bearforcecaptions

[bearforcecaptions]

The spell worked, sort of, but not how I wanted. I did have the body of my dreams – I was Garrett now, but I didn’t realize the catch was that I wouldn’t be able to control what I’m doing unless I’m totally alone. And Garrett, or, me, I guess – I’m nearly never alone! The frat house pretty much always has someone in it, and I’m super popular, too. I thought being Garrett would be fun and easy, but stuck like this, it’s torture!

I figured out the ritual from this old book I found at that occult shop downtown, thinking it would be a quick way out of my boring life and into something… well, something way more interesting. Garrett had it all, or so I thought. Girls loved him, he was in the best shape, and everyone wanted to be his friend. But nobody told me about this weird restriction, or maybe I just didn’t read that part carefully enough. I guess the idea was I’d “experience” Garrett’s life, but it’s like watching a movie, except I’m the star and I can only move on my own terms when no one else is around.

And god, my roommate, he’s actually so stupid. When I can’t control my actions, we bro out all the time, but he’s so vapid. I guess I’m not much better, but it’s actually infuriating. You’d think we could have a conversation that’s not about girls, parties, sports, or video games. But no, every time he starts talking, it’s like Garrett’s body just falls right into the rhythm of it, responding automatically. I tried fighting it at first, but it’s like this autopilot takes over, and I’m just... stuck.

I’ve been scouring the room whenever I get a chance to control things, like right now, looking for any sign or clue on how to undo this. There has to be something I missed. I rummaged through his messy closet, which is packed with clothes, gym stuff, and random junk, none of it useful. The guy keeps his stuff in total chaos, and I feel weirdly exposed, like I’m actually pawing through my own things.

Shit, no, is that the door jangling? I thought I would have a couple of hours to try and figure out how to fix this. Who the hell knows when I’ll get another chan-

Fuuck, bro. Why’s my roomie home early? Thought he went to his ‘rents for the weekend. I was just about to jerk one out too. Ah well, maybe he’ll be down for some Call of Duty or something. I could use a beer.

“Yo, dude, what’s up? You back already?” I say, grinning like an idiot as I lean against the door frame, flexing a bit without even realizing it. Dude probably thinks I’m just chillin’, but nah, I’m feelin' like a boss.

He laughs, dropping his bag by the door and shrugging. “Yeah, man, got bored at home. Figured I’d head back early. Parents were driving me nuts.”

“Oh, for sure, dude,” I nod, grabbing a can of beer from the mini-fridge by my bed. “Parents, am I right? They just don’t get it, bro.” I crack it open, chugging half of it in one go, feeling the cool rush. Damn, that’s good.

He slaps my shoulder, laughing. “Dude, I swear, it’s like every time I go back, it’s the same speech about responsibility and blah blah blah. Like, whatever, right?”

“Oh, totally, man,” I laugh, shrugging it off. “Why they gotta be like that, y’know? We’re just out here living, they don’t get it.” I toss him a beer, feeling that chill vibe kickin’ in, like nothing in the world matters but just hanging with my bro. This is what it’s all about – no worries, no drama, just cold beers and good times.

“Bro, I’m feelin’ a COD sesh,” I say, grabbing the controller off the couch. “You down?”

He grins. “Hell yeah, let’s wreck some noobs.”

We crash down on the couch, controllers in hand, beers in easy reach, and it’s like all the worries in the world just melt away. I’m trash-talkin’, throwin’ down taunts, and we’re both laughing so hard my sides hurt. I don’t even remember the last time I felt this alive.

“You’re so bad, dude,” I laugh, jabbing him in the ribs as I get another kill. “How are you still this bad?”

“Shut up, bro!” he shoves me back, laughing too, and I’m grinning like an idiot.

Fuck, life is good, I think, as I take a gulp of my beer. I got my bros, I got my beer, and I got my games. What more does a dude need? Life’s good.

[bearforcecaptions]

Alex and Bryan had always been close, the kind of friends who made a pact over soda and pizza to turn things around, to finally hit the gym and build some muscle. They’d been nerdy, skinny guys their whole lives, and they felt awkward and out of place as they stumbled into the gym’s locker room after their first workout, faces flushed and sore from the exercises. Both of them wore cheap workout clothes they’d picked up from Walmart just that morning — faded T-shirts that hung loosely on their frames and ill-fitting, generic sneakers.

“Dude, my arms feel like noodles,” Alex groaned, shaking out his skinny limbs as he looked at Bryan.

“Right? I think I pulled something just trying to lift those dumbbells,” Bryan chuckled, but his laughter quickly turned into a grimace as he rubbed his shoulder.

Their voices echoed in the empty locker room, and the fluorescent lights flickered slightly as if the room were stretching itself, adjusting to accommodate these two new, inexperienced bodies. They walked over to the sink, looking at themselves in the mirror, barely recognizing the sweaty, tired faces staring back at them.

But then, almost imperceptibly, something started to shift. Alex leaned closer to the mirror, and he noticed his reflection looked… different. Just a little. His face seemed somehow sharper, his cheekbones a bit more defined.

“Hey… do I look weird to you?” he asked, glancing at Bryan.

Bryan squinted at him. “Maybe? Or maybe I’m just so tired everything’s blurry.” But then he stopped, staring as Alex’s T-shirt started to tighten around his chest, like it was shrinking or his chest was expanding. He looked down at his own shirt and noticed the same thing happening. The fabric stretched and then almost melted away, like it was dissolving into thin air.

Underneath, their chests were broadening, muscles slowly forming in places they’d never had them before. Alex stared, mesmerized, as his pecs seemed to inflate, one solid inch at a time, swelling until they were firm and full. He was startled to see a dark line beginning to etch itself over his right pec, the beginnings of a tattoo forming. Bryan looked over, his eyes widening as he saw the same tattoo mirrored on his own left pec.

“You’ve got the same one!” Bryan pointed, his voice trembling slightly, as he stared down at his own chest​. Both of them were transfixed, watching the tattoos slowly darken, bold lines taking shape, though Alex’s tattoo was slightly clearer and etched on the opposite side of his chest from Bryan’s. Their bare chests shone under the locker room’s bright lights, and it felt almost surreal, as though they were watching themselves transform from afar.

As their chests solidified, so did their arms. Alex flexed instinctively, watching with wide eyes as his biceps bulged out, the veins snaking along the surface like thick cords. Bryan mirrored him, mimicking the same pose, even though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. Their shoulders broadened, traps rising like hills beneath their skin, framing thick, muscular necks that hadn’t been there moments ago.

The cheap Walmart sneakers they wore started to warp, reshaping into sturdy gym shoes, and they felt a strange tickle as white athletic socks rolled up around their ankles. Their old, ill-fitting shorts slowly lengthened and changed texture, becoming soft gray sweatpants that clung to their powerful, thickened legs.

Bryan felt a sudden pressure on his head, and reaching up, he realized he was now wearing a black baseball cap. He turned to Alex, who was wearing the same cap, the brim low over his eyes, shading his gaze in a way that felt… different. He felt his thoughts slow, like they were softening, melting into something simpler. He wanted to look good, feel strong, and—

“Yo, dude, check it out,” Alex said, his voice deepening, each word sounding slower, less articulate.

Bryan grinned back at him, an identical expression on his face, as his mind began to echo Alex’s excitement. They stared at each other, an odd tension hanging between them as their minds dulled, syncing up, their personalities flattening into something singular, something almost blank.

At some point, Bryan found himself staring at Alex, watching him flex. His own arms lifted in the same way, though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He felt a strange compulsion, a need to mirror Alex’s actions, to match him move for move. As he flexed, his mouth moved of its own accord, saying the same thing Alex was saying, their voices blending into one deeper, dumber tone.

“Lookin’ good, bro,” they said in unison, their gazes fixed on each other, and yet somehow, only on their own reflections.

The locker room seemed to shift, as if walls were moving subtly, altering to create the illusion that there was a mirror between them. Bryan blinked, realizing he was standing opposite Alex, but his own reflection now felt hazy, as though he was losing himself in it, becoming less real, less independent. The only thing he could think was how good it felt to flex, to see his thick muscles rippling beneath his skin.

With each passing moment, Bryan’s sense of self faded further, and he became more of an image, a reflection. He could feel his mind flattening into a mere echo, a shadow of Alex’s thoughts, his individuality dissolving as he mimicked Alex’s every action and word. Soon, there was only one real man left in the room, looking into the mirror.

“Lookin’ huge, bro,” Alex grinned, his voice a low, slow rumble.

And Bryan, now only a reflection, grinned back, saying the same words at the exact same time, a perfect mimic. The tattoo on his pec was a mere shadow, reversed and less distinct, as if to signify he was nothing more than Alex’s reflection. With one final flex, Alex turned to leave, leaving the locker room behind, and the reflection vanished, leaving nothing but an empty mirror.

[bearforcecaptions]

The room was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of candles scattered across the floor. Two college friends stood facing each other, tension thick between them. Aaron held a trembling hand aloft, his eyes brimming with regret as he stared at his best friend, Jordan. Jordan’s confusion turned to panic as he felt a tingling warmth spreading from his fingertips to his core.

“Aaron… what are you doing? Stop this! Please!” Jordan’s voice quivered, his eyes wide with fear. He tried to step back, but it was as though his feet were glued to the floor, his body pinned in place by some unseen force.

Aaron’s expression softened, guilt evident in his eyes, but his hand remained steady. “I’m sorry, Jordan. I… I have to. I need this to survive.”

Jordan shook his head, fear giving way to anger as his voice turned desperate. “You don’t have to do this! I’m your best friend! Whatever this is, we can figure it out together. You don’t have to turn me into… into someone else!”

But Aaron’s hand didn’t waver. “I wish it were that simple,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t want to do this, but if I don’t… I’ll cease to exist. This is the only way I can secure my existence.”

Jordan’s body began to shift, his limbs thickening as his posture became more relaxed, almost carefree. His arms, once lean and wiry, grew strong and muscular. His shoulders broadened, his chest swelling as his shirt strained against his changing body.

“Aaron, please… stop this!” Jordan’s voice grew weaker, deeper, tinged with a strange drawl he didn’t recognize. His hands clawed at his arms, his skin tingling as dark hairs sprouted along his forearms. He looked at his hands in horror as they grew rougher, calloused.

Aaron’s face crumpled, tears spilling down his cheeks. He whispered, barely audible, “I’m sorry, Dad…”

--

Jordan blinked, disoriented, as he found himself standing in a strange living room. The lighting was warmer, softer, and the air was filled with a faint scent of cologne and the faint fizz of soda. His surroundings had shifted; he was no longer in Aaron’s dorm room, but instead… he was at a house party.

He felt a strange chill on his feet, glancing down to find himself in white socks, his toes curled over the edge of a barstool. He was wearing faded blue jeans, loose around the ankles but fitted perfectly around his waist. A plain white T-shirt hugged his broad chest, and as he raised his hand to his head, he felt the soft brim of a newsboy cap. A silver watch glinted on his wrist.

Confusion gave way to a strange, warm buzz. He wasn’t sure why he was here, but it felt… right. Like he was supposed to be here. A girl standing nearby caught his eye, and he couldn’t help but smirk, his confidence suddenly overpowering his initial fear.

“Hey there,” he drawled, his voice smooth and deeper than he remembered. “What’s a girl like you doing with a Coke when there’s way better stuff to drink?”

The girl, who looked like she was dressed for a night out, laughed, clearly charmed. “Oh, I didn’t know you were the party expert!” she teased, playfully raising her eyebrow.

“Name’s Jordan. What’s yours?” he asked, leaning closer, his posture relaxed and effortlessly cool. His mind was beginning to lose the fog of confusion, his memories of Aaron and the transformation slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

The girl smiled coyly. “Jessica. Nice to meet you, Jordan.”

He flashed a grin, showing off his pearly whites. “Well, Jessica, I gotta say… you’re lookin’ fine tonight. Can’t believe a girl like you is hanging out here and not getting swept off her feet yet.”

Jessica blushed, clearly flattered, and they began to talk. Jordan’s words flowed easily, his confidence unshakable. He talked about music, cracked jokes, teased her gently—all the while flashing that infectious, dopey grin. He felt magnetic, in his element, with no trace of hesitation or awkwardness. They laughed together, the hours slipping by as if they were old friends. And every so often, Jessica would playfully nudge his shoulder, and he’d respond by wrapping his arm around her, his touch warm and casual.

Within months, they were inseparable. Jessica was charmed by his easygoing demeanor, his laid-back confidence, and his protectiveness. They became a couple, their bond as strong as any young love could be, Jordan fully immersed in the life he’d created in this time. He was simply Jordan, living life to the fullest in the early 2000s.

--

Back in 2024, Aaron let out a shaky sigh of relief. He felt his body settle, like a puzzle piece finally locking into place. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to the contact marked “Dad.” The profile picture showed a selfie of him with a man in his late forties, both of them grinning under the sun. His dad—formerly his best friend Jordan—was now a broad, bearded man, his face aged yet familiar, with a bald head and a full beard tinged with gray. He wore a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a comfortable flannel shirt over a T-shirt, and sneakers. The way he stood, relaxed with a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, exuded a dad-like comfort and ease.

Aaron studied the photo, a fond smile spreading across his face. His own features had shifted slightly; his jaw was a little squarer, his brow a bit broader. Looking at the photo, he saw how much he resembled the man standing beside him—now unmistakably his father.

Memories surfaced in his mind: fishing trips, Sunday barbecues, learning to drive, his dad giving him advice on life and college. Each memory felt as real as anything, slipping seamlessly into place, like they’d always been there.

Aaron whispered to himself, “Thanks, Dad… You have no idea what you did for me.” He felt an overwhelming gratitude, not just for the sacrifices Jordan had unknowingly made, but for the life he now had—the memories, the connection, the love of a father he’d always dreamed of having.

With a smile, he slipped his phone back into his pocket, his heart full, and began making plans to visit his parents for the weekend. He knew they’d be excited to see him, and he looked forward to sitting across from his dad, the man who was once his best friend, now his family.