Happy Spooky Season!

Happy spooky season everyone! With it being October I have a ton of fun stories related to the season that I hope you enjoy! And I have a very special treat for everyone the week of Halloween! Each day that I week I will be posting a stand alone story that is part of a larger universe! I am really proud with the way they came out and I hope you enjoy them and get your spook on this month!

Humans of the Great Shift #idk

Inspired by TG Swapping Caps series Humans of the Great Shift

I never imagined I would celebrate the Fourth of July. I never imagined I would live in America, let alone become an American man. But the Great Shift changed everything.

Just months ago, I was Mr. Liu, a 60-year-old retired factory worker from Guangzhou. My body was weak, my knees ached, and I spent my days playing chess in the park with old friends. Now? Now, I was this—a young, powerful man with muscles I never dreamed of having.

I flexed my bicep, marveling at the strength beneath my skin. The sun blazed down on my bare chest as I stood on the beach, waves crashing behind me. People around me were celebrating, drinking, laughing. My friends now. They slapped my back, handed me beers, called me “Chad”—the name of the man whose body I now inhabited. I didn’t correct them.

This was my life now.

At first, it was overwhelming—the new language, the new customs, the sheer youth of it all. I had spent decades as an aging man, but now, I was in my prime. I could run without pain, eat without worrying about my health, and women looked at me with interest instead of pity.

As the day started to end and the night came to a start, the sky exploded with fireworks, red, white, and blue reflecting off the ocean waves. I raised my beer and grinned.

I had never cared about American independence before. But tonight? Tonight, I was free.

Happy Fourth of July everyone! Hope you all have a safe and fun holiday weekend!

Twin Shifts, Logan/Harold

It was the first week of summer, and with college classes finally on pause, Logan and Caleb had shifted their business into full gear—now open to anyone willing to pay their fee, not just university students. Their ad had made its way into some niche forums and word-of-mouth started spreading fast. That’s how they got Harold.

Harold was in his seventies and absolutely not in the mood for his annual golf outing with his old colleagues. According to him, it was six hours of bragging, sweating, and pretending not to have lower back pain. So instead, he showed up at Logan and Caleb’s apartment with an envelope of cash and a simple request: “Make sure I don’t look like a total jackass out there.”

Logan grinned. “You’ll be the life of the party.”

With a handshake and a surge of energy, the swap took place—Logan’s ability flaring to life and pulling his mind into Harold’s body. The next moment, Logan was standing in the living room as a tanned, grizzled old man with gray stubble and a tired pair of eyes. He stretched his limbs, rolled his shoulders, and looked down at himself. The fit wasn’t as spry as what he was used to, but it had a certain charm—especially with the old-man khakis and polo.

A few hours later, Logan-as-Harold was standing next to three other retirees at the golf course, club in hand and a red cap shading his eyes. “You guys ready to lose today or what?” he said with a smirk, channeling all the energy of a young guy in an old man’s body.

The others chuckled, clearly not expecting Harold to be this energetic. He cracked jokes, took confident swings, and even flirted with the golf cart girl—just a little, just enough to make his new friends raise their eyebrows.

By the end of the day, Harold’s colleagues were slapping him on the back, telling him he hadn’t looked that alive in years.

When Logan returned to the apartment later that night and swapped back, Harold blinked, stunned.

“You… you actually had fun?”

Logan just grinned. “Told you I would.”

Harold shook his head in disbelief. “You might’ve just saved this tradition.”

Logan laughed. “Glad to be of service, Mr. Hole-in-One.”

Solo Trip to Exchange Island

I never imagined I’d be boarding a plane alone at 48 years old. Not for a cruise, not for a beach resort—this was Exchange Island. The infamous destination where every guest trades bodies with someone else for the duration of their stay. A complete escape. After losing my husband last year, I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted something different. Something that made me feel alive again.

When I landed, I joined a small group of strangers at the island’s welcome center. No one knew who they’d become—we were all just told to pack light and sign the waivers. “Everything will feel natural once the exchange is complete,” the staff reassured us with unnervingly calm smiles. Then we were each led to our own private pods.

The pod was sleek and clinical, like something from a sci-fi movie. I laid down, heart pounding, as soft music played and a warm mist filled the chamber. I closed my eyes, uncertain—and then everything went dark.

I awoke moments—or maybe minutes—later, gasping. My body felt off. Heavier. Stronger. Tighter. When I looked down, I nearly screamed. Instead of my familiar curves, I was staring at a rock-hard chest, chiseled abs, and sun-kissed skin stretched over defined muscle. My hands were huge. My legs thick with power. I reached up and felt a sharp jawline, short dark hair, and stubble that wasn’t mine.

Stepping out of the pod, I caught my reflection in the mirrored glass across the hall. I looked like a man in his late 20s, the type of guy women whisper about at the beach. Tanned, confident, handsome. And I—he—was smiling.

That afternoon, I strolled shirtless along the poolside, wearing only snug white swim briefs, basking in the way eyes lingered on me. Women flirted. I flirted back. My laugh was deep, my posture loose, cocky, alive. I'd been bottled up for so long I forgot what it was like to be wanted. To be free.

Exchange Island had promised transformation. I just hadn’t realized how much I needed it.

Second Skin #2

It had been two months since Ellis last changed.

He told himself he was trying to take a break. To live in his own skin for a while. But the truth was, every time he passed a thrift store, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered, Just try one more on…

Today, he gave in.

A sleek navy polo shirt caught his eye—simple, clean, and recently laundered. It hung perfectly among the racks, still holding its shape like its last owner had only just let it go. Ellis could feel it calling to him. Not loud, not urgent—just a quiet tug of curiosity.

He slipped into the dressing room and pulled the curtain shut. His hands moved almost without thinking, sliding the shirt over his shoulders.

Then came the shift.

His arms tingled first, tightening and toning, veins lifting to the surface as youthful definition replaced middle-aged softness. His shoulders pulled broader, posture straightening effortlessly. The lines on his face smoothed away as his jaw refined, cheekbones lifting.

Then his hair grew in fuller, lighter, shifting to a sandy blond. His pale complexion returned, but now it was fresher, flush with a natural, healthy hue. His body slimmed slightly, settling into the wiry, athletic frame of a young man in his twenties.

He blinked into the mirror.

Gone was the graying man in his forties. Now, a clean-cut, handsome young guy stared back—dressed down in grey sweatpants and sneakers.

Ellis ran a hand along his face, brushing the light stubble on his jaw.

“Damn, I look… normal,” he muttered, grinning.

But it wasn’t disappointment—it was freedom. In this body, he could slip in and out of crowds unnoticed. A blank slate with charm. The kind of guy who didn’t raise questions.

Another life added to his collection.

And this one? This one he might just take out for a spin.

The Gender Wave #IDK YET

The summer sun shimmered off the water as Alyssa lay back on the dock, arms behind her head, eyes half-closed. Her skin was still warm from the ocean, and the rhythmic sound of waves lapping against the wood almost lulled her to sleep. She hadn’t expected to adjust so easily to the new body the Gender Wave had given her — broader shoulders, flatter chest, and a voice that still caught her off guard when she laughed. But it felt… fine. Natural, even.

 

Lying next to Alyssa, Robert shifted, brushing damp hair from his—her—face. The two of them had been inseparable since fourth grade, but everything felt a little different now. The Gender Wave hadn’t spared anyone, and now Robert sat in a smaller, softer frame — the female version of himself. His hair was longer, his limbs slimmer, and his laugh more delicate. But his eyes? Still the same.

“I like you,” Robert said suddenly, voice tight with nerves. “I think I’ve liked you for a while. But I’m scared.”

Alyssa turned her head toward him. “Scared of what?”

Robert hesitated. “It’s stupid. It’s just… I haven’t done anything. Since the Wave. No hookups, no dates. I’ve been too freaked out. My body—it’s not mine. Not the one I grew up with. And the thought of being with someone… intimately… as a woman—it scares me.”

Alyssa sat up slightly, resting on her elbows. “It’s not stupid,” she said softly. “This isn’t what we signed up for. But you’re still you, Robert. I see that.”

Robert gave a weak smile. “It’s just… I feel like a stranger in my skin. And it’s weird enough having feelings for my best friend, but now I’m also scared I won’t enjoy things I used to. What if I don’t know how to be with someone anymore?”

“You don’t have to figure it all out today,” Alyssa said gently. She reached over and took Robert’s hand. “We’ll figure it out together. Slowly. Only what feels right.”

Robert looked at her — really looked — and for the first time in a while, he smiled without fear.

Second Skin #1

They called him Ellis—but that wasn’t always the face in his mirror.

In his mid-forties, with thinning brown hair and pale skin that sunburned too easily, Ellis looked like a regular guy. The kind who might teach history at a community college or spend weekends tinkering with old radios. But beneath that unassuming exterior was a secret only he knew: he could shapeshift into anyone, as long as he wore something they once wore.

It was magic. At least, not the kind you find in books. It was something stranger—something older and ancient. A gift he discovered in his twenties when he slipped on a leather jacket from a thrift store and emerged looking like someone else entirely.

That’s why he practically lived in thrift shops. Places where people unknowingly left pieces of themselves behind.

Today, it was a pair of white dress pants. Crisp. Slim fit. A faint trace of cologne clung to the waistband—rich, woodsy. Someone stylish had worn these. Someone confident.

Ellis stepped into the changing room and slipped them on.

The transformation was instant.

His breath hitched as warmth bloomed beneath his skin, like stepping into sunlight. He watched in awe as his pale skin darkened shade by shade, the pinkish undertone fading into a deep, smooth brown. His arms lengthened, veins disappearing beneath firm, toned muscle. His midsection pulled tight, abs forming in places he hadn’t seen them since college. His jaw sharpened, and the fine lines around his eyes vanished completely.

He reached up—his hair had changed too, buzzed short and perfectly clean. Even his posture was different, more relaxed, more powerful. He looked up at the mirror.

A young Black man stared back. Shirtless, strong, striking.

Ellis let out a breathless chuckle. “Damn…”

He raised his phone and snapped a mirror selfie, capturing the moment like he always did after a successful shift.

This wasn’t just a body—it was an experience, a perspective, a life. And for now, it was his.

And he wasn’t planning on changing back anytime soon.

Lesson Plan Change

It still catches me off guard.

Every morning, I open my eyes expecting to see my aging hands, my thinning hair in the mirror, the slight stiffness in my joints from years of standing at a podium. Instead, I see his face—young, clean-cut, sharp-featured—and a body that’s twenty-five years younger than mine ever was. I’m in the body of one of my freshman English students, Carter Vasquez, thanks to a freak explosion in the science department’s experimental consciousness transfer lab.

One moment, I was sipping burnt faculty lounge coffee and grading essays about The Great Gatsby. The next, I was disoriented, sprawled across the quad lawn in someone else’s body.

The entire campus was in chaos that day, hundreds of mismatched souls running around in unfamiliar bodies. They’ve stabilized things now—classes resumed, the dean’s issued daily “progress” bulletins—but the damage is done. For now, I’m stuck as Carter.

I still teach, though not in my usual button-downs and slacks. Now it’s knitted polos, faded jeans, and yesterday’s bedhead. I have to hold office hours in a body that students mistake for a peer. Do you know how hard it is to maintain authority in a seminar on Shakespeare when you look like the guy who vapes behind the dining hall?

Walking across campus today, phone in hand, jacket under my arm, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s still surreal. The face staring back—his messy brown hair, the careless scruff—isn’t mine. Not really. I even caught myself adjusting to it, flexing the jaw, squinting the eyes, wondering if I could learn to live like this if the science department never figures it out.

But I don’t let myself dwell too long. I have a lecture on metaphors at 10 a.m., and despite everything, students still need to learn.

And I still need to teach.

Body Swap N'B Review #3

Inspired by thegreatstoryteller's post on tumblr which can be found here!

SarahR97 - ⭐️⭐️⭐️

So here’s the deal: my sister’s bachelorette trip was in Vegas, and last-minute flights were stupid expensive. A friend suggested Body SwapN’B—just pick your destination, and they’ll find someone heading there you can swap with. Seemed genius at the time. What I didn’t expect? Waking up in his body.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes at the Vegas facility was this tanned, sunburned, kind-of-sweaty, very shirtless reflection staring back at me. Broad chest, scruffy stubble, and boxer tan lines? Not exactly the “bachelorette glam” energy I was planning to serve.

Turns out, I had swapped into a guy who looked like he lived off energy drinks and beach workouts. His stuff was already in the room—black athletic shorts, cologne I’d never wear, and a towel still damp on the floor. I took a shower (which felt way different with this body), then threw on the cleanest polo I could find and headed to meet the girls.

That’s when it really hit. They were in matching satin robes with custom tumblers and sashes. I was just… some dude. They tried to include me, bless them, but there’s only so much you can do when the spa hands you a “deep tissue” treatment package because you don’t look like you belong in the mani-pedi group.

Don’t get me wrong—this body was useful. I carried all the bags, got us free drinks from random guys, and didn’t have to worry about my feet hurting in heels. But when we went out to the club, and I caught myself in the mirror next to my sister in her white bride dress, the sadness really hit.

I’ll give Body SwapN’B credit for convenience. But next time? I’d rather fly coach in a middle seat than miss celebrating as myself.

—Regretfully, the accidental bro of the bride

The Love We Still Share

It had been two months since the Great Shift turned the world upside down. Two months since I had woken up in a stranger’s body—broad shoulders, square jaw, and muscles I didn’t know how to control. Across from me, in another unfamiliar body, was the man I’d spent fifteen years loving: my husband, David.

Only now, David wore the body of the man from 3B—tall, dark-haired, and athletic. I, on the other hand, had been dropped into the body of his roommate, a lean, slightly anxious-looking man with soft brown hair and wide, nervous eyes. We were still in the same apartment, still in the same bed, but everything had changed.

At first, we tried to act like it hadn’t.

Every night I reached for David, wanting to be close again—wanting him, no matter what body he wore. But he’d pull away.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper. “I just… I look at you and see a man.”

I didn’t push. I knew how disorienting it all was. I knew it wasn’t about me—not really. But it still hurt. I missed the way he used to hold me without hesitation. I missed us.

Then, one night, as we lay in silence under the covers, I turned to him. “David, do you still love me?”

He didn’t answer at first. He stared at the ceiling, then finally said, “Of course I do. You’re still you. But when I look at you, my brain doesn’t… react the same way.”

“But your heart does?”

He turned, eyes full of hesitation and longing. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.”

I leaned in slowly. “Then let’s try.”

That night, he let his guard down. He kissed me, trembling at first, but then with growing certainty. His hands, though new to him, still knew how to hold me. I saw his eyes flicker—not with confusion, but with realization.

“This is still you,” he whispered against my lips.

And in that moment, the bodies didn’t matter. The world had changed, but our love hadn’t.