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Trace This (Fandom Cap, Tg/TF, Overwatch)

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Description

A commission cap from someone who wanted to see Tracer in a Fandom Virus scenario like the ones I wrote before. A boy named Ben gets caught up inside her body with her only it isn't really her and they've actually fitted into a cosplayer.

I'm sorry if this topic and subject matter is already old news by now. Stone age stuff and I'm dragging the printing press here with my kiddie kink-kit. Never said I'd be on top of trends like TG's Top Model or anything. I'm a HACK whaddyawant?

Mention her butt even once and I will cry.

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I remembered a spectral force surging into my body. It erased myself and restored me anew. Perfect freedom, allowed by a temporal
distortion in my physical self and cognition. Enabled by a disease, the so called Virus allowed me to channel her being. Temporally, in
sporadic bursts. A thought here, a change or blemish there. The intervals of time got longer, changes further, I felt continuous waves of time inter-merge from another reality, another life. I felt her taking over-

Graciously, that is. the waves turned into bursts, bursts gave way to curves and thoughts. Pulses of time ordained alterations, to outright metamorphosis. Her sweet tangy voice communicated with me, inside my head, her head? Swapping back and forth in a conversation with someone is hard to track when they’re coming from the same place. I told her who I was, a human boy named Ben. She thought it was a lil silly, and told me she was human too, so not an inter-dimensional being or god, or alien taking over my body. Quite a relief I suppose.
I asked which to call her.

Tracer, was her name. That’s what I called myself, I mean Lena called herself. Called me? Memories intertwined in chronically confusing slip-ups. Mostly hers.

I asked how the she got here. She asked me much the same. I didn’t quite remember, There was an outbreak, a plague I believed. A viral agent changed people, nations, made them zombies to fiction, the dawn of the fandoms had arrived. I got infected. Looking down at my body, my tan vest and groovy tights, these jolly knockers. Judging by my new eye-wear and brown spiffy cut, I had to assume I was yet another victim. Parts in my head, gaps in my memory and self, they were all missing. I had the barest sense of distinction from her in this body. In her hers this felt of duff rubbish.
She asked if I’d like to lessen that load a little. Rid the rift-raft, and merge the remainder for the merrier. I politely
declined, as tempting as this cuties moxie was. Fair enough luv, I’m easy she replied blowing our hair up.

As for how she got here, her recall was shaky. An experiment, some kind of device to stabilize her in time. Jammy broad, the slipstream did finally put her back in reality, anchored to one time and place. What luck then, that said place had to be inside me. What if I’d become a cat, a cartoon mouse? A stripper, a show cult, a buff arse or a rubbery thong? I’d be all too embarrassing for her to end up in the wrong body, so we’ll thank providence she ended up in hers proper, ace right?

That, wasn’t quite true luv. What an almost-break, but this wasn’t her gear! The plastic rubbish and posh pootie was a kick off the block but it wasn’t hers. These cute tights, the gun and wig, all of it was, makeshift. It’s a shame she told me, luv this ain’t my body. The girl did a real good job dressing up the part, quite shabby. But she wasn’t her own, and I wasn’t in hers but the nice babe dressing as her. Oh alright, so it’s a cosplay, I thought. What’s a cosplay she asked, my memories still gapped. It’s dressing up like someone for fun, like Halloween I told her, inside our head. Oh that sounds lovely, pretty creative. It’s alright I guess, where are we? We’d spent so much time monologuing internally, we hadn’t noticed the crowds of costumes, panels and the convention we landed in. “Convention?” She said outloud. I’d have a lot to explain, but this body had new instincts to fulfill, strong urges and glamorous movements I couldn’t deny. Giving in, I posed and smiled for my fans. ‘My’ fans she reminded me, rolling her eyes as she let the cameras flash. Right you are luv, I thought jacking her swagger. We’d figure this all out later, for now I had a Con to attend.
“Don't worry, loves, cavalry's here!”
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Image size
2220x1154px 1.35 MB
Mature
© 2016 - 2024 TiarasTwilight
Comments27
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WholesomeWombat's avatar
In the fifth paragraph, what is going on? Is she asking him if she wants to merge their souls, and he refuses? I'm just curious.

Thanks.