bearforcecaptions

[bearforcecaptions]

It started, like it always did, with the flicker of the lights and a low hum that seemed to come from deep within the walls. I’d been here long enough to know that sound—the pulse that heralded the arrival of fresh faces. I wasn’t sure how many I’d seen come and go by now, but I’d learned to recognize that shifting vibration in the air, the way the gym seemed to breathe in new people, new victims, and eventually, exhale them as someone else entirely.

I was sitting by the dumbbells, idly polishing off another set of curls I didn’t really need to be doing anymore, when the door swung open, and in they came. Two of them, both looking like they’d walked through the wrong door at the wrong time.

The first guy was scrawny, mousy even—brown hair, glasses slipping down his nose, a baggy sweater that swallowed his frame. He looked like he should be sitting in front of a computer, not stepping into a gym full of iron and sweat. The other guy was taller but equally unimpressive—shoulders hunched, face pale, with a thin mustache that seemed like an afterthought. They couldn’t have been more out of place if they’d tried.

And they looked as bewildered as I’d felt the first time I’d walked in here.

“Uh… hello?” The shorter one’s voice wobbled, and he gave the tall guy a nervous glance. They were strangers, that much was obvious. They didn’t even acknowledge each other beyond the initial glance, both of them clearly too preoccupied with their surroundings to question why they’d ended up here together.

I watched them, letting the silence stretch, because I knew what would happen. It was always the same.

“Hey, are you—do you work here?” the tall one asked, finally noticing me. His voice was a little steadier, though he was doing a terrible job hiding his panic.

I shook my head. “Nope. Just been here a while.” I gave them a once-over, smirking a little. “Let me guess… you two didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

The short guy swallowed, eyes darting to the mirrors that stretched endlessly around us. “N-no, I was just, uh, walking out of the library and… then I was here. I didn’t—” He cut off, glancing at his companion.

“Same,” the tall guy muttered, his voice tinged with an edge of irritation. “I was leaving my apartment, and then… this.” He gestured at the gym, clearly baffled.

“Names?” I asked, leaning back and crossing my arms, the familiar weight of my own bulk a comfort.

“Ben,” the short one said, his voice a little squeaky. “I, uh, I don’t belong here. I don’t even like gyms.”

“Kyle,” the other one said shortly, fidgeting with his phone. “This place has gotta have a way out. Right?”

I almost laughed. “Good luck with that. You can try every door, every window—it all leads right back here. I’ve seen dozens try, but…” I shrugged. “You get used to it. Or you work out. It’s about all there is to do.”

Kyle’s mouth twisted, annoyed. “What do you mean, ‘get used to it’? We’re stuck here?”

“Looks that way,” I said. “But hey, I’m sure you’ll find your way out if you keep at it.” It was always the same—let them struggle, watch them slowly surrender to the gym’s rhythm, see them lose themselves, inch by inch.

And, as expected, they did. They tried every door, every possible exit, each attempt leading them back to the gym. They tried using their phones, but of course, the batteries died quickly, and there was no signal anyway. Hours passed—though time was slippery here, never quite settling. They wandered and fumed until, finally, I saw them gravitate back toward the equipment, eyeing it like a last resort.

“Nothing else to do,” I said, smirking. “Might as well use what’s here.”

Kyle glared at me but sat down on a bench press, placing his hands on the bar with the unsure grip of someone who’d never really lifted before. Ben was more hesitant, looking around with a lost, almost pleading expression before finally moving over to the dumbbells.

At first, their workouts were awkward, tentative. Neither of them had any real technique, and I could tell from their shaky form that they hadn’t set foot in a gym in years, if ever. But slowly, they fell into a rhythm, each rep easing the tension from their faces, each lift dulling the spark of panic in their eyes.

The changes started small, as they always did. After some time—hours, days, who could tell—Ben’s clothes began to shift. His baggy sweater started clinging to his frame, as though the fabric itself had decided to tighten. His arms, once scrawny, began to fill out, biceps firming, shoulders rounding under the now-stretched material. His glasses slipped off his nose one day, forgotten entirely, his vision sharper, clearer than it had ever been.

Kyle, meanwhile, seemed to grow taller, his posture shifting. His thin arms started to bulk up, each curl thickening his biceps, veins beginning to rise to the surface. I could see his hands flexing around the weights with more confidence, a focus that was edging into something else, something more intense.

One day, Ben was in the middle of a particularly heavy set of deadlifts when he paused, shirtless, sweat rolling down his now-muscular frame. I blinked, realizing that his baggy clothes were gone entirely, replaced by striped workout pants that clung to his legs, each squat revealing powerful thighs straining against the fabric. Around his neck, a thick silver chain gleamed, catching the light. He hadn’t had it before, I was sure of it, but it was there now, heavy and solid against his chest, as if it had always been.

Their voices had started changing too. Ben’s soft, slightly nasal tone had dropped an octave, his speech slower, more deliberate. And Kyle—Kyle’s words had taken on a thicker edge, a hint of something foreign, like he was translating from a language he couldn’t remember ever learning.

They still didn’t talk much to me, but when they did, it was strained, their English slipping. “Bro, give… give weight,” Ben would say, frowning as he searched for the words. I watched, a strange feeling twisting in my chest, as he began to look less and less like Ben, and more like someone else entirely. His face was fuller, his jaw sharper, a shadow of stubble darkening his cheeks. The softness of his expression was gone, replaced by something hard, a smirk that looked alien on his once-innocent face.

And Kyle… his posture was different, arrogant almost, his shoulders broad, his chest thick and powerful. His thin mustache had grown into a rugged stubble, framing his mouth with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. His hair was shorter now, neater, and there was a glint in his eye, a confidence that hadn’t been there when he’d first walked in.

Their workouts became more intense, their bodies transforming faster. The new clothes clung to them, hugging every inch of their muscular frames. Ben’s bare chest gleamed with sweat, his thick arms flexing as he adjusted the bar, his lips moving as he muttered something low, almost guttural. “Bassem… weight…” he called, voice deep, accented. He didn’t even seem to realize he’d stopped calling himself Ben.

Kyle—now calling himself Kareem—grinned, nodding as he handed over the barbell, a sense of brotherhood, of shared purpose in his eyes. They had become each other’s world, barely noticing anyone else in the gym, certainly not me.

I tried to talk to them one day, hoping to catch some glimpse of the men they’d once been. “Kyle—Ben,” I said, using their old names. “You don’t… remember anything, do you?”

They looked at me, confusion flickering across their faces. I tried again. “Ben? Kyle?”

But they only glanced at each other, murmuring in Arabic, the syllables sharp and fluid, familiar to them but incomprehensible to me. “Bassem, shouf…” Kareem said, grinning as he motioned to the weights, a cocky glint in his eye. They both laughed, low and rough, as if they shared some private joke. Whatever English they’d once known was gone, slipping away like sand through fingers. They were different now—men who owned the space around them, who looked at the gym like it was their kingdom.

Their arrogance grew too, an alpha confidence that radiated from them. They strutted through the gym like they owned it, chests out, heads high, each step powerful and self-assured. The last traces of who they’d once been were gone, replaced by the men they’d become—Bassem and Kareem, powerful, proud, and utterly transformed.

The day the lights flickered in that familiar rhythm, they paused, exchanging a glance. Their bodies tensed, and without a word, they strode to the door, side by side, muscles rippling, their stubbled faces set in matching smirks. Bassem slapped a hand on Kareem’s back, muttering something in Arabic that made them both laugh, the sound low and rough, filled with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

They walked out, swaggering, their steps heavy with purpose, never once looking back.

I watched them go, feeling that familiar pang of loss, of frustration. It was always the same—they came in, fought, transformed, and left, and I was left behind, the only one who remembered who they used to be. The gym’s hum settled back into silence, satisfied, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before it found someone else. Someone else to mold, to reshape, to consume.

And I would be here to watch it all over again.

[bearforcecaptions]

Cameron had known Mike since high school, and over the years, their friendship had grown close—almost like brothers. They were each other’s confidants, always there to lean on through every rough patch and every success. But despite their tight bond, there was always something about Mike’s life, his family, that Cameron couldn’t help but envy. Cameron came from a messy household, the kind where warmth was scarce, and conflict was frequent. Mike’s family, on the other hand, radiated stability and affection. His parents were kind and open, welcoming Cameron into their home like one of their own.

But more than anything, it was Mike’s dad, Curtis, who Cameron admired deeply. Curtis had a grounded, easygoing nature, with an air of quiet authority that made everyone feel safe around him. He was the kind of dad Cameron wished he’d had—steady, thoughtful, with that classic “dad” humor that made him easy to talk to. Cameron respected him immensely. Curtis had a warm face, weathered with the lines of a life well-lived, and his salt-and-pepper goatee gave him a look of maturity and wisdom. Today, he was wearing his favorite gray t-shirt, jeans that looked worn and soft from years of use, and the same brown slippers Cameron always saw him in.

It was a slow Sunday, and Cameron found himself alone with Curtis in the living room, sipping iced tea. Mike had stepped out to grab something from the store, leaving Cameron there in that quiet, comfortable atmosphere Curtis seemed to effortlessly create. Cameron felt a pang of longing as he watched Curtis lean back in his recliner, his gaze soft as he scrolled on his phone. This home, this family—it was everything Cameron had ever wanted, and a bitter ache filled his chest as he realized how far his own family life was from this.

Without thinking, he let the wish slip out under his breath. “I wish I could be…a part of your family.” The words held a quiet desperation, a longing that reached deep down.

For a moment, everything seemed still. Then, an odd sensation crept over him—a tingle, a faint warmth that began at his fingertips and quickly spread up his arms. Cameron blinked, frowning and rubbing his hands together, but the warmth didn’t fade. Instead, it grew stronger, transforming into a strange, insistent pressure that seemed to pulse through his very bones.

Before he could process what was happening, his hands started to change. His fingers stretched, joints popping softly as they grew thicker, rougher, taking on a look he recognized—the broad, sturdy hands of Curtis. His skin darkened and took on a slight roughness, the subtle lines and scars that spoke of years of work and life experiences that Cameron had never known. He stared, horrified, as the backs of his hands became dusted with a light sprinkling of coarse hair, his nails thickening into the shape he’d seen on Curtis so many times.

“No, this isn’t…this isn’t what I meant!” Cameron stammered, panic rising in his throat. But the transformation continued, relentless and beyond his control.

The sensation crawled up his arms, his shoulders broadening as muscle and bone shifted, filling out with Curtis’s solid build. His chest expanded, pressing uncomfortably against his shirt until the fabric softened, morphing into the exact gray t-shirt Curtis wore. His torso thickened, gaining Curtis’s stocky, powerful build, his chest and stomach filling out as he transformed further into the older man.

His jeans began to shift as well, loosening and softening into a worn, comfortable pair that matched Curtis’s perfectly. The waistband changed, adjusting to his widening hips and the bulk of his thighs, until he was dressed identically to Curtis, down to the gray waistband of Curtis’s boxers peeking above the waistband.

His feet tingled, toes lengthening and widening as the soles of his feet grew thicker, coarser. He watched in horror as his socks transformed from his thin white ones to the slightly worn, thicker gray ones Curtis wore around the house, disappearing into the very same brown house slippers Curtis had on. He could feel them—comfortable, lived-in, molded to the form of his new feet.

His transformation continued, and he felt his neck thickening, his throat tightening as his voice box shifted. When he gasped, the sound that came out was deeper, richer—a low, warm tone that was unmistakably Curtis’s. His face began to alter next, his features stretching and reshaping as if molded by an invisible hand. His cheeks became broader, his jaw heavier, while his chin and upper lip prickled with a coarseness that quickly became a full salt-and-pepper goatee, mirroring Curtis’s familiar facial hair.

As his face took on Curtis’s lines and contours, the well-worn creases of age and experience etched themselves onto his skin. His nose grew broader, his brow heavier, and his eyes settled into a softer, wiser gaze, framed by slight crow’s feet. He no longer recognized the face staring back at him in the reflection of the window—it was Curtis’s face, every detail exactly as he remembered.

Before he could comprehend the full horror of his transformation, he felt something else—a strange pull, like a gentle current, tugging at his mind. Across from him, the real Curtis flickered, his form fading, becoming ethereal as though dissolving into thin air. Cameron watched in stunned silence as Curtis’s entire being seemed to break apart, turning into a glowing, mist-like energy that drifted toward him.

The mist poured into Cameron, filling him with warmth, memories, feelings that were not his own. Each particle of energy carried with it a piece of Curtis—his past, his personality, the very essence of the man. As the last traces of the old Curtis were absorbed, Cameron felt his mind blur, his own memories fading and slipping away, replaced by memories of a life he had never lived.

He remembered his friends from college, his old job, his first date with his wife—his wife? Yes, his wife, a warm and familiar figure he could now recall with crystal clarity. He remembered the day his son Mike was born, the pride and joy of holding him for the first time, teaching him to ride a bike, cheering at his baseball games. Each memory felt vivid, real, and as they layered over his mind, Cameron—the young man who had wished to be part of this family—began to fade.

The thoughts and memories of his old life, of being Cameron, felt distant, like a faint dream he couldn’t quite recall. He remembered longing for something, but what was it? All he knew now was that he was Curtis, Mike’s dad, and he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Settling into this life felt easy, natural. He glanced down at the phone in his hand, the one Curtis had been using just before, and a small smile played on his lips. His large frame settled comfortably into the recliner, his well-worn jeans and familiar shirt feeling just right as he resumed scrolling through the news, feeling completely at ease.

It wasn’t long before he heard the door creak open. Mike walked back in, carrying a bag of groceries, and gave him a friendly nod. “Hey, Dad,” he greeted warmly.

Curtis—now fully himself, with no memory of ever being anyone else—looked up with a fond smile. A flicker of a question passed through his mind, something vague, but it quickly faded, unimportant.

“Hey, Mike,” he said, his deep voice steady and familiar. As Mike began unloading the groceries, Curtis had a fleeting thought, his brow furrowing slightly. “Were you…were you expecting a friend over today?” he asked, feeling oddly unsure.

Mike looked at him, puzzled. “Nah, just you and me, Dad,” he replied casually.

Curtis nodded, settling back with a contented sigh. It felt right, just him and his son, in this home filled with memories and love. And as he continued scrolling, he felt only gratitude, knowing he was exactly where he belonged.

[bearforcecaptions]

Martin walked into the office, feeling refreshed and ready to dive back into work after his two-week vacation. As he crossed the threshold, he couldn’t help but notice something felt a little…different. The usual relaxed vibe seemed to be replaced with an odd energy, a sort of intensity that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His coworkers, who were usually dressed casually, now looked like they’d stepped out of a corporate power fantasy: big, burly men in crisp shirts and ties, voices low and gravelly as they exchanged words in passing.

Martin gave a polite nod to a few familiar faces—at least, he thought they were familiar—and settled at his desk, glancing at his inbox. There was an email from the CEO with the subject line, “Important Announcement: ClearStream Acquisition by BullCorp.” As he clicked to open it, his shirt, a casual flannel he’d worn every Friday for as long as he could remember, began to subtly shift. The fabric thinned and tightened around his torso, the pattern melting away, replaced by a solid, rich gray that seemed to hug his chest and shoulders a little too snugly.

He barely noticed the change as he leaned back in his chair, engrossed in the announcement. As he read the email, which detailed the acquisition and spoke of a new “bullish” vision for the company, his shoulders started to broaden, stretching the fabric even more. His chest filled out, each breath causing his pecs to push against the now-fitted shirt, the buttons straining just slightly. The fabric around his biceps and forearms grew taut, hugging his arms as they swelled with dense, powerful muscle, veins becoming more prominent across his thickening forearms.

The flannel continued its transformation, morphing into a finely woven dress shirt. The material tightened around his collar as his neck thickened, muscle stacking on muscle until his collar felt restrictive against the growing width of his throat. His Adam’s apple pushed forward, making his voice sound deeper, though Martin didn’t notice the rich baritone that seemed to come naturally as he muttered under his breath, adjusting his seating.

As he shifted slightly, his thighs pressed firmly against his chair, feeling heavier, bulkier than before. His pants—originally a comfortable pair of khakis—started to darken, the fabric becoming finer and smoother as it transitioned into a pair of dark slacks. The legs grew tighter, stretched over his thickening quads and hamstrings, defining the powerful muscles that now filled them out. His calves swelled, creating a sense of grounded strength in his stance, though he remained oblivious.

With a distracted grunt, he reached up to adjust his collar, his fingers brushing against a tie that hadn’t been there moments before. Somehow, a thick, black tie had appeared around his neck, a narrow silver stripe running down its center. It felt just a bit too snug against the beefy bullneck that had developed beneath it, so he tugged at the knot, loosening it slightly without giving it a second thought. The fabric pulled free, allowing his thick neck to expand even more, a powerful pillar of muscle supporting his increasingly imposing frame.

Meanwhile, beneath his shirt, his undershirt seemed to tighten as his chest expanded even further, each deep breath causing the fabric to cling to the contours of his pecs. He shifted in his seat, feeling a new weight between his legs. His underwear, which had been a simple cotton brief, shifted subtly as the fabric stretched to accommodate his growing anatomy. His balls had begun to swell, filling the newly thickened, snug boxer briefs that materialized around his waist. Each passing minute, they seemed to grow heavier, pressing against his thighs as they settled into their new size.

Martin squirmed in his seat, feeling a slight discomfort as his underwear adjusted to the increased size of his package. He spread his legs unconsciously, making room for the hefty presence in his lap, his thighs stretching his slacks to accommodate both his larger legs and the growing fullness below his belt. He never questioned it, as if this kind of casual adjustment was something he’d always done, yet there was an undeniable sense of weight and power that radiated through his lower body.

As the email explained more about BullCorp’s acquisition, his posture adjusted naturally to the new bulk he carried. His shoulders rolled back, his chest puffed out, and his head tilted up with an air of command. He was oblivious to the feeling of his scalp growing smoother, as if each strand of hair retreated until his head was left completely bald, gleaming slightly under the office lights. When he glanced at his monitor, he didn’t even notice the faint reflection of his face, now ruggedly handsome, his jaw square and defined, with a thick, dark goatee framing his mouth in a way that seemed to convey natural authority.

He absently scratched his chin, feeling the rough texture of the goatee but thinking nothing of it, just as he didn’t notice how his brow had thickened, giving his expression an almost permanent look of determination. His whole face seemed to have morphed into something hypermasculine, each feature radiating a powerful, commanding presence.

“Hey, Moose!” a deep, rumbling voice called out from across the office. Martin—no, Moose—looked up instinctively, the name sounding as natural to him as his own. He nodded in response, feeling the collar of his dress shirt press against his broad, muscular neck as he did so. His coworker—a similarly burly, well-dressed man with a thick beard—gave him a respectful nod.

“Three o’clock meeting?” the man confirmed, his deep voice vibrating with respect.

“Yeah,” Moose replied, his own voice a rich, powerful baritone that commanded attention. He had no memory of setting up a meeting, but it didn’t matter. Leading meetings was what he did—it was who he was. His powerful hands, rough and calloused, adjusted his tie one more time as he stood up, his massive frame filling out every inch of his crisp, professional attire.

As he walked toward the conference room, his movements were smooth yet commanding, each step purposeful, each stride exuding the strength and confidence of a seasoned leader. His coworkers, all similarly burly and imposing, parted instinctively, giving him the respect his presence demanded.

By the time Moose reached the conference room, he felt completely at ease, in command of both himself and his team. He opened the door, stepping inside, and was greeted with silent nods from his subordinates—his team, his men. He adjusted his stance slightly to accommodate the weight between his legs, an unconscious gesture that only reinforced his air of dominance.

“Alright, gentlemen,” he began, his voice rolling through the room like a low rumble. “Let’s get down to business.”

And as Moose led his team, the transformation was complete. This was his world now, his reality. He was exactly where he belonged, a powerful, confident leader at BullCorp, ready to forge the future alongside his equally formidable colleagues.

[bearforcecaptions]

Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me with a raised brow. Caught off guard, I lowered my phone for a second, my heart racing as I saw his tall, athletic frame and youthful face bathed in the early afternoon light. He looked every bit the young adult Turkish jock he was: probably mid-twenties, sharp jawline, thick dark hair, and muscles that showed his commitment to the gym.

I had seen him a few times around the campus, always with a group of friends, his confidence radiating like an aura. I knew someone like him—young, athletic, effortlessly charming—would never look my way. Not for someone like me, a lonely 47-year-old guy who had long ago given up on the thought of finding love. But today was different. Today, I had something that could make things… possible.

Trying to calm my nerves, I quickly raised my phone back up, aiming it at him. "Oh, just testing out the camera," I lied with a faint smile. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he shrugged and turned away, seemingly dismissing me.

I tapped a hidden icon on my screen, activating the reality-altering feature I’d only dreamed could work. Instantly, time around us froze. The birds in mid-flight hung suspended in the air, leaves ceased rustling in the wind, and the chatter of distant students became silent. Everything stopped… except for me. I took a deep breath, gazing at him, knowing I was about to change everything.

The transformation began slowly at first, subtle adjustments to his frame. His arms thickened, filling out even more as his biceps and forearms gained an undeniable bulk. His chest broadened, the thin fabric of his shirt stretching as his torso became more powerful, more solid. His lean, youthful athleticism morphed into a sturdier, burlier build that spoke of strength and experience.

His jawline softened slightly, no longer as razor-sharp, but more defined with a thick, gray-flecked stubble. I watched, mesmerized, as his facial hair grew in patches until it formed a full beard, the dark strands laced with silvery gray. His once-youthful features matured as fine lines settled around his eyes and mouth, the kind that hinted at years well-lived, at a man who had seen and done much more than the boy he once was.

The changes continued. His hairline receded slightly, leaving him with a close-cropped style that suited his new look—clean, mature, and undeniably attractive. I could feel my heart pounding, realizing how he was becoming not just older but more familiar. Like someone I’d known for years, someone whose presence was as natural as my own.

As I watched, his outfit began to change as well. The casual, trendy clothes he’d been wearing morphed, the fabric shifting and melding until it transformed into a striking red and yellow Galatasaray jersey, representing his favorite Turkish team. The jersey hugged his thicker frame perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and powerful arms. His jeans adjusted to fit his heavier build, comfortably loose but snug where it counted.

Then, a series of intricate black tattoos slowly emerged on his arms, weaving their way up from his wrist and forearm. The designs were meaningful, symbols of his journey, his roots, his life with me. As if each line, each shape, was a story we shared, memories of moments we had never yet lived… but now would.

A heavy watch appeared on his wrist, sleek and bold, the kind of watch I had always imagined he’d wear. I held my breath as I watched a silver band form on his finger, a simple but powerful symbol of commitment, of love. I felt a chill on my own finger, and I glanced down to see an identical silver ring glinting on my hand. It was cold to the touch, yet somehow, it felt like it had always been there. We were bound, now and always.

Then, memories flooded my mind, filling me with images and experiences that I hadn’t lived but suddenly remembered. I saw us together in Istanbul, walking hand in hand along the Bosphorus. I remembered quiet nights watching television, his head resting against my shoulder, his laughter a deep rumble in my ear. I recalled heated debates over our favorite players, afternoons spent in the kitchen trying to perfect recipes, and lazy Sundays where we did nothing but enjoy each other’s presence. I remembered the feeling of his warm hand slipping into mine, the comfort of having him beside me, knowing he was there for me and I for him.

I took a shaky breath, struggling to process the whirlwind of memories, the life that had suddenly become ours.

Time resumed.

He stood there, posed by the railing, a relaxed smile on his face, waiting for me to take the photo. But this time, there was something different in his eyes. A warmth, a familiarity. He wasn’t just some young stranger anymore; he was my husband. He was my partner.

I raised the camera, capturing his steady, confident pose, and as I lowered the phone, he walked up to me, casually draping an arm around my shoulders. “You always make me look so serious in these pictures,” he chuckled, his voice warm and familiar. “Let me see it?”

I showed him the photo, and he nodded approvingly, giving me a wink. “Good one. Now come here,” he said, leaning in to give me a quick kiss. It was brief, casual, but filled with affection, the kind of kiss shared between people who had spent years together, who knew each other inside and out.

And as we stood there, in the middle of the park, the world around us buzzing back to life, I realized that I no longer felt alone. We were together, a publicly out couple, as natural as the sunlight on our faces, as real as the silver rings on our fingers.

[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.