With a wanton cry Hob is kissing Dream, crushing them together, and all the skin contact is glorious, as are the needy noises coming from his Mate’s throat. But Hob doesn't even know… he doesn't know.

“Hob!” Dream gasps, pulling away. “You don't understand.” They are both panting softly and Dream almost gets distracted by another kiss. “I said brooders. Female drow provide only eggs. Male drow gestate and birth our children.” That seems to get Hob's attention and he blinks his eyes until his gaze is sharp once again. Only then does Dream continue. “My cunt, Hob.” The wood elf inhales sharply. “I want you to fuck my cunt.”

Dream is barely finished with the sentence when Hob surges up and wrestles the druid to the mossy ground. Laughing, Dream pushes and scoots away, smirking up at Hob, parting his long slate-colored legs and reaching down to stroke his cock, tugging it up to reveal the wet folds hidden further down. Hob moans, eyes fixed to where Dream is showing himself off. Their fucking has always been frantic, hurried, and with Dream doing the penetrating, so Hob hasn't ever been given the chance to explore what lies deeper between Dream's legs. He looks ravenous for it.

And Dream is ready for such an exploration, except Hob doesn't even stop to touch: he grabs Dream's thighs, slings one onto each shoulder, and pulls Dream's hips to his mouth. “Hob!” Dream barks. Hob is ravenous, quite literally, licking and obscenely slurping up fluids, and Dream can do nothing but scream his pleasure. 

Hob laves up and around until he can suck on the side of Dream's cock before purring, “Knew I smelled something more when you’d fuck into my throat, could swear I heard something more wet than just your spit-slick skin slapping my face.” He takes Dream's prick all the way into his mouth, sucks until the drow cries out, then backs off to allow filth to keep spilling from his lips. “Fuck, when we were under that curse I chalked up any feeling that what was between my legs felt different to the fact that drow senses are so different. I never thought…” He licks back down, exploring the wet folds with his tongue and lips. When he next needs air, Hob speaks with his damp cheek against Dream's thigh.

“I can't fill you with children, but I am gonna come in you so many times it is going to damn well feel like I did.” Each word is a puff of steam-hot air on where Dream is most sensitive, making him writhe. “Until there is enough spend in you that I can press on your belly and make it flood out. Cover these pretty thighs in my cum. Once it drips down to your ankles I will lick you clean so we can start all over.”

“Fuck, Hob.” The bard has always been good with his words in bed, but it hits differently here, with Dream revealed to him completely. Further, he’s hit upon a specific kink that Dream has the tools to actually indulge in and not just spin pretty stories about. “There’s a spell. Originally it was to increase chances of conceiving, but more often nowadays it is used in modified form by those of us with a cum kink.”

Hob's groan is muffled when he leans forward into Dream's genitals. “Those of us….modified…”

Dream laughs, fingers finding Hob’s hair. “I’ll take you to Elegy one night. There are many of us, if you know the right clubs.” Hob lets out a needy whine at that. “I’ll need some cum–preferably yours–as a spell component. Then I cast on your bollocks so that the next time you come you produce, ah, lots more.”

His eyes appear above the rise of Dream’s hip. “How much more are we talking about here?”

He smirks. “Let's just say that the modification I was talking about involved merging the fertility spell with a spell that summons water in a person's lungs in enough volume to drown th-ahAH!” Dream is cut off as Hob dips back down and his tongue snakes inside Dream's body, his moan vibrating through Dream's pelvis.

Oh, it is so good to be touched there, for Hob to know all of him, to be laid bare before him, his Mate. 

Then Dream feels Hob shifting, moving away so Dream's knees are on his shoulders and he’s sliding a hand around from where it was holding up Dream's hip so that rough fingers can–“Oh yes!”

Hob pushes one finger inside and Dream’s entire body arches. “Let’s see, does your anatomy track with…” he mutters as he changes his angle over the course of a few thrusts and then it is like his finger strokes Dream’s cock from the inside and Dream screeches in surprised pleasure. “Yeah it does.” Hob sounds smug, which is so godsdamned sexy it only pushes Dream closer to tears. He slides a second finger in and Dream can’t stop himself from rocking into it. “Okay gorgeous, I’m gonna loosen you up with a couple orgasms and then you can have me.”

“Noooo,” Dream whines, plaintive, “Want to come with you in me!”

“Oh, you’ll do that, too.” And fuck him, he can hear Hob's grin. “Gonna make you come so many times you start babbling in Druidic. Break down every sense of propriety you have.”

Dream laughs through a moan, making it tumble and bounce. “An ingenious plan to learn the secret tongues.” He uses the word deliberately, playful and so fucking happy.

“Learn the-” Hob clicks his tongue against his teeth, chiding. “Are you saying that you are not satisfied with what my tongue currently knows?” Of course, he lays the flat of said appendage along the underside of the head of Dream's cock, rubs it back and forth as he looks up for an answer.

Seeing his Mate look at him like that, his cock aimed into his open mouth and his fingers buried inside him and his amber eyes burning so bright they are almost gold–fuck, it is so much. And the little movements just under the head of his prick plus the repeated deep massage of whatever that place inside him is, and Dream’s eyes widen as pleasure rushes in. 

He barely gets out a surprised, “Hob I’m-” before something inside him feels kind of like it pops and suddenly there is liquid pouring out of him along with his orgasm. It is as if his climax spreads out from a single point within his pelvis, pushing out sweat and screams and cum and tears and whatever else it can squeeze out as it hits the edges of his body.

Dream watches, awed, as his cock shoots white onto Hob's tongue, Hob's eyes closing as he groans, collecting all of it before he swallows. But also fluid gushes down, over his folds and along the seam of his ass; when Dream moves a hand he feels it dripping all the way to the small of his back. The liquid is almost as thin as water. It is most certainly not cum, nor is it the same as the lubrication his cunt produces. 

It takes another moment for it to click. “Holy fucking… did you just make me squirt?”

Dream looks up to find Hob licking glistening fingers that are no longer in his cunt. Which might be the most erotic, obscene thing he has ever seen and he feels like his brain short circuits a bit. Hob blinks at Dream twice before his own realization dawns. “Have you never done that before?”

“No!” Dream can't help but giggle. “I didn’t know that I could!” 

Hob watches, eyes rapt, as Dream takes his own fingers, the ones that have a bit of the fluid on them, and sticks them in his mouth. Slightly bitter, not as alkaline as cum, not as earthy as his cunt. 

His Mate watches his every move and looks like he might spontaneously combust. Dream can't resist teasing. “Like something you see?”

Hob actually growls as he lowers Dream's hips to his lap. His fingers, calloused from the instruments he plays and the grips of pistols, slip under Dream, to the top of his ass. Then Hob pulls his hand slowly forward, scraping, over one entrance, then then next, all the way to the base of the dark cock, collecting Dream's fluids in his hand as he goes.

Dream sees only a momentary glint of sunlight off the small pool of liquid cupped in Hob's fingers before they are heading for his mouth. Oh fuck. He opens his mouth, thinking to accept Hob’s offering as it is poured, but then Hob is smearing it, from one cheek, across his open mouth, to the other cheek. Hob tries to pull his hand away but Dream grabs his wrist, licks a long stripe up the inside of his fingers. When he releases his Mate’s wrist he purrs, “Again. More.” And that hits a goddamned button, because Hob repeats the collecting motion quickly, gathering as much as he can, and then turning his hand over as soon as he gets to Dream’s mouth, dribbling the liquid in. He uses Dream's bottom lip to wipe the last dregs off of his skin and then Hob is grabbing Dream by the neck and kissing him something fierce. 

His tongue is a lick of fire and it catches on the kindling of Dream's body, creating a blaze that tears through the drow. Lust. It gnashes, claws, in its effort to get out through Dream's skin and if he doesn't get proper fucked right now–

He rips his mouth away from Hob's with a wail. “Fuck your plans. If you don't get your godsbedamned prick into me right the fuck now I am taking the control of this operation away from you, so help mYES!” 

Hob drives into him to the hilt and Dream howls like he is worshipping the moon. “Bratty thing, aren't you?” He grabs a fistful of Dream's long white hair and yanks his head back with enough force to make his whole dark torso bend back into a U-shape. It pulls electric pleasure up Dream's spine as Hob sits back on his heels. “Seems you were never broken to saddle. Is that it? Do you need me to train you to be ridden? To be a good mount?” 

Oh hell yes. 

Two can play that game.

Dream gets a foot up onto Hob's chest and shoves him away hard, forcing him not only out of Dream's body, but also to sprawl backwards and drop his grip on Dream’s hair in shock. At the same time Dream twists, shifting from being on his back to up on all fours and then lowering his chest and face to the ground. It angles his ass up into the air and towards his Mate, and then he lets his knees slide apart. Presenting himself.

“My God…” he hears Hob gasp. 

“You think I need training?” he purrs, all seduction as he looks back over his shoulder. “But you haven't even mounted me properly yet.” He hears Hob panting even from a distance. “Come on, lover, ride me hard.”

He can't help but chuckle as Hob scrabbles to comply, crawling up behind him and pressing their thighs together but holding their hips apart. Hob palms both sides of his ass, meager flesh there is, and parts them with groan on his breath. “How hard, dove?”

Dream sways back into his grasp, forcing himself open wider. The stretch feels good, like anticipation. “Pretend you’re hammering nails with your cock.”

Hob’s muttered curses accompany feeling the head of his prick lining up. They are perfectly ready and yet then Hob stops just so that he can gather all of Dream's hair carefully into one rope to loop around his fist. Dream whines and buries his face in his arms. He just… he just needs. Please. Please.

“Alright, baby, alright. I got you.” Hob soothes, free hand petting down Dream's thigh. 

Hob fucking into him again is a homecoming; this, this is where he is supposed to be. 

The first withdrawal and thrust back in slaps their skin together so hard it sounds like a whip crack. “YES!” Dream gets up on his elbows and digs his fingers into the soil. He feels his magic root him to the ground. “More!”

Hob tugs on Dream's hair hard enough to make him yelp. “You’re here to get fucked, so take what I give you. Brat.”

And doesn't that make lust curl hot in his belly. He whines and lets his head drop limply between his shoulders, as far as the grip on his hair will allow, hunches to rest his forehead on the ground. “Please Hob. I need… please.” Hob complies swiftly this time, fucking into Dream with these slow rhythmic thrusts that hit like a battering ram. He feels each one shake his very foundations. “So good,” Dream cries, “Yes! So good!”

It is the beat of a drum and Dream falls under its sway. He is hypnotized by it, losing his higher faculties and left only to scream his pleasure as he tries desperately to get fucked faster. But Hob continues the basic rhythm for what might as well be forever, until Dream is sobbing into the ground and smearing mud on his cheek as he hiccups out soft pleas. 

Finally, he falls silent, nothing left in him but the ache of his need. And that's when he hears Hob's quiet chanting.

Pace like a drum. 

Chanting.

It is a spell.

Hob is casting a spell using Dream's body as an instrument and the rush of arousal at the thought nearly makes him pass out.

“Was wondering when you’d figure it out,” the bard laughs, hands sliding down Dream's thighs and back up. “If your body is meant to birth children, then this spell is for you.” Hob sings one last phrase in a language Dream can't parse right now and then the magic snaps into place. 

It takes a moment, but as Hob fucks back in Dream realizes what is happening: his cock is getting larger. It is incremental, but that stretch definitely wasn't there a minute ago, that insistent press against the insides of Dream. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” he moans, helpless to the rising tide. “So full. Oh gods.”

The bastard above him chuckles. “Not even halfway done, pet. This spell is calibrated exactly to the receiving party’s limits. Gonna find out exactly how much your pretty body can take, then fuck you loose on that. So next time you can take just a little bit more. And then a little more. And a little more. Until you can take my fist.” Dream wails at that. “Until you can take my fist wrapped around my cock.” The thought makes his entire body shake. “You like that idea? Want me to jack myself off buried inside your cute cunt? Move my fist faster and faster, use a finger to curl up into your G-spot, make you squirt around me…”

He keeps talking, but Dream can't make out the words anymore over the whistling of blood rushing in his ears, over the throbbing, thrilling fullness thrumming deep in his body. It is so fucking good. 

But then on the next measured thrust Hob drives in deeper as well as wider and Dream loses the last thread of sanity he ever had. 

Digging his fingers into the ground like claws, the druid snarls and uses a surge of strength to pull himself off of Hob and then quickly fuck himself back, feeling how Hob's cock gets a little bigger with the in and out motion. This spell was meant to be taken slowly, but Dream needs more and he needs it now. 

Dream rolls his body again, making Hob groan and his hands tighten to bruising around Dream’s hips. “I told you to ride me,” he growls, “So fuck me like you damned well mean it. Fuck me like yoAAAAHHHH!!”

He screeches as Hob pulls him off the ground by only his hair, arms dangling and fingers brushing the ground, until he can get his hand around Dream's mouth. Dream lets his weight sag into Hob's grip and the gunslinger has no problem holding him up. “Fine, you want me to use this spell to ruin you?!” Hob bucks twice in rapid succession, the spell working each time and Dream splays his legs wider, as if that will relieve the building pressure. 

It doesn't. 

Dream mewls into Hob's hand. “Do you want that?!?” Hob roars.

He nods vigorously, as much as he can with Hob's large palm across his face, and presses backwards as much as possible. 

“So be it!” Hob releases Dream's face, letting him flail to catch himself before he falls into the dirt. Then Dream hears the sound of Hob spitting and before he knows it a wet finger is sliding down the cleft of his ass. “If you want to be filled so badly, then I will make sure to fill you completely.”

On the next delicious thrust of Hob’s cock deep into his cunt a finger drives into Dream's ass and the noise he makes is nothing short of a squeal. “YES!”

It is so much. Fullness and pressure and stretching and it doesn't hurt in the least, more like it feels as if his body was made for this, to take and take and take. And on each pounding thrust in Hob gets bigger and bigger, and just when Dream thinks he can take no more, the stretch deepens and his body accepts another finger or another millimeter. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Hob's hoarse whisper is tinged in awe. “Never seen the spell last like this. Never seen a body so greedily take more and more and more. So fucking perfect. And all mine. Mine.”

“Yes! Yours!” Dream wriggles, letting his shoulder and face take his weight as he reaches back and grabs behind his knees, pulls his legs further apart. “Please, Hob, wanna come like this. Please touch me, lover. Mate.”

Hob groans and the hand that is not buried in Dream’s ass finds its way to his cock. It barely takes two strokes before Dream is coming, shaking and screaming and oh fuck if Hob just keeps going… 

“Don't stop,” he pants, Hob still driving into him, wider each time, making his body sing, “Oh fuck don't stop gonna gonna gonna—HOB!” 

Dream howls as he comes again, writhing as Hob keeps thrusting, faster and harder, his fist still tight and pumping Dream's cock, and then Hob’s fist gets tighter and twists. It is too much so much too much, but then Hob fucks into him harder and his vice-tight hand starts twisting on every upstroke and he can't possibly not no oh gods oh gods! 

He cries through his third orgasm in as many minutes, overwhelmed and overstimulated and Hob keeps fucking him, even as Dream’s entire body goes liquid and he slumps onto the mossy ground. Hob’s fingers leave his ass with a slick squelching noise and then his Mate’s whole body is pressing Dream down flat, legs splayed, his hips still pistoning his spelled cock in and out of Dream's cunt. “That's it baby, I finally hit your edge. Not gonna get any bigger than this today. You good to let me keep going? Want me to come in this pretty pussy of yours?”

“Yes, please, yes.” Dream rasps, throat raw from his screaming. 

Hob presses his chest down onto Dream's back until not even a molecule of air is between them, his breathing heavy behind Dream's pointed ear. “Want you to do this to me, too, darling. Cast the spell and fuck me until I am gaping and exhausted.” He fucks fast and stays deep, never pulling out very far, and Dream doesn't know what is better, the images Hob paints with his words or how easily Hob‘s now-huge cock rams into his cervix on every thrust. “So good around me. You can already take so much… can't wait to see how far I can stretch you. Can't wait to try that spell of yours, fucking drown you in my cum, so stark against your gorgeous skin. Probably not healthy to cast it more than once in a day, but I’m nothing if not reckless. Wanna flood your cunt, your ass, and your stomach.” Dream moans, shivering and helpless beneath him. “Make you lick up whatever spills out of your holes. Swallow it down. Make sure you take all of it. Then plug your holes, gag your mouth, keep it all inside.”

It is like Hob had seen the beginnings of Dream's most depraved fantasies and he can't help but continue them. “That's… I want that so badly. And more, Hob. I want more. After all that I want you to tie me up, wrists to ankles behind me,” Hob makes a noise like a sob and buries his face into Dream's neck, rhythm stuttering, “And then I want you to spend all over my cock. Because I haven't come yet, you haven't let me.” That pulls a whine from Hob. “And after all that there will be paltry cum left in you, but that's all I get. That's all I get to use to rut against the hard floor. Smacking my hips down onto the wet tiles, but at that point any contact would feel like heaven. Would come so hard, for you, my love.”

A hitch in Hob's breath and he starts slowly pulling out as he climaxes, drawing it out using Dream's body just like he has used Dream's hand in the past, cock twitching wildly. He lengthens the pleasure enough that he gets to push back into Dream at the very end of his orgasm, gets to bury himself to the hilt as his last little jolt of overstimulation. 

Panting, prick softening within Dream, Hob lets all of his weight collapse onto his lover. “Fuck, you’re amazing. I can't believe I get to have you.” He nuzzles into Dream's hair. “My beautiful Dream.”

“My Hob,” he sighs, “my Mate.”