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Measuring Myself Now...

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I’ve tailored suits for senators, wedding dresses for celebrities, and gowns for women whose last names I won’t dare repeat. But her ? She walked into my shop like a storm in heels — hair perfect, voice like velvet, and a strange antique necklace dangling from her fingers. She said she wanted a custom piece. Something... unforgettable. While measuring her, she smirked and asked, “Ever wonder what it’s like to design for yourself, from the other side ?” I scoffed. She laughed. Then handed me the necklace and told me to “try it on for inspiration.” So I did. And now I’m looking at my old grumpy face in the mirror — from hers . And let me tell you something… designing a dress is very different when you’re the one in lace, heels, and garters, trying not to breathe too hard or smudge your lipstick. I’ve got until midnight to finish her gown. My old self (now possessed by her , I think?) will be coming back for the final fitting. And if the seams aren’t flawless? Let’s just say I...
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This Is My New Routine Now...

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 It was supposed to be a casual 10K. Just me, the park trail, and my usual playlist. Then she showed up — that chatty girl with the colorful sports bra and the messy ponytail. Said she was a beginner, just trying to “find her pace.” I rolled my eyes, wished her luck, and took off. But somewhere around kilometer three… something weird happened. The sky shimmered. The ground hummed. We crossed this old stone arch that was never there before, and then— Boom. I'm her. And she's me. That was three weeks ago. I haven’t seen her since. I’ve tried everything to reverse it — doctors, meditation, even posting in conspiracy forums. Nothing. So… this is my new routine now. I stretch. I lift. I take mirror selfies like this because apparently her followers expect it. I eat protein pancakes. And yeah… I work that treadmill like it owes me money. You know what’s crazy? I feel amazing. Her body is strong, agile, addictively photogenic . I get stared at every time I jog past a guy gr...
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Glitched Into My Own Fantasy

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I created her. Every pixel. Every curve. Every tattoo. She was supposed to be my custom rogue assassin in Eclipse Core VR , the most immersive virtual reality experience ever made. Facial tracking, sensory feedback, real emotions — they said it would “blur the line between you and the game.” I just didn’t expect the blur to be permanent. One second I’m booting up the simulation, testing the final build of her dialogue tree — I even added a sultry voice and a sarcastic attitude. Next thing I know? Blackout. Reboot. And I’m her. Standing knee-deep in this glowing neon lagoon. Wearing… well, that . With her voice echoing from my mouth, and her thoughts leaking into mine. “Confidence is a weapon, darling,” I just heard myself say. Except I didn’t mean to say it. It’s like she’s still in here — watching, smirking, influencing every step I take. The devs are offline. No emergency logout. And the “personality override” was turned up to MAX for testing. Now I’m stuck in this bom...
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Influencer by Accident

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I'm a backend developer. I write code, I debug, I avoid sunlight. My idea of “socializing” is sending memes in Slack. So explain to me why I just woke up in a luxury penthouse, inside the body of LIA LUX , one of the biggest fitness influencers on the planet. Millions of followers. Viral TikToks. Yoga at sunrise. Collabs with protein brands I can't even pronounce. I’m in bright blue leggings so tight I can feel every breath. My phone keeps buzzing. Comments. Mentions. Live in 2 hours , it says. Wait. Live?! I try to cancel it. No luck. I try to act normal, but the mirror says otherwise — high ponytail, flawless skin, body made of angles and curves. I don’t even know what half these workout poses are called! I open her DMs looking for help, and they're full of: “Queen, can't wait for your new glute circuit!!” “Will you show us your new protein smoothie recipe today??” “You’re such an inspiration!!” Great. If I mess up, I’ll destroy a brand, a career, and possibl...
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Borrowed Body at Work

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I used to strut through the office like I owned the place. Technically, I did . CEO. Corner office. Executive parking. And if one of the interns got uncomfortable with a comment or a lingering stare? Not my problem. Then came her . Emily, the receptionist — always smiling, always polite. But yesterday, she gave me a strange look when I made another “joke” in front of the team. Said I should “walk a mile in her heels.” I laughed. This morning… I woke up in her body. No joke. Blouse buttoned tight, skirt hugging curves I never had before, heels that feel like medieval torture, and a dozen eyes watching me the second I step off the elevator. I know those looks. I used to give them. Now I can’t walk across the lobby without someone calling me “sweetheart,” or pretending not to stare at my legs. And guess what? Emily’s sitting pretty in my office. She winked at me and said, “Just for a week. Learn something.” Lesson. Very much. In progress.
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The New Stadium Muse

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I used to say those girls on the field were just there for “decoration.” “You want real action? Watch the game, not the sideshow,” I’d tell my buddies, rolling my eyes every time one of those promo girls came on screen. Guess who woke up this morning in full glam, holding a soccer ball, wearing a crop top so tight I can hear my abs breathe? Me. I did. Apparently, I “won” some magical fan promotion. Out of millions , I was chosen to be today’s stadium muse — and not just as a muse, but in the body of one. Hair, curves, outfit and all. I even have her schedule: enter the field at halftime, strike some poses, hype the crowd, and “don’t forget to smile.” And the worst part? I think I am smiling. The sun, the cheers, the way people looked at me like I was the event — it’s weirdly addictive. My old self would be screaming. But right now? I’m just hoping someone took a good picture of me.
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Karma’s Real – I’m Living It

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Yoga Swap Confession #1 “Bro, yoga’s just stretching. How hard can it be?” Famous last words. My girlfriend dragged me to her morning class. I rolled my eyes, flexed a bit, and told her I’d dominate it. The instructor — this calm, smiley woman with a voice like warm tea — welcomed us in, lit some incense, and said we’d be trying a “chakra-alignment mantra” today. Cool, whatever. I mumbled the words. Then everything tilted . Now I’m walking out of that same class... but not as me . I’m her. The instructor. Tight joggers, soft top, yoga mat over my shoulder, green juice in hand — the whole deal. I can feel the stretch in my legs. I can feel the breeze on my waist . And I just found out I have a beginner’s class to teach in ten minutes. Oh, and my girlfriend? She didn’t switch. She’s laughing. Hard. Namaste, I guess.
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