(S)Witching Around Milan 2 (MTF,FTF,RC,WG,AP,AR,AttributeSwap) (Patreon)

(Don't be scared of the number 2, this does act as a standalone).

Our magical heroes: Will, Giulia and Vale, are forced to slowly transmute themselves into a triplet of helpless, Andrew-obsessed sisters; losing all sense of self and magical-training in the process. To do this, they must train at Auntie Lu's Chinese fastfood shop for a whole month. The magic hex will condition their bodies and mind, until they will become adapted to their new routine.

Why, you ask?

Hell do I know. Read the story below to find out.

But y'know... just because you asked nicely... I think it might have something to do with infiltrating the Council's HQ and become undercover fae-weapons. Pretty standard Transformation-School strategy

A selected, undercover mage absorbs a God, and assumes a giant, twisted form. An uncontrollable weapon of destruction.

A supporting cast of friends transmutes into an ageless, artificial fae-race: God-keeper form. Things that look like young girls, with fangs and cat-eyes, with an unlimited hate for all that is ugly, stale and human.

All of this in the attached PDF, completely free of charge. It acts as a standalone, but if u wish backstory material:

Part 1 is here: https://www.patreon.com/WineGodTG/posts/attribute-theft-173452632

Download the attached PDF to get straight into Part 2 (the sisters/keepers thing).

Enjoy.

(S)WITCHING AROUND MILAN, PART 2

PREVIOUSLY

Will Moretti, a transformation mage, swapped bodies with his friend Giulia on the last M2 train to save her from a hitman sent up from Hell. The trail led to a bounty sealed inside the Duomo, to his own brother Jonny's betrayal, and up a mountain road near Chiavenna, where Vale, a battle mage, had burned ten years of her life to warn him. Will learned that his ring is Cami, the friend he thought he had lost, who became the ring six years ago. A Silver Leviathan rose out of the lake. Will took Vale's body and split the god into a hundred pieces, which slithered away south, toward Milan. Jonny sent a text: See you at the Duomo.

Now the three of them are crammed into a Fiat Panda, and something is ticking under the passenger seat.

---

=== CHAPTER 11: BOVISA ===

---

WineGodTG:

(Story note: Back to Milan, to the outskirts: Bovisa. There's a secret Chinese restaurant there, warded by another Observer, a woman. That's where all three of us will finally change back into our original forms.)

---

Vale doesn't panic. She just reaches under your seat with one small, round arm, gropes around, and pulls out a little brass thing the size of a walnut. It's ticking. It has an eye painted on one side, and the eye is blinking.

Vale: "Observer's beacon. Not a bomb. Worse, actually." She holds it up to the window and squints at it. "Hi, Jonny. Bye, Jonny."

She rolls down the window and lobs it, overarm, into the stream. It hits the water with a tiny, offended plink.

Giulia: (staring at her in the rearview mirror) "You could've led with 'not a bomb.'"

Vale: (mouth full of focaccia) "Where's the fun in that."

*

The drive back is quiet. Raffaella gives way to Mina, then to Battiato, then to static as the mountains fold into the plain. The lake goes by in long grey sheets. You sleep for an hour, folded into the passenger seat like a deckchair, Vale's long legs cramping under the dashboard. When you wake up, Giulia is still driving, jaw set, your old hands steady on the wheel.

Giulia: "We can't go into the center. Cami told you that, right? Every Observer in Lombardy's watching the Duomo. So where?"

Cami answers before you can.

Cami: "Bovisa. Tell her Bovisa. There's someone there who owes me a favor from before I was jewelry."

*

Bovisa at dusk looks like the end of a sci-fi film nobody finished. The two enormous rusted gasometers stand over the rail yards like abandoned cages for something huge. Politecnico students cycle past with tubes of blueprints. Half the warehouses are art galleries, half are just empty. The wind smells of iron and rain.

Cami guides you through the back streets, turn by turn, until the Panda stops outside a restaurant you'd never look at twice. A faded red sign: TRATTORIA CINESE -- Ravioli alla Griglia. A lucky cat waving in the window with a chipped paw. Plastic flowers. A handwritten note taped to the door: chiuso per ferie.

Giulia: "...It's closed."

Vale: "It's warded. Can't you feel it?"

You can. As soon as you step out of the car, the air goes still and dense, like the inside of a held breath. The noise of the rail yard fades to a hum. Your ring warms on Vale's long finger.

The door opens before anyone knocks.

Standing in it is a young woman, maybe thirty, small and sharp, in an oversized Politecnico hoodie and house slippers with rabbit ears. Black hair in a messy bun held with two chopsticks. Reading glasses pushed up on her head. One of her eyes is dark brown. The other, you realize after a second, isn't looking at you. It's looking at everything, slowly, a silver ring shifting around the iris like the hand of a clock.

She takes in the three of you. The very tall woman with grey in her hair and Will's scowl. The short round girl with Vale's eyes, licking focaccia oil off her fingers. The tall young man with a girl's face who's ducking under the doorframe out of habit.

She sighs the sigh of someone whose dumpling dough is going to dry out.

Woman: "Camilla Ferraris. Six years in a ring, and the first time you come to visit, you bring me a body-swap pileup."

The ring on your hand pulses bright.

Cami: (delighted, only to you) "LAN! Tell her hi! Tell her I missed her stupid slippers!"

You: (in Vale's husky voice) "Cami says she missed your stupid slippers."

The woman's mouth twitches. Just barely.

Lan: "Xu Lanying. Lan. I run this place, I watch this neighborhood, and I keep the Duomo's eyes out of Bovisa." She steps back from the doorway. "Get in. All of you. Before Jonny's beacons figure out where you went."

Inside, it smells like ginger, sesame oil and incense. Red lanterns. A fish tank with a single enormous, ancient carp that turns slowly to watch you. Round tables with lazy Susans. On the wall, a calendar from 2009 that, you notice, has been crossed out day by day all the way to today.

Lan shuffles behind the counter and pulls out a large round tray covered in a red cloth.

Lan: "Here's the situation. You three are tangled. Three bodies, three people, a ring with a woman in it, and a Leviathan's attention hooked into all of it. Every hour you stay like this, Jonny's Observers get a better read on you. Out there, I can't do anything for you." She taps the floor with a slipper. "In here, I can."

She pulls the cloth away. Underneath, carved into the lacquered wood, is a circle of runes, and around it three smaller circles, each with a single glowing character in the middle.

Lan: "Sit. One at each place. Hands on the table." She looks at Giulia, then at Vale, then at you. "Everyone goes home tonight. Into their own skin."

Giulia freezes, halfway to a chair.

Giulia: (quietly) "...Everyone? Right now?"

Vale has stopped chewing. She looks down at her small soft hands, unlined, young, and something complicated crosses her face.

Vale: "And the years come back. Right?"

Lan meets her eyes. Her silver one keeps turning.

Lan: "Everything comes back, cara. That's what going home means."

The carp in the tank presses its face against the glass. The lanterns flicker. Lan sits down at the head of the table and holds out both hands, palms up.

Lan: "Whenever you're ready."

---

=== CHAPTER 12: GOING HOME ===

---

WineGodTG:

(Story note: Giulia changes back first, told from her perspective. The other two will go after she's done. Lots of focus on the details of each body part changing. Weave in babbling dialogue as she shifts, showing how the body changes her mind too: her first sugar craving in months, getting excited about TV shows and fanfic again, becoming more emotional in general. The dialogue should come out forced and unconscious; she catches herself, and it gets more strained as the changes take hold.)

---

Lan's hands hover over the tray. The silver eye turns once, slowly, and stops on Giulia.

Lan: "You first, cara. You've been out of your skin the longest. The others will wait."

Will and Vale take their hands off the wood. Giulia's stay. Her palms are flat on the lacquer, broad and heavy, Will's hands, and she can feel the small carved character under them getting warm.

Lan: (runic, soft) Each thread to its spool.

*

It starts as a tingle in her fingertips, like the pins-and-needles after sitting on her hands in a lecture. She watches. She can't not watch.

Will's long fingers begin to draw in. Not all at once: the tips first, the nails narrowing, the wide flat beds of them shrinking back into her own small ovals. Then the joints, one knuckle at a time, each one folding a little closer to the next. The heavy bones across the backs of her hands soften and sink under the skin. And there, coming back up from nowhere like a photo developing, is her chipped pink polish.

Giulia: "Oh, my nails, I need to redo my-- no. Why did I say that. That's not important. That's so not important right now."

Her hands keep going. The veins Will had along the backs of them, thick ropes she'd been weirdly proud of all day, flatten and vanish. Her palms go soft. Little dimples press in over her knuckles, one, two, three, four.

She stares at the dimples. Something tightens in her throat for no reason at all.

Giulia: "Hi, dimples. Hi. Sorry I--" She clamps her mouth shut. "...I'm not talking to my hands. I'm fine."

*

The warmth climbs her wrists. Her forearms. Will's forearms had been lean and hard, and she'd caught herself rolling up his sleeves all day just to look at them. Now she feels the muscle in them letting go, like a held breath finally released, the hardness easing into something rounder and softer that sits heavier on the table.

And with it, something else lets go too. A kind of quiet confidence that had been sitting in those arms all day, the feeling of I could lift that, I could carry her, I could push that door open. It drains out with the muscle. She doesn't notice it's gone until she reaches for it and finds nothing there.

Giulia: "I could carry-- I could carry three people today. Three. And now I--" Her voice catches. "Now I'll need help with the big water bottles at Esselunga again. Why am I thinking about Esselunga?"

Lan: (calmly) "Keep breathing."

*

Then her shoulders.

She's been wearing Will's shoulders like a coat all day, too wide for doorways, too wide for the Panda seat, and now she feels them fold. It's slow and deliberate, like someone carefully closing an umbrella. The broad span narrows inch by inch. Will's jacket slides off on both sides and slumps around her elbows. Her collarbones draw closer together, rise a little, round out.

And she starts to go down.

Not a drop. A settling. Her spine compresses, vertebra by vertebra, like a tower of coins being pressed gently from above. The red lanterns climb up her field of view. The edge of the table rises, rises, until it's level with her chest instead of her stomach. Her legs, Will's long legs that had eaten a whole mountain slope this morning, draw back up into themselves, her knees sinking, her feet suddenly dangling a little above the floor, Will's boots hanging loose and enormous.

Giulia: "No, no, I'm going-- I'm going down, I'm-- oh, the chair's big again. The chair's big. I'm a kid at a grown-up table."

She laughs. It comes out wrong. Higher. Her voice is starting to slide, and she can feel it in her throat as it happens, a strange loosening at the bottom of each word.

Giulia: "That's my-- that's my-- oh no, that's my laugh, Will was right, it's annoying, it's so--"

The word "annoying" cracks halfway and lands an octave up. Hers. Fully hers.

She stops talking. Swallows. Her own voice in her own ears is so familiar that it's alien.

*

Her chest goes next.

The flat, firm plane of Will's chest she's been leaning on all day softens under her shirt. A weight gathers there, settling back where it's always been. And her arms do the thing. They cross. All on their own, without asking, sliding across her chest and stomach like a door closing.

She feels it happen. She hates that she feels it happen.

Her waist softens under her forearms. Her middle rounds out, warm and yielding, and her belt digs in and then gives. Her hips widen in the big chair, her thighs filling out and pressing together, her knees drawing in until she's sitting exactly the way she's sat on every tram she's ever taken: small, tucked, careful.

Giulia: "Don't-- don't hunch, don't hunch, you just had one day of not-- ugh."

She forces her arms open. Puts them back on the table. They want to go back. She holds them there anyway, trembling a little.

Then her stomach growls. Long. Loud.

And there it is: a want. Sudden and huge and completely unreasonable. Sugar. Something sweet, something warm, condensed milk, a sesame ball, a whole box of Pan di Stelle eaten standing up in the kitchen. She hasn't felt it like this in months, not since she started the gym, not since she started telling herself every morning that she didn't need it.

Giulia: "I want-- there's sesame balls on the counter, I saw them when we came in, I want, like, eight--" She stops dead. "No. No. I've been so good. Three months. I've been so good."

Lan: (without looking up) "They're for after."

Giulia: (small) "...Okay. After."

*

The warmth rises into her neck and face, and she feels her jaw begin to soften. The hard line of it, which she'd kept touching all day because it was so new, rounds out, the corners melting into curves. The stubble she'd had since morning prickles and vanishes. Her cheeks fill in, pushing up gently under her eyes. Her nose shortens. The freckles darken back across the bridge of it. The mole by her lip comes back like it never left.

And her hair spills down. Will's short cut lengthens past her ears, past her neck, the dark waves tumbling over her shoulders and into her face, smelling, impossibly, of her own shampoo.

Inside, something shifts too. It's like turning up the volume on a radio she didn't know was playing. Everything gets louder. The smell of ginger from the kitchen. The hum of the fish tank. The ache of Vale's ten years. The memory of Will crying on the train. Her eyes sting. Her chest goes tight.

Giulia: "Why am I-- okay, I'm crying. Why am I crying? Nothing happened. Everything's fine. We're safe. There's sesame balls." She sniffs hard. "I just want to go home and rewatch Bridgerton and reread the Gilmore Girls fic I abandoned, the one where Jess is a vampire, it's a hundred and twelve chapters and I stopped at forty and now I can't stop thinking about it--"

She catches herself. Freezes. Looks around the table.

Giulia: "...Ignore that. All of that. I didn't say any of that."

Vale's lips twitch.

Vale: "Jess is a vampire?"

Giulia: (tiny, defeated) "He's a really good vampire."

*

The character under her palms dims. The warmth fades out of the lacquer.

She sits there in Will's huge jacket and Will's huge boots, feet swinging above the floor, small and round and red-eyed, and looks down at her hands. Her hands. Chipped polish, dimpled knuckles, a little ink stain on the side of her middle finger from a pen that leaked at work on Friday.

It's all hers again. The softness, the loudness, the hunger, the hunch waiting in her shoulders. Thirty years of it, back in one go.

She expected relief. What she feels is stranger. Like coming home to an apartment you know too well and seeing it, for the first time, the way a guest would.

She lifts her eyes to Will across the table, still tall and grey-streaked in Vale's body, still waiting for his turn.

Giulia: (wobbly, trying to smile) "Hey. I'm me." A beat. "I think I liked being you better. But I'm glad I got to see me from the outside first."

Lan turns her silver eye to Vale and Will.

Lan: "Next."

---

WineGodTG:

(Story note: The other two simply go back to looking like themselves. Let them talk a bit, and then they all go to sleep.)

---

Lan doesn't make a ceremony of the other two. She lays her hands over the tray, murmurs the rune again, and the light passes through Vale and Will together, quick and quiet, like a tide going out. A shimmer, a stretch, a sigh. When it clears, they're just themselves.

Vale sits a head taller than everyone at the table again, grey threading her dark hair, long callused hands flat on the lacquer. And across from her, Will: his own height, his own scruffy curls, his own wide hands with the bread-knife scar, sitting in a torn women's cardigan with the sleeves ending at his elbows.

For a second nobody says anything.

Vale: (rolling her shoulders, wincing) "Ah. And there's my back. Hello, old friend."

Will: (touching his jaw, his stubble, his voice low and rough again) "...Huh. I forgot I sound like this."

Giulia: (small, from her huge chair) "You sound like a guy who owns a lot of black T-shirts."

Will: "I do own a lot of black T-shirts."

Giulia: "I know. I wore them all day."

Lan stands, shuffles to the counter in her rabbit slippers, and comes back with the plate of sesame balls and a pot of jasmine tea. She sets the plate in front of Giulia, very deliberately.

Lan: "After."

Giulia takes one. Then a second. Then pauses, looking at the plate like it's a test.

Giulia: "...I'm going to eat four. And then I'm going to stop. And I'm going to feel fine about it."

Vale: "That's the healthiest thing anyone's said all day."

Giulia eats four. She stops. She mostly feels fine about it.

Will pours the tea. His hands don't shake, which surprises him. Everything inside feels quieter: the hunger, the fear, the tears that were so close to the surface all day. It's like someone turned down a radio he'd gotten used to.

Cami: (only to him, fond) "You're so muffled in there now. It's like talking to you through a wall."

Will: (muttering into his cup) "Thanks, Cami."

Vale: "What'd she say?"

Will: "That I'm muffled."

Vale: (snorting) "She's not wrong. You were so much more fun when you shrieked."

Giulia: (mouth full) "He was so much more fun when he shrieked."

Will glares at both of them. It doesn't work. His face is too much his own again; it doesn't have the soft round cheeks that made the glare look like a pout. It just looks like Will being grumpy, which they've both seen a thousand times.

Lan sits at the head of the table, sipping her tea, her silver eye turning slowly toward the front window and the dark street beyond it.

Lan: "Enjoy it while it lasts. Tomorrow you go into the city. Jonny's waiting at the Duomo with a hundred pieces of a god, and you three are the only people in Milan he's afraid of." She sets her cup down. "So. Bed."

*

The back room of the restaurant smells like rice and dust and old incense. Lan pulls folding cots out of a cupboard and throws a stack of mismatched blankets on top: one with pandas, one in Inter stripes that makes Will wince, one that's very obviously a curtain.

Vale takes the cot by the wall so she can lie flat for her back, and groans like a tire deflating as she stretches out.

Vale: "Oh, that's the stuff. Being thirty-eight is mostly about horizontal surfaces."

Giulia curls up under the panda blanket, phone in hand. Within a minute the screen is glowing on her face.

Will: "Are you reading the vampire one?"

Giulia: (not looking up) "Chapter forty-one. Jess just found out Rory's grandmother is a witch hunter. Don't talk to me."

Will lies down on the curtain blanket. The cot is too short; his feet hang off the end. It feels wonderfully, boringly normal.

For a while the only sounds are the fish tank bubbling in the front room, the distant clank of the rail yard, and Giulia occasionally gasping at her phone.

Then, in the dark, very quietly:

Giulia: "Will?"

Will: "Mm."

Giulia: "Thanks. For today. For the train. For... letting me be you for a bit."

He doesn't answer right away. He's thinking about her body, the loudness of it, the hunger and the tears and the wanting. About how much of it he'd judged from the outside before he ever had to carry it.

Will: "Thanks for letting me be you."

A pause. He can hear her smiling.

Giulia: "You're still a bad shrieker."

Will: "Go to sleep, Giulia."

From the wall, Vale's voice, already half asleep:

Vale: "Both of you go to sleep."

The phone screen goes dark. Vale starts to snore, softly, the way she always has. In the front room, Lan's silver eye keeps turning, watching Bovisa for all of them.

And in Will's head, so faint he almost misses it:

Cami: "Goodnight, idiot. Big day tomorrow."

He closes his eyes.

---

END OF THE PREVIEW. PART 2 CONTINUES IN THE FULL PDF.

Ok.

Real talk.

I'm obviously enjoying this heavily prompted (cause there obviously is effort in the prompts) AI roleplay. So I might as well release more of it.

But.

What I'm learning is mainly this: I need to actually start working on a full-human-authored spinoff/continuation of this shi, with episodes that also act as a standalones. The lore is going good places, but the AI scenes (while holding up) leave a lot to be desired.

So.

Remember my Tuesday night schedule? It's now Monday afternoon + Tuesday night. And it rotates reading fantasy stuff (so I train them fantasy writing muscles) and writing transformation-first sequences that are a part of this universe; starting as a spinoff of whatever this is.

Occasionally, I'll also just craft a stand-alone short story as usual.

Aight, rant over.

Enjoy the result of the Claude-psychosis. Even if most scenes have that flat-AI-style, I still enjoyed steering the plot conceptually and crafting the lore and the more spicy scenes.

Now read the full story, then go talk with the non-bots,

WineBotTG.