#THE SHIPS ARE:

[clevereverest]

Body Swap AU • 2,076 words

[ Race and Albert switch bodies! I wrote these two parts back in December and haven’t gotten around to adding any more to it, so I thought I’d share it here on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it! ]

Mornings were always slow for Race, but this morning felt particularly off.

Just something about it didn’t feel quite right. Being barely conscious for all of ten seconds, Race couldn’t place his finger on what exactly was different. If he could just crack his eyes open…

Shit, the effort of it all. Despite his struggles, Race managed to look around, honestly rather bleary-eyed, but he couldn’t deny the fact that this was not his bedroom.

The fuck? Whose room was this? Race leaned up more to see his surroundings better, only to disturb the other person in the bed beside him. He froze immediately — he thought he was alone in here, but again, he was half-awake not even a whole minute ago.

Race debated lifting back the sheet or waiting until the other person did it themself, but didn’t have to decide as the latter became true.

To Race’s complete and utter surprise, the other person turned out to be… Finch? Not Spot, not Race’s boyfriend, no — but instead it was Finch, Albert’s boyfriend.

Why the fuck are we in bed together?

“Finch?” Race managed to say around his confusion. The man in question only hummed. “Why am I at your house?”

Getting no response, Race shook his friend’s shoulder a bit frantically. Finch swatted at him, his eyes blinking open. Somehow he only appeared slightly annoyed at being woken up, not remotely concerned about Race being in bed with him.

What the hell?

“Finch.” Race repeated, earning the wanted eye contact. “Why am I in your bedroom?”

“You live here,” Finch replied casually, moving to grab one of Race’s hands, who pulled it away hastily. Unsurprisingly, Finch looked taken aback at the reaction, but Race was still freaking out too much to apologize.

“No, I don’t live here. I live next door,” Race corrected. “So why did I wake up here? Why are we in your bed together? Actually, why did Albert let this — no, why did you let this happen?”

Now it was Finch’s turn to look utterly lost. He leaned up all the way to match Race, almost making a move to touch him again but decided against it.

“You’re saying nonsense, sweetheart. Are you sick?”

Sweetheart? Finch called Albert sweetheart, not Race. Was this some weird cheating situation? But then why wouldn’t Race be aware of it? Seems like something you’d want to know about. Unless they got drunk and did it on a whim, except that Race didn’t feel hungover. And even drunk, he doesn’t think that all four of them (well, Spot doesn’t drink) would agree to literally cheating on each other.

“Al, are you okay?”

Woah, no, something was very wrong today.

“Did you just call me Al?” Race questioned, finally turning back to Finch beside him.

“...Yeah?” Finch’s voice lilted up at the end as if he wasn’t sure he said the right thing.

“Okay, fuck, yeah that’s cool,” Race mumbled to himself, standing and walking briskly to where he knew a bathroom mirror was. He left Finch scrambling to follow, his tone concerned in every call from behind.

In the bathroom, Race flicked on the light and looked at his reflection.

Albert was staring right back at him.

What the actual fuck?

Race dropped his head into his hands, taking deep breaths. After a few moments, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Finch asked quietly, like he was afraid of hearing the answer.

“I’m going to sound insane.” Race couldn’t quite say it yet, but maybe he could put it off.

“Just tell me. Please?” Carefully, Finch wrapped an arm over his shoulders. Race had the distant thought about how bizarre it was to be shorter than his friend; he was usually one inch taller, not three inches shorter. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

Of course he was right. That didn’t mean Race really wanted to say what the issue was. Hell, how do you say something like this? ‘I’m actually Race even though I still look like Albert and I don’t know what the fuck happened or how to fix it’? Yeah, real convincing.

Screw it.

“I’m not Albert,” Race admitted into his hands before lifting his head to see Finch in the mirror. “I’m Race, actually. I don’t know…” He gestured at himself helplessly.

“Right, and I’m Spot.” Finch chuckled, as if it was a joke.

“No, Finch —” Race stepped out of his friend’s hold to look him dead in the eye. “I swear I’m not kidding. Please tell me that you can tell the difference. Right?”

“That doesn’t make —”

“I know, I know it doesn’t make sense, just,” Race took another breath. “Tell me you believe me.”

Finch noted the clear desperation, but still shook his head. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Race all but slumped in place. “How can I prove it? How can I…” he paused, an idea hitting him. “Let’s go to my place and we can see Spot and Albert, okay? If I’m right, our boyfriends should be over there probably having the same weird ass morning like we are.”

“But you’re my… and you’re…” Finch struggled to comprehend the situation, and Race couldn’t blame him.

“I’m not, though,” Race said kindly. “For some insane reason, I am Race currently stuck in Albert’s body. Why? I don’t know. At the very least, can you humor me so we can head next door? I want to check on them.”

Several tense seconds later, Finch nodded, and the pair went about getting dressed to go to Race and Spot’s house. Race mentally prepared for the image of himself (his body) already over there and attempted to craft some kind of explanation. Unfortunately, nothing was really making sense, so Race needed Finch to start functioning properly again — he might know what to do, but he was in no state to think about it right now. To be fair, Race could probably figure this out on his own, but the help would be appreciated.

——————————————————

Albert woke up first, stretching in bed before reaching over for his phone. Tapping it awake, he was blinded temporarily, blinking away the black dots in his eyes. There was a groan from beside him, and Albert apologized as he lazily entered his passcode.

It wasn’t working. He definitely didn’t change it recently, but whatever. Wasn’t there some fact that waking up and immediately looking at your phone was bad for you or something? Maybe he could learn from that today. Just before Albert put it back on the bedside table, the lock screen photo caught him by surprise.

That wasn’t Albert’s lock screen. Again, he did not change it recently, and he wouldn’t have a picture of Race and Spot on it, either. Experimentally, he twisted the phone around — wrong phone case — in fact, it was Race’s phone case, which meant this was his phone.

Why was Race’s phone here?

Albert didn’t get a chance to ponder it. An arm draped itself over his torso, locking him in place, and four sleep-heavy words reached his ears: “Go back to sleep…”

That wasn’t Finch.

Albert knew Finch never spoke right away in the mornings, so the fact that this other person said anything at all was jarring. He couldn’t decipher who it was yet — they were practically buried under a blanket — so Albert took the chance to survey the dark room.

Not long after, he realized he actually recognized this bedroom, just from a different view, usually. It was Spot and Race’s room.

If Albert was in their room, and there’s only one person in bed with him, where’s the other half of the couple? Why did he take one of their positions? Surely not willingly. No, he loves Finch and Race and Spot love each other — and yet.

…What happened last night?

“Racer.”

Albert could only blink over at the voice, who now that they’d spoken again was definitely Spot. He cleared his throat before asking earnestly, “Do you even know who you’re with right now?”

“My love,” Spot replied with a softness of tone never before heard by Albert’s ears. It was eerily off putting, especially since it was directed at him, and not Race.

“No,” Albert told him, hoping that Spot would recognize his voice and maybe just kick him out of bed or something. It would be better than whatever was happening right now.

“Yes.” Spot said with the slightest hint of possessiveness, trying to shift closer to Albert.

It was at that moment Albert knew he needed to get out of there five minutes ago. Why did he entertain it for so long? This whole situation was super weird and being the awake one, Albert should’ve just left already. He scrambled to his feet, feeling very unsteady, and used the mattress to keep himself upright.

He let his eyes fall shut briefly, feeling vaguely nauseous from standing so quickly. Maybe it was a hangover, too? But no, they didn’t drink last night, and truthfully, Albert did not recall coming over to this house last night, either.

“Race, are you —” Spot tried to say, reaching a hand out to Albert.

He took a couple steps away from the bed. “Do you even know who you’re talking to? Who you are looking at?”

As intended, Albert’s words got Spot’s attention. His friend rubbed at his eyes and sat up against the pillows, appearing far too relaxed for Albert’s liking.

Spot spoke deliberately. “I’m talking to Race, and I’m looking at Race. Should I be saying something else?”

Albert shook his head, huffing a humorless laugh. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, I’m being serious.” Spot’s brows furrowed, and he moved closer to Albert but didn’t try to touch him again. “Are you joking? Because you sound like you were expecting a different answer, love.”

“Don’t call me that.” Albert shut him down because what the hell. “I’m Albert, and I don’t know what kind of… cheating thing is going on but I don’t want any part of it, okay? Whatever is going on between you and Race can stay between you guys — don’t get me wrapped up in it.”

Then Spot gave Albert the most confused look he’d ever seen. It took a while for his voice to work again, and even then all he said was, “What?”

“I’m Albert,” he repeated, motioning at himself. “Can’t you see that?”

Spot slowly shook his head and Albert groaned. It shouldn’t be this hard to tell the difference between your blonde boyfriend and your redhead friend, but here they were. Albert was two seconds away from turning on a light when Spot stood up.

“Come with me,” he said, heading for the bedroom door. Albert followed wordlessly; if it helped Spot then so be it, despite how convoluted this was starting to become. Ridiculous… if he was more awake, he’d be making fun of his friend’s apparent blindness because how difficult can it be to tell the difference between —

“Holy shit.”

Spot turned on the bathroom light and they faced the mirror.

Race was reflected back where Albert currently stood.

“So you get why I literally can’t see otherwise?” Spot prompted eventually. “I genuinely don’t know if this was a planned joke with Albert today or if you’re being serious, even though it doesn’t make any sense.”

“I am being so real right now, man…” Albert muttered, lifting a hand to see Race in the mirror copying him.

“Okay, that sounds like something you would say to sound more like Al,” Spot explained, leaning against the door frame. “Do you see where I’m coming from at least?”

Albert nodded, somewhat sympathetic. “I guess.” Spot threw a hand up in exasperation. “Can we go see them? Race and Finch, I mean. Race should be able to…”

“Corroborate the little story you’re twisting? Yeah, I’m sure he could.”

“No, it’s —” Albert brushed past Spot, going to find a pair of shoes. Any pair would work, so if he could just find some that’d be great. “He woke up with my boyfriend so I swear if he did anything to Fi —”

Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the front door downstairs, cutting off whatever threats Albert was about to spout off. With the knocking came a shout:

“Albert, open the goddamn door!”

“Thank fuck, he knows.” Albert sighed in relief, heading down the steps quickly to greet Race and hopefully Finch, too.

[ My AO3 Dashboard ]

[catsofyore]

In 1944 a kitten named George (short for General Electric) was saved from drowning by a U.S. Navy crew member. George was then photographed and given a liberty card and detailed health record. Source.

[screampotato]

Suddenly struck with a need to explain to you how boat pronouns work (I work in the marine industry).

When you're talking about the design of the boat, you say "it".

When the boat is still being built, your say "it".

When the boat is nearing completion, you can say "it" or "she".

When the boat is floating in the water you probably say "she", unless there is still a lot of work to be done (e.g. no engine yet) then you say "it".

When the boat is officially launched and operating, you say "she". If you continue to say "it" at this point you are not incorrect but suspiciously untraditional. You are not playing the game.

If you are referring to a boat you don't really know anything about you may say "it" ("there's a big boat, it's coming this way"). But if you know its name, it's probably "she" ("there's the Waverley, she's on her way to Greenock").

If you are talking about boats in general, you say "it" ("when a boat is hit by a wave it heels over")

If you speak about a boat in complimentary terms, it's "she" ("she's a grand boat"). If you are being disparaging it may be it, but not necessarily ("it's as ugly as sin", "she's a grotty old tub").

If she has a boy's name, she's still she. "Boy James", "King Edward", "Sir David Attenborough"? The pronoun is she.

If it's a dumb barge (no engine), you say it. But if it's a rowing boat (no engine), you say she.

I hope this has cleared things up so that you may not be in danger of misgendering floating objects.

[boreal-sea]

I really think everyone needs to truly internalize this:

Fictional characters are objects.

They are not people. You cannot "objectify" them, because they have no personhood to be deprived of. They have no humanity to be erased. You cannot "disrespect" them, because they are not real.

[mewvore]

[becuzmdsaidineededpersonality]

[punk-dad-sharkz]

guy who says "FUCK!" to every minor inconvenience x guy who says "oopsie daisies" to earth shattering catastrophes

[brawnie]

*grabbing mlm shippers by the shoulders* guys nobody needs to be the twink. nobody needs to be the sub. nobody needs to be the femboy. they can both be big fat hairy men who bask in each others masculinity or they can both be unspeakable monstrous creatures with inhuman genitalia it’s okay I’m holding your hand. Let me show you the way

[pro-sipper]

"i want more media with zero drama, no tension, and zero problematic characters and i am not joking"

Great! Here are my recommendations:

[piratepolls]

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

do i ship these characters or do i want them to form a sketch comedy duo

[mangozic]

my dead goth son and his friendly neighborhood personified concept of insanity

[ufolvr]

Robot characters who are given names like SL-308-62 but instead of their human friend going Well let's call you Sally for short, they instead ask the other if they Like their current name.

"Do you like your serial number?" they ask. "Yes, quite. It reminds me of who I am" the robot replies. "I have heard others like me go by different names after some time, and maybe one day I'll choose one for myself, too. But right now that is my full name, yes" they continue.

Because it's not your decision to make whether or not the robot will receive a new name. It should be theirs only. What's the difference? One is more complex and the other is simplified. They were both given by strangers instead of themselves.

"62 will do," they conclude. "It's my model number - there will be no other 62 after me."

[saintmachina]

Shipping fictional characters isn’t representative of your moral values. It’s representative of your particular psychic damage and the themes and motifs that haunt you. Hope this helps.

[sangled]

shipping win! they have different but equally terrible coping mechanisms

[rapidashrider]

The agonising feel when a character tag is full of shipping that you Simply Do Not Vibe With. The solution is, naturally, to keep scrolling. But the wince, the WINCE.