Snowmen plotting revenge. Servants of Krampus plotting death and torture. Rotarians plotting... a carol sing? Sample five short holiday stories by Cashmere Chloe, Trismegistus Shandy, TGSparadox, M. A. Thermidor and Hikaro.
Grant checks his phone again and then the address in front of him. 1225 Merry Drive, an address that sounds so stupid that it can only be real, because no city developer would use that name unironically. He laughs at himself for even being there, but he has no real choice. He needs a job that works well with his college hours, and this place pays well for only being open from October to January. The only thing that concerns him is what they actually do. The application reads nothing but "customer management", which he finds confusing.
He sighs. Nothing better to do than walk in and apply for the job, so he walks up the three steps and into the building. The door opens with no resistance, and the room that greets him is so full of Christmas cheer that it almost looks disgusting. He almost considers turning around and leaving, but nothing really seemed wrong about the place, so he simply walks over to the desk and the cute girl with a little bit of a reddish color to the tip of her nose sitting behind it.
"I'm here for a job," he says, trying to peek down her shirt.
She glances up at him, a look of amusement on her face, then pulls a piece of paper out of a folder. "Sign this and the job's yours," she says, her voice full of mirth and glee.
"That's it?" he asks.
"That's it. We're really pressed for applicants these days and the boss isn't too picky."
"When will I start?" he asks just after signing at the bottom of the page. He doesn't even read it, he's just happy to have a guaranteed job.
She takes the paper and points to a hallway. "You have a locker right down there, fourth room on the right, next to the garage."
'Next to the garage?' he wonders, not certain of what that means. This place doesn't seem big enough to have a locker room, let alone a garage. Come to think of it, he doesn't even know where the room for that hallway comes from, the building looks so small.
Still, Grant follows her directions, down the hallway, fourth room on the right, next to a door labeled Garage. He opens the door to what he assumes is the locker room, steps inside and finds a simple room, four walls and exactly one locker...
With the name Grant on it.
He considers rushing back to the front desk and asking the cute girl from before what’s going on, but he can't. The door locks behind him, and a single light comes on above the locker.
'Take it, Grant,' says a voice in his head. He doesn't understand why, he's simply compelled. He should be breaking down the door and running out of the building, but he doesn't physically move and, more importantly, doesn't seem to want to, either. He actually wants to open the locker.
He opens the locker and finds inside what appears to be a dress. He takes it out of the locker and looks it over. It's red and green, with buttons shaped like gingerbread cookies and a large candy cane graphic on the back. He sees a name tag on the chest, but the name isn't his.
Gina, it reads.
'I'm not putting this on,' he tells himself, but of course his hands have a mind of their own. He strips off the clothing he was wearing and finds himself pulling the dress over his head. He knows the dress can't actually fit, he's too big for it. That girl at the front could probably wear it, but not him.
Of course, he's wrong about that.
He's smaller now, smaller even than the girl at the front desk. He doesn't understand how this is happening, but nothing about this place seems to make sense, really. Instead, he wonders why his chest feels so strange. Sure, he's wearing a dress and he's shrunk, but, he can't be...
He is! He absolutely is!
Grant watches as the front of the dress pushes outward, almost obnoxiously so. He nearly falls over because of the mounds he's growing, they're so large to him. In seconds, the mounds are finished, and his breathing grows shallow. He needs to get out, he needs to escape.
But how? He arrived in winter clothes, and now he's wearing a dress and not even any shoes, how is he supposed to survive outside dressed like this?
He remembers that his old clothes were discarded on the floor and goes to pick them up, but they're gone! The only things that remain are a pair of red and green high heeled boots with bells attached to them and a similar red and green Santa hat with a bell on top.
Once more, he finds himself putting on the boots, finding they go all the way to his thighs, and then putting on the hat. His hair now cascades past his shoulders and his balance feels so much different. He regains control of his body in time to realize that he's not Grant anymore.
The door to the locker room opens and two people stand in the doorway. One is a larger man with a snowy, white beard and the other is the girl from the front desk. The large man steps forward, and Gina almost wants to laugh. The man is the spitting image of Santa Claus, almost as if he stepped out of the collective consciousness of Christmas.
"She's a nice one, Rhonda," he says, "she'll do just fine."
"What did you do to me?!" Gina shouts, somewhat surprised that she's able to. Her voice sounds high and squeaky.
Santa takes a step closer. "Now, now, nothing without your consent."
"I didn't..." She shuts up. Of course she did. That application. She knows damn well she signed it.
"Don't worry, dear, you'll be out of here come January, and the job isn't too hard. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork!"
She sighs. "What is it I even do here?"
He laughs, that jolly Ho Ho Ho sound so stereotypically credited to him. "Why, the List, of course. Somebody has to organize it so that the nice people get presents and the naughty people get coal."
"You actually do that?"
The girl from the front desk - Rhonda - steps forward. "Well, coal these days is a pretty valuable thing. The Naughty List just gets crappy presents these days."
Gina sighs again. "And do I go back to being me in January?"
Santa laughs again. "Oh, dear, of course not. Don't worry, though, nobody remembers the old you." With that, Santa turns and leaves the room, his laughing fading as he gets further away.
"Wait, if all I'm doing is working on a list, why did I need to be a girl?"
Rhonda puts her hands on her hips. "I asked that question when I applied for the driving job, the boss just seems to prefer it that way. How he ever stays married is beyond me, Mrs. Claus is so much nicer than he is..."
By Cashmere Chloe
By Trismegistus Shandy
By TGSparadox
By MA Thermidor
By Hikaro
* * *
Panties in a Bunch
“Looks like our laundry got mixed up,” Dan said to his roommate.
Robbie flinched. It wasn’t because Dan was a slob (he was) or even a little gross (he liked to party and his clothes would often smell like pot and beer). It was because Robbie had washed his panties that day.
Sure enough, there they were: red satin and unmistakably meant for a girl. Dan was dangling them from a finger with a wide grin.
Robbie grabbed them as if he could save the moment by stuffing them in his pocket.
Dan laughed but calmed his college roommate by saying, “Look, Robbie, I don’t care. Seriously, you’re into what you’re into. It doesn’t matter, ok?”
Robbie looked into Dan’s eyes, inspecting them for sincerity and surprised to find it. Still, “Really?” he asked. Dan assured him once more, then turned and dumped his clothes on the floor of his bedroom where they’d stay until they were needed.
It was early December of their junior year and someone had finally learned of Robbie’s secret interest. The two didn’t talk about it much until the holiday break approached.
“Dan,” Robbie began after getting up the courage, “I’m going to do something over the break and I just need to tell someone.”
“Well, someone’s excited!” Dan replied, seeing a slight tremor in his petite roommate’s hand. “Shoot.”
Robbie began, “Okay, so you know nobody’s ever seen me… you know…”
“Dressed like a girl?” Dan finished.
Robbie nodded and went on. “Uh-huh. I really want to, though, and I think I finally have the chance. I’m going to a Christmas Eve party when I go home and I’ve decided to go as a girl.”
Robbie didn’t know what to expect. He wasn’t looking for approval and he wondered if, maybe, he was hoping Dan would talk him out of it. Instead, Dan just said, “Cool,” and went back to finishing his dinner.
The two had finals to study for but, as far as Robbie was concerned, that could wait. He had thoughts, issues, and feelings that had been bottled up inside for too long. More pressing, he had plans to wear a red velvet dress in public and he badly needed another opinion on those plans to feel safe.
“So, I know you’re thinking: ‘Is he nuts? Someone’s going to recognize him,’ right?” Robbie began.
“Actually, I’m thinking of getting that last meatball -- you want it?” Dan replied.
Robbie pressed on, “Remember, I was home-schooled and we lived in the country. My parents kept us close and the only people I got to knew well were our neighbors. Remember, the ones with the twins?”
“I don’t think I was sober that night but, sure, the twins. Yep,” Dan said, then belched.
“You’ve met Paul because he’s a junior here, too. We run into him now and then,” Robbie said.
“Cool dude,” was Dan’s acknowledgement, “that the guy you gave those mittens to? I have calc with him.”
“Yes!” Robbie answered with more enthusiasm than Dan wanted to hear, “just like the ones I gave you.” Robbie liked to knit and Dan happened to be with him when Robbie gave Paul a pair of mittens for Christmas the year before.
Robbie didn’t notice that his audience had little interest and went on, “See, Paul never goes home for the holiday. Nope. He stays here to volunteer. I worked with him last year, but I’m not going to this time.”
“Now, Paul’s twin brother,” Robbie said, “That would be Frank, he’s a different story. He got sent off to boarding school for his senior year and he’s still out there, at some kind of boarding college or something. I remember him getting into trouble, but I suppose he was much worse than I had guessed.”
Dan stretched his arms and wondered how long this would go on.
Robbie summarized his plan, “So, you see, the only two people who know me from home will be gone! And my parents are taking a holiday vacation this year, so I’ll be home alone! I found out about a holiday party that some other college kids from town are giving and it’s an open party to… hold on, I have the invite here on my phone…”
Dan started to get up but Robbie put up his hand, “Here it is! ‘Any Santas or Santaettes are welcome,’ it says. See?” Robbie’s excitement level hadn’t waned. “It’s perfect, right?”
* * *
Santaette
When Christmas Eve came, Robbie had some doubts, but got beyond them to find himself at the party as planned. He had always kept his brown hair shoulder-length and his eyebrows thick enough to not raise doubts, but neat enough to be pleasing to the eye for the evenings he would lock his door and play with makeup.
That night, for the first time, he would let others see how he had learned to press up his fleshy chest to create a bit of cleavage. He would bare his delicate shoulders and his shaved legs. The dress was red velvet, just as he’d told his roommate. Its straight-across top ran close to his armpits and easily concealed the strapless bra stuffed with silicone forms. The patent leather belt accentuated the waist that Robbie worked so hard to keep trim, and the hood, Robbie’s favorite accessory, was red velvet with leopard print on the inside and trim. It rested on his ivory shoulders and tied with a black satin ribbon in the front. Robbie buckled the high heeled black sandals he’d kept hidden from the world until that night and felt his heart racing.
That was over a half-hour ago, and now Robbie was there, at the party, suddenly realizing he wasn’t quite sure what to do. In the gift pile, he had left the required package. The party’s organizers had asked everyone to bring a gift that would be exchanged with whomever you were with at midnight. Robbie had brought a pair of his specialty mittens which people seemed to always appreciate.
Just minutes after arriving, though, Robbie had no idea what would come next for him. Fate would answer that question.
“Well, hello, Santaette,” he heard.
Robbie turned to see… “Oh no!” he thought, “Frank? Frank’s back?!!!”
Robbie shuddered and couldn’t think clearly. He smiled nervously. “Hi,” he said, then endured silence that lasted too long. “I’m Priscilla,” he said, using the name he’d decided long ago fit the person in his fantasies.
They were interrupted but Robbie wasn’t saved when someone offered them some punch. They each took a cup and Robbie said, “Nice party, huh?”
Robbie noted his former neighbor looking around before agreeing. It occurred to him… Frank… Frank didn’t recognize me!
“And why would he?” Robbie thought. It had been over four years, and the two really hadn’t spent much time together. Plus, Frank had obviously been through a lot. Robbie could already tell he was much better mannered than he was when his parents sent him away.
The two began talking about the party, then holiday plans. Robbie steered the conversation away from anything that would give away who he was. They had a second glass of punch and found themselves on a sofa in a quiet den of the large house.
“Frank,” Robbie confessed, “I’m really having a good time. I’m so glad we met.”
Robbie had apparently given an invitation and now found a strong arm around his shoulder. “He feels so good, so comforting,” Robbie thought and leaned into the bigger man.
They talked just a little more before Robbie heard, “You’re so pretty,” and felt the breath of a man close to him.
When he’d arrived at the party that night, Robbie didn’t know what to do or what, aside from being out in a dress, he wanted. But the warm breath of an attractive man told him what he wanted.
Robbie leaned forward and let his former neighbor kiss him on the lips. “Priscilla…” Robbie heard, softly whispered in his ear. It was a reminder of who he desperately wanted to be and he offered his lips again.
“Almost midnight!” someone announced. It was loud and came from the doorway to the quiet room the couple had to themselves.
Robbie stood and reached out his hand. “We need to get our presents!”
The two held hands and returned, wrapped packages under arm, to find their sofa waiting. Robbie offered his: “I made them myself,” and accepted the other.
Robbie watched with interest as the ribbon was untied and the box opened. Then, to his puzzlement, the man he’d been kissing said, “Your mittens! I love these! How did you know I lost mine?”
Before Robbie could understand what that meant, he was encouraged to open his gift with, “Hope you like it, Priscilla; you look great in red, you know.”
Inside was a sweater, a red one with a soft, thick turtleneck. Robbie held it up and asked, “How did you know my size?”
“Dan told me,” was the reply. “He’s a great roommate, isn’t he?”
The last words Robbie spoke before their kissing resumed were, “Oh, Paul!”
* * *
Cashmere Chloe 's stories can be found on TGStorytime.
* * *
by Trismegistus Shandy
* * *
At the November meeting of the Taine County Rotary, we were talking about service projects for the holidays (most of us were careful not to say "Christmas" to avoid offending our one Jewish member and four or five atheist members, but it's what most of us were thinking). We were already working on the food drive and toy drive we'd started planning back in September, but someone (I think it was Ted) suggested that we also go caroling at one or more nursing homes, assisted living places, and the orphanage. That got a fair amount of enthusiastic response, followed by some very carefully polite discussion about how, of course, in accordance with our charter, we'd only sing secular songs like "Frosty the Snowman" or "Here Comes Santa Claus" (excluding the last verse). That irked me slightly, because one thing from my childhood I still love is the old unashamedly religious Christmas carols, archaic non-gender-inclusive language and all. I didn't say anything, though. Even if they were willing to violate our charter and offend some of our members by singing "Joy To the World" or "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen," I wouldn't feel comfortable going along on that carol sing. It had taken me a long time to get comfortable with my new voice, and as for singing -- just no. Even my normal speaking voice wasn't as feminine as I'd like, and I didn't feel at all confident trying to sing.
"This should be right up your alley, April," said my friend Jessica. "I remember you talking last year about how much you love Christmas music."
"Yeah," I said, "but... I'm not fond of my singing voice."
"Oh," she said, sounding disconcerted. "Yeah, I guess I can see that."
"And... I'm a little leery about visiting old folks' homes and the orphanage. Senile old people and little kids are the bluntest people in the world about blurting out what they're thinking." Like "Mommy, why is that man wearing a dress?", as a little boy in the grocery store had said to his mortified mother last Saturday.
"I understand why you're hesitant," she said. "But can you at least help us put together a list of songs and find sheet music?"
"Sure," I said.
* * *
And one thing led to another, and by mid-December, I'd been persuaded to go along. Not to sing, I firmly insisted on that, but to keep track of the song booklets, distribute hot cocoa from a big thermos among the old folks and candy canes among the kids while the others sang.
At first, things went pretty well. It probably helped that most of the old folks didn't see as well as they used to, and if I wore a Chrismassy dress and had long hair with a red ribbon in it, and didn't speak up more than necessary, they saw a woman. So did most people, really. I passed much better than I had even a few months earlier.
But a couple of staff members at the second nursing home clocked me, and I could hear them talking trash about me as I handed out large-print lyrics sheets and poured little paper cups of cocoa from the giant thermos. That might have ruined my day a few months ago, but I'd grown a slightly thicker skin since then. It still hurt, make no mistake, but I was able to shrug it off after we left there and hope things would go better at the next place.
Which was the orphanage, given our route going roughly clockwise around the county from our starting point at the Unitarian church where we had our monthly meetings. It was on the south end of the county, a semi-rural area where land was cheap and they could have plenty of room for the kids to play outdoors. Not so much at this time of year, when it cold but not snowy. The kids all gathered in the assembly hall within minutes of our arrival, including a few tiny kids who were holding onto the hands of older kids or staff members. Ted introduced us, and the choir started singing as I handed out lyrics sheets to any of the kids who seemed interested in singing along and old enough to read. Which was a fair number. When they started the last song of the set, "Up On the Housetop," I started handing out candy canes. (We'd let the orphanage staff distribute the toys from our toy drive, since they knew the kids.)
A little black girl about three or four years old asked me, "Are you a man or a lady?"
"A lady," I said, and she seemed to accept that. But the slightly older white boy next to her said: "You look sort of like a man."
"When I was your age, people thought I was a boy. It wasn't until I was a little older I figured out I was a girl."
"A boy can grow up to be a lady?" he asked, astounded and probably terrified.
"Not just any boy. A boy who is already a girl inside."
"What about girls?" the little girl piped up. "Can they grow up to be boys?"
"If they're already boys inside."
"How can you tell?" asked another boy, maybe nine or ten.
"It's different for different people. I just got more and more queasy about people calling me a boy, wearing boy clothes, playing with boys' toys, and finally I realized I was supposed to be a girl. If you're not sure, you should talk about it with a grown-up you trust."
But I wondered if any of the staff in that orphanage, or the foster parents or adoptive parents they might eventually end up with, would be worthy of trusting with that particular secret.
The song ended, and Ted said goodbye, so I said goodbye to the kids I'd been talking with and finished handing out the candy canes. Soon we were on our way to the last nursing home in our circuit.
The choir serenaded the people in the vestibule, and then walked slowly along the halls, singing for the benefit of people who couldn't easily leave their rooms. I walked ahead of them, chatting briefly with some of the people who were sitting in wheelchairs in the halls, wishing them 'Merry Christmas,' and offering them lyrics sheets and cocoa from the thermos. A couple of times, someone wanted to talk with me, and I stayed to talk with them while the choir got ahead of me.
I came to an old woman who reminded me of my great-grandmother, who'd died in a home like this when I was ten, not long after I figured out I was a girl but before I got up the courage to tell anybody. "Merry Christmas," I said. "Would you like a sheet of lyrics or some cocoa?"
"Merry Christmas," she said back, in a stronger voice than I expected from someone so frail-looking. Her eyes were sharper than most people her age, too:
"My granddaughter was like you," she said. "A trans-sex-ual," she added, pronouncing it carefully like it was a neologism she wasn't quite sure about. I reminded myself that she'd probably been living here since before the term 'transgender' was a thing.
"Oh?" I asked. "What's her name?", having missed the past tense.
"When she was nineteen, she said she was a girl and wanted to be called Amber," the old woman said. "Her parents fussed about it, and her other grandparents, but I talked them into going along with her. I knew someone like her when I was a girl, though they didn't call them trans-sex-uals back then."
"When was that?" I asked, deeply interested now. The choir had passed us and turned the corner onto another hall.
"It was Christmas 1993 when I gave her a pair of breasts," she said, and cackled merrily. "Her parents were mortified, but she was happy as a clam."
"You mean breast forms, or did you pay for implant surgery...?" But she was already moving on:
"Would have hugged me if she could. She was already too disabled to work by then, or go to college. Couldn't walk, and her arms were too weak for most things."
"What was...?" But she paid no mind to my half-formed question, or perhaps anticipated it, and said:
"I remember back when he was around seven or eight, and could still walk pretty good, they came and stayed with me for a few days while their parents went on some kind of anniversary thing. Her and her brother, I mean. She got into my things and walked around the house wearing my heels and jewelry. Made me think of my friend that liked to wear women's clothes, back when that could get you in real trouble."
"I did something like that when I was a little older," I said, but she had jumped back to the mid-nineties again:
"She wore those breasts every day for the rest of her life, even though there weren't nobody to see them except family. Her mom came around before long, and her brother after a while, but her dad didn't like it, even up to the end." I took in the "rest of her life" and "the end" and realized her granddaughter was dead, probably of some chronic illness like muscular dystrophy to judge from the symptoms she'd described. I gave an involuntary gasp, but she didn't stop talking.
"I was with them again that last Christmas before she died," she continued, and then she jumped through time again, saying: "When he was four, his mama and I took the kids to the mall to see Santa. And he asked for a dollhouse, and his brother made fun of him. Oh, how he cried! Even if his parents had thought it was okay to give a boy girl toys, they couldn't have afforded it, with all those medical expenses. All their toys were second-hand. Well, a few years after she 'came out'" (I could hear the quotes) "I was shopping for hats, the first week in November -- I always get my Christmas shopping done before Thanksgiving, I can't abide crowds. I'd bought her a dress and was looking for a hat to go with it, and the hats happened to be right near the toy department. So I saw a dollhouse that was on sale, and looked closer -- it was the sort of thing she'd wanted when she was four. Well, that was twenty years earlier, but I bought it for her anyway, as a kind of -- I don't know what you'd call it. Not a joke, not as though I was making fun of her, but --" She made a grasping motion.
"I understand," I said, and wiped a tear from my eye.
"They had that dollhouse on the table in the lobby at her funeral," she commented, "with photos of her on either side. She loved it, even though she was too old to really play with it and didn't have the arm strength or coordination to do anything with it anyway. She liked to look at it while she sat in her chair listening to a book on tape. She asked me for some more dolls the right size to go in it, for her birthday or next Christmas, but she didn't live long enough to see either one."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I can tell she meant a lot to you. I wish I could have met her. What's your name? I'm April -- April McDonnell."
"Where are my manners...? I'm Margaret Campbell."
"I'd like to hear more about Amber, but I need to do some things... meet up with the choir again. They've gotten ahead of me."
"Go ahead, young lady."
"I'll try to come back and see you again." And I meant it; I wanted to hear more about her cross-dresser or trans friend from back when she was young, as well as about Amber.
* * *
As I rode back from the nursing home to the church where we'd parked our cars in Jessica's car, she asked me: "So where'd you disappear to? We were about to leave when I realized you weren't around, and then you came out of the building in a hurry..."
"I got to talking with one of the residents," I said. "It was an interesting conversation."
* * *
Trismegistus Shandy is the author of forty-eight transgender stories, totalling more than 800,000 words, available on Smashwords, Amazon, BigCloset, TGStorytime, Shifti, and Fictionmania. They recently finished the first draft of a novel-length expansion of their story “Free” from the mixed tape "A Boy Named Sue,” and are looking for beta readers.
* * *
by TGSparadox
* * *
I was terrified. Hell, I more than terrified, I was petrified. This was to be the perfect start to the best Christmas Break ever, but now, I was tied up in the middle of the floor of my friend’s house. I had discovered just minutes before the terrible truth about my childhood friend, Lana. She and seven of her closest friends at the local high school and college were witches and they worshipped the demon Krampus. A few days ago, and I would have dismissed the supernatural as nothing more than folklore. I was an atheist and believed that everything could be explained by science. But now, after witnessing their magic first hand, I was beginning to rethink my beliefs.
“Ladies of our lord Krampus. On this evening of the full moon, our master has given us two tasks. First, to deliver a new slave for his workshop,” Lana motioned to me, “And two, kill the Shadow known as Sammie using the most powerful weapon on this realm, the Dagger of the Eclipse. So, tonight, we will do both. I will use part of Zachary’s soul to empower the Dagger and once Sammie is killed, we will turn over what is left of him to our most beloved master, Krampus.
“Lana, please, let me go. Please,” I called to Lana as she was addressing her coven, hoping to call to that friendship that we had possessed just five hours ago. Lana turned to face me, her eyes full of something dark.
“Now why would I do that?” she asked with no hint of our friendship.
“Because I’m your best friend. I’ve been your best friend since preschool,” I begged.
Lana walked over, kneeling down to eye level. She studied my face, smiled, and slapped me. “Fool, one that rejects the graces of Krampus is no friend on mine.” She got up, her coven laughing.
Tears now streaming, I asked “Why me, Lana?”
She smirked and turned away. “Because, Zachary, I’ve hated you for a long time. Time to make what I hate suffer for all eternity.” She walked up to her fellow witches, and two of her friends brought up a box, handling it with great care. Slowly opening it, she picked up a dagger. “Behold the Dagger of the Eclipse!” All of the coven members bowed to it. “Only recently have I been fortunate enough to witness its great power. Now, with a piece of Zachary’s soul, we will finally succeed where others have failed.”
I struggled against my bonds as she brought the Dagger up to my face, “What are you going to do to me?” I asked, terrified. The manliness that I prided myself on in years past had failed me.
“Simple, I’m going to take what you most value about yourself from your soul, thus removing that forever in order to empower this beautiful weapon. Then I’m going to take it and kill the shadow named Sammie.”
“Why?” I questioned, trying to buy more time for possible rescuers.
“Always with the questions, Zachary. You see, there are creatures of the night born from the darkest part of the inner being of all humans. We call them Shadows. Powerful creatures, and the most powerful is Sammie, a Shadow that is legended to have been born from the darkness that resided within Eve herself. For centuries, Sammie has wreaked havoc against everyone and everything, including our malevolent lord and master, Krampus. Dimme, the most feared demon, is afraid of Sammie, but our master is not. And tonight, with your help and this dagger, we will finally strike down the Shadow once and for all, and you, Zachary, shall be rewarded by becoming a slave, bound to the will of Krampus, for all eternity.”
I could stall no longer, because Lana readied the dagger. “Please! Please, Lana, remember who you are!” I yelled, a last ditch attempt to get Lana to stop.
But Lana only smiled, “I know who I am, Zachary. I’m a witch and a servant of Krampus.” Lana closed her eyes, and began to recite something in Latin, "Cum pugione abs te per Deum quod non est accipere potest etiam maxime aestimantur in manus meas quid quaeris perdere in abierunt.” With that, she stabbed me with the dagger in the stomach. I screamed out in pain, but I didn’t die. I didn’t bleed. Rather, I felt something snap within me, and leave. I felt an essence, part of my essence, part of my soul leave my body, and enter the dagger. And as it left, I felt myself become smaller, lighter. My chest heavier, my hips wider, my hair longer.
By the time the essence fully flowed into the dagger, and Lana withdrew it, I was a girl. It was a quick and mostly painless transformation. Breathing heavy, my voice higher pitched, I asked “What happened to me?”
Lana smirked as the other coven members laughed hysterically. “I told you, the dagger takes what is most valued of oneself. For you, it was you manhood. It took that and now, you are a girl, FOREVER!”
“What… no… no…” I couldn’t comprehend the feelings, the emotions, it was like I empty. But a girl? I didn’t know what to do that point, but just stare hopelessly up at Lana.
“Actually, you are very pretty. Too bad we’re are giving you to Krampus, but hey, look on the bright side. He could always use another wife.” She stood up, and headed back over to her coven, who had a pentagram drawn. She handled the dagger with care, as it was glowing now with a piece of me. “Girls, the moment has come. It's time to finish it. It's time to kill Sammie! Prepare the summoning spell!”
The witches already had the spell ingredients, and I watched helplessly and hopelessly as they formed the spell needed to summon the being they called Sammie. My tears flowed as I observed them forming a circle around the pentagram. First Lana chanted, “Eva vocare ad se notum nobis. Et obscuratus vocamus in potentia et in terra. Dicimus pientissimam contentionem tecum, Sammie!” Then the other girls followed, chanting the same Latin summoning. They began to take a demonic form and the pentagram began to glow. I tried to cover my eyes; my new body was small enough to escape the bonds, but I couldn’t move. I felt so exhausted.
All the witches suddenly dropped to the ground and the pentagram exploded. The flames burst out in every direction, engulfing the witches. But when the flames vanished, the witches were untouched, unharmed. In the middle of what used to be the pentagram was a young teenage girl, probably the same size that I was now, small. In fact, she almost looked like a child. Her hair was short, her eyes blue, her face in a frown. She was wearing some sort of holiday themed clothes, a red Christmas sweater with a green skirt and a Santa hat. This must be Sammie, although she didn’t fit the picture of what Lana had described. This girl or shadow looked harmless.
“Sammie!” Lana rose. Sammie crossed her arms, looking annoyed at being summoned.
“Yes?” she asked, clearly uninterested.
“By the commandment of our powerful lord, Krampus, I command you to DIE!” Screaming the last word, she took the dagger, and stabbed Sammie in the upper chest. Light exploded across the room for a few seconds after, and I could only hear the malevolent laugher of the witches. They had done it, they had killed the Shadow using a part of me. Now I could only shed tears and wait for the light to die to see the body of that which had the appearance of a child.
When the light did finally die out, my eyes rested on the slack body of Sammie. Her eyes were closed, her head hanging down, her body only standing because of the support of the dagger and Lana. “We have done it. The Witches of Krampus have finally done what no one else could. WE HAVE KILLED THE SHADOW!” Lana screamed out in rejoicing. All the witches hugged each other and congregated Lana. I personally shed tears for the creature. It didn’t deserve this, just as I didn’t deserve the fate of becoming Krampus’s wife. “We have time to celebrate, so, girls, what should we do with her?” Lana asked, pointing to me, using female pronouns.
I became fearful and just before I was going to will my new female body to move, something happened. Something that didn’t make sense. Sammie’s eyes snapped open, this time, pure blue, and she started laughing, saying “Wow, what a rush!” Lana instantly let go of the dagger and fell back in fear, as did the other witches. “You witches actually tried to kill me!” Sammie looked down at the Dagger still embedded in her. Cupping her hand around it, she pulled it out, clean of any blood, and with a snap of her fingers, the dagger vanished.
“The Dagger should’ve killed you!” Lana screamed out, fear dripping from her voice.
Sammie simply shook her head. “It would have, if I was what you believed me to be.”
Lana quickly stood up, but she was shaking. “Ready yourselves girls, we, as followers of Krampus, must stand our ground and defeat Sammie!” Slowly, the other girls got to their feet, but they were all shaking in fear. Whatever Sammie was, she was very powerful.
“You worship that hog?” Sammie shook her head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.” Her eyes coming to rest on me, she said: “Don’t worry, I’ll get to you once I handle this.” I watched all the witches recite something, and cast a barrage of what seemed to be their most powerful spells at Sammie. But, to everybody’s shock, including me, each spell bounced harmlessly off Sammie. The witches, including my former friend Lana, gave everything they had to kill the creature. Taking a part of my soul, using their magic to the limit, but Sammie simply shrugged it off. “Girls, there is a reason why Dimme fears me. A reason that your pitiful master will soon learn, because once I’m done killing all of you, I’m going after him.”
Lana stumbled back in disbelief, my terror having spread to her. “What are you?” she asked the creature.
Sammie smiled, a smile that held no good. “I’m an archangel, you twit.” Sammie’s arms shot out, grabbing two of Lana’s friends, two that I had personally dated awhile back, and smited them, killing them both. Letting their bodies drop the ground, she waved her hand, pushing the other witches against the wall and leaving Lana without any help. Without a word, Sammie walked up and got down next to Lana. She looked tiny compared to Lana, but without a doubt, the archangel was much more powerful. It didn’t matter what Lana did, she was going to die.
Sammie brought her hand up to Lana’s face and my former friend/stealer of my manhood gave one last plea, “Please. If you spare us, we will be your faithful servants for all eternity.”
Sammie pointed at me, “You didn’t spare him.” With those words, Sammie smited Lana. Someone that I had known since she was in pigtails was dead. “You girls stay still for awhile, I need to handle something.” Sammie came up to me, kneeling down to eye level. She studied me. She stuck her hand on my chest, something that brought much discomfort. “A little small,” she said. “Well, Zachary, or maybe Zoey, you haven’t led the best life. You’re spoiled, sometimes rotten, and you’re selfish. You have violated the space of multiple women. Be glad that you haven’t actually raped anyone, otherwise you would be among these wannabe witches. Dead.” One of the witches attempted to run, but Sammie, without looking back, snapped her fingers and the witch fell flat on her face, “You also ditched your family for basically nothing. You caused them pain.”
“You know about that?” I asked Sammie in my new female voice.
“Yes. Despite my hatred for my father, I am still an archangel.” Sammie pressed her finger on my head, bringing energy back into my body, and removing the useless bonds. “I could fix what the dagger took,” Sammie brought her finger down to my clothes, which now were far too big for me. Using her power, she changed them into more feminine and fitting clothing, “But, despite how you were granted femininity, I see this as a fitting punishment for the rotten life you have led so far. I could kill you, but I’m going to give you a second chance.” Holding her finger up, as if to make a point, she said: “Do NOT waste it.” With that, she poked my nose and I suddenly found myself in a cafe far from Lana’s house, but still a girl. The shock of everything was unbelievable and I suddenly felt scared of what laid ahead. There was no way I could show up at my college and job now as a girl. There was no way I could face my friends. No doubt they would want to try to get me into bed. My current life was over, all because of Lana and her cult of Krampus worshippers. But, as Sammie had said, I had a second chance. Maybe it was time to start again. Start again. Maybe it was time to go home.
* * *
Once Sammie had teleported the newly formed girl away, she turned her attention back to the remaining witches. “Now, to finish what I started.”
By now, the surviving witches were all sitting together next to the body of their high priestess, scared of the archangel.
Cracking her knuckles, Sammie looked over the witches, saying “Let’s see who croaks first.” And the last thing those witches heard and saw before Sammie allowed the embrace of death to claim them was her joking words piercing the air of the house, “Merry Christmas.”
* * *
TGSparadox is the author of three other stories, all available on Tgstorytime under the username Paradox.
* * *
by M. A. Thermidor
* * *
Snowflakes fell lightly to the ground, covering the roads in a hue of orange from the street lights. Last night had brought the first heavy snowfall of the winter. That morning children had been overjoyed to see the landscape covered in white. Being Christmas Eve, it allowed them to spend the day building snowmen and snow forts to their hearts’ content. In the local park over a dozen snowmen had been built by the local kids. The snowmen came in all shapes and sizes, from small to big, from round to straight. Now, with clocks fast approaching midnight the kids who had built them had retreated to their beds. The park was quiet and still; that is, until a group of teenagers came rolling through.
“Can you believe that my little sister wished for a new sister from Santa?” The silence was broken by the loud talking of the three teenagers. “My parents had a fun time explaining that isn’t how Santa works.” The others had little interest in his complaints.
“Hey, Robert, look at the face on this one!” The boys were quick to take an interest in the park’s newest residents. “Dirk, I found you a new hat!” Chuck pulled a snow-covered woolly hat from the snowman’s head and pulled it down on top of Dirk’s curly brown hair.
“Let’s smash them all… except one. People will think it was like a snowman hunger games,” Robert suggested. The group numbered three, all of them seventeen years old. They laughed at Robert’s suggestion but didn’t go with it. Instead Dirk picked up two clumps of snow and moulded them against the chest of the snowman.
“Much better,” he laughed at the snowman’s new breasts. His friends laughed as well and joined in. They ran around the park, picking up snow and pressing it against the chests of the snowmen to form breasts. They did it for every snowman in the park and then left, laughing at their handiwork.
“People will be so freaked out tomorrow.” They deluded themselves into thinking that someone would think the new breasts were something other than a childish act of vandalism. It was an immature prank that they forgot about almost immediately after leaving. Nobody had seen them, what was there to worry about? But what they didn’t realise was that their act of mischief had had plenty of witnesses. At midnight, a mystical wind blew through the park and in the still of the night things began to move.
The light snowfall turned heavy as the winds picked up. The three boys had to shield their eyes from the blizzard that had suddenly whipped up around them.
“Where did this come from?” they complained. They ran for a bus shelter, but the snow grew heavier and the wind stronger. They lost sight of their destination but continued towards it. They knew where it was, they lived in this area after all. A few more feet and they’d have cover from this blizzard. They pushed forward a few feet, then a few feet more, and a few feet more.
“Where is it?” Dirk called out to this friends. He could see Robert and Chuck behind him, both struggling to see through the snow. The wind suddenly stopped and with it gone they could look forward again. The bus shelter they had been running towards was no longer in front of them. It wasn’t behind them either; in fact, it wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“Where are we?” The landscape had changed. Where was the road, the houses and the street lights? They were surrounded by tall conifer trees covered in snow. Those hadn’t been there before.
“Hello?” Robert called out. Chuck checked his phone, no signal.
“I see someone!” Dirk informed his friends. Up ahead he could make out the shape of a tall figure wearing a heavy black jacket and what looked like a top hat. “Hey!” he called out and ran after the guy. As he approached the figure stopped and slowly turned. Dirk froze in his tracks as he saw the man’s face. A carrot nose, a smile made from small stones and two black eyes.
“Well, hello,” the man greeted them. The stones on his round white head moved as he spoke.
“Holy Hell!” Robert yelled seeing the man. Then he saw the snowman’s chest. He, or possibly she, had two breast-shaped snow mounds on her chest. Did snowmen even have genders? Was that really the question he should be asking right now?
“Run!” Robert yelled. He couldn’t even handle supernatural movies; this was well outside his comfort zone. He turned to flee but his path was blocked by two more snowmen. They were both moving towards him and as he searched for another escape route, he saw he was surrounded.
“We’re surrounded!” Robert cried. “Please don’t hurt us!” His true nature showed as he cowered behind his friends. Dirk and Chuck had enough courage to stand up.
“What do you want?” Dirk demanded. He clenched his fists, ready to fight; ultimately these things were just snowmen. He could have demolished them with a single kick before and he could do so again now.
“Look at us, do you think this is funny?” The lead snowman pointed to his sizable chest. “The dreams of children gave us life. Only on Christmas Eve when the clock strikes midnight can this miracle occur. You messed with our bodies. We have come to mess with yours.” As the snowmen closed in, Dirk threw his punch. He struck the snowman on the side of the face, but it felt like punching a ball of ice. The wind began to pick up again and as the snowfall began, unnaturally heavy. They were blinded by the fierce snow storm as snow clung to their bodies and despite their best efforts they couldn’t shake it off.
“Help!” Chuck yelled as snow clustered around his mouth, preventing him from calling out again. The three boys were encased in snow. The bitter cold feeling was something they’d never forget as a voice whispered one last sentence to them.
“And I’ll be taking my hat back.” A twig hand grabbed Dirk’s stolen hat and pulled it off. The blizzard surrounding them dissipated as both wind and snow vanished. Three figures stood encased in snow in the street. Dirk was the first to burst free from his white prison followed by Chuck. The two of them helped Robert to his feet and they looked around. The orange streets lights were back and just ten feet away was the bus shelter.
“What happened?” Chuck looked around for the snowmen, but they were nowhere to be seen. Had he imagined it?
“My chest feels weird.” Robert was fiddling with heavy coat. As he mentioned that, the other two also became aware of a tight feeling under their coats. They opened up their jackets and freed the tightness under them.
“I have breasts!” There was no mistaking the shape. Gloves came off as their hands went for their chests. Only Dirk had ever squeezed a woman’s breasts before. He compared what he felt now to what he’d felt back then and confirmed it was the same. Their breasts were the real deal.
“Hey, is it just me or do you look more… feminine?” Dirk said to Robert.
“Yeah… you too,” Chuck added. The three looked at one another, then the penny dropped. Their hands shot down into their trousers where they all together made the same observation.
“It’s gone!”
“How?” they asked one another, but the answer was obvious. They all had memories of the encounter with the talking snowman. Dirk, Chuck and a reluctant Robert returned to the park, but it was empty. The snowmen were gone.
“What do we do now?”
“Let’s return home, and then maybe tomorrow we’ll be back to normal.” That was wishful thinking. The three boys returned to their separate homes, hiding their changes from their families. They each crawled into their beds and did their best to get some sleep. When Christmas morning came and the three woke, they found that their changes hadn’t reversed; if anything, they were even more drastic than before.
But look the bright side, at least Dirk’s little sister’s wish for a new sister was granted.
* * *
MA Thermidor is the author of lots and lots of unfinished stories.
* * *
By Hikaro
* * *
I knew damn well I'd seen her a couple times. Couldn't peg where, probably Sales or somewhere, with that body. She could sell me anything, I'd even pay double. No ring on her finger, so she was clearly unattached. Maybe I could work my magic touch on her and show her the breakroom couch, like I'd done with so many others in sales. If I was lucky, I'd even be able to get Joan from Accounting in there, have another threesome.
I slipped between the minglers, the people from R&D, the people from Marketing, even the executives who felt themselves not too above all these nine-to-fivers. I didn't even know half the people here, but I wasn't one to actually learn the names of my employees. I just smiled when they shook my hand, signed their checks and occasionally took advantage of my rights to take whichever glorious sales girl (and Joan from Accounting) I saw into the breakroom. The perks of this business were something nobody had a reason to avoid.
I grabbed a couple glasses of champagne off the table and made my way closer to the honeypot I'd set my sights on. Chestnut brown hair cascaded down past her slender shoulders. Her purple dress did little to hide those gorgeous breasts of hers. Her long legs were nothing short of perfect and almost literally uncovered by the short length of the dress. She clearly knew exactly what parts of her body to emphasize, which made me all the more certain she was in Sales.
I finally took notice of the necklace she was wearing, and the matching earrings. Gold, with purple gemstones embedded in them. Clearly purple was her color, and it suited her. I licked my lips as I approached her. She was gonna be something, that was for sure.
"Nice to meet you," I said as I held out one of the glasses, "Quentin Jackson, my name's on all your checks."
She smiled as she took the glass. "Emily," she replied.
"Just Emily?"
"For now."
I was enjoying this. "Tell me Emily For Now, how long have you been working here?"
"A few months. I work in Sales."
I clearly had good instincts. "They're lucky to have you, I'm sure."
"Oh, I've improved that department exponentially. Gerry Deakins says our output has gone up at least fifty percent since I got here."
"Good!" I said, genuinely impressed. "I'm sure that bonus Gerry gave you is pleasing your husband." That was fishing. She wouldn't be the first broad I'd had who was married, but I preferred the singles. Less baggage, even if they were a little more difficult to keep out of a courtroom.
"Oh, I'm not married, Mr. Jackson."
I was beaming now. "Please, call me Quentin."
She smirked. "Alright, Quentin."
"Tell me, what were your goals when you applied for the job?"
She shook her head. "Oh, I didn't apply. Gerry and I were friends in college, he called me up as soon as there was a position available."
I tipped my nearly empty glass toward her. "And are you looking to move up from Sales? Maybe a little more executive position?"
She took a sip of her champagne. "Quentin, please, you don't need to use a promotion to butter me up." She leaned close to me. "I can change your world in five minutes," she said in a whisper, "and I think I wanna do that."
I smiled. "Well then, Emily For Now, shall we retreat downstairs so we can unwrap our Secret Santa presents?"
* * *
Emily For Now was almost a monster. The second we made it to my office (she was much more important than the breakroom couch, this one), her dress hit the floor and her heels were tossed in my chair. My suit followed soon after, draping the back of my chair and decorating the windowsill behind my desk.
I nearly threw her on the desk and climbed on top of her. She giggled like a schoolgirl, a sound I more than enjoyed. She was ready, she was willing, she was...
A goddess.
She clenched around me just right, somehow made herself so tight it was almost painful. I bit her lip, which only made her more and more excited. She dug her fingernails into my back, I took a firm hold of her asscheeks.
She slipped her tongue into my mouth, and I responded in kind. Our lips pressed against one another suppressed her moan when I pushed into her. She slipped her fingers into my hair. Not the first time that curly mop on my head had enticed a woman.
On my fourth or fifth thrust, something started to feel... Odd. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling as hard, almost as if I was running out in the middle of a fuck. I never ran out in the middle of a fuck, I always made them run out before I was done. I moved my hands to her tits and started to squeeze them. That had to turn me on more.
Luckily, fondling her had the reaction I needed. Little Q was rock hard again, thrusting into her like an oil pump into the ground. She moaned again, but this time our mouths weren't clamped over one another, allowing her to let that beautiful sound out for anyone outside my office door to hear.
Lucky us, there was no one outside my office door.
Her hands moved from my hair down my body. She cupped them over my own hands, which were currently kneading her breasts for all they were worth. Since she was there, she brushed a finger against one of my nipples, sending a shock through my body. Damn, that had never felt that good.
My dick was getting soft again. Or... No, I was still hard, but she didn't feel as tight. There was a strange pressure on my chest, and another welling up in my ass. What was happening?!
I pulled away from her, and a strange weight on my chest shifted as I did. My hands were still on her tits, but there was something different about them, something... Dainty. What the fuck was happening to me?!
Emily For Now slid her hands from on top of mine down to her cunt. "Oh, thank God, I was waiting for that to kick in." She pushed me off of her, sending me crashing to the floor. "I haven't faked one that intense since high school."
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Tried to move, but I couldn't. What the hell was she doing to me?
As if she could read my thoughts, she answered: "Dear, dear Quentin. By now, your balls will have slid inside you and found their new permanent home, your worthless little cock is already well on its way and your new body is filling out so very nicely." She knelt down beside me. "I bet you're confused, aren't you? You wouldn't be if you remembered Helena Yates."
She wasn't wrong, I didn't remember that name.
"Helena Yates was your secretary just three weeks ago. And just three weeks ago, you invited her into the breakroom on the fifty-third floor, a breakroom you've had so much sex in, Jackson Pollock would be afraid to use a blacklight in there. Y'see, Quentin, Helena's my friend, and after spending an afternoon with you, she lost her job, her husband left her and the child you've impregnated her with will never know why Daddy doesn't come visit." Emily stood up. "Helena's not the only woman I know whose life you've destroyed. When I take over, I plan on having that breakroom turned into a storage room that nobody remembers to use because they've never been able to find the key."
I tried to talk again, but my face didn't feel like it was my own anymore.
"Oh, don't try to speak, honey. Pretty face now, though. I'm sure any men you meet will be more than willing to see just how talented it is." She leaned over and patted me on the cheek. "Shouldn't take too much longer. I havta say, you did have quite a lot of masculinity." She held up that necklace she'd been wearing earlier. "It's been awhile since I had to use Amber to suck another one of you disgusting pigs dry. Until I'd heard about you, I was going to use her on Harvey Weinstein, but you've been a much larger threat to women than he was." She put her hands on her hips. "I asked her to give you the works, too. Double-Ds, 38-22-36, a hundred five pounds, you'll be a dream to any man that looks at you. You're getting an age lift, too, from forty-seven to twenty-nine. Can't have you so old the pervs in every other section stay away from you."
That odd feeling from before started to fade. I could finally move, though not much, and I still couldn't speak.
Emily continued: "You'll start in Sales, right here. I have it on good authority that they'll be down a girl after the Christmas break. I had Amber preprogram your speech patterns, your responses, everything. You'll have a little wiggle room, but nobody will ever know that Quentin Jackson has become Jackie Quartz." She smiled wider. "Of course, you'll remember everything, and you'll be unable to do anything about it."
She knelt down beside me again, then brought her lips to mine. After the briefest of kisses, she said, "Just had to do it one last time, under the mistletoe. Maybe I'll see you again, Jackie. Maybe at next year's Christmas party. Of course, there will be so much different about the company then. Maybe you'll actually work your way out of Sales! Dreams are a wonderful thing, Jackie, don't let them slip away!"
Her words echoed in my mind as the light in the room intensified, and then I saw, felt and heard nothing.
* * *
"We here at Furnoe have been happy to meet your approval!" I said, putting on my thousandth smile for the day as I waved at the customers that were leaving. My feet were killing me, my blouse was too tight and if one more disgusting old man grabbed my ass and thought I wouldn't notice, I was going to scream right in the middle of the sales floor.
Of course, I couldn't scream. Not right in the middle of the sales floor, anyway. I'd screamed in bed more than once, and it aggravated me something awful.
And so, after sealing yet another deal for that bitch Emily, I walked back to the front counter and sat down for what little respite I'd be allowed before the next customer walked in. Maybe it was just because I hadn't been down here in almost thirty years, but I did not remember that the company had a furniture division. Maybe I'd bought it at some point and just left it up to whichever idiot managed to get a promotion to deal with. Either way, I hated this place, and I couldn't wait until Gerry put in for that promotion he said I'd earned. I'd given him enough blowjobs in the back room to remind him, he could at least speed up the process.
"Jackie baby!" the facefucker said, coming up behind me and reaching around to grab my rack. "That was a stellar sale, yet another happy customer! More perfect performances like that, and Ms. Furnoe will approve your promotion in no time!"
I wanted to say, "Shut your goddamn mouth, you limp-dicked cockhead," but that programming kicked in, and I said, "Thank you, Gerry!" with a big smile on my face as my hands helped his slip under my blouse. I hated this.
"Now remember, you're on break in fifteen minutes and we'll only have a twenty minute lunch, so don't hold back."
"Of course, Gerry, I'll be quick today. You just make me so... Warm."
He smiled that big toothy shark smile. "And you're the best fuck I've had in months since that Emily quit."
I should have known that bitch hadn't really gone to college with him. Gerry was a fucking idiot.
"Now, we've got another customer lined up over by the kitchen appliances, so get those heels walking and perk up those melons, you'll havta get these guys outta here quick if you wanna get on your knees in just twelve minutes."
I nodded, stood up and adjusted my clothes. My body hustled because it actually did want exactly what Gerry was waiting on, even though every second of it disgusted me.
"Dreams are a wonderful thing," Emily had said Christmas night, and I dreamed that I'd be able to break her stupid programming one day. I dreamed I'd be back in my old office calling all the shots again.
I dreamed I at least wouldn't have to fuck that wormshit Gerry again.
* * *
Hikaro is the author of a metric fuckton of things that people maybe have read. He honestly doesn’t know.
* * *
The deadline for submissions to the next Tape is March 31; there is no particular theme except TG content.
Stories should ideally be between 1,000 and 2,500 words, but certainly under 4,000 words. Poetry and nonfiction pieces are also welcome.
Send submissions to Hikaro at [email protected]. If your story has an illustration, attach it to the email. Illustrations must not be pornographic, and you must have the right to use them. Be sure to include an About the Author piece (one short paragraph).
Feel free to post this call for submissions on TG fora where Hikaro and Tris aren't active. We're looking to make contacts in the TG captions community and the TG community on DeviantArt; there are good writers of short-short stories there who are unknown in the communities where the TG Mixed Tapes have been posted.
Comments
another awesome mix tape
well done, everyone!