Unwanted Holiday Work

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Decking the Halls

As much as they would want to “enjoy” the holidays or “feel” the seasonal spirit filling up the place, they still had a thing to do: getting all the decorations for Christmas placed around the place, so the customers… yeah, customers, they would still be working around for the holiday season though well past Thanksgiving. They needed some hard-earned cash for stuff they genuinely want, not this pretend-celebration of which they barely cared. So yeah, the customers would be somewhat touched and they should be quickly going back to their positions as always, after just a simple inconvenience that the manager claimed to be “enjoyable” or with “seasonal spirit”.
Since the decorations came by limited boxes and batches they needed to make the most out of those, without wasting any. At the middle of all those, a staff revealed one unlike the other: instead of the usual carton paper with the description printed in black ink, this was redundantly wrapped in red and white polka dots, with only the words “Christmas Spirit” on it.
For anything suspicious, of course, he was to inform the manager. “Sorry manager, but there is a box I've just found that would not be opened. That was suspicious-looking enough.” The manager, not expecting an extra box, rebuffed, “if I had not misremembered, there was no wrapped box. All boxes should be carton boxes, and I have personally checked the catalogue for the boxes.” But how much would an employee lie on this trifle matter? So, the manager decided, “I am not distrusting your words - let us go to the storage for proof.”
Not surprisingly, the box was still there, waiting for someone to unpack. “'Christmas Spirit’. Intriguing, keep this as it is and I will return this box to the supplier.” Before they close the door behind them, the box cover was ruptured by itself, popping something into the air. Something of a slightly perfume-like tint and beginning to spread into everything before their eyes - the storage full of merchandise morphed into one full of gifts. Gifts? And the air was exiting the room, almost invisible. “Leave the room, keep off the storage,” the manager instructed, but no sooner than they could walk, the “spirit” enveloped their body, exchanging the usual uniforms and shirts for red-and-white dresses and exposing much of the decolored and hairless skin.
By the time they returned to their original spot in the store, all the employees had been whole transformed into Christmas girls, still working with the decoration. Everything under the Christmas Spirit, more and more decorations manifested themselves into the view. And the girls were more cheerful than ever - there was the seasonal spirit controlling them and making the store a enjoyable place!

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Found Costume

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TG Candy

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A Bento is Like a Love Letter

With each step to the main hall of the shrine, Satoshi’s heart was swinging between the thought of the wish and letting loose of love. The only thing he wanted from the shrine – where he almost never entered – was for his wish to be granted true, no matter how unlikely it was for him, Takuma Shijou, to accept a love confession from a guy. A guy! A guy having a crush on this heaven-sent prince, who had already enough girls surrounding him, trying to gain his favor – and one of his gay classmates? That was how everyone else, if they weren’t treating him as Takuma’s confident friend, looked upon him. Real life just wasn’t some yaoi romance fiction that offered much less for homoerotic – or just homosexual affection. Hope appeared dim for him, and only divine intervention could reverse this – as far as he wished. He was sweating from all the nervousness of reminding all those laughter in the dark, behind his back, for trying to take someone of the wrong sex, and a well-regarded one at that. Is being born gay a sin? Was it really needed for him to treat Takuma as just a friend – an affectionate one, instead of someone to be a partner with?
By then he was slowing at the middle of the steps, weighted down by the overwhelming indecision. But somehow, he needed to get to the top of it – someone was waiting for him, no matter what, maybe a change of mind, or some reasons for loving him or not. Besides, if he decided to wish something else, it could have been his middling grades or a better chance at entering the major he had been looking up to…
For the shrine itself, other than some of the more established gods and goddesses who bless the self-fulfilling, there was an Inari who, as local legends alleged, knew the quick way to succeed at anything. Sooner or later after the prayer, anyone in real desire to achieve would get an inspiration they never had in mind before, and that was said to the minds in a sweet mumble – the Inari answering and guiding them. Shake it off as a figment of imagination, and life went on. Take it and act exactly to her words, as some of them said, and life would turn in favor of their wish in unexpected but reasonable ways. This Inari – if the legends of the faithful were honest – would be the best girl in Satoshi’s life.
Now that he was standing in one of the side halls dedicated to Inari, he couldn’t help but to look at the offerings: a few cartoon animal plushes littering around the tables, some of them coated in dust and one or two with bright, new fur; a few bottles of tea, mostly cheap matcha pulled out from the vending machine downstairs, but one of them stood out for being Taiwan Oolong. The last one – almost obligatory by the legends – was where the subtly putrid tint came from. Onigiri piling up – if the Inari was real, she would have eaten some of them. This won’t be convincing enough for him to abandon the wish. He genuinely hoped for the onigiri he offered, made by his own hands, to be a price for summoning the Inari.
Alright, off to the main hall for some general school blessings. “Hey, what’s this, a shrine maiden slacking off?” A strange shrine maiden indeed, sleeping on the donation box and blocking any pious donations – or was she a shrine maiden? As much as her golden hair ply on the top of the wooden box, solar under the spring warmth, a pair of canine ears protruded seamlessly. The garment barely covering her and revealing her squeezing mammaries wasn’t properly what those serving or part-timing her would wear, but a scant blood-red kimono. And tails folded and unfolded on her back along with the bells and red-white ropes, one or two close to sweeping her crimson-tinted eyes.
Wiping his eyes didn’t send the Inari away; she was here, in a deep afternoon slumber. The problem was, she was taking her nap on the donation box – no wonder why some of them in the line before him turned away, apparently having a sudden change of mind. Throwing a few coins – bouncing off her skin and hit the ground. Satoshi reasoned, if Onigiri had been the most popular offering, could it have been her favorite food – and could it wake her up? Throwing Satoshi’s onigiri – she stirred at the vinegar stint, overturning and fixing her arm for the onigiri. Once grabbing the riceball, she was almost ready to sit upright and prepare for standing up, an eye tightly shut and the other half open. 
“Eh… this onigiri, Inari really like your own cooking… Um, a bento’s like a love letter, right? Inari’s so drowsy now…”
A voice from the back cut off Inari’s sentence. “I’m sorry, but please do not throw your onigiri to the donation box – a reminder for you to recognize its use.” Satoshi turned to see a nondescript shrine maiden, a plain and featureless staff comparing to Inari. Apparently, she wasn’t someone endowed with any divine power, since there hadn’t been an Inari lying on the box. “If you wish to offer to the resident Inari, please proceed in this direction and…” “Apologies, but I have already offered in the hall.” “Then…” Now knowing what she didn’t witness with her normal eyes, Satoshi had some white lie to tell. “And as you can see,” he turned his head to the box, “there was no onigiri left on the box, meaning that I have not thrown anything other than donations.”

Was it just his own hallucination and illusion that the Inari did answer his prayer, and was annoyed by him to the point that, as a vengeful trick, her voice was repeating the 4 dishes in his mind all the way on his trip back home? The same 4, starting from a whisper on the train, but increasingly loud and mesmerizing as he came close to his residence, until he was able to note them in reverse order: fried rice, ham-and-egg sushi rolls, tamagoyaki and salmon sushi. Yes, even Inari had a better taste than onigiri and knew what the best for the bento would be. With those in mind, he was hesitantly standing in front of the door, the key in hand grasping and ungrasping.
He decided to try anyway, after another trip to the supermarket for the needed ingredients. Those were more complex dishes than plain onigiri, but if he didn’t try, he won’t know if the Inari was real or just a figment of his imagination. If the Inari was real, the she might subtly change enough to aid him; or else, sending Takuma-kun a bento would still be a nice “expression of love”! Besides, he had better cooking skills than just onigiri – even though not cooking in ages.
The second thing he’ll need was getting into the right shape for cooking – and into the right persona for confessing like a girl. Sneaky Inari for injecting ideas into his stream of thought. Though being as tanned as him from being athletic might be far from some of those pale, quiet girls, he was still as convincing enough as he could to be “just a tanned school girl” – short stature, some nice make-up to take the most out of his already watery eyes and flushing cheeks, the right amount of padding, a good costume and wigs – after occasionally cosplaying and crossdressing for a few years, he knew fully what it takes to change his gender. Yes, a good costume and wigs, the female winter uniform’s necessary if he was to enter the school without rousing a few disciplinary eyebrows, long fed up with “her”. For the wig, it also had to be the usual one for school – long flowing black hair, tied into a back-reaching ponytail. “Her” usual school self was just handy for this love confession. If a guy confessing to his boyfriend was a laughing stock, then a “girl” would be far above the shame.
More time spent in the room, and a near-unrecognizable “girl”, in her usual serafuku, opened the door, passing to the miniscule kitchen. Good thing “her” mom was away for some community activity that left some time and space for her to mess around with the kitchen. “She’s” all ready for the great cooking in her apron!
Sooner or later “she” was holding the saucepan, slightly unwieldy for “her” than the last time “she” ever touched it, but still firmly throwing the mass of rice and choppings into motion. Wiping “her” sweat a bit, “her” hand – finer than ever – pulled out a streak of the long hair from the wig, so much like the real deal grown out from the scalp. And good thing “her” marine-colored lenses stopped soring “her” eyes, they were now no longer a pesky little annoyance! Getting tamagoyaki fried and cut was as simple as it got, the egg squishing as much as “her” full plumps on the chest. Quickly “she” was starting to test out the right mix of marinade for sushi rice, mixing tints of the right juice into the little dish of vinegar. Drops of this blend flowed down her throat, lightening the dry and stressed throat as far as clearing “her” voice, now octaves higher. At last, after wrapping up the bento, a gush of blushing just ran over “her” whole petite body – just getting crushed by the prospect of confessing to Takuma as a “girl” rather than his little boy! Instead of a little boy wishing, “she” might be one of those girls chasing after the prince – which would at least mean a few pairs less of glaring eyes.

Springtime and cherry blossoms – what a convenient backdrop for a romantic confession. “Akatsuki” was even more anxious to anticipate the man of “her” love letter – her tantalizing bento – Takuma Shijou. The warmth was almost freezing “her” from inching nearer to the campus. Would the prince accept a lowly “girl’s” bento, who had already redressed and refigured “herself” enough to be a crossdressing “girl”, one not too far from the mass of girls and boys chasing and leading him at the gate… But this time, as “Akatsuki” realized, was a far bigger crowd than the usual lovers. “Hanaori-chan? What’s up with prince Takuma-kun?” Just another familiar pair of feet was reaching the crowd. “Eh, nothing but him rumored to leave Japan for good – stuff about emigration, following the steps of his father, leaving for better education, blablablah. And all those talks are real – today’s his last day in this school. Geez, are you trying to bring him a farewell present, Akatsuki?”
If he was leaving, there would never be a chance for “Akatsuki” to embrace him – he won’t need too much of a love interest who won’t be coming to whereever he was heading to, let alone a strange “girl”? Wouldn’t any confession just fall onto deaf ears if he needed no serendipitous love tying him back from leaving? She was not getting anywhere – she was failing before she tried to confess. There wasn’t a way for her to send the cuisinary “love letter” at all – what had Inari done in all of those?
A sudden need took “her” to the male toilet, locking herself in the cubicle for her own business. Panties down, and “she” worked “her” hand’s way to “her” groins. Instead of the manhood “she” was going to manipulate for peeing, there was only natural cavities just suiting the rest of her body and attire. How far had Inari gone to feminize her for just a confession! Even without one, Akatsuki just felt eerily natural, feeling nothing out of her bodily instincts, without also inverting her orientation to yuri – just the right body for many other boys.
If she wasn’t sending away the bento, she could just have it by herself – that was what she thought she would have for the midday meal. Or until Inari came – not Inari, but a school girl with flowing blonde hair and curvaceous, a copy of Inari down to the turquoise eyes, but without the fox ears or tails that would have stood out. Yawning for a sleep, she picked her spot for a nap just besides her, consciously so before asking Akatsuki: “fuu... still with the bento?"



Yes, the bento was just open, with only a piece of tamagoyaki picked out by a hamster. “Inari, even though I failed to confess, I would still be grateful to offer some of the… augh, do you want some of my bento? A sushi rolls of for starters?”

Written for a DeviantArt group.
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A Moment of Self-indulgence

Have you ever felt you're out of place?
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Embracing Womanhood: Sweets

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Embracing Womanhood: Onsen

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It is Always Halloween

Happy Halloween!
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There Aren't Enough Cute Girls in this World

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Mental Drift

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New Submission

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The Orb

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Cafe work

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Cats and Dogs: Bewitched

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Mental Injection

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Limitless Wealth

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With Apologies

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The Great Body-Hopping: Landing onto Wrong Territory

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The Great Body-Hopping: Best Yuri Friends

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The King of the Club

Sexy King and Right-hand Queen!
The TG is at the end.
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For the Beach

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The Princess of Cuteness

Alex closed the door of his dorm behind him, expected to see one of his many friends or enemies who knocked on his door without calling him first, pulling him out of a novel binge. Instead seeing a face he might recognize, her hair was a head below his eye level. The one standing in front of him was mildly shocking- his first impression of her was an expressly peach-and-pink-checkered bow, frilled and crossed with mint yarns and white blobby lines, and topped with a crown of love or something.

“Wa~ha! Princess’s going to make chu fluffy!” Just the right phrase for Alex to be attentive to her face. Under posh, minty hair were gigantic, lens-magnified cherry eyes, the face no doubt blushing an unnatural red. Beside the rosy cheeks were her hair rolled into a pair of wheels. This sickly make-up was enough shock for him to forget what he had been concentrating open before she wandered here.

“Heh, is this what one of my nerdy friends call ‘alienation of blablablah’? Literally becoming an alien like this? Just arriving from a childish pink planet, didn’t you…” Lame stuff needs an equally quirky and sharp response, Alex had this in mind just to fetch her away, but the girl was relentless. “Princess just wan-chu to be all nice!” Was that enough nonsense ruining his nice day of reading and binge-watching shows? Who was she exactly, with her heart bracelet and another identical bow on her heart? It won’t matter if she didn’t go away, and especially that, before he could again mind his own business.

The girl grabbed his arm by her white-gloved hand. “Princess can proclaim you to be cute! You will like obeying a proclamation!” Her grip was much stronger than she seemed to be. Soon Alex’s right arm was squeezed into place, as narrow as the “Princess’s”. Pen-like fingers were joined to a palm clothed with white linen and given a blue bow buttoned with gold. The sleeve attached to it, even with the rest of his sharply colored T-shirt intact, was trimmed with blue ribbons on the end and of a greener shade than the Princess’s corset.

Not that Alex noticed the change when it wasn’t amputated, his mind had him to get away soon-ish and back into the room. “Proclamation? What kind of authority do you have, that’s so princely? This is a dorm, not some faraway kingdom.” 2 strips of creamy hair fell onto his chest, so far out of his sight. “Can you show Princess is not a princess?” Alex tried to rebuke at her, but the blue choker cut through his throat, hollowing his Adam’s apple and almost breaking his breath. If he couldn’t say anything, it’s better for him to think of a better response. She is not a princess because, hey, he’s just seen more of those insensible tweets by the President. That certainly wasn’t a good point, but proofs are needed against her.

Proof that she wasn’t a princess? Quietly, as a sea-wave top wrap around his fattening and full chest, a ribbon crossed the opening in the front, and the self-proclaimed Princess started lower her voice into a faint chant. “Can you show Princess is not a princess? Can you show Princess is not a princess? Can you?” She should not have been a princess if… those trancing words… if the princess… so mesmerizing… the princess… the Princess…

Only this helped Alex in his realization: the eyes glowing an unnatural hazel and the cheek squishing against itself, soon every part of his face was displaced, the nose and facial hair submerging under the skin. What remained of his T-shirt, a sky-blue one, stretched over his dissolving abs muscle to glimmering blue and purple layers over the now fertile hips. Blue thighhighs, in iridescent azure high heels, pulled over the sleek pair of pure feminine legs.

The Princess… there is no proof. The Princess of Cuteness needs nothing other than Cuteness, just as being the Queen of Cuteness herself…

Blue fabric wrapped around the Queen of Cuteness’s narrow curvature, ending in a bow with a golden crest of queenhood. On a side of the Queen of Cuteness’s hair, a little crown, seated on another bow, marked the coronation. If Cuteness is God, their divine right to rule is to rule by Cuteness! Already the hallways were being transformed by their regal aura, more and more densely and richly decorated with fluff and frill, all rosy and bejeweled, full of beauty and glamour. The Queen and Princess of Cuteness are one with Cuteness, they are Cuteness; Cuteness are they, they will fill the world with Cuteness with a decree, where all will be nice, and they will reign forever! More and more of the world, once not Cute and ugly, will become their subjects and be one with Cuteness! Nothing other than Cuteness will remain, nothing other than Cuteness will be thought by all the subjects!

How praiseworthy Cuteness is! Long live the Queen and Princess of Cuteness!

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Cats and Dogs: Seeing the New Pet

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Resolution or Confession

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Modelling Surprise

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Coming out of Her Own...

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Stuck in a Yuri Limbo

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Nice Chicken

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Transported to Fantasy #3

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Transported to Fantasy #2

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Transported to Fantasy #1

Actually a rewrite of an earlier caption
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The Great Body-Hopping

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Wanting the Perfect Girlfriend

'nuff said- I have none.
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Cats and Dogs: Ah Doggie

Question of the day: What has the dog become?
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Magic Bikini

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Trouble for Your New Job

Stop right there- you're messing with my profile picture girl!
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Good Shape... for Benefits!

Guess why she looks and acts like the girls in the previous one-shots.
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The Blue Dragon Diva

This is one currently inactive blogger's OC and self-insert as a mermaid.
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Corruption of a Hero

This used to have a first part that was deleted.
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The First Autocloset Malfunction

Not just an autocloset malfunction.
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Magical Girls are Real!

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Eating Her Words

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In Her Uniform

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Wander

This is a work of fiction
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Interlude

That's all for the 1st series. Between the 2 series was a large writing block and other real life issues pulling away my attention. Actually, the last caption of the 1st series, What Chant Practice?: http://tgworkshop.blogspot.com/2018/08/what-chant-practice.html is something of an intermediate between the 2 series, both in the theme and idea behind the caption. The 1st series focuses on "What can be done", testing the limits of TG writing, while the 2nd series is a return to familiar themes, presenting some new gimmicks and twists. That caption has both, a new outcome developing on one of the other's ideas.
Posts after this will be from the 2nd series, written during the months leading up to now. Enjoy!