Frozen Into Writing (Elsa Novelist TG/TF)
"Would you look at that," Mark smiled with satisfaction as he took a nice look at the typewriter that was now sitting right on top of his table. "I knew buying this was a good idea."
Despite the initial impression one would have had of him, Mark wasn't the sort of person who wrote for a living or who liked to collect antiquities. It just happened to be the case that while walking by a yard-sale earlier today, he saw this old typewriter in perfect condition which fit perfectly the aesthetic of his apartment. And because it was being sold at an amazing price, he didn't think it twice about buying it.
Unfortunately, he did not know much about it and its history. The only thing the previous owner told him about the typewriter was that it had come from Norway and that it had belonged to a supposed Elsa.
Of course, he was the owner of the typewriter now, so it was now his responsibility to keep it in good shape. Maybe one day, he would try to find out who this Elsa had been, but at this very moment, what he really wanted to check was whether if the typewriter was still functional or not.
After doing a quick search on the internet about how typewriters worked, Mark then inserted a few sheets of white paper into the roller and upon checking that everything was in order, he then pressed one of the keys.
Immediately, this caused one of the typebars to quickly moved and type one letter on the paper.
"Seems to be working."
Any other day, this would have been enough for him, but for some reason, he felt compelled to just sit down, and start typing whatever came to his head.
"I must be in the mood for writing today," Mark said as he concluded that it wouldn't be a bad idea to see whether the typewriter worked perfectly, or if it had some small defect or problem. "Let's see how this goes."
The first few presses on the typewriter's keys felt awkward and clumsy, but as Mark kept typing more and more, the movement of his fingers became quicker and more fluent until he entered into some sort of 'writing mode' where he was too hyper-focused to be distracted by anything.
This would have been the end of the story, except that this wasn't an ordinary typewriter, for as soon as he began to type at full speed, the first changes started to happen.
As he typed his thoughts away into the paper, he failed to noticed how his hands began to become smaller while his fingers became slender and more feminine after every time he pressed a key. At the same time, his skin started to become smoother and more delicate to the touch just as the color of his eyes turned into an ice-blue and his facial features gradually feminized, leaving him with a gorgeous visage that would have drawn quite the attention if there had been other people here.
And just as his formerly dark hair began to turn into an unmistakable platinum blonde, it also began to lengthen, becoming wavier and more vibrant until he had a gorgeous mane of platinum-blonde that cascaded down until they reached his back-
"Wait a minute," he abruptly stopped as he now spoke with an unmistakable high-pitched voice.
He couldn't put it into words, but he had a feeling that there was something amiss happening to him. But what could it be?...
...
...
"Why am I doing this?" he suddenly exclaimed as he quickly pulled the petite lever on the side of his typewriter and took off the paper he had been currently typing on. "I can't just be wasting my time like this."
He had forgotten that he was in the process of writing his next novel, and given that he had just been writing his thoughts away with no clear purpose, he had to start all over again. What novel, he found it impossible to remember, but that was not important.
All he knew was that the novel wasn't going to write itself, and that the deadline was only becoming closer and closer.
Not wanting to waste more time, he then swiftly pulled back the typewriter's lever so as to grab the next sheet of white paper and continued typing as if nothing else had happened.
Thus, his transformation resumed.
And this time, his changes were more drastic than the previous ones.
Just as his shoulders grew smaller, his hips grew wider and more curvy until he had a distinct feminine figure, albeit without a bust. This did not remain the case for long, for as he kept writing the first words of his next novel, his chest began to slowly grow outwards, becoming fleshier and more pendulous until he had an unmistakable pair of large breasts pressing against the fabric of his turtleneck.
Thankfully, a black brassiere had somehow materialized underneath his outfit, preventing his newly enlarged nipples from being visible by anyone who just so happened to enter this room. Nonetheless, that same brassiere ended up just accentuating his enviable cleavage even more and given how much its darker color contrasted with the porcelain-white color of his skin, it only further emphasized just how much the textile of his turtleneck had been stretched out by his breasts.
Last but not least, as his mind was fully concentrated on what he was writing, he couldn't help himself from crossing his legs as they lost any masculinity to them and became long, slender, and fit for a woman. Doing so would have squeezed rather uncomfortably the manhood he had between his legs, but this did not happen, for it simply retreated into himself until none of it was left, leaving in its place an unequivocal slit that wouldn't have been bothered at all by which position Mark decided to position his legs.
By this point, it was hard to say if Mark was really there in the flesh, for in his place there now was a gorgeous blonde woman sitting in front of the typewriter. He was still there in mind, thought that wasn't going to be the case for long.
"Bra, bra, jeg liker dette... bare litt mer," he softly murmured to himself with satisfaction, completely unaware that the words he had just spoken were in flawless Norwegian, a language he had never spoken or learned before.
Or had she?
She had been born in Norway and lived there her entire life, so of course she was going to be able to speak Norwegian. Her name was Elsa Agðarsdotter for Christ's sake! What could be more Norwegian than that! It just happened that she was writing her novel in English because that would later make it easier to publish abroad.
And as Elsa was too focused on her own origins and the novel she was currently writing, the whole room around her began to morph into a completly different one. As if it were by magic, she soon found enough sitting in large living room illuminated by the winter sun in the outside and equipped with decorations fit for a modern Norwegian house such as a chimney, a few Scandinavian tapestries, and the mounted head of a moose.
Hjem, kjære hjem as she would lovingly call it.
"Det er nok for nå. Jeg trenger kaffen min," Elsa stretched her arms as she finally decided that now was the time to make herself a coffee and take a break from writing. She also figured that this was also the perfect moment to call her sister Anna. Even though her sister was now living in the United States, she always made sure to check on her.
Unlike her, Anna's life choices were... interesting to say the least.
Not wanting to wait more for her coffee, Elsa then stood up from her chair and made her way towards the kitchen as she took out her smartphone, leaving on the table the typewriter, just as it had always been.
Finally. I had enough inspiration to write another TG/TF story for this blog. Hopefully, it won't take more than half-a-year to write another one.
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