hebeimmortalized | (no subject)

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(no subject)

dated May 18, 2017

Jillie wakes up feeling . . . different. She doesn't move for a few minutes, watching her bedroom wall from between the covers and the pillow. It's daylight, and she's pretty sure it's late enough to be closer to lunch than breakfast. She shifts a little to get up, but . . . something feels wrong. She sits up suddenly, hand flying to her head.

And then to her chest.

It's flat.

Well, not flat, not flat like a countertop. There's some musculature there that gives it form, but it's— her tits are gone. Her tits are pecs. Her tank tops fit oddly without them, and she shifts to adjust them.

"What the fuck," she says, and her voice. She gasps and reaches to touch her throat. There's a knob at the front where there hadn't been before. She follows it up, to her chin. It's wider than it had been. Her skin feels rough with early morning stubble. Why the fuck does she have stubble?

She trips on her way out of the bed. Her feet are too big, legs too long. Her underwear is too tight, and she refuses to think about why that is. She stumbles into her bathroom and braces her hands against the sink, staring into the mirror.

Jack is staring back.

It's not exactly Jack. The Jack looking out at her isn't as lean as her brother, and it shows around his jaw and down his sides. She doesn't have his ink, either, so his arms are unusually bare.

The sound that leaves her mouth twists her brother's face comically, and under any other circumstances, she might laugh about it. As it is, when she stumbles back away from her reflection, a hysterical sound does bubble up. She makes her way back into her bedroom and sits heavily on the bed. She pops up like there's a tack under her as soon as she feels what else has changed, and she paces. She tugs on her hair, which is suddenly short at the sides and a little longer on the top.

"What the fuck," she says, in a voice that's so like Jack's it's eerie. "What the fuck. Jack? Dee!? Jackson!"

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He hears his own voice calling for him, which is weird enough, but it's coming from Jillie's bedroom. He jumps out of bed and hurries down the stairs in just his boxers and stops, dead, in the doorway.

"Holy shit."

Jack gets to see his own face looking panicked without having to look in the mirror. Jillie swallows and tries to calm down.

"I didn't do it," she insists.

"I know you didn't," he says, once he's gotten over the initial shock. "Its happened to me. And to Poison. I looked exactly like you for, like, a week. It's weird."

Jillie looks down at herself and groans, adjusting her tanks and then reaching to adjust her underwear a little. She's careful not to touch any of the new equipment hanging out in there.

"I hate this city," she grouses.

Jack huffs a laugh when she adjusts like that. It feels weird to be looking but, at the same time, everything that's visible is intimately familiar.

"Come on. I'll get you some clothes," he says. "Poison is going to freak."

She stomps her feet, just a little, and groans, but eventually she hugs herself and follows after him. She wants to just hide in her room until this is over, but she's not entirely sure that'd accomplish much more than isolating herself. She sighs, playing with elbows that are wider than she's used to.

"Do you want to get properly dressed or do you want PJs?" asks Jack, trying to keep the smirking to a minimum as he glances at her over his shoulder. "Oh, shit. Did you tell Paul?"

Her eyes widen and her answer is cut off when Jack mentions Paul. "No, and we're not going to!" she insists. "Jack, he can't know, okay, I just need to hide from him until this is all over."

"Why not?" asks Jack, sorting out a few changes of clothes, PJs, underwear, jeans, t-shirts, a hoodie. "You think he'll freak?"

"I think it will make things really fucking weird," she points out. It's still weird to her that Jack's basically having a conversation with himself. She takes one of the outfits he's built and disappears into his bathroom so she can change. She works very, very hard at not seeing the dick between her legs, but she has to touch it, she realizes, to adjust how it . . . rests, or something, in her underwear.

Right.

She opens the bathroom door and leans just her head out. "Jack," she whispers. "I don't know what to do with . . . it."

"You won't know if you don't give him the change," says Jack, pulling on pajama pants and a t-shirt. When Jillie sticks her head out of the door, he snorts laughter. "I mean, I don't know how to explain it. You just...sort of...shift it around until it feels good? Usually I go left."

"Left," she echoes, and tucks back into the bathroom and shuts the door. Her fingers are tentative when she reaches into the underwear to rearrange things.

It's not like she's never had her hand on a dick before, but she's also never experienced sensation through a dick before. She finds a position that isn't uncomfortable and then tugs on the shirt and pajama pants.

At least they fit a little better.

She steps out of the bathroom looking even more like Jack than before, and she combs her fingers into her hair.

"This is so fucking weird," says Jack, huffing a laugh as he sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at his own face looking down at him. "Poison's going to hate it." He stands up, slipping his arms around Jillie's shoulderes and pulling her in close. "How are you feeling?"

She leans into the hug, and it feels really weird to not have to curl her shoulders around her tits to really hug him back. "Poison doesn't have to hate it; I hate it enough for everyone in the fucking house." She sighs, dropping her chin onto his shoulder and then adjusting a little so she doesn't choke herself with her own Adam's apple.

"I'm feeling really . . . sturdy," she admits. She leans back, face screwing up in confusion. "And weirdly kinda chill? Do you feel like this all the time?"

"I mean, yeah? I guess?" He grins, pressing a kiss against Jillie's hairline. It's weird, now that they're exactly the same height. "Now that you're okay and I'm with Poison...yeah. Sturdy. That's a good way of putting it."

"This is weird," she admits. It still feels nice to be held by him, to be pampered, but she also feels steadier in a way she hasn't in a really long time. She wonders if this version of her, this dude version, is schizo, or if she's just coasting on something that's intrinsic to being a male Vincent.

She leans back at last, looking down at herself, touching her stomach, her hips. She feels firm in ways she's not used to.

"How long d'you think it'll last?"

"When it was Poison and me, it was about a week...ten days for Kav, I think," he says. "Just long enough to get used to it. But at least you don't have to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe because you can just wear mine. Bit like Poison. He just wore his femme stuff."

She nods, but tugs her shirt collar away from her clavicle to look down at her flat chest. "This is— I really like my tits, this is weird."

Edited 2017-05-15 13:32 (UTC)

"They'll totally come back," says Jack, grinning. "And, for now, you get to enjoy having chest hair and shit."

"Ugh, gross," she says with a laugh. "Maybe I'll shave." If she does end up letting Paul see her like this, she wants to feel her best.

Edited 2017-05-15 14:03 (UTC)

Jack shrugs, unbothered by the mental image.

"Poison shaves."

"Do you?" she asks. "I don't remember seeing you with an abundance of chest hair."

Jack huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

"Other than a little manscaping...down there, I'm au natural," he says, laughing.

"Manscaping?" she echoes, and laughs a little. "Gross, that's such a weird word." She laughs again, though, Jillie's laugh in Jack's voice.

"That's what it's called, Jillian, Jesus." He laughs harder, shaking his head. "Anyway - what you do with your body hair while you're like that is up to you, i guess...."

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