Secret Transfic Autumn Anthology / #4

A New Leaf

by Rewq

Love is not picky. It cares not for setting, backgrounds or timing. It doesn't care if you're in a slightly dodgy chatroom. It doesn't care that wood nymphs love bathing in the sun, while vampires hate it. And love definitely doesn't care if you're ready for it. Sometimes love strikes and we just have to make the most of it.

 

To any sane elf, the suggestion would receive an immediate no. Heck, to any thinking elf too. ‘Join me on this dodgy chat site, it’ll be fun’ was not a compelling argument. However, that’s not what Gence, my roommate, suggested. No, he led with: ‘Join me on this dodgy chat site, there will be boobs’ and somehow, that was enough. A thinking person might have thought things through and noticed a few issues with Gence’s plan. You might not see boobs. There might be kids on there, ew. You’re twenty, why are you doing this? Porn is free, c’mon. Strange men might expose themselves to you. But I digress, boobs were mentioned and I had ceased to be a thinking person.

Needless to say, a thinking person would have been right. Most of the people on there fell into pretty much the same boat as Gence and I. Male, single and horny, with some variance in how old, hairy and dressed they were. Immediate skips, of course. Then there were the teenagers, who I really hope no one was talking to, because uh, yuck. The Internet really does suck. But, just occasionally, every twenty people or so, we’d strike gold! A girl, on camera and speaking to us. The first woman was a stunning drow, seductively dressed, a mountain of cleavage, flirty as anything and uh, promoting her PrivateScry. Still, her promo was fun and a pleasant enough diversion that we powered through until we found another woman. Her promo was fun too. After skipping past another gaggle of sweaty men, we found her, a real woman looking for real flirting, my prayers answered.

The first giveaway that she wasn’t promoting a camming site, was that instead of a mountain of sex appeal, she was adorable. Cute little flowers in her hair, a pretty dress, nervously biting her lip. Just a pretty nymph with a lovely smile. Okay, Maren, flirting time, you got this.

“Hi, I’m Maren, love your dress by the way, looks great on you. Wait, I mean uh, you look great in it.” Oof, makes sense I’m single.

“Oh, I uh, thanks? I like it too.” Well, that’s not a lot to work with. How the hell do people flirt without feeling awkward or wondering who would ever be interested. This girl must have her pick of guys; I’m not exactly anything special. She hasn’t pressed skip yet though, so here’s hoping.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Arabella.”

“That’s a really pretty name; are those the flowers in your hair too?”

“W-Well, uh, I–” With barely a warning, Gence had cut her off by closing the tab.

“Dude, I’m not letting you do this to yourself. This was a mistake; let’s find a party next weekend, alright?”

“What? Why? That was just getting good.”

“Firstly, that was only getting good by the standards of you, a sad virgin, and secondly, that was a trap, you’re welcome.”

Barely comprehending, I asked “How would you even know? I thought she was hot.”

“No boobs, his voice wasn’t right, those flowers weren’t attached, you could see bark by his collar; do I need to go on? That was a trap and I repeat, you’re welcome.”

“Gence, you dumb arsehole, you know of trans people right?”

“What, yeah, and so what, same difference.” I gave him my most disappointed frown.

“No, no it isn’t; please educate yourself a bit, that is really disrespectful to trans folks.”

“How’d you know? You a trannie too?”

“Do not say trannie. That is not what trans means. Where are you even getting this shit from?”

“Didn’t even deny it. Who fuckin’ knew, I’ve been living with a trannie, I–”

Whatever he said next, I didn’t hear it. I slammed the door and headed to my room, adamant to find somewhere else to live by morning.

A house search, even on a good day, was slow, tedious and a pain, and today was not a good day. Gence was a bigot. I’d thought he was just a bit of a jock-type and he had been fine the few months we’d lived together. But no, having seen his true colors I wasn’t that surprised. And then he’d called me, me of all people, trans. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. If I was trans, that’d make me a lesbian and then it’d be impossible to find a date. There’s just way more straight people, not that the numbers have helped so far. Plus, every woman is by default hotter than me, so trans me would probably be an improvement. Still, there were other issues. I’d have to dress like a girl, in dresses and skirts and stuff or wear heels maybe, and put on makeup. And while that sounds fun, I’d have to buy it all, and uh – I’m not exactly strapped for cash, there's no one to say I can't spend some of it on dresses.

No no no, it can’t just be that simple. I’d, uh, need a name too? Picking one of those must be hard. I couldn’t just pick uh, let’s say, ‘Elana’ and be done with it. Although… Elana is a cute name, femme, but kinda sharp and refined. I could be femme, sharp and refined. No, what the hell? Names were easy too! And it wasn’t like physically transitioning was hard either, literally just convert to any race that adopts. It was as difficult as finding a werewolf on a full moon and asking nicely. There was a werewolf couple living literally down the hall! I had nothing, zero even slightly compelling reasons not to just up and be a girl and uh… why did I want a reason? Oh, right, I needed to prove Gence wrong, because he was an arse. Which, uh, maybe I couldn’t? He was, for sure, wrong about everything else he’d said, but about me being trans? Well, at least he was only right about something that would drive him up the wall.

 

---

 

The first thing I learned about race conversion was that you had to be twenty-one. I was already twenty, so that gave me a few months to do my research and become aggravatingly familiar with what dysphoria was. My first thought, lycanthropy, turned out to involve far too much howling and fur ending up everywhere. With that a bust, I turned to the Internet, whose main suggestion was synthing, transmuting into a predesigned android body. But that would involve either someone else designing my body, which just didn’t sit right with me, or me having to do it, which would never work well; I could barely even draw. The ideal solution was, of course, finding a symbiote. I’d house them for a month or two while they did biomancy based on my subconscious. But being the ideal solution meant other people wanted that too, a six-year waiting list worth of people. Still, there was another option that caught my eye. Not too popular because of antisocial hours and a few instincts to deal with, but in every other way? Perfect. No fur, no schematics to draw and no waiting list. I could be converted the day I turned twenty-one. I was going to be a vampire.

All I needed on the day was the right form, a notary, and a vampire to do the deed. The first was free on the government website, the second cost barely a fiver and the last was called Helen, who just wanted more vampires in the neighborhood and occasional cat-sitting. I’d only been sitting down a minute or two, and just barely finished my tea, when the notary confirmed everything was in order. After a nervous confirmation from me and a surprisingly comforting fanged smile from Helen, we began.

Her teeth sunk into my wrist and I felt the first pump of the curse entering my blood. A heartbeat later, another pump was in me and the first had spread to my elbow. By five heartbeats I felt cold up to my shoulder and by ten it was seeping up my neck and down towards my heart. The fourteenth heartbeat was the last I’d ever take. Without my heart powering its spread, the curse was forced to move unaided, and for an agonizingly slow minute, I felt the cold, and the curse that caused it, seeping from cell to cell. Up into my brain, down my left arm and to the tips of my toes, until all was overtaken, all was cold.

I knew what should happen next; I’d read about it and Helen had told me too, but still I was afraid. Afraid that this cold was all I’d ever know. Until I felt it, a pulse, a flood of hungry power coursing through my body, radiating from the writhing core I could feel had taken root in my now ever-unmoving heart. My cells restarted, no longer powered by blood and oxygen, but powered nonetheless. And with that new power they began doing something they never could before, they changed. Spread and moved in ways that I’m sure my DNA would be livid about, if anyone was listening. But DNA wasn’t in charge anymore, my soul was, and it had one order: GIRL!

Tummy fat was burned, mercilessly. What survived fled in droves, to the promised lands of my hips, butt and chest. My bones, who'd initially been quite smug over the fate of my tummy fat, quivered as new orders demanded they bend, squish and spread. Hips were in order, and cheekbones, and my shoulders had been misbehaving for far too long. My soul had a glorious vision that bones being stubborn was not reason enough to change. My hair rather merrily grew a foot or so of new, jet black growth. My nails were persuaded that longer and pointier was the flavor of the day. My cock was not given an option, its time had come and gone. A thousand other little details were corralled into curves and girlhood by the avid insistence of my newly empowered soul. It was magnificent.

I’d have liked to experience it all staring in a mirror, just to watch how pretty I was becoming, but standing up is notoriously difficult when your hips are being reshaped. Besides, I had a world of new sensation to get used to. I could smell things, a lot of things, it was overwhelming. The differences between all nine of Helen’s cats. What the neighbors were cooking for dinner. The blood in Helen’s fridge. Slowly, I managed to filter it all, to parse and sort until it settled cozily into the background, ready to peruse at my leisure. Sight was less overwhelming, but I definitely wouldn’t need glasses anymore.

A few hours of sitting and anxious stewing later, I was ready. My body had settled and I had acclimatized to my senses. I took my first few tentative steps and new, long, svelte and admittedly shaky legs. With only a few staggers and one slightly bruised hip I made it to the bathroom and the mirror I was too terrified to look in and too excited to stay away from.

C’mon, Elana, one quick glance, to see if it’s okay. And then I saw her, me. My quick glance turned into a long one. I was so pretty! Maybe my features were a little sharper than conventional wisdom dictates is hot, but screw convention, I looked refined and gorgeous. Pale, porcelain smooth skin, raven black hair, high cheekbones and full pursed lips. I could just see the outline of boobs through my baggy hoodie and my hips were testing the limits of my jeans. It was everything I'd dreamed of and so much more.

All I had to do now was find that adorable nymph and thank her for setting me on the path to my new reflection. And maybe I'd ask her on a date too, while I was at it.

 

---

 

It was not, I repeat, not, supposed to go this far. Ever. Pretending I was a nymph, not a sprite, in chatrooms, was safe, and a little fun. Anonymous video calls were a little more work; I had to look the part, y’know? Still, they were fine too, just a few too many weird guys for my liking, not that I wasn’t one of them. But then, well, they weren’t all guys, and that was the first problem. Women – especially pretty women, by which I mean most of them – were just distracting and lovely and so very difficult to say no to. What Elana in particular thought she was getting out of that chat site I couldn’t tell you, but she ended up with me being too flustered to say no to meeting in person. And meeting in person? That was going to be the second problem.

I should’ve just canceled; that’d be the polite, sensible thing to do. Especially given that the game really could already be up. Anyone actually familiar with wood nymphs would have noticed that the flowers in my hair didn’t bloom or curl when I smiled or got too embarrassed; they’d have spotted that I had too much shoulder bark too. And in person, they’d have to notice my total lack of hips. My flat chest I could likely get away with, but my hips and butt were very obviously not those of a wood nymph. Given all of that, she definitely already knew, which meant that either; she was planning to expose me, or worse, she knew I was a sprite and wanted to date a sprite in drag.

But maybe, and it was a very small maybe, she’d missed all that. And then, at least until she worked it out, I’d get a few glorious minutes of people, real ones in front of me, treating me like a girl. Just a chance at that was too exciting to pass up, a true crossdresser’s high and the closest I’d be able to get to actually being a nymph. 

Thankfully, I wasn’t new to this game and my disguise was excellent. The dress poofed out just above my lack of hips, hiding them perfectly. It poofed out over my shoulders too, hiding my rough bark. I’ll admit, it was quite a poofy dress. Mercifully, more of my bark hadn’t come in yet. Once that happened there’d be no way for me to get away with any of this, at least, not without an even more poofy dress and even I had limits. Besides, it would be nigh impossible to find another dress the exact same shade of pastel lilac as the flowers Heidi, my favorite hydrangea, was giving me.

She’d been a little dubious at first and said I should just use my own flowers, but given that she’s the most vain bush I know, it was super easy to persuade her that her flowers were prettier than mine and that I was just jealous. The jealousy wasn’t even fake! I do wish I had flowers as pretty as her, or at all really. Wow, I’m really not a very good sprite am I? No wonder most of my garden thinks I’m a nymph. But I guess they only really know that they’re looked after and surrounded by other flowers, so of course they’re in a nymph’s garden. A sprite would have more trees, after all. But I really don’t have the heart to correct them; I don’t really mind them thinking I’m a nymph, and if they knew, maybe Heidi and the others would be less willing to share their flowers with me.

Anyway, the poofy dress was on, the adorable boots were ready and Heidi’s flowers were meticulously placed in my distinctly unpruned hair. I was as ready as possible for my date with Elana, the particularly attractive vampire.

 

---

 

“Arabella, over here – you look amazing! I love your dress.” She’s so tall, and so pretty, but what the hell am I supposed to do with a compliment? And she’d called me Arabella, just hearing that name had me a little giddy. Oh goddess, oh no, I’m blushing, but my flowers aren’t, she’ll know… any moment now. “Wait, I’ve not introduced myself, have I? Hi there, I’m Elana.” Deep breaths, calm, she doesn’t know, just try and have fun.

“S-sorry, I’m a little nervous. You look really good too.” Oh bloom, what do people even say on dates? 

“You’re good, don’t worry, sorry if I came on a little too strong. I’ve not really dated since I was turned, so I’m still getting used to some of the more predatory instincts.” Was that an invitation to ask more? Or would that be overstepping? Screw it, it’s ask or stare gormlessly.

“Ooh, when did you turn, and if you’re happy to share, why?”

“Got turned a few weeks ago, the first day I could, best 21st birthday a gal could ask for. Hiding from the sun is honestly such a small price to pay for immortality and my ideal body.” Huh, I wonder what she looked like before; she’s certainly gorgeous now.

“Fair, I guess I’d probably do the same if I had blood, but nope, all sap here. And avoiding the sun is so easy nowadays especially with that new sealed mall they’re opening.”

“Wait, why are you trying to avoid the sun? Don’t dryadic people normally love it?” Shit, what do I say? ‘To avoid growing more bark’ would completely give me away. Of course I loved sleeping in the sun, but growing any further was terrifying, and I’d been hiding away a lot.

“It just kinda makes me sleepy, I’d rather be indoors and awake.” Someone get me a medal for that smooth recovery.

“Oh fair, and on being turned, you’re not missing out on too much. Wood nymphs are already kinda immortal, right? And I’d say your body is pretty ideal too.” Her biting her lip like that should be illegal; wait, why am I biting mine too? Women are not fair. “Urgh, can’t believe I just said ‘your body is pretty ideal’, not that it isn’t true, but this predator shit just gets away from me sometimes.”

“No no, I kinda liked it.” ‘Kinda’ is an outright lie. I would give practically anything to be a real girl getting pinned down by this tall dommey vampire. That’s the dream, y’know, every sprite wishes they could get that lucky.

 

---

 

Dates are amazing. Elana is amazing. Cuddling in a booth at the back of a cocktail bar is amazing. Being a girl, even just for an evening, is amazing. Kisses are also amazing.

“Bella, I don’t want this night to end, it’s been wonderful.”

I giggled, a genuine giggle, which, it turns out, is something that tipsy me does sometimes. “You know that there are plenty more nights than this one?”

“I do. In fact, I’m counting on it. But, if you’d like, this one doesn’t have to end, just yet. My place is just round the corner.” Oh. She wanted to, uh, that. I guess there had been a lot of kissing. But then she’d know, she’d see. I could just say no, it’d be easy. But then next time, and the time after that? I’d have to stop dating her or risk the truth coming out. It would end eventually and that meant I was just leading her on. I’d had my evening of being a girl, but she deserved a real girl, and the truth, I suppose. I’d tell her, apologize, and leave.

I took a gulp of my cocktail, for confidence. “I would, but uh, look, there’s something you should know. I’m not actually a nymph, I’m a sprite I.. I just–”

“You’re trans, I know, sorry to spoil your reveal, you pass super well though! I only knew because of the chat room, you being so lovely there was actually a big part of how I worked out I was trans.” My jaw dropped and refused to close. She knew? She thought I was trans? She was trans? Brains can only handle so much information. Okay, one thing at a time.

“Wait, you’re trans? But, um, how? Because like, boobs?” One thing at a time was too much for my puddle brain.

Why was she laughing so much? “Oh honey, what did you think I meant by ‘I became a vampire to get my ideal body’. Come up with a more clear way of saying ‘I’m trans’, I dare you.”

“But anyone would take that deal, not just trans people; everyone wants to change their body, that’s just obvious.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me you… Arabella, and this is fine if you’re not sure, are you trans?”

“Wh-what? I’m – I mean, well, no? I just like dressing up and dresses and flowers and stuff. It’s not normal sprite stuff, that’s just who I am, sadly. Sorry I’m not who you thought, I’ll just go.” 

“Bella, wait, please. Firstly, I’m pan, so how you present really isn’t much of an issue for me, I like you and want another date regardless of how you dress. Secondly, you do know that if you want to be trans, then you probably are, right?” It can’t be that simple, can it?

“R-really? But, no, because that would mean that… and then, I uh… I might need to go home and think a lot.” Surely I couldn’t just be trans all of a sudden. 

“Okay Bella, I get it. I really would like another date, though; same time next week maybe?” That was an easier thing to say yes to.

 

---

 

It had been a long week. Gender, it turns out, is wacky and confusing. I’d narrowed mine down to ‘not cis, probably, I think’. Cisn’t, if you will. But I also probably didn’t need to be trying quite so hard to pass as a nymph, which was a good realization to come to, given that my shoulder bark was peeling, meaning a new thicker layer would grow in soon to replace it. So, for this date, I hadn’t asked Heidi for any flowers; they were pretty, and I did want my own, but those weren’t my flowers. I was still wearing a dress, and cute boots, and I was still going to introduce myself as Arabella; it was an excellent name, after all.

Elana had been super helpful about explaining things to me too. Who knew, for example, that hating gendered traits you have is called dysphoria and is not normal for cis people. Most sprites, I’ve learned, also don’t have as large a collection of dresses as me, or any at all, the poor things. I sent her a photo of me flowerless earlier and while I’m not convinced, she still called me pretty, and a good girl, which definitely helped with my insecurities.

Okay, deep breaths Bella, just be yourself, no filters, no pretending, just be a person, maybe a girl, on a cute date.

“Hi there, cutie, I love your outfit! Flowery dresses really suit you.”

“Aww, thanks, it’s not too cliché? Plant person dressing floral?”

“Hun, you’re speaking to a vampire wearing black and red, and a leather corset; I’m not gonna judge cliché.”

“I suppose… the gothic look does really suit you though, very sexy.”

“And the floral aesthetic suits you. I know you said you weren’t going to, but the flowers you put in your hair this week are super cute, very you, so I get it.”

“B-but I didn’t put any there? I didn’t wanna bother Heidi and I’m being realistic about my gender and, and…” There couldn’t be some left over from last week, could there?

“D’aww, and they curl up when you blush! That’s adorable.” 

Tentatively, I reached a hand up to my hair. I brushed through it until I came across what was irrefutably a bud, and then another bud and then a full blown flower. I was growing flowers! Like a nymph would! And then maybe… maybe my bark peeling wasn’t a sign of more growth. Trying not to get too excited is difficult sometimes. Sometimes you have to panic and hide, but other times? Other times you just bounce a lot and repeatedly kiss a tall confused vampire. Gender was probably a little less confusing than my brain had led me to believe.

—

“Babe, I love you, but I can’t wear that in public. My everything would be out.”

“Lana, you promised! I watched your horror film, you wear my dress on a date.” I had promised, I suppose. “Besides you like it when I wear it, not to mention that it’s very fashionable.”

“It is fashionable… for nymphs.”

“Your point?” she said with a raised eyebrow. She could be such a brat sometimes, but wow I loved her.

“I am not a nymph, nymphs dress differently to most people, you’ve got different priorities.”

“Do we now? Do elaborate, darling,” she said with a teasing smile. Not describing the fashion taste she’d settled on as ‘slutty’ was a real struggle, but I could use some of her own phrasing.

“I believe you once referred to ‘optimal photosynthesis’?” She gave a full gigglesnort. “And not all of us photosynthesize, you see.”

“Well fortunately for me, what I said was an outright lie. I just wanted to show off my butt for you, now that it’s actually worth showing.” The aforementioned butt received a very distracting wiggle.

“Baby, it was always worth showing, and staring at, and squeezing and biting.”

“Hmm, nope. I was flat as anything and thin as a twig, but now, I’m a goddess and thicc as shit.” A smirk that cute should be illegal; someone really ought to kiss it, immediately.

“We’ll agree to disagree on the first bit. The second, though? Yes babe, you are an absolute goddess. A goddess who I love to bits.”

“D’aww, I love you too.” Taking her blush as my cue, I kissed her, deeply and with all my love. I made sure to hold my wonderful nymph close and show her how much I appreciated her. As the kiss broke off, she leaned in more and nuzzled my cheek, before kissing her way up to my ear, where she whispered. “You’ve still gotta wear my slut dress though, your goddess commands it.”

 

Thankyou for reading, I really hope you enjoyed! If you'd like more silly trans goodness, then please check out my scribblehub page

~Rewq

Secret Transfic Autumn Anthology / #4

Follow to catch The White Night on October 9th

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