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The Magic Pebble - Chapter 2

on January 10, 2026

age impersonation mother transformation

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The Magic Pebble - Chapter 1

on January 03, 2026

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Extended Stay: Veronica Lodge

on January 03, 2026

comic possession

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TV Mom

on December 29, 2025

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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

on December 23, 2025

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New Beginnings

on December 22, 2025

age sister time travel

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All I Want For Christmas

on December 21, 2025

forced magic sister

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Mommy Christmas

on December 21, 2025

mother possession

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The Perfect Fit - Part 1

“Gemma!” he exclaimed, turning to his sister who stood behind him. “I’m you and you’re me! Something must’ve gone wrong when we traveled to the past to relive that family vacation.” Gemma, now in Ryan’s body, looked just as stunned. She reached up to touch her own face, her fingers tracing her features as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. “I’m wearing your favorite dress… When you were 15…” he said, his voice trembling with disbelief. “Ryan, this is insane! How are we supposed to fix this?” “The Time Machine was set to two weeks. Now we’re stuck in each other's bodies…” “Which means we have to act like each other,” Ryan's heart raced as he glanced down at the colorful sundress that swirled around his—no, Gemma's—legs. “We have to get through these two weeks without anyone noticing,” he replied, his voice sounding higher and softer than usual. Gemma bit her lip, her eyes darting around the room, “Right. Just a normal vacation with Mom and Dad, right? Easy peas...

Couple Swap - Part 1

“I can’t believe that our kids didn’t notice our body swap!” “I know! I thought maybe Josh and Elina would be onto us, but they didn’t suspect a thing.” “What can I say? I guess we do know each other pretty well!” “I guess we do,” I bit my lip, “So what now, now that the kids have gone to bed?” “Well, Melinda,” my wife addressed me by her own name, “What do we normally do when the kids have gone to bed?” She took a step towards me, resting her hand on my waist and drawing me closer, “Gosh, I am so lucky to have such a …beautiful wife…” “Oh?” I couldn't help but giggle, “That’s nothing compared to how handsome you are, Dave.” “I was thinking... Why don’t we swap back tomorrow instead?” Melinda tucked her long hair behind my ears, “Just one night to see what it’s like to be each other completely…” I let out a small gasp, as I felt her hand reach one of my breasts. “You okay?” Melinda asked with concern when she noticed my reaction. “Yeah...just a weird feeling,” I replied honestly, “...

A Dream Come True

They’d never been close, not the way little sisters and big brothers were supposed to be—the way their parents described them to relatives, the way strangers always assumed. The three-year gap between them might as well have been a decade, and the difference only widened after both of them hit puberty, though in diametrically opposite ways. Eli, the elder, grew puffy in the face and shoulders. Lily, meanwhile, was all angles and light. She radiated: her hair, her laugh. She was the kind of girl mothers in the neighborhood would coo over—oh, she’s going to break hearts—while their sons squirmed and blushed. And Eli, in the background, nursed a private, mortifying envy. Shamefully, he pictured himself in her place, at the vanity, coaxing his own hair into those effortless waves, coaxing those impossible legs smooth and bare. He’d always been a little obsessed with the idea—what if he’d been born the girl, and Lily the oafish older brother? Would he have gotten to be pretty, too? Wou...

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The house was always quietest after three a.m., when the night pressed in on the windows, and the last shreds of the family's daydreams collapsed into uneasy shadows in the hallway. In that hour, the boy padded barefoot down the corridor, guided only by the strange certainty that tonight his sister would not wake. She was a witch—a real one, not the Instagram kind—and that afternoon she had blown up the living room with giddy, manic glee, demonstrating at least six new spells, among which was the ability to stretch and contort her body "like that one superhero, the mom," she bragged, then spent an entire hour poking her fingers through the air vent and snaking them, impossibly, past the dust bunnies on the other side. She called it "hyperflex." He called it "gross." But he watched anyway, as she twisted and looped her arms into impossible pretzels, wound her torso around the bannister like a silk scarf, and tried, with a sort of fevered physical logic,...

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I hadn’t touched the pendant since. But, for whatever reason, as I watched Ana share gossip between bites, I started to wonder what it would be like to possess her again now. I caught myself staring a little too long and tore my eyes away from her, pretending to check my phone. I wasn't eleven years old anymore. I was a grown man. Ana was mid-sentence, recounting some minor drama involving her husband, Lucas, and their six-year-old twins. I wasn't really listening—I was watching her hands, the way she gestured with long, lacquered fingers. I pictured what it would be like to slip inside her again, to inhabit that body transformed by years and experience. I felt my throat dry as I watched Ana laugh, sensing that old, electric pull inside me. I needed a break to collect myself. I jerked my hand up in a gesture that interrupted her story—"Excuse me for a sec," I said, and hurried off toward the men's room with a clumsy urgency. I locked the door behind me and splashe...

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It had been months since the accident—if you could call it that. The accident being me, in a fit of sleep-deprived curiosity, accidentally possessing the body of Penelope Grayson, a random housewife in a Connecticut suburb, while waiting at the bus stop. It was supposed to be a joke. My wife, Mandy, and I had always been tinkerers; we scavenged estate sales and lab closures for oddities, and that particular Saturday, we’d found a battered black box, gnarled with switches and a patina of dust, labeled only “Phasmatron Mk. II.” It hummed under our touch and, on a dare and a bottle of Pinot Grigio, we’d decided to try it out. We didn’t know what it did, only that the instructions were written in manic blue fountain pen and included the words “mind transference,” “caution,” and “don’t get stuck.” You can guess which warning we ignored. The next thing I knew, I was inside Penelope. I felt my original body collapse against Mandy, who screamed and shook me—her—but it was too late. At first, w...

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In the beginning, I told myself it was only practical. Lisa needed me—needed this body that could feed her, hold her, comfort her with the sound of its heartbeat. I had gotten so good at the rituals of motherhood, so attuned to the rhythms of the body, that it felt cruel to interrupt the routine. She needed consistency, the books all said. No sudden changes, no unnecessary disruptions. There was no avoiding the demands of motherhood. The baby needed to be fed, changed, bathed, rocked. I learned to hold her against my skin, her tiny fists kneading at my chest, her mouth rooting with a determination that bordered on desperation. I grew accustomed to the leak of milk, the sticky dampness, the raw tenderness of my nipples after a long feeding. It wasn’t long before I started to admire the body, to take pride in its strength and utility. I turned sideways, marveling at the profile. My reflection showed a stomach that was soft but flat, flaring out into hips that felt impossibly wide a...

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My name is Charles. I was raised by a single mother. She had me, her only son, when she was 16, and my father never stuck around. We were always very close. We lived together in a series of small apartments. She did everything for me —sewed my costumes, watched bad movies on Fridays, and sometimes, after a glass of boxed wine, she’d dance with me in the kitchen, barefoot and laughing. We were a team, a package deal. Things changed when I was sixteen. That was the year my mother decided that being my entire universe was not a complete life, and she went to a fertility clinic and paid for a baby sibling for me. She said, “I want you to have family after I’m gone.” The baby was a girl, and when she was born, my mother was thirty-two. I helped where I could—sterilizing bottles, changing diapers, rocking the baby to sleep—but there were limits. I hated watching her struggle. I was always good at fixing things. But this was something I couldn’t fix. Until the day I did. I’d been haunting thr...

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