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A game whre your OC reacts to suddenly having the above OC's body. Example
Chara A: *is a butterfly*
Chara B: *is originally a human, but now has Chara A's body* "Neat, I have wings! I'm going to fly away now!
Chara C: *is a wizard, but now has Chara B's original body* "What is this odd creature? And why can't they do magic??"
I will start off by sacrificing my son Leon.
Rule 1: I'm starting to see the same people replying back and forth, so please wait at least two posts after your own to post again. Have fun, everybody!
Rule 2: Each post has to be at least 3 completely filled lines of text, or the equivalent of that!
Rule 3: Don't be rude about the appearance of the previous character, even if your character is the vain sort.
Rule 4: This is a public thread, so keep it PG-13. Please keep sex/excessive violence/etc. down to a minimum. Rule of thumb, if the previous character does not have any mentions of that in their bio, don't inflict it upon them. If you must include that content, censor it like so.
You can reply regardless of rule 1 if it has been 24 hours since the last post.
Talli knew something as off as soon as he drifted back into consciousnesss after what he thought would just be a short nap. The sensation of a chair much more plush then the one he fell asleep on, the inexplicable change in the proportions and feelings of his own body, instantly told him something was direly off. When he opened his eyes, he was in for the shock of his life.
Through his own eyes he looked down at hands that were too slender and toned to be his, at a body much unlike himself. The change of the structure of his legs and height was disorienting; he barely managed to get up and stumble to a mirror in the corner of the small study he had woken up in, hunching over and peering into the mirror. He nearly flinched at the peircing blue gaze of a man Talli did not know, framed by locks of blond hair. He reached up, fingers pinching at the golden strands.
"What the fuck...?" Another surprise: his words now floated through the air in a much more smooth, masculine tone, making him both confused and oddly envious. He wondered if this was yet another test of the god who cursed him, or just another part of the curse that was simply not spoken to him. Maybe he had managed to escape the curse, and now could live a life not bound by servitude to others. God, he hoped that was true: it would make his daily life that much easier.
“Mmhn…” Justin groaned as he awoke, yawning and stretching before sending himself onto the floor with a yelp-finding he was no longer lying on one of the Night Train’s weirdly comfy seats, but a new chair entirely. It looked as though the place he had awoken in was also brand new! It certainly didn’t seem like Hell, though…
As he looked about, he noticed his hands were no longer the three-fingered, red appendages they used to be, but human hands! He lit up with glee, figuring everything must have been just a horrible, awful dream and he never had turned into a demon… until he noticed the light, blond streaks of hair that was most certainly not his own. And the white jacket after that…
“What in the…?” He blinked, before freezing. His voice was absolutely not his own-his Southern accent was gone as far as he could tell, and it was jarring. “What in land’s sakes-??”
As he tried to sit up, he realized he wasn’t totally human-he also possessed cat parts it seemed-! Which… made him wonder if this meant Milov had gotten ahold of him… or, maybe G. Lousy? Was this all some ploy to get him to make a deal to go back to normal, only to wind up as the Devil’s lackey-?
He didn’t know, but it definitely bugged him. And he knew less when he heard someone call for who he had a feeling he now was in the body of… seems he was needed-and, as things sat, it seemed he didn’t get a choice in whether or not he helped the person who called for him…
Oh, well it would seem like she has gotten herself into quite a situation this time. Of course these sorts of messes aren't particularly uncommon for her these days, dabbling with magic as much as she does. And certainly this isn't the worst predicament that she has gotten herself into. It very much isn't optimal either. She can't exactly go to any conventional magical authorities lest she find herself in a cell with her magic locked.
Hype sighs. These sorts of spells usually wear off in due time, she will just have to wait it out, however uncomfortable that might be. Wings she can get used to and appreciate, she does enjoy the look of them. But hooves and a tail? She grimaces, she never fancied the idea of having a tail; it is just one more limb to look after and she imagines that it would be easy to lose track of. Heaven knows that she very much doesn't need another appendage to accidentally slam doors on. She can also imagine herself rolling over the damn thing with an office chair. She massages the bridge of this person...creature's (?) nose with hands that aren't actually her own. Hype supposes that she can count herself lucky that, in spite of the animalistic qualities of this body, at least it has human-like fingers.
She supposes that this body is dressed well enough. She isn't quite fond of stripped suits, but at least it is a suit and it looks to be in suave condition. Overall, she decides that she can deal with this situation for at least a little while. Who knows, maybe she'll even test out these horns. For what, she hasn't decided. But they are compelling.
A bizarre occurrence for the medical student today... They find themself in an unfamiliar room that's quite lavish with a large window showing the view of the skyline and they notice that they're missing of their wings, horns, halo and the ever expressive tail. At a glance of what's beneath them, they see an unfamiliar desk with paperwork in another language and notice their hands don't have that coal black coloration that fades away the further up their forearms, which some say is like a Siamese cat; they seem to be smaller and more daintier, the nail polish on their nails is a darker blood red than their usual bright red.
"Oh dieu... Où pourrais-je être ?" A hand on their hand upon hearing their own voice. It's certainly different, certainly lost some of the masculine tinges that makes their voice confusingly androgynous. "J'ai besoin d'un miroir, il y a quelque chose qui ne va pas." They begin to search the drawers for a mirror, any mirror, before looking at the full-length mirror across the luxurious office room.
Upon looking at themself, they don't see a tall androgynous man in their 20s with a quirky dark red demon tail and bright red eyes, wearing black medical scrubs and torn dark grey under scrub along with their usual black makeup. Their hair isn't even the noticeable half-blond, half-brunet with streaks of its opposite color.
No.
It's a small latina woman in her 50s with amber brown eyes and dark brown hair wearing red office-wear.
"Elle est joli," Desrosiers says to the woman in the mirror before wincing, "Mais, elle travaille comme manager." They look around to check if anyone would barge in before looking at their teeth. No sharp and pointy fangs. "Ah, il n'est pas étonnant que je n'aie pas eu envie de boire du sang," they mumble to themself before looking at the enstatite brown eyes, which have rounded pupils instead of slit pupils. "Au moins, je ne brûlerai pas au soleil et je ne serai pas harcelé par les anges et les démons pour l'instant."
Desrosiers goes back to the desk and checks the woman's purse, looking for her makeup and begins retouching it real quick. They begin to speak in front of the mirror, "Je pense que je devrais essayer de ne pas parler et d'apporter un bloc-notes avec moi. Je ne parle ni anglais ni espagnol, mais je peux comprendre ce que disent les autres." Despite having no tail, the phantom sensation of their tail swaying is still present. "Pourtant... Je crois que cette femme a des problèmes de santé... Je dois vérifier si mes inquiétudes sont fondées."
vvvv WillBeRedeemed hdfjghdfkjghdfhjdkjfg I feel so bad for Dante 😭
Dante Macabre groaned as he awoke-he had passed out the night prior after another day of trying to get someone to pay attention to him wore him down to the bone… all for nothing of course, he thought. His face was just too painfully boring and unremarkable for anyone to really remember even talking to him, it seemed…
When he awoke though, he realized his home was much… different. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t even his home at all! Certainly didn’t look like the manor, he could tell you that. From the guitar and violin and other various musical instrument cases, to the medical study materials, and a number of other things he didn’t remember owning.
“What the…?” He asked himself, before realizing his voice was different. More… weirdly androgynous. Blinking in surprise, he went to check for a mirror in this place-which he did without much issue. And his jaw nearly dropped at the sight that lay before him.
He now possessed demon horns and a halo, mismatched wings, and he seemed taller than before as well. His arms turning black the further down he looked, and the demon tail he now possessed. The almost concerningly coloured medical scrubs-he hadn’t ever seen black ones before… but, the most important thing had yet to come.
His face… it was totally different! Totally notable! Androgynous, with red eyes, and… and FANGS! He could point out everything different in it from his own, and he loved it! “People will absolutely pay attention to me now!” He beamed from ear to ear. Maybe all his hoping and dreaming finally blessed him with a new, more memorable self! He really hoped this wasn’t just a dream…
“Eee!” He squealed, excitedly dancing a bit in place once the thought of all his wishes coming true. “Alright, new life, new me-let’s see what we have here!” He spoke to himself before going to read one of the books left open. And…
It was in French. Confused, he flipped to another page. French. He then flipped to another page. Also French. Every book in his general vicinity was French. And that was not good.
He did not know any French.
“…Uh oh…” He gulped. How in the world was he going to fit into this new life when he didn’t know the language at all-? He knew he had to figure something out, fast-who knows when he’d need to speak to someone! And so, he got to pacing, wondering how in the world he was going to become fluent in a language he didn’t know in such a short amount of time…
^ it will be. but not how you think 👼
^^ "there is no shame in conducting manly fitness at the beach it's ancient greek realness 😤 wait what is these people's problem😒 oh well into the waves I go for my nice normal swim. Can't wait to wash my hair with a bar of soap btw"
It is 3:00am, and the early bird gets the worm. In this case the worm is a metaphor for inner peace, or, even more precisely, the closest thing to it: a brutal workout routine at the beach. Which is to say, it's wakey wakey time for this Heron.
So far so normal, though this morning his hands are missing a lot of scars. Forearms too. Hm... Actually (he drags a hand over his chest)... *everything* is so smooth it's missing sensory data--feels more like he's wearing a trisuit than nothing. Heron sits there for a while and makes the conscious effort to scan his body, because clearly it's one of those days where there is something funky going on. Really it's not that extraordinary--what's a little depersonalisation to start the day. Basically normal. Some days he'd wake up and feel like bits of him were twisting away into the sunrise like some shit out of a painting by Salvador Dali. Big deal. And eyes are likely to play tricks in the half-light, too. The lack of pain is the weirdest thing--no hot lead perpetually burning a hole through his shoulder--but that's neither here nor there... There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, so. Off to the bathroom.
For once, the doorway doesn't threaten the top of his head. That's also a little weird. But again, big deal. Most of his life is spent in third person mode, and so what if his camera seemed to be further down his face than usual. His frame feels narrower, more gracile. Weird, but within tolerances. That is, until he gets to the mirror. He stops.
Heron looks into eyes which are distinctly Not His. They're familiar, though. Cherenkov blue.
That motherfucker.
He leans a little closer, and the eyes stare into themselves. Funny. He's never noticed the silver.
Heron rakes a hand through blonde tresses. So silky it's almost disgusting, he wants to wash it with soap so that it will feel normal. Silly to have a shower right now, though. He plucks a strand of it. It's as real between his fingers as it is in the mirror. Very funny. He washes "his" face, detects the cold as normal. Has a nice normal shave and a nice normal brushing of the teeth. They're nice teeth. Pretty, fit for a modeling career. Along with everything else. Heron doesn't stop to contemplate it further. There are routines to be kept, and if he stopped in his tracks for every little hallucination he'd never get anything done ever. Whether it's just his brain, or the shitfox himself playing tricks on him is irrelevant.
Anyway, on with the *actual* trisuit (had to just bike there. Fuck getting changed. It's a good warmup). The suit does *not* fit him, it's like he's lost 40 kilograms out of nowhere. Heron contemplates this predicament for five seconds, before deciding on normal clothes (which also fit him like ridiculous shit, but hey, Ren could rock a paper bag). The nudist beach will do for this morning, and he's sure that will go perfectly normally. Having to cuff these cargo pants in the meanwhile to get to said beach is so ridiculous he genuinely wants to assume he's tripping, but if he doesn't then he really will be. Tripping. Okay, focus.
---
yoo this is awesome omg heron's room!!! I didn't even think of rooms that's SUCH a good idea, I love how you took all these details of his personality into account as well as just the physicality side ;w; oh no Évariste this is gonna be SUCH a weird day!!
^ you're welcome, glad you liked it :) i would like to write as much details possible and not just the character's appearance, have them aware of their surroundings. I couldn't find info about Heron's room in his profile for this so I kinda give a little bit headcannon about how his room would look like... and yeah, Évariste gotta have a weird day, transported into an unfamiliar place and unfamiliar body.
^(finished it, i think i wrote too much but i tried to make it on point to your character as possible. Hope you like it)
Yet another day to work at the waste management, the chemist thought... Slowly rising as he woke up, he stretched to loosen up and activate his mind for the morning. Odd, when he removed his blankets, he noticed that his cat pajamas and some Bauhaus shirt wasn't present which he wore before he fell asleep. He looked at the bottom, cargo pants? Something Évariste typically wears but not the camo kind which he is currently wearing and he doesn't wear cargo pants when he goes to sleep. Looking down to his torso, he noticed he was wearing a graphic shirt he didn't remember wearing. When he looked up his arms, he noticed scars around the hairy arms. Évariste isn't a hairy person and knows safety and protection, he's barely someone who would cut up from any hazards. Did he got some kind of curse? Was it just a dream or someone dragged him to another room? Évariste was puzzled
At first glance, nothing changed much about the height, yet as he stood up, there's no mistake it's as tall as wearing his chunky, steel toed boots. The thing is there are no boots worn, and just being barefoot it seems he got taller than he used to be. As he touched the hair, it was long but the smooth and silky texture was gone. It was greasy, an uncomfortable feeling for Évariste, like one wouldn't care about styling hair and just go along with it. The bright red streaks were gone too.
He glanced and examined through the room, it looks organized yet different. A decent computer at the top of a desk was present, just like in the squat but it doesn't look like the one Évariste has which was decorated with notes and reminders. Musical instruments are present, just like in the squat he lived in but it's not the violin Évariste has. There was only an electric guitar sitting on the rack and a bunch of musical equipment and amplifiers. Where are all the bookshelves of science books, journals, the books of anarchist theories and history, they are not present and instead, there are a bunch of tools suitable for fixing computers and motobikes. Heck, there's even a computer and tech book somewhere there. Évariste knows tech but not to the point where he is knowledgable fixing it.
A rack of music albums and vinyl, someone must be a music lover like him. The chemist examined a multitude of albums, none of them are goth rock, death rock, anarcho-punk, anything Évariste loved to listen. Whatever he ended up might be into blues with all the rock, jazz, and blues albums present. Posters of goth bands from Évarsite's room from the likes of Corpus Delicti, The Cure, London After Midnight, Specimen, they're not there too, even posters from punk shows he visited on the past... gone. Posters of blues music and bikes are the only ones in the room, lined up and placed in an intricate glass as if they are valuable. Unlike the scattered, decorative chaos contained in Évariste's room. "What the hell?" he asked himself, but noticed his voice was quite low, monotonic, almost grim, but in a high voice range. The androgynous hint from Évariste's original voice was lost. There's definitely somethings odd happening here.
The chemist found a mirror and looked up himself. The red, piercing eyes was gone, and became hazel eyes, lacking an expression. The nose, it's quite longer and bigger, like a bird's beak. Shoulders became more broad and limbs were longer, possessing a more masculine figure. Hell, there's a bit more muscle too, compared to Évariste's slender arms. Was the body of this person Évariste got into is some kind of athlete? The triathlon suit lying on the top of the dresser is already a giveaway from that. He attempts to escape this odd reality, necromancy? nothing happened, conjuration? failed. The magical abilities Évariste possessed were gone. Is there a way to escape this curse, nightmare, spell, or whatever that caused Évariste to be trapped in the body of a gloomy, gigantic technician? He needs to find a way to break the spell to return to his original body and place before his work in the waste management starts...
note for np: besides reading his profile and looking at the gallery to get the idea who he is and what he looks like, heres a better pic of his clothes
At first, Archimedes was sure that his legs were flaring up once again. At least, that's what the shooting pains over his back were telling him. However, when he opened his eyes and was faced with a ratty concrete facade instead of an ornately decorated wall of wood and stone, he was faced with the possibility that by some odd magical intervention, he had just teleported somewhere and woken up on the world's worst chair.
It was even more of a shock when he managed to sit up quite easily, rather than the usual slow and arduous process that usually came to him. It was slowed down by the rather unusual clothes he wore: a long dark coat, heavy shoes and baggy pants were certainly not part of his usual attire. Additionally, Archimedes felt shorter then usual, like someone had lopped off a couple inches of height off his legs. He went to rub his face, but froze to process the sight of his fingertips and how ghostly pale they were. Turning his head up, he caught a glimpse of himself in a shattered mirror poised in the corner of the room, and nearly jumped out of his own chair. Long, straight black and red dyed hair framed a thin face with small eyebrows and a piercing gaze that frightened even himself. "Goodness gracious." He mumbled, further confusing himself. There was no signature raspy crackle of a weak throat in his voice: it had seemed he had somehow swapped bodies with whoever this person was.
He stood up, finding an odd glee in how his body moved freely, uninhibited by disability and unruly crutches. He could hear other people in the building, and as he moved to the door and grasped the doorknob, his one idea was to check out the area for himself and see what sort of situation he was now in for.
As the Sewadi woke up, Windows tried to begin its normal booting process. But the OS was unable to boot into living flesh. As hal.dll (it’s real, look it up) tried to do its thing, the OS crashed. So Sewadi went back to sleep in its new body, never to know that it was now a vampire and would need to feed on innocent blood. But at least the boot manager worked properly.
Laiza stirred at the touch of another person, grumbling slightly as he tried to swat the hand away. “Mmgh… five more minutessss, sir…” He tiredly whined. But try as he might, he couldn’t fall asleep once more-suppose even his own narcolepsy had limits…
Letting out a small sigh of annoyance as he grumbled under his breath something similar to “this better be good…”, he rubbed one of eyes before looking to the person who woke him. “What-?” Then, though, he realized something. He didn’t recognize this room at all, or the person before him.
More than that though, he realized something even more important. “Where’d the water go?” He squeaked out, panickedly flopping out of the armchair in a decidedly ungraceful fashion. After that, a groan of pain as his head collided with the floor. But strangely, despite the lack of water, he didn’t feel like he was suffocating. Far from it actually-he felt fine!
It was then that he noticed more oddities about himself. His skin was not a sickly, oxygen-less blue, but a healthy, peach tone. His body also seemed to have much more meat on it than it used to. Granted he basically was no more than skin and bones for the most part before, but still. His body type was also much more… consistent, shall we say-? Made more sense to be certain.
He also seemed to be dressed much better than usual too. Granted, with his old form he wasn’t dressed at all, but even when he had been alive, this would be MUCH too stuffy for him-not comfy at all! Not even because these garments were form fitting-although they were-but because they were simply too fancy for him. His chains also seemed to be missing, from what he could tell.
Having said that, there was one other major thing he had noticed about himself, aside from the missing esca, which he gathered he no longer had simply due to the fact he couldn’t see its ever glowing light.
Rather than his large, somewhat tattered siren’s tail… he had legs. Real, working legs. At least, they didn’t feel like prosthetics as far as he could tell. And he would certainly be able to tell.
One of his now gloved hands brushed his hair out of his face. Hair, he noted, that was not white, long, and matted, but blond, soft locks that seemed weirdly perfect, even with being disturbed by the fall somehow. He didn’t sense his head fins either.
He went for his face next. A nose that wasn’t flat to his face, but more human, a lack of sharp, meat-tearing fangs, and-“Eww-“ He recoiled at the taste of the gloves upon his normal, human tongue. No glowy tentacle tongue, as far as he could tell. He was completely and utterly human… and it was weird.
He looked up at the person again, and got a bit defensive. “Who are you, and why am I here?” He asked, taking note of how different his new voice was from his voice.