Crossdreams: TG Captions and more

Private Miller had been summoned to a top-secret briefing. The commander, face like stone, addressed the small group: “Gentlemen, we’re seeking volunteers for a classified field test. You’ll be helping us deploy a new kind of... booby trap .” Miller's eyes lit up. “Booby traps? Finally! About time we got some real bang for our buck,” he whispered, nudging the guy next to him. They were promptly flown to a remote facility in the middle of nowhere. Security was tight, personnel silent as statues. The only clue came from a tech who muttered, “Hope you’re ready for some... major physical changes.” Miller laughed it off. “Buddy, I’ve eaten C4 rations, I’ve slept through grenade drills. Unless this trap explodes into jazz hands, I’m good.” Next thing he knew, he was on a cold medical table, half-naked, surrounded by doctors and engineers with clipboards and ominously cheerful smiles. “Just relax,” one said, injecting something into his arm. Everything went black. He woke up grog...

The scene looked like something straight out of a deranged mind — or perhaps a genius one. In the center of a luxurious bedroom, under the soft glow of a Venetian crystal chandelier, a stunning blonde woman stared down in disbelief, eyes wide as she took in her own body. She — or rather, he — was wearing nothing but leopard-print lingerie, bold, provocative, and utterly inappropriate for someone who, just hours before, had been wearing baggy boxers and leather slippers. Beside the king-sized bed, tangled sheets hinting at chaos, lay Alexander, the oil tycoon, unmoving, a bottle of blue pills still clenched in his hand. There was an explanation for all this — though even the people involved were struggling to grasp it. Ryan and Paul were thieves — not the ski-mask-and-pistol type, but professionals of the invisible, the digital, the metaphysical. Paul had once broken into an old witch’s house deep in the backwoods of Brazil. Instead of jewels or cash, he walked away with dusty grimoir...

Dr. Francis’s office was quiet, broken only by the distant ticking of the wall clock. Sitting across from him, George — now with a completely different appearance — wore a tight, closed-off expression, arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently on the floor. A beautiful cascade of brown, curly hair framed his now delicate shoulders, shining under the office light. The transformation was obvious. The experimental hair growth treatment had worked… but with results far beyond what anyone had expected. George sighed heavily, looking at the doctor with a mixture of anger and frustration. "Look what you've done, doctor... Just look at me!" he said, his voice full of indignation. Dr. Francis adjusted his glasses, trying to remain composed. "George, I know this was a... significant change. But look, the hair growth was an extraordinary success! Your hair is healthy, strong, shiny..." George ran his hand through the curls with an irritated gesture. "Do you t...

Michael was stunned. It felt like he was walking in circles inside his own mind, trying to stitch together the shattered pieces of his reality. Darla, now officially his ex-girlfriend, had just walked out the door, leaving behind not only her final suitcases but also a trail of confusion, resentment — and something far stranger than he could have ever anticipated. Heart pounding out of rhythm, Michael dragged himself down the hallway, stopping in front of the closed bedroom door. He hesitated for a second, hearing muffled sounds of movement from inside, then knocked lightly with his knuckles. "Are you okay in there, Raul?" he asked, his voice tight. "I'm fine. You can come in," came the calm reply. Michael turned the doorknob and pushed the door open... and felt his world tilt violently once again. Sitting on the edge of the bed was Raul — or at least, what Raul had become — staring back at him with a sheepish smile. His friend's body, once tall and...

How could anyone possibly explain this situation? Standing before the mirror, a young woman — clad only in black lace lingerie and an oversized white shirt draped loosely over her shoulders — stared at her reflection in stunned disbelief. Strands of dark hair fell across a delicate, unfamiliar face. Her full lips parted slightly, as if trying to form words that simply refused to come. There was no denying it: this body was real. Every curve, every detail, solid and undeniable. But how had it come to this? How could someone walk into a cosmetic clinic for a minor touch-up... and wake up like this ? The story began days ago, not hours. Seoul buzzed beyond the window, oblivious to what had happened inside Genesis Clinic — a discreet haven for the nation's elite. Among the parade of hidden celebrities and ambitious executives, he had seemed utterly forgettable: a tired man seeking only a minor facial rejuvenation, a simple procedure to feel a little better about himself. But somew...

Carlton had always known that the profession of a private detective demanded courage — but not madness. There were monsters you should never poke, not even with a ten-foot pole; names that circulated the streets like prayers and curses all at once. And yet, faced with the promise of so much money, he accepted. He agreed to investigate the infidelity of Herrera’s wife — Herrera, the name that made even the hardest criminals lower their voices. It was quick. Perhaps too quick. There was no cinematic chase, no dramatic shootout. Just an ordinary night, a path that seemed safe — until it wasn’t. Herrera knew. He had always known. The detective didn’t even have the dignity of resisting. When he woke up, strapped to a hospital bed that reeked of disinfectant and fear, he no longer owned himself. Surgeons moved around him with the cold efficiency of those who had done this a hundred times before. Subtle cuts, invisible molds, silent interventions that, little by little, dismantled what had...

 Josh staggered back, his hands trembling. — Dude, why? — he stammered, desperation breaking through. — Please, just put everything back the way it was! I'm not this... I'm not your maid! I'm Josh, your classmate, remember? Samuel smiled, but there was no warmth in it — only something cold, sharp, and merciless. — Classmate? — he echoed, savoring the word like it was poison. — Since grade school, you did nothing but make my life hell. Year after year... your jokes about my weight, my looks, the way I dressed. I thought maybe, one day, you'd forget. Grow up. Move on. But no... it was like your life's mission was to make sure I never had a single moment of peace. Josh stumbled, words caught in his throat, as if Samuel’s accusations were strangling him. — But... that doesn't give you the right to do this! — he shouted, gesturing wildly at the frilly dress and apron now mocking him with every breath. — I don't even know how you did it! I tried calling my pa...

Walter was already a defeated man. Bitter over life's injustices, he spent his days brooding over the inventions he had created — and which, one by one, had been stolen by those he once called friends. His brilliant intellect, combined with his withdrawn nature, had only brought him loneliness and a string of missed opportunities. While his former colleagues built an empire on his ideas, Walter was discarded like an old, forgotten piece once the machine ran smoothly on its own. But he had not given up completely. For years, amidst illness, poverty, and abandonment, Walter devoted himself to perfecting one last creation: a revolutionary device that would allow him to transfer his consciousness into another body — an irreversible process where his mind would overwrite and dominate the chosen person's own. It was his final card, his chance to rewrite his destiny, even if at someone else's expense. His plan was clear. He would choose Andrew, the main traitor, the man who had ...

The name Gabriel Andrade had once been synonymous with power. For three generations, his family built an empire in real estate and investments. With an iron fist, he led the company to billion-dollar profits — and left a trail of enemies along the way. Among them, his ex-wife, Yolanda: a smart, ambitious woman who, for a long time, was just the discreet shadow beside the emperor. But now, the tables had turned. — “You know what’s most ironic, Gabriel?” — Yolanda said, seated in her new CEO chair, slowly crossing her legs. — “You always said I wouldn’t understand your world… that I was only good for smiling at events and signing papers. Well… now I’m the one signing.” Gabriel stood before her, shoulders slumped, eyes red, clutching a trembling folder full of financial documents. Yolanda had personally reviewed them. There it was: years of accounting fraud, shady transfers, offshore accounts — everything Gabriel thought would never see daylight. — “You’re not going to report me…” —...

"I'm all set for bed," Jacob announced, adjusting the silky strap of his nightgown as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Antony's eyes widened at the sight. "What do you mean you're going to sleep next to me wearing that ?" "It’s what I found in your wife’s bag," Jacob replied, folding his arms and pouting. "And believe me, this is the least scandalous thing she packed. Judging by the rest, she had very different plans for this trip. And there’s no way I’m sleeping next to you without clothes on." "I don’t know… can’t you just wear something normal?" Antony tried, glancing away. But he couldn’t help noticing how his friend — now in his wife’s body — kept admiring himself in the mirror, studying every curve and detail with childlike fascination. "Dude... it kinda looks like you're enjoying this." Jacob turned sharply, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Not my fault. You saw the notificati...

Jonas pushed open the front door, tossing his keys onto the table by the entrance. He was about to take off his shoes when he froze. Eliot stood in the middle of the living room, wearing a sheer red nightgown that clung to his — now her — curves. The fabric was delicate, nearly transparent, leaving little to the imagination. Her makeup was subtle but skillfully done, and her hair, once a chaotic mess, now fell in soft waves over her shoulders. "I'm ready," Eliot said, her voice soft but steady — though a hint of nervousness lingered beneath. Jonas blinked, startled. "Ready for what?" "For your idea," Eliot replied with a hesitant smile. "I've been thinking about what you said. Ever since your ex cursed me — turned me into this — it started to make sense. Maybe she wanted me to understand... to live what it's like to be a woman. And maybe, to break the curse, I really do have to go through it all. Including... the romantic part." ...

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” Peter said, staring at the woman in front of him. She looked at him with calm eyes, a gentle smile playing on her lips, as if they were in the middle of an ordinary morning. “Relax, my love,” she said, her voice sweet and confident. Peter took a step back, completely bewildered. “What do you mean love ? Don’t you remember anything? You’re Tony! Tony from work! The guy who used to drive me crazy, who stole credit for everything I did, who made sure to overshadow me in front of the bosses and took every promotion that should’ve been mine!” Peter’s voice shook with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Yesterday, after work, I saw this old lady with white hair asking for help. I ran to assist her… and, well, you know I’m not great in a fight. I got my ass kicked. She thanked me and said that as a reward, she’d change my life for the better.” He gestured around wildly. “And now here we are. Look at you. ” Tony — or rather, the woman who now claimed to ...

After Dylan’s grandfather passed away, he invited his friend Natan to join him in checking out the house he had just inherited. Dylan mentioned that his grandfather had worked for years on a secret project, which many believed to be connected to some mysterious agency with a name full of consonants—completely off the official government books. The house itself was unremarkable. But when they went down into the basement, they stumbled upon a surprise: a dusty laboratory, filled with boxes and various objects hidden under tarps. One by one, they began uncovering things, exploring the place. A larger tarp caught their attention—it covered a strange machine. It had a transparent glass chamber, a side panel with a screen, and next to it, a box full of handwritten notebooks. Both intrigued, they began reading. Dylan, recognizing his grandfather’s handwriting, cautiously examined the contents. According to the journals, the machine had been salvaged from a crashed alien spacecraft. His grandf...

The idea was simple enough. Harold had always struggled to talk to the girls in his class — he was shy, reserved, and constantly felt out of place. He came from a long line of women who, according to family whispers, had secretly practiced witchcraft. For years, Harold dismissed it all as eccentric theater — cheap tricks and harmless illusions, maybe just a way to spice up family lore. One lazy afternoon, while chatting with his friend Alan in a room overflowing with books and relics inherited from his mother, Harold remembered an old, dusty grimoire she had once given him with a cryptic wink. He had never taken it seriously, but caught up in the carefree mood of their conversation, he pulled the hefty tome off a shelf and flipped through it. “There’s a spell in here,” Harold said, skimming through the brittle pages. “I remember glancing at it once. Something about turning one person into another.” Alan laughed. “Magic? Come on. If that stuff actually works, then you’ve already got y...

Looking back now, it wasn’t such a bad choice after all. I invested a good amount of money researching how to stay young for a while—every genetic therapy I tried failed. The body has an expiration date you just can’t outrun. In the end, the idea of "jumping from body to body" turned out to be her best suggestion. But how do you convince someone younger to agree to the exchange? Money, of course! After making a list of people who would trade their youth for money, I was shocked to find that the youngest and healthiest candidate was... a woman. Well, living like this will be interesting—at least until I need to acquire a new body again.

Marcelo arrived home stumbling in his heels, with glitter still on his eyelashes and the white pompom swinging between his legs. The costume clung to his new body as if it had been custom-made — which, in a way, it was. Magic made sure to keep everything perfectly tight. And permanently embarrassing. He faced the front door with the basket of eggs still on his arm, sighed deeply and rang the doorbell. His wife opened the door. She arched an eyebrow. She closed the door. Five minutes later, she opened it again, this time with her arms crossed. “Explain.” Marcelo tried. He said it had happened out of nowhere, that he didn’t know why, that it was some kind of mystical prank. He talked about the party, about the new employee, about a snap of his fingers — and all while trying to pull up his cleavage and pull down his tight shorts. His wife listened to everything in silence. — “And what exactly did you do before you became... this?” He hesitated. She didn’t. — “Okay then. Good luck with you...

At the company’s annual Easter Bash — complete with cheap champagne and even cheaper bunny costumes — Marcelo, king of inappropriate jokes and unwanted flirting, was in rare form. When he spotted the new intern strutting around in her sparkly bunny outfit, handing out pastel-colored chocolate eggs, he whistled, winked, and made a comment so greasy it could’ve fried an egg. And then, to top it off, he reached out and gave her a playful (but oh-so-unwelcome) pat on the rear. Big mistake. The intern turned to him slowly, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous glow. She gave him a smile — sweet, eerie, ancient. Then she snapped her fingers. In an instant, Marcelo’s world flipped upside down. His body shrank and shifted, curves bursting out where they absolutely weren’t before. Long legs wrapped in fishnet stockings, a scandalously tight corset squeezing him in all directions, towering heels, and a pair of soft bunny ears flopping over his now perfectly styled hair. A fluffy tail bounced beh...

Carlos never thought a curse could feel so humiliating… and yet, somehow, so alive . “I know this sounds insane, Peter… but hear me out,” he said, crossing his arms—well, trying to. The tiny bra and his newly voluptuous body made even that simple gesture oddly provocative. “My wife lost it . Every single week, it was the same thing.” Peter blinked, trying not to stare. That woman standing in front of him—gorgeous, curvy, with long blonde hair and bedroom eyes— was Carlos. Somehow. “We’d hang out, play games, drink beer, and yeah… say some pretty dumb stuff about women. And she? She was always there. Serving drinks. Cleaning up. Listening to every joke, every comment.” Carlos let out a dramatic sigh, then gestured at himself. “So she did this . Turned me into the fantasy we always talked about—the ‘hot blonde’ who turns heads wherever she goes.” Peter cleared his throat and looked away. “Okay, but… seriously, man, didn’t you think of wearing something a bit more… decent?” Carlos...