#body transfer

[chrystalwynd]

This is one of the first stories I ever wrote. Chrystal Heights was a work-in-progress at the time, so it’s not really mentioned here. I’m not sure how well it holds up- it’s got a lot more inner-reflection than my typical story- but it’s short enough that I’ve decided to post it here.

Political Necessity

words: 2900

mc mf body-swap

      The smartly dressed doorman touched the brim of his cap with one gloved hand, then turned and opened the door for me. I strode past him with a polite nod but didn't stop to speak. All the doorman saw was an attractive high-level socialite and that's all I wanted him to see. I could have stopped briefly to chat to solidify the image in his head, but that would have been a mistake. Doormen in these posh settings were trained to recognize my type and I couldn't afford that. That is to say, my client couldn't afford that.

      Not that I knew who my client was. I only knew him as "Roger". That Roger had money was a given, since even an hour of my time runs two thousand dollars. Roger had reserved me for four hours. Roger hadn't seen me yet, but I fit his modest list of his requests, the most important one being the ability to remain discreet. That meant Roger was either a television evangelist or governor of the state. Since I was given a code word to get through security, that suggested a high-level politician.

      My modest heels click-clacked over the polished marble tile floor. Moments after I gave the code word I was escorted to a private keyed elevator. The ride up was so smooth it seemed the elevator was barely moving. Then the doors slid open to reveal an opulent setting of casual good taste.

      I stepped out of the elevator and glanced around, unsure of what to do next. I had expected to be met by a servant but possibly my client didn't wish anyone else to know of my visit. Then a door opened and "Roger" entered the room.

      Roger gave me a moment to digest his identity. Then he said, "Follow me," and he turned around, disappearing back through the doorway.

      I walked to the door and followed Roger down a short hallway. My mind whirled. Roger wasn't just any politician. My presence was taking on a whole new significance.

      We entered a den. He took a seat in a comfortable looking recliner and indicated a sofa with a nod of his head. I sat down and waited.

      "You know who I am," he said.

      Hell, yes, I knew who he was. Possibly the next president of the United States. I felt a little out of my league, but only a little. I didn't let any of that show on my face as I nodded and said, "Of course. You're Roger."

      He smiled briefly, without real humor. "Yes. And you're called Jade."

      I smiled. "Yes. Because of the color my eyes." That was what I told clients, anyway. Those from my agency said the name was a reflection of my personality. They consider me jaded just because I don't believe in love. Or honest politicians. Or the Easter bunny.

      "They're lovely," he said, almost clinically.

      "Thank you," I said. "And, I should add, that who you are outside the bedroom doesn't concern me."

      "Thank you for that, but the fact remains that I am who I am. For this reason and others, I must again emphasize the need for discretion." He mused briefly. "You are rated 7 stars on the Pharaoh's Club website and you reportedly do not maintain social media accounts. You come highly recommended by the Governor of...well, the governor of another state. This all speaks very highly of you, of course, but there may come a time beyond tonight when you feel that it could be quite lucrative to break our confidence, although not for the reasons you may think. So I must ask you again...are you prepared to offer full discretion for...whatever may occur this evening?"

      I laced my fingers together and placed them on my lap. My eyes held his and I simply said, "Yes."

      He nodded and said, "Thank you." He paused for a moment, apparently contemplating his next words. Then he stood up. "I would also like to make sure we are in agreement about your service. You are here with the understanding that your body is mine for the next four hours; within reason, of course. I guarantee you will suffer no physical injury or permanent markings of any kind while you are in my service. Do you have any...restrictions...I should be aware of?" He looked at me intently.

      I mulled over that for a moment, then shook my head. "I don't do pain and, ah, bathroom activities are out, but otherwise, my body is yours. And, of course, no permanent markings."

      Roger nodded again. "Excellent." He poured two glasses of wine, handing me one. "My situation is unique, beyond what you know. As you may or may not know, my wife was crippled in a tragic accident in her early twenties."

      Something had been tickling my memory and suddenly I knew what it was. Roger's wife was in a wheelchair. So she couldn't perform and he wanted to get some, so he hired a prostitute. He might not be husband of the year, but it was understandable. "Yes, I know. I am sorry."

      He waved off my condolences. "Thank you, but unnecessary. The service I am going to ask you to provide has always been performed in previous years by a close friend of my wife's. Unfortunately, this friend passed away two years ago."

      I nodded again. He was trying to justify cheating on his wife, perhaps to himself as well as to me. It was wasted on me, however. It wasn't my concern.

      Then he said, "But today is Susan's birthday. I can get her anything she wants, of course, but what she desires requires...a third party. Yourself, in this instance."

      I wasn't expecting this. Apparently he was hiring my services for his wife, not himself. Interesting. I wondered briefly what I could do for his wife that he couldn't, then put it out of my mind. It wasn't my concern. "That's fine, Roger. Perhaps I could meet your wife?"

      Roger nodded. "Yes, it's time. Follow me, please."

      I stood up and followed Roger to what I assumed was the bedroom. It was a well-lit room, very expansive, with a sectioned plate window offering an incredible view of the bay. The furniture was modern and comfortable, and everything was spaced in such a way that a wheelchair could easily move through the room.

      Then I saw Susan. She sat in a high-backed modern wheelchair, electric if the various wires and electronics were any indication. She had to be her early forties, but despite being crippled for nearly twenty years she had retained her attractiveness. It was immediately obvious why I had been selected as well. With our similarities in hair color and body type, Susan and I could have passed for mother and daughter. I must have resembled Susan from twenty years earlier.

      "Susan has very little voluntary movement available to her, outside of some slight head motions and the fingers of her right hand, which she uses to guide her wheelchair," said Roger, standing next to me.

      My eyes instinctively moved to Susan's. Like me, she had deep green eyes. Fascinating eyes. In fact, I was having trouble breaking eye contact. After a moment, I realized I couldn't break eye contact at all.

      I felt a tickling at the back of my head, then a very strange sensation of my head filling with liquid. My eyes widened slightly as I realized the liquid was actually a presence. Susan's presence. I fought the invasion with panicky desperation. The sensation of Susan's presence didn't disappear, but it seemed to stop filling my mind.

      Please said a woman's voice inside my head. Please!

      I struggled to keep the liquid from filling my mind further. "No!" I said to the voice in my head.

      Please! said Susan's voice. You promised!

      I stood my ground, breathing heavily, not able to move but keeping the presence at bay. Roger stood beside me, but did not say anything. He seemed to be waiting to see what the outcome would be.

      Please! said Susan's voice once more. I just want to make love to my husband!

      And then it clicked.

      I stood frozen for several moments as my mind wrestled with indecision. Could I really do this? Roger should have told me. Okay, he really couldn't have, but still. Loss of control...bad. I'd be trapped in my own body. The thought made me shudder. Trapped in my own body like...

      ...like Susan.

      I forced myself to relax, my breathing less ragged. I felt my heartbeat gradually slow down. Then I took a deep breath, steeled myself and eased my mental controls. I felt a surge of grateful exaltation as Susan's mind fully integrated into my own. I couldn't "read" her thoughts, or her mine, but I sensed we shared control of my body. I let my mental presence shrink further until Susan had nearly full control of my body.

      It was a very strange experience when my body suddenly began moving on its own, responding to Susan's thoughts rather than mine. I found myself turning and placing my hands on Roger's cheeks. "Hi, honey," I said, looking into his eyes. Then I pressed my lips to his for a kiss.

      Roger was stiff and unyielding at first, obviously trying to adjust his thinking. Then he relaxed and eased into the kiss. Finally, he pulled back. "Susan? It's really...you?"

      I said, "In the flesh, baby. Well, Jade's flesh. Isn't she gorgeous?"

      Roger smiled at that. "Not as beautiful as you, sweetheart."

      Mentally I rolled my eyes. It sounded like a bad love scene. Alright, so it was sweet in a way, but still, come on! But hey, it was Roger's money, and if he wanted to spend eight grand on an act of "love", he was welcome to it.

      My hands slid my dress off over my head, then slipped off my panties and bra. Roger finished undressing as well and looked over my body with those calculating eyes. Then he smiled.

      "We made an excellent choice, dear," he said.

      I said, "Yes, we did! She looks just like I did at her age. Just before...well, you know."

      Roger took my hand. "It's your birthday, sweetheart. Let's not dwell on that now."

      I smiled. "Good point, hun. Oh! Let's see what I can do in this body!" Then I dropped to my knees in front of the naked Roger. I wrapped my fingers around his cock and then slid my tongue along his already thickening shaft.

      I felt Roger's hands on my bare shoulders as I slid my mouth over his hardening cock. Soon my lips were sliding up and down his shaft with enthusiastic energy.

      All this effort in the name of love was cloying to me, but one thing I do know about is blowjobs. Susan may have desired Roger with a love higher than the mountains and wider than the sea, but she didn't know shit about blowjobs. And if her man was going to spend eight grand on her for her birthday, the least she could do was say "thank you" the right way, and this wasn't cutting it. I expanded my presence just slightly, enough to take control of my mouth back from Susan. Then I tapped into my oral knowledge and put it to work through my lips.

I don't know if Roger understood what had happened, but the effect on him was electrifying. He came to life suddenly, his hands grasping my bare shoulders with urgency. My now tightly-wrapped lips slid up and down his hard shaft, my tongue sliding over the sensitive underside of his cock. Roger's breath quickly grew ragged and his balls were swelling in my hand.

      "Honey," he said, "It's...it's too good...I'm going to..."

I tried to pause but Susan had control of my head, and my head continued to stroke my mouth up and down that hard shaft. Moments later Roger groaned and I retracted my presence from my mouth enough to let Susan have the experience of swallowing her husband's load. She did so enthusiastically, not missing a drop, and I felt my belly filling with Roger's cum.

      I couldn't read Susan's thoughts, but I sensed her excited feelings of achievement. I was actually touched. Being able to provide this kind of pleasure for her husband was giving her happiness beyond measure. She truly cared for Roger in a way I couldn't begin to understand. It made me wonder if there was maybe something to this love stuff.

      Roger sat down on the bed to recover. I let Susan have nearly full control then and she and Roger chatted about little things, just basking in each other's company. Then Roger lay me down and began to kiss my breasts. He did this until my body was squirming. Then he kissed down my bare belly until he got to my pussy. I could feel Susan's tentative excitement as Roger smiled. Then Roger began to use a surprisingly skilled tongue on my clit.

      Susan's presence in my mind became a heated thing. I was used to heated sensations coming from my clit but Susan hadn't experienced anything like it in at least two years, and she was going crazy with overwhelming need. I left her to it, however, as I had an idea of my own I wanted to try.

      Although Susan was occupying my body, there was a thread of consciousness linking my mind to her body. I followed that thread to Susan's body and let myself integrate into her form, leaving only a small trace of my consciousness in my own body.

      There was a sudden disconcerting shift in vision. Suddenly I could see myself laying on my back, knees spread, bare feet on Roger's shoulders. I could see Roger licking between my legs, a very intense expression on his face. I could see my hands in my hair, my lips parted as I began to moan, the beginnings of a devastating orgasm obvious. Except it wasn't me. Right then it was Susan.

I realized I couldn't move. My mind screamed at my useless legs to move, to stand up, but it was like trying to knock over a wall by throwing a glass of water at it. The side of my neck itched. It was maddening. My chin was wet with drool. My back ached because I was leaning slightly to the side and my ass had slid away from the back of my wheelchair. My arms were dead weight. With exhausting effort I was able to move the fingers on my right hand slightly, and I felt overwhelming triumph when I did so.

      I felt suffocated. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I was scared.

      And then I saw Roger lifting his face from between my legs. Strong Roger. A man who felt deeply and believed in love. And did things for love.

      Come back, said Susan's voice. You can't stay there.

      "How do you stand it?" I asked.

      I stand it because I have to, said Susan, And because I couldn't bear to leave him. Now come back.

      I followed Susan back to my own body. Only then did it occur to me that Susan could have pulled fully into my body, taking over completely and leaving me trapped in her useless body. I shivered at the implications. And suddenly I realized why Roger had insisted on complete discretion. It wasn't his career he was worried about. It was his wife's life.

      As I filed back into my head I suddenly realized I was getting laid. Alright, alright, making love. Roger was on top of me, stroking his once-again hard cock into my pussy with gusto. In fact, he was pounding me silly. I was wriggling and bucking in heated response, and Susan didn't need my help this time. It occurred to me that, in a strange way, Roger was celebrating his love for his wife at this moment, and he had earned it. Roger was actually one of the most moral people I had ever met, and this merging of our bodies was a reward of sorts for his unending and sacrificing love.

      Cloying? Yes. But when Susan trembled and then exploded into orgasm, she wasn't alone.

      The dual orgasm was undoubtedly beyond anything Roger had experienced before, and it caused him to groan and begin filling me- and Susan- with his hot cum. Too soon we were spent, and I wrapped my arms around him and just let Susan enjoy his closeness.

      Afterwards I stood and began getting dressed. Roger and Susan had said their goodbyes, so to speak, and Susan had returned to her body. I actually felt a sense of loss, though I was glad to have full control back.

      I slipped on my heels, then looked over at Susan. I walked over and circled behind her chair, then adjusted her body so her back was straight and her ass was closer the back of the chair. Then I dried her chin.

      Her eyes closed for a slow blink of gratitude. I kissed her cheek.

      "Thank you," said Roger.

      "You're welcome," I said. I meant it.

***

      Roger paid me in cash.

      "I can't write a check or transfer a sum like this to your account. I hope you understand. I will provide you with a bodyguard and a chauffeured ride home," he said.

      I nodded. I held a briefcase with ten thousand dollars in cash. Roger had included a tip for exemplary service. A sound business move.

      "Same time next year?" I asked.

      Roger smiled. "We may have a Washington address at this time next year."

      "I'll pay my own way," I said, "And I won't take the train."

Roger chuckled. I shook his hand and made my way towards the keyed elevator. I knew who I was voting for in the next election.

THE END

[claypigeonpottery]

sold

love this dude's mushrooms, and his tattoos. he looks very thoughtful

[kizzer55555]

The Tournament

Trigger Warning for Violence

So you know how Danny is portrayed as the ghost king automatically after Pariah is defeated? What if there was more too it. Let’s say that Danny has joined a new hero team and is having fun and then there is some kind of ripple in the infinite realms that all magic users can feel. A tournament is being held to choose the new king. The reason it wasn’t held immediately upon Pariah’s defeat is because it took some time to get into contact with all the participants. Anyone eligible can attend the tournament. This includes those with royal blood, other ancients, anyone who meets a certain power level, anyone that have their own kingdom and people to rule over, or those who faught and sealed Pariah in the first place. Aka, Danny and Vlad. So Danny gets an invite to the tournament.

Now this can go two ways. One is that those ‘invited’ are obligated to attend. Like their core physically hurts if they try to refuse. And the tournament is dangerous. Creatures and demons and eldritch horrors from all over the infinite realms are attending.

Second option. The tournament is optional because it is very cut throat and usually a battle to the death (or in this case, until someone’s core is shattered) and with ghosts being able to survive a lot, the battles often end with missing limbs, spines ripped out, impailment, decapitation, and disembowelment to name a few. So many refuse to participate, not wanting to risk ceasing to exist. The problem though is that a dangerous person is participating (could be Vlad, could be another demonic villain of the JL) and unless they want this person to gain unlimited power through the crown and ring plus an army of undead, Danny has to participate. Or the world is doomed. And each time Danny goes through a trial or battle, (because there could be both.) he returns to the hero group with injures that would have killed a normal person. Practically drenched in his own ecto blood. (That’s if the heroes weren’t forced to watch their friend mid battle, unable to interfere. Man. That would suck if they had to watch his spine get ripped out or something. The screams alone. Maybe split the group so Danny can only bring a certain number of ‘guests’ and they rotate who goes?) And like, imagine what kind of conversation Danny would have. His team panicking about the impending threat of the new ghost king and Dany having to reveal that he is eligible to participate (if some outside force doesn’t reveal it for him) and being forced to compete in a tournament where you either die, or become a murderer.

[antirepurp]

behold it's the guy who won't chuckle, without and with drip

[monarisse]

— The Hex paradox [arthur nightingale x gn!drifter]

Arthur asks, why are you still here.

You can't believe that he thinks you see them as pets.

SFW, second pov, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, angst with a happy ending | 3.6k

ao3

There is a flex of a hand — meat under the skin is terribly tense, just like their owner. Long unclipped nails, map of the old scars with pigment just a little bit lighter than everything else. Further: burn, raw marks from laser. Further: a contaminated virus from the elder beast of Deimos. Further-

This is just a body that holds your consciousness when there are no more metallic constructs of dead people that should be controlled. It was... actually, not so horrible to unfold the truth behind the creations of Ballas. Or others. There was always something more than you in these turned-to-be-bones metallic wires and engines. Always lurking in shadow; just not enough to be found, but enough to feel the sudden twitch of a cobalt fingers or unknown step of feet. Sometimes, even more: dance with a weapon, full of joy; murmur in an unknown language; search for something behind the back. Unnecessary. Unasked. Unprovoked. But... familiar, almost to the pain in your drifting mind.

It's ironic — that they all called you The Drifter. Not The Operator — not anymore, at least. Even if there was someone, in this time of the universe, who would gladly use this title on you, it would not be the truth. And you will not allow it. Hundreds of years after all of this, there would be a child with angry eyes and a thirst for power, who changed too much and too little to be completely you again. So you give them the future and keep yourself in the past — it seems right. Especially because (it's ill-fitting, it's wrong, and it's foolish, but deep down it's what makes them and you one person), The Operator can't travel here. They ask in rare times together how it was.

And for you, it's never "was." It's still here.

———

After winter, spring and summer together, they became steadier, softer. Smoother. Happier. Amir sleeps better. Angered only by some unnecessary presence before, now Quincy finds serenity, covering your back on missions. Aoi plays on the borrowed piano from the music store, and Eleanor whispers in your mind stories that she read in the past about Great Britain. Sharpened on the edges Lettie, today holds her hand to yours, so her beasts could crawl on the skin of this body with hushed squeaks, smelling with their little noses acid and kerosene, that scaldra pours on you every day. Lettie clicks her tongue in disappointment when she sees a new wound on the meat of shoulder — because in this body you can't heal as fast as they, and it's hypocritical to come out of frame when they're — the Mighty Hex, batch of soldiers of the future, your Friends, in the end — still here. And-

It's so. Fucking. Funny. A snicker falls from your lips before you can stop it.

Lettie furrows her eyebrows. In her eyes — something eats the previous light joke and fills it with thick tension.

"What did he do?" Anita squeaks, runs to her siblings, and you just blink.

"Who?"

Oh, it's not a secret. You... can guess who she talks about. And Lettie knows it.

"¡Pendejo! You know who. Don't play an owl with me."

Sharp teeth of the future crash into each other. Smile on these lips — sugary sweet from lies. This is not something new. How many people "The Great Hero" of the New War has deceived around the years of the Narmer regime?

"Nothing. Why you-"

She smacks your arm.

"Shut up. Don't want to hear your explanations. His brooding takes its toll on you," she painstakingly cleans her fingers from void-touched blood. From all of them, Eleanor is one who can feel lies, but Leticia is... another deal. She doesn't have the need to hear your thoughts. Magic of doctors, you guess.

It's strange that she cares about you. After all, these six are a team. And the seventh angle doesn't belong in the hexagon, even if it forces itself inside.

But, for Lettie, you let it slide. Hold her palm in yours and blink a little bit slower.

"I take care of that. Promise"

———

You know it — even too much of something good can be poisonous. Like trivia: this body was not ready for the delicious food that they have here, so on one night with beer and Hex you threw up in the bathroom on the second floor. But... Compare this and... your genuine worry for Nightingale seems like a wrong play of komi, where no one could win.

Worse: you remember Umbra. His blind eye and this wordless trust between him and The Operator. This wordless care that travels with them everywhere. How could you not feel envy when this child not only found the way from Zariman 10-0, but even saved the frame that could think without Tenno? Well, now you have protoframes. They joke with you in their bones, and they help you when it becomes unbearable — this world, this time, this loop. So why, when you stretch out your hand only how you can, it turns out... It is too much. Or too little.

And... what even happens in this thick skull of his, when he abruptly leaves a conversation on KIM, then agrees on Amir's play and, after... drowns you in questions?

Broadsword

So what is it? Pity? Or are you stupid as well as crazy?

Broadsword

Stop dodging! Why. Are. You. Still. Here?!

There is a reminiscence of a dull ache from Duviri. Another swing of an axe above the head. Endless swirl of colors. And buzzing in the skull. This body trembles, unable to comprehend all emotions from a feverish mind, and you pull your hand to clean your face from... something. Anything.

How could he even ask this shit? Like you some bystander that already left them after a week of knowing, just to start a new adventure far far away. Like you didn't search abandoned markets for his favorite beer, didn't bring special ammunition to Quincy, didn't practice with Aoi and Amir on the transmission of intel. Just some guest, not important to add in their ranks.

Nidus quietly shrieks when you transfer back to him. It is something of a habit. You can't even feel the exact moment when his broad frame already exits the backroom, too busy with boiling emotions inside your mind (the biggest question there: what if Kid would be able to help them without this mess of emotions. What if Hex liked the Operator more?).

Höllvania Central Mall never sleeps. Especially now, when there are not seven, but many more breathing shadows waiting for the other day to live, so... It is a little bit of awakening — see disbelief and caution in the eyes of bystanders when the form of Nidus makes his way from the second floor to the first in one jump. But still not enough to stop the heavy steps of the infested frame.

He's in his usual spot, crouched between some ammo for his rifle and computer, and Arthur... seems a little bit surprised. Like it wasn't you who he wrote just seconds ago.

Pity. He called your carefully crafted relationships with the Hex "pity." And you, yourself: crazy and stupid.

"You could just-" There is something more behind his dazed expression, some dark undertone, but it is not about him. Not anymore.

"How could you," Nidus freezes like a mannequin in the doorframe. This body constructs itself right against Nightingale; scarred fingers cling to his shoulder to feel something else beside the usual eerie words of KIM-messages and hushed phrases under the sick sky. His brows rise up even more now, "How could you even think of something like that!"

Arthur's lips twitch.

Prince of fire Lodun, in all his ugly glory, paints your mind with blood and red.

"It's bothering me already enough time to just let it slide," his words twist something in the pit of your stomach, and Lodun's voice screeches somewhere around the frontal lobe. He shouldn't say such words to you. It is blasphemy. Lie. His hand rips your own from himself almost like you hurt him, and the scar around the palm that he left you with starts to pulsate, "You walk around the Mall like everything is okay and we're not just some dead meat to your future."

He is poisonous. Some sort of divine punishment for you, as if you didn't suffer enough for years and years of survival. There are no more light jokes, no more strange, vigorous words with the undertone of something bigger. Only a stern glance on this body.

Prince Lodun fist his finger and crack another hole in your mind walls.

Body of the Drifter winces.

"Are you fucking kidding?" teeth clacks. The jaw's strained to its limit. All of this time together, just drained in the sink, "What do you think? That I stayed here just to forget about you all in the next minute?"

He doesn't need to say it aloud. The answer is written on his face already, and it's making Lodun more loud in your mind.

"How many times have you already done that?"

Lodun roars. This head is pounding.

"What?!"

It's unbelievable. He looks at you with such a sardonic expression, as if he knows that you did something so bad that you even can't stand with him in one room, and... you want to go right in his head to fucking show Arthur how terribly wrong he is.

The worst of all: he keeps going.

"It's convenient, isn't it? To play "friends" with people you can just leave behind," his grip tightens, and Arthur steps forward. A little more and it would become a fight.

You hold back. Just a little bit, but the patience in this body already wears itself.

"So that's what's stuck in your head?" You snarl, "Not bad enough, don't you think?" One step to him, and you feel — one more, and you can crash in his metallic chest. Eyes squint, "Make me a villain more, why not? Maybe I should take control of one of you and dispose of everyone else, huh?" Luscinia weeps in the corner of your mind with these harsh words, but you are unable to hear her — spiral of Loduns anger in its all-power captured you. There is something of a hurt in Arthur's face. But you only use his own method on him. It's almost like he didn't think of this — that you could use his friends against him or even make him a bystander in the nonexistent massacre.

"You can," his voice drops lower. Grip tightens even more — soon bones in this body would be broken by his fingers. "So I advise you to stop pretending like we're important to you," Nightingale bends his head, and you can see the hues of his blind eye for the first time, "and put us all out of this misery."

You're tugging this hand away — alas, it's not working, and a wave of dull pain passes through the body. He never thought that it was as hard for you as for them.

Luscinia crying. The Sorrowful Soprano of Duviri weeping like a mother who lost something too precious for her, and with Loduns anger, it's too much to feel in one moment. Your mind makes itself the battleground of the old Tales.

You want to say: maybe you're right.

You want to say: maybe I should just leave things like they are.

But... the Hex already made themselves important for you. So much that you gladly would stay here forever, with this ancient technology and people of the past. The Operator has their people. Why shouldn't you have yours?

You take a deep breath. Close tired eyes.

"If you think that I should go, I'll do it." There is something too heavy in these words, so you can't raise this head anymore, with your gaze a little bit blurry. Not from tears, "You all became too important for me, so if it would be better for Hex, I'll be gone to my time."

You know: without you, they will all be dead in the New Year of 1999. The reactor will blow up, and Arthur will bleed on the floor of the radiated room, near the bodies of Aoi and Amir.

And you can just feel the power of Spiral, to send it all back in January, to start again.

"Don't make yourself a martyr. You can leave when you want."

That's it.

You snap.

"My fucking Sol," you twitch this head, "you are as dense as Razorback," Nightingale becomes a little bit puzzled by the unknown comparison, but you continue, "What should I say? "Sorry, Arthur, I stayed here because I know that without me you all will die." Your voice becomes louder and louder; it breaks in some words, and you feel: the dam was broken, "And I developed feelings for you, and all of this embarrassing flirting was so bad because I had never done it before? You know, because I was trapped all of my youth in an endless loop of my own death, and I didn't even think that I could feel something like that"," his grip finally becomes loose, and you break the palm from him, only to point the finger at Arthur, "Everyone knows about it. I thought that you-"

Wait. You thought that he already knew about your feelings for him — it was so obvious that Eleanor even asked you not to think about her brother on united missions. But... You shut this mouth and looked at Arthur. He's... flagger-basted. No more anger in his eyes, only genuine surprise, and — worst of all — he continues to keep silent.

"Great," you roll this eyes. Fuck it. Maybe he knew, just feelings weren't mutual, and Nightingale didn't acknowledge it, to leave things as they were. But now you spelled it all aloud, and there is only one way to turn it back. Maybe... no. You don't want it.

Sol, you should just go to the backroom and decay in some corner.

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be going to throw up somewhere on the second floor from embarrassment," you transfer back to Nidus, "don't message me," and head towards the escalator.

Worst: he didn't even stop you.

———

Quincy screams in your comm and it's almost unbearable how he just throws a stash of Scaldra supply on the garage floor, just to head back to civilians in the old supermarket without another word to you.

Blew up the tank without care of flying too far away to not be hurt; melted one of the other stashes; almost got Kalymos dead. You've gone more hectic. But it's still better than lying on a couch with nausea and a sorrowful expression (it's still better than nothing — you remind yourself — you still feel something, and it's better than apathy).

Funny: if the Kid could see you, they would be furious. Throwing some tantrum about how such a mindless thing would wreck you, The Drifter, to some pathetic ordinary human. They were always like this: more hard than you, more prideful. They could chew Arthur's words and twist them so much that the man would not be sure what he even wants anymore. But the Operator is too far away. And you are too arrogant to travel back to them. Lotus would calm you down, embrace you in a motherly hold; however... you don't want it right now. One thing that surely helps: killing. Scaldra or Techrot — doesn't matter.

"I'm worried about you," tells Aoi when the sharp talons of Garuda give her a package full of CDs, "I heard your argument with Arthur." She seems a little bit sheepish, but... you know, that you actually can trust her. Of all Hex, Aoi is the most understandable. You can tell her all your worries, and she wouldn't laugh or write off your feelings. "It's hard with him sometimes, but Arthur cares about us all," of course he is, "you included."

You hum. The sound comes a little bit muffled.

"I'm sure." No, you're not, but there is no need to talk about it right now. Aoi squints her eyes in disbelief. "Sorry, Aoi. It's between me and him and i-"

"Drifter," his voice is too loud in Aoi's lair, but you don't turn to Nightingale. Maybe he will disappear if you don't acknowledge his presence. "We need to talk," Morohoshi shows some kind of gesture that you don't recognize, with her big finger pointed out, and she shakes her head, smiling.

If there were only two of you, you'd find a reason to just vanish in the air.

Damn. Why is it harder than killing an archon with a bow?

"Alright," you sign. Garuda turns around to Excalibur and he is already heading somewhere in an unknown destination.

What does he want to say? That he made a decision to stay with you on friendly terms so that you could save Hex's lives? That he'll save them by himself? Good luck with that. You'll still be here, even if he wants to banish you from others, just not in his line of sight. And when clocks turn 23:56 without catastrophe, you'll let them go and transfer yourself back to Loid, to solve problems of Deimos.

It's some sort of warehouse — you've never been here before, and it's strange how music from the hall becomes only disoriented muffles when Arthur closes the door. You stand a little bit farther from him than usual — not to make yourself comfortable here.

Arthur leans on some kind of cabinet.

Heavy silence falls on you two.

And when you think that this was a bad idea — to come here with him — Arthur starts talking.

"You know that all my life I was a military man," he spins that damn sword — Arthur's voice... not so loud. He speaks almost carefully, like his words already were chosen before this talk, and... you don't know what to think about. Emotion without name, without personification in Tales of Duviri, born in a pit of stomach, "and... I think I was ready to leave some things behind," he's not looking at you; his gaze stops on scratches on the floor, "because there was not enough time, or... I didn't try to understand others more."

You gulp. Garuda's scales tremble.

"And I tend to search for enemies where there aren't any." Finally, Arthur looks at you. There is more than tiredness from endless nights; quiet longing, a hint of uncertainty, something... tender.

He sighs.

"And," Arthur chuckles, and you grit your own teeth, thrashing about to step from Garuda or stay in her bones, "I'm not even entirely human. I mean, look at me," he gestures at the metal skin of his body, "not a usual choice of the mass."

Still, it's better to talk face to face. Especially on topics like that, you make a decision in one moment, to reappear beside him in another.

"Arthur," your own voice strained with hoarse hesitation, "you're a good person. You shouldn't talk about yourself like that." There is a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips, and Arthur blinks a little bit slower.

"You're always saying such things that give me hope." Spinning of his blade comes to an end, and the warehouse becomes more... steady. Peaceful.

Nightingale clears his throat.

"Did you mean it?" comes almost in a whisper, "that you have... feelings. For me."

You tear your gaze from him and put it down, not able to look in his eyes. Yes. It is definitely harder than killing an archon.

Fingers dip in the elbows.

"Yes."

Nothing more. Just a short, clear answer to put any misunderstanding behind.

Remarkably, the stomach stops swirling. All of this body became... calm, like all the worries just disappeared with this one word. Even if Arthur doesn't feel the same, you are glad that you two talked about it. Finally, you can open a new page in-

"It's mutual."

What?

You snap this head to him, and, for the first time in an eternity, you see Arthur smiling. Without some undertone in it, without pressure. Just a clear, happy smile on his scarred face, and you even see some little dimples on his cheeks.

And, maybe it's too early and you should wait some time to do such things, but these hands — your hands — reach out to him, to bury your fingers in his hair and press an uncertain but full-of-burning-emotions kiss to his lips.

It's raw — skin to skin, first too gentle to feel something more than the texture of others, but with every passing moment, all of this bottling adoration for him seeps through the motion. And Arthur answers you, laying his metallic palm in the crook of your neck, to deepen the kiss — he opens his mouth, presses you to himself more, to finally give you something that you wanted too long to confess.

In reality, it's still better than in imagination.

When there is not enough air in your lungs, when your shuddered inhale mixes with his own and both of you break away for a moment, you press your forehead to Arthur's, holding onto his shoulder.

"You know," he starts after a moment of silence, with a voice a little bit rough on the edges. You open your eyes and move your head a little bit to look at him once more. Cold fingers start to play with the strands of your hair. "If someone had told me that I would want to kiss someone from the future who trespassed my mind, I think I would kill them," Arthur breathlessly laughing and-

"Sol, you're unbelievable." You smack his shoulder and move to get out from his grip, but Nightingale presses you even more into himself, and you feel how his laughter starts to seep through your bones.

"You're stuck with me now. No refunds, sweets." Arthur pressed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, and... you hug him, closing your eyes back.

The Harbinger of Joy, Mathilda, smiles for the first time in what feels like eternity.

[brucewaynehater101]

So in the body swap au. We always put the swap in somewhat after everything. What if they got swapped when Bruce was just grieving Jason. I think that would highlight Tim's role as Bruce's parent/caretaker. And Bruce in a teenage body would be more prone to show his real feelings. They stay swapped for that long time. To the point when Jason attacks Bruce in Tim's body(titans tower event). Tim freaks out because that's his son.(and his body) badly injured.

Tim draws up a plan to get Jason back in the family. Jason is pleasantly surprised that "Bruce" changed his ways and is overall a better father.

Now is up to you guys if Jason discovers he attacked bruce and not the "replacement" or he tries to reconcile with "Tim" not knowing thats bruce.

Oh, you cruel, cruel anon. How I love your brilliance in this.

You are correct! The bodyswap au tends to focus on the batfam post Damian's arrival. You are also correct that it could be so fucking painful and analytical and wonderful if we start this out right after Jason's death.

Now, the question is when, exactly, do they switch? Is this pre-Tim!Robin or after he either talks to Dick or wears the suit for the first time?

Pre-Robin, there will be major issues establishing hierarchy, so to speak. Tim's this random kid inhabiting Bruce's body who swears he knew who Batman was before being put into his body. This would be difficult to navigate as far as balancing Bruce's loner/self-destructive tendencies with his distrust. At what point is Bruce willing to forsake asking for help when a complete stranger, much more an untrained kid, is piloting the Batman? Till when will Bruce try to hide this?

Now... Post Paris training arc, Tim has some experience and skills under his belt. He's got a tentative relationship with Bruce. Dick will be more involved at this stage with "Tim," though. It could be heartbreaking for poor Bruce to see his son, his son that he fights with, be so openly caring and loving not knowing it's Bruce. Also, for Bruce to watch Tim mend Dick and Bruce's relationship for Bruce? Brutal :D

To add on, for however long this charade lasts, Tim loses his childhood for that amount of time while Bruce relives his. Tim is forced to be an adult (even more so than he was as Robin), while Bruce has to go to school and shit.

Depending on how long and when this starts, we can add angst with Tim's parents! Bruce having to deal with Jack as "Tim." Jack's last moment with "Tim" actually being with Bruce.

Bet you Tim regrets maintaining the charade like Bruce wanted instead of seeking help after all of that :)

[chuluoyi]

who's going to cry with me?🥹 again for the 29387482929485th time

*sobs* me too😭 by the end of this chapter i’m just sad… how yuta has to take over him, how gojo lets him, and how he still thinks back to geto (say what you will but i’m so beyond sick of their breakup by now😩)

now yuta is dying, and gojo is already dead. there’s a lot of risk while using gojo’s body and yuta could be dead too by the end of it. but… gojo has shown everyone the solution to sukuna’s open domain— in the end, it’s his last lesson to his students😭

[bodyhopper-files]

Brain transfer devices.

AI Ilustrations by @bodyhopper-files.

[sandu-zidian]

An Uncontainable Sacrifice

[junryou]

this is no "disaster"... this is war.

do not re-upload/use

[ashes-in-a-jar]

Sam's statement is exactly what I thought it would be

[petew21-blog]

Finish the scene

Fan:"So Tyler, is the rumour true that you will be reprising your role in Teen Wolf movie?"

Fans cheering, Tyler smiling

Jeff impatiently waiting for Tyler's answer

Tyler:"I guess the pack wouldn't be complete without Derek"

Fans loosing their mind over a another announced character in the new Teen Wolf movie

But someone is happier in a different way than all the fans combined. Someone's master plan is becoming real.

First day of shooting

Jeff:"Tyler, could you come to the set, please. We have to start rolling."

Tyler:"I'm sorry, it's about shooting Superman & Lois again. They want me to cut the hours on shooting Teen Wolf and come to them"

Jeff visibly angry:"Tyler? Could I speak to you for a minute in your trailer?"

Both entering. Tyler sits down on a chair

Tyler:"Look I can tell you're angry and I know I shouldn't have started the fight there, but you gave me no choice."

Jeff:"Oh don't worry about it. I'll make sure we're on the same page."

Jeff murmuring an incantation.

Tyler:"What are you...."

Jeff now waking up inside of Tyler's body.

Jeff:"An upgrade. Good. I have been lusting over this body for so long." Jeff looks to the camera of his phone. "Oh that's what I'm talking about baby"

Tyler:"How are you? What just happened?"

Jeff:"Don't worry about it. You won't remember any of this in a few seconds. You will feel like you have always been Jeff Davis. I'll wait for you to pick up all the memories and start acting as me. Then we'll talk"

Tyler:"I am not Jeff. I am... Jeff Hoech.... Jeff Davis. I am Jeff Davis."

Jeff:"Of course you are. And Jeff, sorry about the tantrum before. Of course I will finish the story with you. Superman can wait. And as an apology, would you be ok if I let you oil me up here for the next scene? I wanna look good and I know how much you like my muscles in action"

Jeff could see the visible boner his old body had while tracing his muscle lines, the ridges. Carefully placing the oil. Jeff wanted to play more, but the scene couldn't wait. Maybe he'll make his old body his own bitch later on. It's time to be the bad wolf now

And damn, did he now have the perfect body to play one. Maybe after this he should keep the body and continue as Superman. He could definitely get to do some interesting stuff

Two weeks later

Assistent:"Hey Tyler. So this was your last scene in the movie. I think there is something you should know. We found some sort of an altar in Jeff's trailer with your photos and other personal stuff. I thought you should know before leaving."

Jeff:"Thank you for letting me know"

Jeff to himself:"Fuck, I should have made sure he had no memories of his previous life. His mind is fighting for control through these moments. I can't keep him away from me, I wouldn't have control and he would still find a way. Maybe keeping him close as my personal slave... sorry assistent. Would be easier to manage"

Jeff:"So what do you think Jeff? Wanna stay close to me?"

Tyler:"Yes please. There is nothing I want more."

Jeff:"Good I need massage and I can tell you are dripping from only looking at my muscles"

Request from Inbox

Would be able to do a story where Jeff Davis steals Tyler Hoechlin’s body? Using Tyler’s agreeing to come back for the Teen Wolf movie to steal his body and life. Having always been jealous of his looks and muscles

[piosplayhouse]

Does anyone know of any artists who draw li yu with chub and stretch marks .. I have a carnal need

[bamsara]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgauhghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuhghgg

[alienpossession]

Body a Day 27: Closet

I think it's convenient that these humans can be called in a whim and they will just come with no suspicion whatsoever that I need someone to fix my walk-in closet every single day. Well, I did call different companies in rotation and came up with different excuses or details, but so far, these handyman really proven themselves to be handy bodies to be worn by my people as they entered my walk-in closet with their gears eager to do their work and walked out already wrapped under our control

So after around a month or so, I already built a sizable group of our kind's first colony on Earth. So I couldn't really control the type of bodies of the people I called to come, but I think this blue-collar sector filled with fit people with muscles that is not just for vanity but indeed useful and filled with strength. Some of them walked out gingerly after the possession, but some other just dashed out confidently as if they've never been possessed

A few of them even outlandishly wanted to have sex with my vessels right off the bat after the takeover, it's like as if they directly wired to their human's lustful desire and let it control them rather than they override it, which is disappointing because we shouldn't degrade ourselves as if we're really human. We just used their body because it's easier for us to navigate this planet in their skin undetectable, and well, lucky that we ended up right away in a rather fit compound of people. Let's just say that I punished the morally-depraved right away and force them to be above their desire and not let their dick do the talking

Anyway, the colony that we established slowly yet surely expanded because the work of these blue-collar worker exposed them to the home of the rich and famous around this neighborhood, which is known to be the most expensive zip code in this country. They sometimes left their original vessel to acquire the more socially endowed ones while leaving the rugged empties just a mere husk they can tell to do their dirty work. So, upon looking at their upgrade, you could say that I was inspired to get my very own upgrade, after all I'm the oldest colonist, I need to establish my dominance over these youngins, right?

So, right before Christmas, this huge guy walked in after I asked some help in my bathroom. I never expected such fine older person would casually walk in as this person couldn't be just a regular handyman. But I realized that he came down to my house because my vessel used this guy's service for the bespoke bathroom before.

Being the prideful business owner that he is to the craft and services he provided, he decided to oversee the whole repair process. He came along with this other big, fully-tattooed guy that resembled more of the kind of people that I expected to come instead while the owner could talk his way to me about doing some other renovation in this house that his services can handle. Sizing him up and sensing his strength, the big guy seemed like a tough nut to crack in 1-on-1 battle, because.....just look at the guy, he's easily towered over any of us at 6'5" and that shoulder is as wide as a professional swimmer or something. I glanced around at the hard-working handyman kneeling to fix one of the broken tiles and started plotting. I decided to use the help of the tattooed bufffoon by taking care of him first, so when his boss was busy with another client call (I made another member of the colony to distract him), I asked him to came along with me to the walk-in closet in my bedroom as I need some help. Upon entering, one of my kind latched itself to his head and started crawling for control. He tried to swat my insectoid fella away, but he was not fast enough before the 12-legged-freak managed to get inside the buffoon. It was quick, just around a couple minutes or so and he's ready to help me get my upgraded body

When his boss returned from the call, all in a sudden, he choked his boss and easily lifted the 250 lbs muscle mountain with just one hand.

That's when I crawled out from my vessel and with the help of the vessel's hand that still moved under my will, he grabbed my form and landed me right on the service owner's nose that I learned to be named Youssef. My used vessels then said stoically

"Well Youssef, you should rejoice, because you've been selected to serve a bigger purpose. Your service will be helping us tremendously to expand further, so let's crack that mouth open so I can squeezed in---"

---

That was a couple days ago. Now, I'll let you be the judge. I look way better now, right?

[lotus-pear]

BOY WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT NEW CHAPTER........