#figure out her gender. when she sat down and examined her desires they were to be a cute girl and fall in love. one of the reasons she fell

[tamaharu]

the shikimori anime was a failure because it didnt convey how transgender that girl truly is

[dreamiehrs]

be careful what you wish for... it may already be true ➛ l.jn

lee jeno x reader ∗ fluff, witch!jeno, witch!y/n, gender neutral reader, fantasy!au ∗ length: 2,070 words

“jeno, don’t you think it’s ridiculous that you’re going to try to get y/n’s attention by a mere love potion? do you really think that’s gonna work on them?” renjun follows jeno closely in his basement, which was where jeno would make concoctions ranging from personality potions to death potions. he was quite the powerful potion maker, one of the most popular in the magic academy he attended.

renjun does his best not to trip over any equipment in jeno’s basement as jeno stands in front of a large wooden table, which was littered with tons of flasks, beakers, test tubes, pipettes, etc. if you could name it, it was probably on the table. jeno scoffs as he crouches down, finding his potion book in one of the drawers and pulling it out. “what’s the worst that could happen? why wouldn’t it work on them?”

“...the worst that could happen is that it doesn’t work and they could end up hating you forever! don’t you ever put this type of stuff into consideration?” renjun warns, watching as jeno studies each page of his brown leather book before flipping to the next page. his eyebrows furrow until he finds the page he was looking for, and walks around the table to his pantry, that was full of herbs and liquids to make his desired potion.

jeno chuckles, almost arrogantly, as he picks out a bottle full of rose leaves. “my potions never fail, junnie, you know this. I’m one of the best potion makers in this entire academy, so this potion definitely won’t backfire on me. if it does, I can just reverse it with one of my spells... however, I’m not really confident in spell-casting yet, so that may do more worse than good.” he hums to himself, picking out a few more things before turning back to face renjun.

“you’re too cocky for your own good, jeno. one day your potion is gonna fail on you, and you’re gonna have to face the consequences sooner or later. I’m not gonna stick along when that happens, so you’ll be all on your own when you have to deal with something like that.” renjun proclaims, now leaning against a wall with his dark brown owl familiar perched on his shoulder. renjun had named him owlvin because, well, it’s renjun we’re talking about here.

jeno slips on some gloves and gets to work on the potion, turning his oven on and filling up a medium pot full of water to make his potion with. “glad to know what type of friend you are, junnie.” he adds his ingredients one by one and starts to chant something quietly to himself as his concoction starts to lightly simmer.

renjun rolls his eyes, and owlvin snuggles up to his neck. this potion definitely wasn’t going to work, he thought to himself.

...

a few days later, after jeno had perfected his love potion to use on you, he seals it up in a light pink water bottle, so he wouldn’t mix it up with his regular water bottle. he was determined that this would work on you, and if it didn’t, he would resort to other ways to get you to fall in love with him.

you were a witch yourself, and although you would love nothing more than to get to know jeno, the famous potion maker at the academy, your friends had their suspicions about him.

“he acts so nice, but what if that’s all an act?” jisung mumbles beside you as the two of you were walking down the hallway, using his levitate spell to make the bag of popcorn levitate in front of himself. he pops a few pieces into his mouth, accidentally dropping some down onto the floor in the process.

“I beg to differ, sungie. I don’t think y/n would be interested in a guy who only fakes his kindness just to get rewards out of it, right, y/n?” chenle speaks up from your left, making sure to pick up any fallen popcorn pieces that jisung had accidentally knocked over.

you nod at his words, and jisung proceeds to catapult a popcorn piece at chenle’s head. chenle practically screams an “ow!” with his dramatic self, and luckily, the other students around you three didn’t even react, because they’re so used to chenle screaming for no reason now.

as the three of you enter the canteen, you come face-to-face with (speak of the devil) lee jeno. you do your best not to let your cheeks heat up as he looks at you expectantly. jisung stares him down from your right until chenle drags him off in another direction, giving you and jeno some privacy.

“y/n,” he breathes out, having to compose himself briefly before continuing. “I was wondering if you could do something for me?”

you raise an eyebrow before a chuckle leaves your mouth. “as long as it doesn’t have to do with cursing someone, then yes, I can probably do something for you, jen.”

his eyes widened. “of course not! I would never ask you to do something that dangerous... I wouldn’t want to put you in danger. anyways,” he pauses, pulling out a pink water bottle from his bag. “I was wondering if you could test out my luck potion for me?”

you take the bottle from his hands, inspecting the liquid inside of it. usually, luck potions were a gold-ish color, that would sparkle in the sunlight. however, this one was a rosy pink, which highly resembles a love potion. you were skeptical, to say the least, but knowing jeno, he wouldn’t pull off a stunt like this on you.

you nod, opening the cap of the bottle. “of course! I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow, alright?” he looks at you hopefully as you take a swig of the drink, almost cringing at how sweet it was. you send him a smile, and he seems relieved as you do so.

“right. see you tomorrow!” he runs off into the canteen to spill what he did to renjun, while you glance warily at the drink in your hands.

...

“...so? did it work?” renjun questions a few days later in the canteen, stabbing his fork in a piece of watermelon before popping it into his mouth. jeno sat there dejectedly in front of him, his tray still full of food as he picked at it occasionally. “hey, if you don’t eat now, you’re gonna end up regretting it later.”

jeno groans, pushing his hair back in frustration. “I don’t know! the day after I gave her the potion, she told me that it didn’t seem to work, and she gave me back my water bottle, which was half full of the potion.”

“wait... what potion did you tell her you were giving to her?” renjun deadpans, and owlvin coos when he sees jeno still.

jeno gulps. “I... uh... may have told her that it was a luck potion instead of a love potion...” he mumbles, and he can hear renjun sigh from in front of him. when he looks up, he notices that owlvin is facepalming with his left wing at jeno’s confession.

“you know you have to tell them eventually, right? it’s unfair that they don’t know it was actually a love potion... I mean, maybe they already figured that out, since they’re a witch as well.”

renjun was right, as always, and owlvin nodded his head in his agreement with renjun’s words. jeno groaned once again, tangling his fingers in his hair as he realized he’s messed up, and bad. you probably already knew that it was a love potion just from how he saw you examining it, so why didn’t you decline testing his potion? “you’re probably right, junnie. why haven’t they said anything, thou–”

“jeno?” he’s interrupted by your voice, and he flinches before glancing to his left, where you were now seated. renjun silently chuckles to himself as jeno’s draw practically drops, and he has to do his best to cover up his grinning face as he watches the two of you from the sidelines.

“y-yes?” jeno stutters within your presence, and you give him a sweet smile to soothe his nerves.

“can we talk about something, please? in private?” you send a glance in renjun’s direction, and jeno seems to pick up on that immediately. he turns to be met with renjun’s knowing look, and that’s all it takes for jeno to nod his head before glancing back at you.

jeno stands up and grasps your hand, pulling you up with him gently. “of course. let’s go to the courtyard.” he states, and as the two of you walk to the courtyard together, he can feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. even though he seemed composed conversing with you on the outside, he could feel himself practically exploding on the inside.

...

you two find a bench to sit down comfortably onto, and you turn your body towards him. “I wanted to talk to you about that potion that I tested out for you a few days ago. I know you said it was a luck potion when you gave it to me, but when I inspected it further, it resembled more of a love potion.”

he nods, playing with his hands nervously as he meets your gaze. it wasn’t an angry, disappointed glint that flashed through your eyes like he had expected. your gaze was soft as you looked at him, waiting for his next move. he was briefly surprised, and he made up his mind in a matter of seconds. “I’m sorry, y/n. it’s as exactly as you had assumed. it was a love potion that I had given you a few days ago, and for why I did so, it’s because I... I have had a crush on you for the past three years, and no matter how much time I would spend around you, trying to get you to have mutual feelings for me as well, it never seemed to work out. I know it was messed up, to give you a love potion without you knowing, and I hope you’ll forgive me for what I’ve done.”

his head hangs low as he studies the ground underneath him, not noticing how you have a huge smile on your face. “I already knew it was a love potion, jen. also, don’t worry, I forgive you.”

his head whips up to meet your gaze. “y-you knew?” he stammers out, his cheeks flushing a pink when he sees you nod.

“I knew it from the start, just from taking a good look at the liquid’s color. so, I wasn’t surprised that it wouldn’t work on me, mainly because I knew what it was already, but also because of another reason...” you trail off.

“another reason? w-what’s that?”

you scoot closer to him, and his eyes widen at the proximity between you two. “because love potions don’t work on someone when they’re already in love.”

“you’re already in love? with who?” he wonders, seeing how your eyes sparkle as you gaze at him. you hold back a chuckle at his question, and he looks at you, confused.

“oh, jen, you’re almost as oblivious as you’re confident. I thought it was obvious from the start, from the day the two of us had met, but if I have to spell it out for you, then so be it. I’m in love with you, jeno.” you use your hand to gently push away the hair that had fallen close to his eyes, and he locks eyes with you after you say this.

he couldn’t believe his ears, and his eyes for that matter, as you slowly started leaning in closer to him, your eyes flickering down to glance at his lips and then back up at him. when your lips collide with his, fireworks explode in his stomach as he cups one of your cheeks with his hand, eventually relaxing into the kiss.

as he’s having his moment with you, he realizes something. maybe he didn’t have to go through all of that work to get you to fall for him when you already were.

the universe works in certain ways to bring two people together, and luckily, for you and jeno, you didn’t have to do much to be brought together naturally.

[marvelhead17]

The Tale of Eossimar (Original Female Character x Bofur Fic)

Chapter 5

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings to cover the whole fic: Fake relationships, half-blood children, mild violence, fight scenes, male/male relationships, Dwarf gender concepts, battle of five armies fix-it, pre-battle of five armies, near death incidents, talking to dead people, mentions of paradise/heaven.

The sunlight casting through the front door was what alerted Thorin to the start of the new day; he immediately got up and started to wake the rest of the company from their sleep. Soon they were all up and they wandered out into the sunny day, most of them raised their hands to cover their eyes as they adjusted to the sudden brightness, and they found Nari, Callon and the princes already standing outside.

“Morning, I was just about to come wake ye up,” Nari greeted them, “Thought ye might need the rest,”

“Yes, well, we’re rested now,” Thorin nodded.

“Callon suggested visiting the market so we can get some supplies if ye need,”

“By all means,”

The group walked on towards the marketplace, it was near the entrance they had entered through the day before, and bustling with activities already considering it was only the start of the day.

“For a small village your people don’t seem short of busyness,” he noted.

“One has to keep busy if ye can’t live a life outside of these walls,” she glanced back at him and his wandering gaze turned to that of shame, she stopped walking and stood in what seemed to be the centre of the marketplace, “Now I’m sure ye’d like to get yer hands on some supplies whatever they may be, so explore what we have to offer, and tell the owners that I sent ye, if they give you grief then find Callon or me,”

“What about the weapons you promised us?” Dwalin asked.

“Ye’ll get them later, we’ll meet up back here sometime passed noon,”

The company didn’t argue and disbanded into smaller groups, each moving to a different stall of their choosing, the only remaining were Nari, and Bofur.

He walked over to Nari with his hands behind his back and a big grin on his face, she raised her brow, “Ye wouldn’t happen to know where I could acquire a musical instrument would ye?”

She smiled, “Aye I would, come along,” she cocked her head and started walking towards the furthest side of the marketplace.

The stall was set up with a variety of instruments displayed on a beautiful red cloth, and they approached it just as a young family finished up their purchase, their young child jumping in tow of their guiding hand while clutching a lute in their own small hand. Bofur looked across the entire table, to his amazement there were some instruments he’d never seen before, and some were so large that they had to be displayed from the ground up.

“Got a big enough selection have ye?” he asked the stall owner, he stared longer than intended as he tried to recall where he had seen the face before.

“Ye remember Nikolas, don’t ye?” Nari asked.

“Oh, yer brother-in-law, I thought I recognised him,” he stuck out his hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet ye, officially,”

“You must be part of the company that has my poor wife fretting,” Nikolas chuckled and took his hand giving it a firm shake before releasing it, “What’s yer name?”

“Bofur,”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gave a genuine smile, “So what do you have your heart set out for?” He looked him over, “Perhaps a flute?”

“Oh ye’re a right clever lad, how did ye figure that out?” Bofur asked in amazement.

“You have an old one hanging from your side,” he nodded his head and Bofur touched the dangling instrument and laughed.

“I must’ve put it there out of habit,” he untied it and held it in his hands, “Though I do believe that this one has seen better days…” he sighed.

“How did I not notice that?” Nari asked out loud, “Ye know, I didn’t think ye to be the kind to play something so delicate,”

“Really, and why’s that lass?”

She shrugged, “I just thought ye’d play the drums or perhaps a lute, something more accustomed to yer personality I suppose,”

“There’s plenty about me I could surprise ye with,” he winked at her.

“Well I have plenty of selection for you among the flutes,” he gestured to the ivory, ebony, metal and honey coloured options, “Oak, maple, brass, silver, even bone; have a look,”

Bofur looked down at all the variations, seemingly overwhelmed by the sudden need to choose, to him they were all beautiful, and then his eyes fell upon it. He carefully picked up a white flute, examining the intricate carvings of flowers that were well planned and etched with care, something about it made him desire it.

“This one, it’s perfect,” he almost whispered.

“Ah, the stag-bone flute, it took me over a year to carve that one,” Nikolas said, “It’s best suited for upbeat music, and it’s the strongest material I’ve encountered, it will last a lifetime,”

“Is that so?” Bofur asked, becoming deflated, he moved to place it back onto the table, “It must cost a fortune-”

“Then I shall pay for it,” Nari stopped him, “How much Nikolas?”

“Nari, you’re family, I could not-”

“Ye said it yerself, it took a year for ye to carve, and I will not have my nephews and niece suffer because their father may struggle to make ends meet,” she retrieved a pouch of coins, leaving him no room to argue. “How much?”

“Two hundred and fifty,” he said, she looked at him with a small glare, “Alright it's three hundred and fifty,” he sighed, she smiled and dumped the bag of coins on the table.

“That should be enough, thank ye Nikolas,”

“You’re welcome, thank you.” Nikolas nodded with slightly widened eyes, he cleared his throat, “And don’t worry about Lúthrien, she just needs time to calm down, you know how she gets,”

“Aye, I know,” she nodded. “Let’s go,” she looked to Bofur and walked on, he followed after her.

“I can’t thank ye enough for this,” Bofur beamed, “Truly, I owe ye,”

“Consider it a gift, ye did almost die following my instructions after all,” she looked at him and gave him a lopsided smile, “Probably the least I can do to make up for it,”

“Still, that was a great deal of money,” he glanced at the instrument and carefully tied it to his side.

“Really, it was nothing Bofur.” She waved her hand, “Now, is there anything else ye might need?” Nari looked around at the other stalls and raised a brow to him, he shook his head, Callon and the princes were examining knives with the craftsmen not too far off and her brother was eagerly speaking with Fíli while Kíli seemed distracted.

“Nothing more I could need,”

“A dwarf of simple needs I see,”

“Aye, ye have to be when ye move about from town to town,”

Nari glanced up at the sky, “Let’s take the opportunity to enjoy the sun while we’re here,” she suggested, Bofur agreed and they walked side by side until they reached a sitting area.

They found that Bombur was seated further away with a large pile of food before him, Bofur laughed at the expression on Nari’s face as he sat on a bench, she sat next to him and looked at him with concern.

“Does he always eat that much food?” she asked, noting a wheel of cheese, fresh fruits, bread rolls and some cooked meats all piled together.

“Aye,” he leaned back and looked to the sky before returning his gaze to her, “Ever since I could remember Bombur’s always eaten hordes of food, mind ye, he can cook about as well as he eats,”

“I’ve heard ye should never trust a slender cook, so I would believe ye,” Bofur laughed and she looked at Bombur in wonder. “How do ye know him?”

He rested his hands behind his head and stretched his back out, “He’s my older brother,”

“Really?” she asked in surprise.

“Aye, the resemblance is uncanny, I know,” he grinned with a familiar cheek. “And that dwarf who wears the decorative axe in his head is our cousin, Bifur, we’re not quite sure how it got stuck there, but he was never much for words to begin with,”

“Well I certainly see the resemblance between ye and Bifur,” she chuckled lightly, “Ye both like to adorn yer heads with funny things,”

“Ooh that was a low-blow,” he pretended to wince and grab his side.

“So who else is related? I gather Fíli and Kíli must be related, and Fíli addressed Thorin as ‘uncle’?”

“Aye, Fíli is Kíli’s older brother, and Thorin is their Uncle by blood,”

“That explains why he’s been so protective of them,” she nodded, “I take it he has no bairns of his own?”

Bofur shook his head, “I don’t think he ever looked to find love, but he treats his sister’s sons as if they were his own,”

“I understand that,” she looked around the marketplace absentmindedly.

“Aye, ye seem close to yer nephews and niece,”

“What? Oh yes,” she caught sight of her brother, “Them too. But I’ve been keeping an eye over my brother since he was a pebble,”

“He must think the world of ye for that,” Bofur said, Nari looked to see that his face was serious, she glanced back at Callon.

“I could only hope so,”

Bofur didn’t press the subject further, so he continued speaking about the company, “And then ye have Dori, Nori and Ori, they’re all brothers, different fathers and in that order by birth,” he pointed to the three that stood together near a crockery stand, “Dori is the grey-haired mother hen of the lot, Nori the pointy-haired lad likes to make bets and does the occasional theft now and then, and young Ori is an artist and writer, and I heard that he’s hoping to document our journey someday,”

“Dori, Nori and Ori, alright, that’s not at all confusing,” Nari scrunched her nose and pointed to Balin and Dwalin, “And they are brothers as well? At least that’s what I gathered based on dinner last night,”

“Aye, Balin is Dwalin’s older brother, they may not seem like it but they’re thick as thieves, and our healer Óin along with his brother Glóin are their cousins as well,” he pointed out the two older dwarves.

“Balin and Dwalin, those names continue to sound so familiar…” she thought for a moment and then shrugged it off, “Never mind.” She nodded to Bilbo who had found himself in conversation with Thorin. “What of Master Baggins?”

“Bilbo? Oh, he’s on his own, poor lad, there’s no family I know of waiting for his return back to the Shire either,”

“Oh, that is a bit sad,” she rubbed her hands awkwardly together, “But what I meant was, why did he join the company?”

“Oh! Well we needed a burglar to get inside the mountain and get the Arkenstone, he’s lighter than a feather when he wants to be that Bilbo,”

“Burglar?” she frowned, “He doesn’t seem the type... but who am I to be judging?” she leaned back on the bench and stretched her arms out behind her, “Well I’m certainly glad to know more about the famous company. Thank ye,”

He smiled at her, “Anytime… though if ye wanted to be alone with me all ye had to do was ask ye know, ye didn’t have to single me out,”

She laughed and smacked him playfully on the shoulder and pointed at him, “Ye were the one who sought me out, playing daft the way ye were,”

He chuckled and rubbed his arm where she had hit him, “Caught on to that, did ye?”

“Of course I did, ye’re a right cheeky dwarf, and it’s easy to tell when ye’re up to something,” she smiled at him and rested her arm on the bench, “So, tell me more about yerself,”

“About, about me?” Bofur almost stuttered, “What about me?”

“Anything really,” she rested her chin on her hand and looked at him, “It’s not often that we meet people from outside of our village anymore,”

Bofur was about to speak when he was interrupted, “Nari, I’m sorry to disturb you,” it was the young elf maid from the evening before, Elva, he recalled, “But it’s nearly noon and-”

“Already?” she asked, looking up at the sky, “My how the time flies… I’m sorry to leave ye on such short notice Bofur but I have something I need to attend to, tell the others I’ll meet them shortly,” she excused herself and got up, jogging away from the marketplace and out of sight, with Elva following not far behind.

Bofur closed his mouth and lowered his hand, he was joined by Fíli and Kíli who seated themselves happily next to him, the youngest brother decided to prop his leg over Fíli’s lap while munching on a sweet treat in hand, with Callon standing nearby and looking to where she had gone.

“Must you put your leg on my lap?” Fíli sighed.

“What?” Kíli asked through a mouthful of food, “Nari said to keep it elevated,” he grinned and took another bite of his food.

“The only time you decide to listen to someone, and you decide to use me for a footrest,” Fíli sighed, shaking his head, he looked over to Bofur and frowned. “Where did Nari run off to?”

Kíli bent his head back to look at Bofur upside-down, “Yes, she seemed eager to leave,” he munched at his food again.

“Kee,” Fíli hissed, making the young brother move back upright and shrug.

“What? You saw it with your own eyes-”

“Sometimes there are things you just can’t say-”

“Well I wish I knew lads, she just pardoned herself and then ran off down that way,” Bofur pointed in the direction. “I think it had to do with whatever that Elva lass told her yesterday while we were waiting to bathe,”

“Bofur, where is Nari?” Thorin asked as he approached them, the other members had gathered to the bench and some looked around muttering to each other.

“What time is it?” Callon asked, causing everyone to look at him.

“That lass Elva said it was nearly noon, why?”

“I know where she went, and it’s not good,” he tensed slightly, he looked at the others, “I don’t suppose it’s anything to hide, so ye may as well come along,” he nodded his head and walked off.

“Are you certain we should be going to wherever she is?” Thorin asked him.

“Well, most of the village will likely be there to watch, it’s no secret,”

The company all glanced at one another and shrugged, they tried to bounce ideas around quietly about what it could possibly be, but none of them were close. They stopped their chattering when they heard a loud whistling noise from nearby.

“Seems that we’re just in time,” he stopped walking and the dwarfs nearly walked straight into him, grumbling they dispersed and looked ahead.

Nari was facing a dwarf not too far from herself, in an open clearing that was surrounded by a crowd; they kept their distance as they waited. He removed his sword from its sheath and Nari did the same, neither moving from where they stood, holding each other’s gaze.

“What’s going on?” Kíli asked Callon, seating himself on the ground to rest his leg.

“Cáleb’s trying to win my sister’s hand in marriage,”

“Marriage?” Bilbo asked surprised, “It looks like they’re about to dual-” he said in disbelief, “Is this normal Dwarf custom?”

“Certainly not,” Balin shook his head.

“Right, so who’s betting that Nari shall beat the lad?” Nori asked, not hesitating in making money out of the situation.

“My money is on the lass, if she can nearly get Thranduil then she can certainly handle this dwarf,” Bofur said confidently, “How much are we talking?”

“A hundred coins,” Nori said.

“I agree with Bofur, I’m certain the lass can handle her own,” Dwalin agreed.

“Really? I don’t think she’d be able to,” Kíli shook his head, “I wager that she won’t win,”

“I might not be agreeable with the violence of the situation, but I’d put my money on her,” Bilbo nodded.

“I’ll wager that she might teach him a good lesson,” Fíli smirked, “She doesn’t seem the type of dwarrow to be objectified as a trophy, I’m in,”

And soon enough the others had placed their bets; Bofur, Dwalin, Bilbo, Fíli, Dori, Nori and even Callon had made the wager for her to win, while Kíli, Bombur, Bifur, Ori, Óin and Glóin otherwise disagreed, the winners would divide the money amongst one another; Thorin and Balin wanted nothing to do with it as they watched on in concern.

As if they had been waiting for the bets to be placed they started to move, with Cáleb making the first swing towards her, she lifted her sword and swiftly blocked the attack, and taking a strike at him in return. They continue their back and forth assaults, with Cáleb seemingly taking the lead, the company muttering among one another that Nari was holding back against him while the others waved it off.

Nari was returning the swings with ease, until Cáleb’s foot slipped underneath her unnoticed and tripped her up, she stumbled backwards onto the ground with a grunt and he took the opportunity to try and pin her arms down, kneeling heavily over her.

She wriggled underneath him, both of them panting slightly from the exertion; he looked her dead in the eyes.

“Yield,” he growled, she freed her arms from his grip and grabbed her sword that lay next to her.

“Never,” she quickly slid her sword between their chests as a barrier, and grasped the other end of the blade with her other hand, she shoved him off of her with excessive force and he immediately moved back to retrieve his sword.

They fought again with their swords clanging away, but the company could sense that Nari’s swings were becoming more aggressive than needed; in fact to their surprise she missed a few chances to strike him. Cáleb swung hard enough to spin Nari on her heel, momentarily disorientating her direction of attack, and he came up behind her speedily, pressing his free arm across her chest into him and held his sword to her throat.

She didn’t hesitate in elbowing him in the gut, breaking free from his hold and then turning to strike him with her sword again; however, he had raised his sword in the nick of time as the weapons made a loud ringing as they scraped against each other.

Neither of them backed down, and as a result their swords were reaching dangerously close to their hands, Cáleb struck his sword against her hand to disarm her of her weapon; she dropped it with a yelp, shaking her hand but not slowing down when reaching to pick it up once again.

Cáleb’s sword to her throat made her fall short, she looked up at him as he eyed her, he pressed the cool metal to her neck and she didn’t give him the satisfaction of expressing her fear, simply staring at him.

“After all this time and you still hold on?” He asked, moving the blade slowly to the single braid that dangled from her face, with a flick of his wrist he cut it from her hair and it fell to the ground softly.

“I reckon she might just kill him now,” Callon muttered, pressing a hand to his head with a deep sigh.

“Why would ye say that?” Bofur asked.

“Our father braided that some time before he died, that was sixty years passed,”

Nari briefly glanced down at the braid; before she ducked under the sword that Cáleb now hovered carelessly by her, he stepped back in surprise at her sudden movement, clearly believing that he had won the match. She grabbed for her sword and swung hers hard enough to knock his from his grasp, it landed just in front of the crowd that had now gathered, he looked at her with widened eyes and started stepping backwards as she stomped towards him.

The most unforeseen events followed as she threw her own sword to the ground in rage, “Ye dare to dishonour the memory of my father?” She charged forward and grabbed him by the tunic, raising him from the ground slightly and pulling him close to her face, she used her free fist to punch him squarely underneath his jaw.

The crowd including the dwarves winced as he tumbled onto the ground stomach first, and he looked back almost helplessly as she came up behind him. She grabbed the scruff of his tunic using both hands, plucking him off the ground without effort; she walked backwards and then ran forwards, releasing him towards an empty hay-wain.

Feathers, hay and a few loose chickens flew into the air at the sudden collision, she brushed her hands off and watched him as he struggled, the company staring at her and astounded by her strength. He coughed heavily and discarded some of the mess that now covered him, wobbling to stand himself up once again, and he was clearly dazed and struggling to make sense of where he was.

His face was dirty from the mess of the hay-wain, and the drying blood that had bled out and dripped down to his mouth.

“C’mon! Ye wanted a fight and now ye’ve got one,” Nari gestured for him to come closer and he hesitated, “{Fight me!}” she yelled, causing some of the crowd to be startled, he walked forward slowly and raised his fists to protect his face.

She made a few low blows to his abdomen which winded him, and he tried his best to get a few hits but missed on every attempt, his vision getting the best of him as he tried to focus himself. She hit him hard in the stomach and he dropped his hands to hold himself, she immediately punched him in the face and he crumpled to the ground with a spin.

Some of the crowd cheered while others gasped and talked in fear, only a handful booed their dislike. She moved back and retrieved Cáleb’s sword in her hand, Nari hovered over him and raised the sword, the crowd panicked as she stabbed downward, and the sword sunk firmly into the dirt next to his face. The company themselves let out their held breaths as they stared at the scene.

She leaned down to address him, “It’s over,” she hissed, and stood up quickly, marching away from the fight to the opposite direction of where the company stood, not having seen them.

The company fumbled for their coin sacks as they made their exchanges, those who lost admitting that they had clearly underestimated her capabilities, while the others roared in triumph at their winnings.

“Narriel.” A female voice called out sternly, making her halt and shrink a little, she glimpsed up at the elf that stood tall on the side of the hay-wain, and bowed her head to look at the ground when she saw the look on her face.

Nari immediately walked passed the elf, appearing shameful as she avoided further eye contact, the company watched in confusion and took in the features of the new figure, wearing a long flowing powder blue dress that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight.

“I suggest you come along, Thorin Oakenshield and Company,” she spoke calmly but the command behind it was clear, and she didn’t even look back to see if they were following.

Nari and the mysterious elf maid had disappeared from sight as Callon led the company onward after them, they didn’t even make conversation as they walked, as an uneasy feeling began to settle for all of them.

Nari waited impatiently for her, and she was met with an equally frustrated face from the elf maid as she entered and climbed the small steps towards her throne, looking back at Nari.

“You should apologise for humiliating Cáleb in such a way, what you did was unreasonable and unladylike to say the least, especially in front of all those villagers,” Nari rolled her eyes and sighed.

Lúthrien smirked at Nari from where she stood next to the throne, clearly satisfied that her sister was about to be punished for her actions; causing Nari to glare and cross her arms indignantly; she looked to the elf once again.

“I will not apologise for my actions, he has been pestering me for the last sixty years wanting courtship where he had no chance, not after what he did,”

“I really wish you’d give him a chance dear,” she frowned deeply as she looked at her.

“He betrayed my trust; I cannot simply let that pass by-”

“He played no part-”

“I wish ye would stop making excuses for him!” The company stopped by the entrance, unnoticed by the bickering women, and they shifted on their feet uncomfortably.

“And I wish you didn’t have the same stubbornness as your father,” she said curtly, Nari glared at her for some time, before Thorin cleared his throat loudly and revealed their presence.

“Apologies Thorin and Master Dwarves,” the elf maid shot a look at Nari and waved her hand, “Please come inside, I’m sure you must have some questions,”

“Yes indeed, thank you,” Thorin entered, followed by the company, and Callon took his place next to his sister, standing with his hands behind his back.

“I am Misteth, Eossimar’s ruling Queen,” she introduced herself, “And also mother to the three standing here with you,”

The company’s jaws dropped collectively as they looked to Nari and Callon, Kíli and Fíli looked to each other and back to the siblings, and the group chatted excitedly.

“So… ye’re a, a princess then?” Bofur asked Nari in amazement.

“By birth I might be, but I’m not above anyone,” she briefly met his gaze but quickly returned it to her mother.

Misteth chuckled, “My oldest being ever so humble,” she shook her head, “Now as much as I’d like to give you time to process all this new information, I think it’s best to get to why you have come here. I’m sure Narriel and Callon have already helped you somewhat, but I’m certain you would like to get your hands on some weapons?”

“Yes,” Thorin nodded, “And your children have been very welcoming to us,”

“I am glad to hear that my daughter still has some manners, considering the ruckus and madness I stumbled upon not too long ago,” Misteth said, looking at Nari with disappointment, and she bowed her head down irritably at her mother’s remark. “I’ll let the Captain of the Guard show you to the weaponry and armoury before you leave,”

“Thank you, we will be sure to return our thanks to the people of Eossimar once we’ve reached Erebor,” he assured her, and then he looked around with a frown, “So where is this Captain of yours?”

Misteth looked to Nari, “I believe you’re already acquainted with her,”

Dwalin was the first to speak, “Princess and Captain of the Guard?”

Nari crossed her arms, “Aye, don’t be so surprised. I’m the best fighter in the village, as I’m sure ye’ve just witnessed,”

“It’s best that you go on your way Master Dwarves, and Master Hobbit,” Misteth suggested, “And I wish you the best of luck on the rest of your quest.” She paused as Callon led the company out of the hall, “And Narriel, I’ll have a word with you in private once you’ve finished,” she nodded her head with a serious gaze, before turning around and walking on to Lúthrien.

“Yes, Mother,” she mumbled and followed them out.

Nari walked tensely next to her brother on the way to the armoury, her hands now balled into fists as she focused her attention ahead of her.

Kíli popped up next to her and she frowned at him irritably, “You know, sometimes my mother would get angry at me sometimes,”

“Kíli-” Fíli stepped up and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder to pull him back.

He ignored his brother and continued despite her lack of response, “But as much as it would anger or sadden me, I knew she would only say those things out of love,”

“Aye?” she asked stopping still, tightening her fists, “And I’m sure yer mother wished for ye to be prim and proper like yer sister, with long flowing hair and pretty pink dresses instead of-”

“{Sister, breathe},” Callon touched her shoulder gently, she let out a shaky breath and let her hands fall open, he looked at her and she nodded.

“Sorry Kíli,” she mumbled, “I know ye were only trying to help,” she sighed and carried on walking. “Ever since my father passed it’s been hard to maintain a relationship with those two,”

“Why is that?” Kíli asked.

“Because… well…” she couldn’t think of an explanation.

“Because our sister and mother are very similar, and they’re both, a bit snobbish if I’m to be honest,” Callon answered, “Our father was the one who brought out the fun in them, at least that’s what I remember of him,”

“Besides that… my father decided to toughen me up since the assault from those dwarf boys, and started to treat me as if I were a lad instead,” Nari added, “She’d never admit to it, but I’m certain she’s disappointed that her daughter acts as a son,”

“Well I would think that a lass that could hold her own would be a relief for her parents,” Dwalin spoke up, “I would certainly be at ease if I had a daughter who could punch off any cheeky admirers the way you just did,”

“Aye and it was a sight to see,” Bofur agreed, taking to Nari’s side, making Kíli and Fíli fall back easily with the others.

“Aye, I heard ye all placing yer bets,” she smirked making Bofur grin sheepishly, “Ye really need to work on lowering yer voices,”

“About that lad-”

“Here we are,” Callon announced, he held his hand out to her, “Do ye have the key?”

“Oh damn, it’s back in the mess hall,” she shook her head after feeling her pockets, he waved his hand.

“No matter,” he pulled a hair pin from under his braiding and slid it into the lock, he wiggled it until it clicked and popped open, “Been meaning to practice my lock-picking,” he grinned, removing the lock and pushing the doors open.

“Does everyone in yer family know how to pick locks?” Bofur asked as they walked inside.

“Well my nephews and niece have nearly perfected it too,” she gave him a cheeky smile. “Can’t see a reason not to know,”

The company walked around the large room to take everything in, Callon taking pride in showing Fíli the multitude of swords and pointing out the arrows for Kíli, Nari smiled as they wondered in fascination. All of them touched and examined what interested them, finding variations that they did not expect, and trying to determine what they’d like best for themselves.

Bofur was among the first to finish his choice and stood next to Nari outside, “Erm, if ye don’t mind me coming back to my question, about the lad?” he propped himself against the other side of the entrance.

“I suppose it’s best to ease yer curiosity,” she chuckled, “Cáleb… hmm, well, he’s roughly my age, his family was one of the first to live here in Eossimar, we sort of grew up together, and he was with my father when he got injured and later died,”

“Why had he been with yer father?”

“I told my father that it was more than likely that the dwarves would fall back to Moria, the old kingdom he’d told me about, after Smaug desolated Erebor; so he, Cáleb and several others went on to help them fight and have a place to claim as home. My father had ordered me to stay home,” she looked around before looking back to Bofur.

“But ye didn’t, did ye?” he asked solemnly, she shook her head.

“If Cáleb hadn’t been so fearful, he could have prevented the injury from ever happening, he could’ve been alive,” she spoke softly, “I watched him freeze as my father got held by some orcs as a target, they shot him with one of their arrows, and then left him to die.”

“An arrow, like Kíli’s?” he asked, she nodded.

“I’d managed to kill off a few orcs but then the fight suddenly ended when Azog fled, I believe from Thorin’s assault. We managed to bring my father back home, but he died from the poison,” she took a deep breath, “He promised to protect my father, and I trusted him to bring him back home safely, and not only did he fail, but he tried to tell me it was beyond his control,”

“That must’ve been terrible, watching yer father become sick like that,” Bofur spoke quietly.

“Believe me, it was. We had no understanding of how to heal him at the time,”

“But now, what does this all have to do with yer fight and… marriage?”

Nari laughed derisively, “Cáleb had been trying to court me, and he was trying to ask my father for his blessing while he was on his deathbed,” she shook her head in disgust, “My father was likely mad from the poison, or very confident in my abilities,”

“I don’t understand,” Bofur frowned.

“He told Cáleb, that if he wanted my hand in marriage he’d have to duel me and win, little did he know that my father informed me to never let ‘that idiot’ beat me, and so for the past sixty years he’d been persisting,”

“For sixty years? I’d say I was sorry for the lad but it seems a bit excessive to keep trying,” Bofur shook his head, “He should’ve learned when to quit years ago,”

“I agree,” she nodded, “Which is why this was the last duel,” she smiled at him.

“Well that explains why ye kicked his arse so hard,” Bofur chuckled, “It was both impressive and terrifying to see yer strength ye know.”

She laughed, “Aye, it goes to show ye that looks don’t mean everything, yer companion Dwalin might be built like an ox, but I’m certain he can be soft hearted and compassionate like any of us,”

“What did you say about me being soft?” Dwalin barked from inside the room, he nearly dropped the axe he was wielding.

“Nothing Dwalin,” Nari called back and he huffed, moving out of the room to stand in the fresh air.

“That’s what I thought,” he grumbled irritably.

Soon the others made their way out, and Balin stopped near them, “And this father of yours, who was he then?”

“He was a member of the guard back in Erebor, Kalin, son of-”

“Fundin?” Dwalin walked up to them.

“Aye, did ye know him?” she frowned, looking at both of them as they looked to each other in surprise.

“Are you certain that was his name?” Dwalin stared at her.

“Of course I am, why?” she looked between them again.

“He was our…” Balin started.

“Brother,” he and Dwalin finished, they looked at each other in disbelief.

“Brother? But that means…” She scanned their faces and connected the dots.

“Hold still for a moment,” Balin asked as he moved forward, he raised his hand to cover half of her face, showing mostly her eye and damaged ear. “Dwalin, I told you he’d had a daughter, this is her,” he lowered his hand and lightly grabbed her shoulders, taking in her features, and she froze as she looked at him.

“Kalin was the youngest of us three,” Dwalin spoke up, “We’d heard that he’d had words with Thrór, but we never saw him again… I, I trained him myself,” his mind began racing.

“The only time I managed to see you, you were hiding behind your father’s legs, you were shy, and perhaps a little scared,” Balin’s eyes sparkled and he hugged Nari tightly and stepped back. “I knew he’d run off after a maiden but… an elf?”

“And I never even met you, until now,” Dwalin stared at her, “You resemble so much of your father now that I think about it,” he almost choked, “A part of our brother still lives on Balin,” he stepped forward and hugged Nari tightly, she rubbed his back gently, still slightly shocked.

“I remember why yer names were so familiar now,” she stepped back and looked at them, “Balin the Wise and Dwalin the Fierce, he used to tell us stories about ye.”

“‘Us’?” Dwalin asked.

“Aye, us,” Callon walked up to them. “Though Lúthrien always thought they were fairy tales,” he said.

“So we have… two nieces and a nephew that Kalin hid from us,” Balin stared at the siblings. “This is very overwhelming indeed,”

“I think it's wonderful,” Nari laughed lightly, “Callon and I certainly would welcome ye with open arms to the family…” she looked at him and he nodded with a smile.

“As much as I am glad to witness this reunion of families,” Thorin interrupted the gathering, “We are running short on time,”

Nari cleared her throat, “Of course, and everyone is ready?” She scanned the company and they all gave their agreements. “Then we’ll be on our way,”

Nari and Callon led the way towards the main entrance once again, and the dwarves took one more look at their surroundings as they walked; families conversing together, children playing loudly, the marketplace coming to a slow, the ponies that hadn’t been seen before whinnying in the distance, along with other farm animals getting their say in.

It was all too familiar for them, Erebor had been much the same before the dragon had fallen upon them like a curse, and they so longed for home to be theirs once more; to bring their own families joy once again.

Bofur noticed three little heads not too far away staring in curiosity, he grinned as he recognised the children, Nari’s family; and he gave them a wave, they all waved back eagerly and he even heard the girl yelling a goodbye for them. He chuckled, a few dwarves looked at him and he shook his head, deciding to keep this as a memory for himself.

____________________________________________________________

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[imherongraystairstrash]

The Broken Heart pt. 4!

Hi guys! I’m sorry I haven’t posted in such a long time :( I’m working on a lot of new fics, so I’m hoping I can post a lot of them in the upcoming month! I hope you guys enjoy part 4!

As the Enclave needed to sort things out, some of the guests ended up staying at the institute for longer than they would have desired. This did mean, however, that Ella and her friends were able to catch up with Ben, who had been a childhood friend they had missed. After only an hour, all of the awkward small talk had ceased to exist. It felt as if time had never passed; as if those three years had been consigned to oblivion.

Since Alex was eighteen years old, he was technically old enough to attend the meeting, but he decided to stay with everybody else, as he said it would not be interesting if he were all alone. The group had taken to playing cards as a means of passing the time, and it was quite violent and interesting indeed.

“HAHA! Take that Lightwood!” Carstairs said, throwing his card down.

“Take what? This queen of swords?” Alex pulled out said card and placed it in front of him.

Ella groaned as she was forced to pass, due to lack of kings and aces. “What’s the point of having a parabatai, if all he does is ruin your chances at winning?”

“I told you not to bet all of you beans,” Alex said. Yes, instead of coins, they were betting beans. It really shows how dire these times were.

“How was I supposed to know Matty was going to start with such a high card?”

“That is what you get for underestimating me.” Matilda said.

“I didn’t underestimate you! I just did not count on you sabotaging me.”

Matty smirked and looked at her cards. It may seem mystifying that they should play something as ordinary as cards when there is a potentially serious threat about to arise, however, they were shadowhunters. They were used to their parents going out into the night, and risking their lives. They grew up hearing stories about their siblings, and all of the times they had almost been killed. This was normal for them.

“Does it really matter, though?” Ben said, referring to Ella despair over losing her ‘wealth’. “What would you have done with your beans anyway? Made a stew?”

“Careful, don’t ask her too many questions or Ella will begin to malfunction. She’s not very bright.” Alex said.

Ella threw a twelve of steles card at him. “I need my beans,” she explained, “because if not I’ll lose the game, and will therefore be in debt, meaning I’ll have to pay it off.”

“What must you do to pay it off?”

“One of us can tell you to do anything, at any time or place, and you will be obligated to do said thing.” Jocelyn said, matter-a-factly.

“Once, I had to climb to the roof of the institute and scream ‘This is for my lord and savior angel Raziel’ while jumping for roof to roof, until I reached my house, then jump though the window and tell my parents I am going to run away and pursue a career in acting.” Matty said, ducking her head in shame. “The worst part is that papa believed me.”

“Oh. In that case, I take back what I said about it not mattering,” said Ben.

Everybody nodded gravely, and one would assume they were speaking about a topic far more serious than a game of cards.  

“Do you think we will have to patrol every night?” Ella said, after another round.

“I bet we will not have to do anything, because there will be little to no precautions taken.”

“I find your optimism inspiring, Alex. I really do.”

“He’s right, though. Enclave has a tendency to ignore issues until one group of Nephilim come along and take matters into their own hands.” Matty said while she recorded the scores.

It took a moment for her to realize that a silence went over the room. She looked up, perplexed, and found everybody staring at her.

Ben had stopped mid shuffle, his expression stunned.

“What?” Matty asked.

“How out of character. You’ve become rebellious, Tildy.” Jesper said.

“Oh. Sorry?”

“Matilda, how many times have I told you not to apologize for no reason?” Jocelyn said. “Honestly! Taking blame for things that are not your fault only lowers your self confidence.”

“I would apologize for apologizing, Joss, but I take it you would not be too pleased.” Matty smiled.

“Good call.” Jocelyn said, picking up the cards Ben had just dealt. “Bloody hell, Benjamin, give me some good cards for once in your life, will you?”

“Psst, Ben! Don’t apologize,” Alex whispered.

“Actually, an apology from Penhallow would be much obliged.” Joss said, examining her nails.

“I am truly, sincerely sorry, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Your half hearted apology is not accepted, but I will give you points for effort.”

Ben bowed his head.

…

They were finishing up the round when Matilda noticed her father, Henry Fairchild, by the doorway smiling at them. Matty got to her feet and walked over to him.

“Is everything all right, papa?” She asked, matching his smile with one of her own.

Everyone  had always told Matilda she looks much like her father; her face, chest and shoulders (basically her entire body) were splattered with freckles and Charlotte always tells her they share the same open and kindly face. The only notable difference between them (excluding the fact that they are of different gender and age, of course) was that Matty’s hair was blond and that she had not been blessed with her father’s wonderful eye colour. She had always hoped they would magically change one day from another but alas, they remained dark brown.

She never had reason to dislike her hair colour, however, for it reminded her of her brother, Matthew. And there was nobody Matty looked up to more than Matthew.

“Yes, but it is getting late, and we were going to head back home.”

Matty nodded. “That sounds wonderful; though I do enjoy the company of my cousins, extensive human interaction can be quite…tiresome.”

Henry gave her a tired smile, for it had been a long night. “I agree. I would rather work on my experiments.”

Matty chuckled. “Is there any news from the meeting?”

“Not yet, darling. It is far too late and most of the shadowhunters are too tired to make rational decisions.”

Matty nodded, “Yes, that makes sense. Well, I’ll get Joss so we can leave.”

“Call Ben as well, his sister was asking for him.”

“All right, papa.”

…

Alex and Jesper only stayed a while after the Fairchild sisters and Ben left. Though Charlotte is not the consul anymore, she was still a very influential figure and most Nephilim still looked for her opinion in a certain manner. So, after the Fairchilds departed home, it was only a matter of time before the shadowhunters began trickling out of the institute and back to their respective homes; the Conclave will meet once again tomorrow to discuss the manner at hand.

For now, much to Ella and the boys’ dismay, no measures have been put in to ensure the safety of London.

“What a waste of time.” Ella said. “To think, we stayed up all night to hear for nothing.”

“At least you got to pass the time by playing cards,” Cecily said, a very exhausted Gabriel trailing behind her. “We had to listen to the meeting go in circles for hours.”

“I guess I have an exciting adult life to look forward to.”

Cecily smiled. Nobody knew how she managed it, but Cecily always looked at least 20 years younger than her actual age. Once, when Ella and Alex were little, a young man approached her thinking she was around his age.

“You are aware I am old enough to be your mother, right?” Cecily had said.

The poor man had turned the color of a ripe strawberry, the color deepening while he apologized.

Now, Cecily tugged on her evening coat and motioned to her son.

“Stop playing cards and let’s go, Anna.”

“Anna?!”

Cecily froze and turned slowly to face Alex, horrified.

“Mam, did you just call me Anna?”

“What? No! I was talking to your sister.”

“Anna is not even here!”

Cecily kissed her lips and looked around the room.

“Christopher, I can somewhat understand, but Anna?” Alex shook his head.

“Both of your names start with an ‘A’,” she argued.

“You named me,” Alex rebutted. “Besides, I’ve never heard papa call you Christopher.”

“He better not, I am his wife.”

“You called my brother Gabriel once.” Gabriel said, snapping out of his semi-asleep state to join in the conversation.

“I said I was sorry about that.” Cecily said, exasperated.  

“Somebody is getting old.” Will said.

Cecily turned her head and turned her piercing stare at Will.

“Somebody is looking old.” She replied before turning back towards her son.

“I’m sorry bach, it has been a long night. Now stop playing cards and get over here, Alexander.”

Alex unfolded his long limbs and got to his feet. “Farewell, comrades.”

“Farewell.” Ella and Jesper waved, not really averting their attention from their game.

“How old are you? Just say ‘goodbye’, you psychopaths,” Will said.

“We are connecting with our English roots.” Ella said.

Gabriel shrugged at Will. “Children these days.”

…

Long after Jesper and Alex had gone home, Ella lay in her bed that night and stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. She kept tossing and turning, not able to get the image of that demon-thing out of her mind.

The time has come.

What did that even mean? It wasn’t that the words frightened her— on the contrary; they made her want to laugh for how silly and unthreatening they were. The time has come. Whoever was targeting might as well have been a joke. Expect they weren’t. They had taken Owen. It did not matter if they ended up finding him. The act of taking a child, Ella’s nephew, hit differently. She knew her parents felt the same, as did James and Cordelia. They had been in enough conflicts to know that coincidences such as these seldom exist. The Herondales have been a target for longer than anybody could imagine. Ella sighed and kicked her sheets away from her. She hadn’t realized how hot it had become until now. She sat up straight and knotted her hair at the apex of her head, feeling a wave of relief hit her as the air of neck. She fell back into her pillow and wrapped her legs and arms around the discarded sheets, hugging them for comfort. For now, she’ll just lay here and try to sleep.

…

Here’s a snippet for part 5:

“ELLIE!”

Ella felt her entire body jolt awake.

“Lucie?!”

Tagging:  @celias @tsccreatorsnet

[mercy-song-ffxiv]

Mercy sits at her work bench, an unassuming blue bottle sat on the surface before her. Where she had got the bottle didn’t matter. What did matter what that this was a rare Fantasia potion. Something she’d been wanting for a long while. Mercy had always had a confusion when it came to gender. She, as a Miqo’te woman, had dealt with certain desires and ideals pushed upon her. Been taken advantage of in many ways and had, had her strength and prowess questioned because of her stature. As such it had left her with a burning desire to see the other side of life. To feel what it is like to be a man. She wasn’t unaware that it brought it’s own trials and tribulations. She knew this wasn't a cure all to her issues. She needed therapy for sure but this was something she couldn’t ignore any longer. She had spoken to each of her lovers. Telling them of her feelings. How she didn;t feel right in her skin. How she looked at herself and hated what looked back. How there were days where she wished her breasts would just not be there. It wasn’t even a sexual thing. It was a comfort thing. A feeling that had persisted since she was a kit. Locked in a cell and used for others benefit. A feeling of “wrongness” was the only way she could describe it. Taking a deep breath Mercy lifted the bottle and broke the wax seal, pulling the cork out. A strange smoke left the neck of the bottle. She leaned forward and sniffed at the contents. She sneezed and almost dropped the bottle. Panicking, Mercy wasted no more time and drank the entire bottle. Placing it back on the desk she notes how it didn’t taste as ad as she thought it would have. An almighty pain ripped through them as their whole body burned. They cried out loudly and collapsed to the floor. Shaking as their very bones shifted. Mercy scrambled to remove their clothes, fearing constriction or worse. It takes everything they have to move. Their entire being shattered and rebuilt. Mercy can feel their skull shift, mouth and nose elongating into a snout. Fangs growing to protrude from said snout. Their spine shifts, with a ripple effect going through their ribs and down to their hips. They clench their teeth to near breaking point as everything grows. Tears fall from their eyes, they had endured pain worse than this but it was all the more poignant. It was necessary. This was not something that just happened. There was pain, there was sacrifice and there was hope. It all built to a crescendo and Mercy fell unconscious. Blessed relief in the black of the void.   Purple slitted eyes blink open and Mercy shifts, slowly, a deep reverberating groan echoing from him. He stilled and looked to his hands. Eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet. Tripping over them in his haste. Not used to being so large. Falling to the floor with a thud and a groan. Mercy climbs back to his now, formidable height. Swaying slightly. “Wow.” He says. Voice gruff but still pretty high. He liked the sound of it and said a few more things to test it to his ears. “Hello. Kupo!” He giggles at that one. “Cookies.” He really wasn’t sure what else to say, so Mercy made his way to the bathroom. Coming to a stop in front of the cabinet mirror before looking up. Eyes widened as he looked himself over. An imposing figure looked back at him and Mercy liked what he saw. White fur on his head, chest, arms and legs, reminiscent of what his hair had been before the potion. Though the fur was accented with blue tribal designs, similar colour to his skin. It was his chest that gave him the most pause. Running large hands over where breasts used to be, feeling only hard pectorals. A giddy glee fills him. He’d done it! Now he could see how it would feel to be as a man. There were so many things to test. Would his Magic be the same? Lesser or even more powerful in this form?  Would balance be changed. He still had a tail of course. Looking behind himself. Mercy gives the appendage an experimental swing. Finding that it responds to his thoughts with no hesitation. Curling and uncurling easily. Turning back to the mirror and examining his face. Mercy saw how his eyes while different in looks held the same wisdom and gentleness. It humbled him, to see something so familiar was heartening. He didn’t lose himself through the process. It was then that a wave of weariness washed over him.It was all Mercy could do to stumble to his bed and crash to the futon. The last thought through his brain was of relief and a sense of calm. Lavender eyes slid shut and all was lost to dreams.

[thecinephale]

Magic Mike XXL: Masculinity Worth Appreciating

I saw the first Magic Mike with my sister the summer before I left for college. I remember this day the way I remember just about everyday I’ve spent alone with my sister. I remember the day we spent visiting her favorite “spots” right before I started high school. I remember when we got into a hip NYC club because she looked like her even though I looked like me. I remember the difficult lunch we had my first visit back after coming out as trans. I spent most of my life with my sister, usually our parents were there or nearby. But once she learned to drive, the days alone, I remember all of those. This day, in June, in 2012, we were seeing Magic Mike.

There were two men in the theatre, sheepish looking boyfriends whose body language and facial expressions tried to make clear that they were just being good sports. Otherwise it was all women, ages ranging, ready to express their sexuality in public, an experience rarely allowed. My sister commented several times how weird it was to be seeing this with her little brother. I deflected with discussion about Steven Soderbergh and his varied filmography, abuzz with the comfort and confusion I’d always feel when in majority-women spaces.

The movie was fine. Soderbergh knows how to shoot and edit, Channing Tatum knows how to dance, and Matthew McConaughey knows how to chew scenery. But in making two films about the sex industry, Soderbergh failed to understand the difference between what men and women audiences are regularly given. It’s subversive to send a bunch of horny guys into The Girlfriend Experience wanting to see Sasha Grey fuck and then giving them a cold film about economics. But doing the same to a bunch of horny women wanting to see Channing and the gang is just… disappointing. 

Still there were enough abs to keep the audience relatively happy, and I left the theatre with the excited feeling that I’d gotten away with something. The same feeling I always had when I’d hang out with my sister and her friends, the same feeling I’d have any time I managed to be around groups of girls, conversations, car rides, karaoke rooms. While I never felt fully relaxed, I did feel more comfortable. It was as much about being near women as it was about being away from men.

***

We talk a lot about trans women’s relationship towards femininity. Every corny movie with a trans femme youth has her trying on makeup, heels, painting her nails. My experience was certainly filled with a lifelong admiration towards girls and women that fluctuated between envy and lust, admiration and resentment. I obsessively loved women and then turned on them when I felt dissatisfied. I convinced myself that relationships needed to be romantic, because I confused the deep desire to consume their bodies, their fashion, their entire being as a sexual impulse rather than one of imitation. I ruined so many friendships this way.

But what we talk about less is how much of my life was spent with masculinity, immersed in it, confused by it, desperate to understand how to embody it. I know some trans women have clarity from a young age that they are girls and it’s just a matter of others accepting it. But that was not my experience. My discomfort with boyhood and attraction to girlhood never seemed like something I could embrace. Instead I felt a pressure and desire to adjust those attractions, to be a boy and then a man to the best of my ability.

I’m fortunate to have a father who is sensitive and kind. I’m also fortunate to have a father who coached my baseball and soccer teams throughout most of my childhood. Sports became something that was undeniably masculine but that I also loved. I may have watched my sister’s dance classes with envy, but I also found genuine pleasure in being on the field, being physical and focused and competitive. It helped that my dad always prioritized sportsmanship, team spirit, and fun over winning. The league recognized this and rewarded him with the absolute worst players they could find. Our team of misfits may have frustrated me at times, but it also allowed me to think of sports as an exercise in empathy rather than a terrifying world of standards and punishments. I wonder now how many other boys on those teams were queer. I know at least one.

My positive experience with sports allowed me to navigate my early childhood fairly unscathed. I was bullied incessantly by other boys (and even some other girls) probably picking up on something about me. And my “crushes” (as I’d wrongly call them) on girls were intense to the point of all-consuming obsession. But my immense discomfort towards masculinity didn’t really start until middle school, until puberty.

I couldn’t figure out what masculinity even was. I knew certain expectations placed on me and felt like they were all terrible. I was supposed to objectify women. That was the most obvious. The grosser I could get when talking about the girls I “liked” the more I’d be accepted. I was also supposed to be aggressive. Physically. I was not supposed to cry. Or show any emotion. It wasn’t enough that I liked sports. I was supposed to only like sports. If someone was my friend that meant they made fun of me in front of our other friends and the proper response was to make fun of them back. Or hit them. 

Some of this is just middle school. But a lot of it carried over into high school and beyond. My new friends cared more about theatre than sports, but if you’ve ever watched two 17-year-old boys fight over who gets what part in Julius Caesar you’d realize it’s all the same. *** The summer before I came out, the greatest sequel of all time graced our movie screens: Magic Mike XXL. 

This masterpiece of masculinity is a modern-day Old Hollywood musical. Blah blah La La Land blah blah. Go watch On the Town and it becomes clear those musicals are about 1) hot guys, 2) tight pants, 3) great dancing. XXL is pure, sex-positive joy from beginning to end. It abandons the thematic and narrative overwroughtness of the original and makes a new statement: Celebrating female sexuality and non-toxic masculinity is what’s truly radical.

As a lesbian, I’ll leave discussions of the former to others (now that The Toast is gone I’m not sure where Roxane Gay’s review went, it’s really worth hunting down). But as a trans woman, who spent my whole life trying to understand masculinity, this movie was a goddamn revelation. The way the men celebrate women is lovely and sexy and new, but the way they celebrate each other is what really stood out to me.

The men in Magic Mike XXL are masculine. They embody so many of those basic, oversimplified middle school traits I listed above. And yet. It looks good on them. They’re physical, they rag on each other, they trade crude remarks about women. But they also support each other. They discuss their goals and varied interests. They talk out conflicts. Their discussion of women is crude but not objectifying. And they’re comfortable enough in their sexuality and gender to participate in a drag show. Watching XXL, I didn’t feel any closer to masculinity, but for the first time I found it something worth aspiring to. Social pressure was no longer the only thing pushing me towards it, and, as a result, it soon became clear I was never meant to achieve it.

Since coming out, I’ve had the good fortune of befriending some trans men and non-binary individuals who align with certain elements of masculinity and manhood. In these people I tend to see this same sort of Magic Mike XXL version of masculinity. I see it in my dad. I see it in a few cis male friends. I spent my life hating masculinity, but now I see its potential.

***

Last week I went to Thirst Aid Kit’s screening of Magic Mike XXL at the Alamo Drafthouse. Thirst Aid Kit is a podcast hosted by Bim Adewunmi and Nichole Perkins and is really a must-listen if you’re a person who enjoys lusting after men (and if you aren’t it’s still a good time). They provided fake money to throw at the screen and bingo cards with squares like “Mike grabs his crotch.” Cocktails were served throughout and we were encouraged to hoot, wallop, and moan as we saw fit. 

It’s been about six years since I sat in that regular movie theatre with my sister cherishing what felt like girl time. And here I was, again in a majority-women space, watching Channing Tatum grind. This time I felt comfortable, and also, finally, relaxed.

As a trans person, I’ve been forced to examine my gender, to wrestle with masculinity and femininity and ultimately decide what elements of both appeal to me and who I personally am. In a time when cis men are feeling increasingly confused about their place in the world, I wonder what might happen if they also had to ponder their identity. I wonder what might happen if they had to reconsider their own definitions of masculinity. I wonder what an all cis straight male screening of Magic Mike XXL might look like and what it might achieve.

Some need to thirst. Others need to learn. This movie does it all. <3

[naughtyfandomfreakwriter]

Chapter One - The Red Reaping

Word Count: 8,932

I remember wearing the braids in my hair. I remember watching her on every screen around. I remember the nightshade berries, and the quarter quell, and the rebellion.

I remember it all, even as everyone tries to forget.

When she lost… when the districts were forced back in line, I remember… I never forgot Katniss Everdeen.

I was only a child when the rebellion failed. The Mocking Jay was made quiet and the Capitol ruled supreme. President Snow had vanquished another uprising.

However, the people still remembered, and that needed to be changed. The Capitol had never seen a Hunger Game with more drama and although they couldn’t be happier to be safe and spoiled once more, they still adored the romance of Peeta and Katniss.

You could trust President Snow to use this to his advantage. As the districts needed to be punished, he left it to his game makers to formulate a new challenge. While the Summer months were used to continue the hunger games, the Winter would set a new game that would still cost lives. Each rebellion had to pay a price, after all.

The Red Games were instituted. A game that would give the capital the love and drama they so craved, while acting as a punishment to the districts. A twisted bloodbath for the next generation.

It was the morning of the Red Reaping. It was easy to tell, what with all the noise outside. With a groan, I turned onto my stomach, face in my pillow.

“Quiet please,” I couldn’t help but groan as I reached for my remote. I knew well enough already which button to press to hush the outside world and block out the light. One tap and my favourite starry night sky played on the window screen.

I should be lucky to live in the Capital, but some days it was damn near intolerable.

On a day like today, I knew my family would want me up and dressed as early as possible but they knew not to come wake me themselves. I never liked this day, and only my father understood.

I never enjoyed any of the capital events. Not since my family and I returned from District 7.

My father, Damiin Silver, was a peace keeper assigned to the Lumber district. I only spent three years there before dad got a promotion and moved back to the Capital. Still, the memories remain the same. The hunger, the weight on their shoulders, it made an impression that no amount of wealth could fix. My Mom, Letta, always said I was too young and impressionable when we lived there. She blames that time on why I’m so hard to handle. She’s not wrong.

Finally dragging myself out of bed, I move to the mirror to braid my hair.

Mom also blames my fascination with Katniss on my time in the district. She’s not wrong.

I’ve been a fan of braids for so long most people don’t even relate it to the Mocking Jay anymore. It’s just an out of date style I refuse to give up. Though that seems to make sense from the way I wear my clothes as simple as possible. I remember a time when I dressed like everyone else. Now the idea of such ostentatious clothing seems uncomfortable.

I looked in the mirror when I finished. Brown hair that faded into gold swept into a side braid, my curvy figure made obvious in a simple peach dress and gold belt. The silk flowers in a pale pink peach sewn to the dress would be about the only thing that seemed ‘capital’ about my outfit outside of its colour. Painting my face might be the only thing I actually enjoyed about getting ready. Glueing gold lashes to my own, adding a peach colour to my lids, applying another gold bar of colour down the center of two delicate pink lips, it was like crafting a mask, one I hid behind as much as I could.

I tried to live between words. Just colourful enough not to draw attention but never enough for the standards of fashion applied to the Capital. A sense of invisibility was always the aim.

“Alright, Gemma. Let’s get this over with.”

With a heavy breath, I walked out of the room. Downstairs, Mom and Dad were already eating and celebrating. Havvery, the Avox assigned to my family, served as Mom twitted on about her plans for the day. There was a time I’d have to endure those plans but for this year, I’ll be graciously separated, just as I was last year and the year before that.

“Oh Darling, you couldn’t have… tried a little?” Mom asked.

Of course, my style is never more critiqued than on days like today. At 20 years old you’d think she’d get tired of judging my looks. They’d been the same for quite some time.

“Leave her be,” my Dad chimed in, eyes on his screen working already. Busy days like today demanded a lot from a peacekeeper as high in rank as he.

“Just, a bit of glitter, or maybe a necklace or two,” she continued to complain.

“I’m fine,” I brushed off, heading for the food set out in a bright spread. A sweet orange would be enough while getting me out of the house quickly. I was only just starting to peel the skin when I felt a snap on my ear.

“Ouch!” I cried out, reaching to feel cold metal on my ear and turning to see my mother. She’d clipped on a gold dangling earring and waited with the other.

“Please,” she begged.

I turned around to my food, which she took as an invitation to add the other. I flinched again.

It was such a talent that my mother could so easily reach my limit of her shallow vanity. Of all the people I knew, she was the most like the capitol. No wonder the Districts revolted.

Standing from the table I moved with my fruit in hand.

“I’m meeting Belba before everything starts,” I didn’t want to spend anymore time with my mother than I had to. Not today.

“Darling, I thought we could head down together-”

I didn’t let her finish. I was out the door and into the loud chaotic streets before she could stop me.

The Red Reaping was one of the big parties of the year. It was the first party of the Red Games and although it was a brisk fall day, everyone dressed up for the event. I slipped on my knitted coat with the thinnest of fur trims and continued to eat my orange. Around me everyone was shouting and laughing. Parts of the city played music and there was literal dancing in the streets.

Absolute luxury paired with excited gossiping. It was so different from District 7.

I could easily imagine the trepidation and fear as each citizen from age 18 to 29 dressed for the reaping. It was a more conservative fear, cloaked by the brave faces the older citizens wore. The Hunger Reapings, with their younger children, laid their terror quite plainly on their faces. It had always been so strange to watch a child my age make for the town square knowing I was safe and they weren’t.

‘Trig…’ I thought, the name scarcely on my lips when a familiar voice stopped me.

“Gemma! Over here,” Belba called over. She was a tree amongst most people, that was only worsened by the tall heels she always wore. I rushed through the crowd to her side, accepting the hug she had to bend over to give.

“You made it out of the house, I see.”

“Not unscathed,” I added, showing off the earrings that had turned my earlobes red from their sudden addition. They were fake and so they pinched to stay in place.

“Here,” Belba smiled. She took them off of me gently and turned me around. I could feel her moving a bit at my hair and soon the clips framed by braid instead of tormenting my ears.

“Thank you,” I genuinely spoke, my hands feeling behind my head to where they now sat.

Belba was always so wonderful at fashion. She had dreams of becoming a fashion icon in the city and was well on her way with an internship under Tigress’ guiding hand. I trusted her as Belba was my best friend and understood my minimalist wishes. She always took my odd desires and found ways to merge them with the excessive expectations of the city. In a way, she hid me in the crowd, misdirecting others from my near rebellious tendencies.

“I’m at your service,” Belba giggled. She gave an elaborate bow and it was then I noticed the ring on her left hand. It wasn’t hard to see, sparkling silver against dark ebony skin. Not to mention the ring was huge.

“Is… Is that…” I stammered.

Belba nodded. “It is!” She excitedly exclaimed. “Fredrick proposed!”

I took her hand and examined the ring. I couldn’t have been more excited for Belba! She and Fredrick deserved happiness. They were wonderful but…. “You’re not in the Reaping then.”

The smiles on both of our faces fell. Belba shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to leave you alone in this but—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted.

“We could wait to register out until next year.”

I shook my head at Belba’s offer. “No point in putting your name in for my sake. Capitol forbid you’re picked and married off to some district boy,” I joked.

She laughed out of kindness at my joke but the pity never left her eyes.

“I know you hate today,” she added quietly.

“I hate all days like today. No need to make this one special,” I forced a smile which Belba understood. I was done talking about it. She was so supportive in ways I could never fully thank. Of everyone in my life, Belba was the only one I could really stand. She let me be me.

“Let’s go,” she sighed and looped her arm with mine. She’d walk with me to the city circle, where she wouldn’t be able to stay with me.

It was odd the first years of the Red Games. Capitol citizens had never done their own reaping and so they looked unorganized and almost comical as those eligible stood in the centre of the circle. There were many of varying ages, a colourful pageantry of dull witted singles. It took a few years before age restrictions were put on the capitol entrants. When a 73 year old woman was picked as the Capitol’s 4th Red Games Rose, they limited the ages to match the districts.

Any single capitol citizen between the ages of 18 to 29 must participate. The gender required switches ever year. Of course this isn’t forced in the capitol. Everyone is beyond excited to play the Rose in the games. Well, apart from myself… but to refuse to be part of the reaping is to show rebellion and the last rebellion was too recent to risk pointing yourself out like that.

The districts were different, of course. Two tributes between the ages of 18 and 29 of each district are chosen, their gender is picked by the Rose after our reaping. In the districts, this day is just like the Hunger Reapings. It’s the same forced participation that few survive, as deadly a game as the Hunger games themselves. So, just as you survive your time in the Hunger reaping pools, you’re entered into the Red reapings and no one is safe until they turn 30.

This year will technically be my first year. When I was 18 I was registered out by a betrothal. The next year the Rose was a male pick and so now…. Now my name rests with all the others. My mom couldn’t stop talking about it, watching previous years competitions and thrilling at the idea that I might be picked. I had to bite my tongue to keep my mouth shut, and by now I had a very sore tongue.

It was easy to be the Rose. A capitol citizen to be an object of desire for others to fight over. The arena was the Capitol, events and parties, but there was a small arena. One in the city that pitted the tributes against each other. The Rose had all the control. Who would be spared, who would be thrown in ‘The Pit’ as it was affectionately called by everyone, who would survive to continue playing. And after all the torment and blood. The Victor and the Rose would be married and live in the capitol as celebrities for the rest of their lives. It was easy to see how a normal Capitol citizen would be thrilled to play the Rose.

But not me.

Belba finally released my arm as we arrived at the check in.

“Try to have fun,” she offered but the stern look on my face told her I’d do otherwise. She rolled her eyes in response. “Just twenty minutes of your time and then you can find me. Fredrick’s got a great spot to watch the fireworks. We’ll have a blast! Just twenty minutes.”

I sighed and offered a soft smile. She was right. A short twenty minutes and I could pretend all this celebration was for something other than death. It was little asked of me in comparison to the  citizens outside the city.

“I’ll see you after,” I confirmed and turned to line up.

The line was jittery and nervous, it reminded me of District 7, though the energy there came from dread, not excitement. The line moved quickly as eager women and men rushed into the centre of the circle. Soon, chariots of doomed tributes would be standing there instead.

Cameras lined the area and broadcasted over large screens. Everyone was dressed rather extravagantly. After so many years, everyone wanted to look their best if chosen. Your future partner was watching after all.

Now the citizens have learned to line up properly. They stand in rows based on age. I couldn’t wait until I grew old enough to stand in the very back rows, covered by high collars and even higher hair. For now, I was nearer the front in spectacular view of the cameras and without many people to hid behind. Still, I managed to find a particularly tall wig to stand behind in the hopes of remaining anonymous and unseen.

Twenty minutes, twenty minutes, just twenty minutes.

I looked down at where they pricked my finger to admit me. A small prick that many whined and moaned about even if it was such a quick and easy prick. Some faced much worst pain in their beauty procedures, this was only worth complaining about because of its lack of immediate reward.

The space will get tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. We all tightly press amongst each other as more eligible citizens clamour for their chance at fame and love. In the stands on all sides the older and younger generations sat with just as much anticipation. And beyond the city circle, others would be at venues and private parties watching the broadcast.

The people around me jabbered on, pointing out cameras with waving hands and discussing their chances. In front of us all was a stage with a bowl of names. One single bowl. My name rested in their twice, unless my mother purchased more entries for me. I was never sure if the same option was offered to the districts but really, who would pay money to have their name in there more often. Here it was an option heavily used, which was why the bowl in the center of the stage held far more little papers than their were people standing. It was five times the size of the capitol bowls.

The likelihood of my name being in there more than twice would have been high were it not for my father. Ever since my engagement ended, my mother had placed all her attention on finding me another match. No one was surprised at her enthusiasm and obsession with the Red Games this year. It was her chance to force me into a match. The only thing that stopped her at every turn was my father. Thank the Capitol for him.

The excited chatter only got worse and I knew why before I saw him. President Snow had taken his place in his large golden seat. Game makers filed out to stand on the stage with last years winners. Married now, Dawn and Tennitt stood hand in hand. Tennitt was what you might expect from the Capitol. He was tall and thin with bright orange hair and a sparkling blue suite. His white gloved hands held that of Dawn’s. Her slanted almond eyes looked about the crowd. Long black hair swept down her back, much longer than they’d been in the games last year. Her pale complexion looked odd against her orange dress, puffy and made to match her new husband. She was quiet, as she’d been in the games. There was something… empty in her eyes. It contrasted with the pleasant smile she kept plastered on her lips. She belonged to the Capitol now. There seemed to be no trace left of her District 2.

Everyone roared with sound until the President stood.

“Welcome to the 8th Annual Red Games,” he began.

The president’s speech was a blathering of self satisfaction, boasting commentary and fluff to fill the spaces. It was the same warning to districts not to rebel. The first year he’d had the thought to mention Katniss by name, which created unrest and anger through the districts. The next he only called her the rebel but still that only caused unrest. Now he was smart enough to pretend the girl on fire had never existed. It was a far firmer point to the districts who fell in line now.

With his words done the crowd was in a roar of applause again, this time for the Victor and Rose as they stood together for their chance to speak. Tennitt spoke of finding his love, his words eloquent and flowery. In reality they meant nothing. Dawn had her own chance to speak but it was much shorter. The way she spoke, it all sounded rehearsed and not of her own.

Finally the Capital’s representative stood. He’ll spend his time ushering the new Rose around, a job the district representatives would have killed for. His was a position hard fought as his Rose is a winner every. single. year. No matter what.

Garth Havensbee a short man dressed in emerald green with a pocket square of orange to match his last Rose. He looked pompous, and far too pleased with himself to be where he was, a celebrity in his own right. His voice was nasally as he offered a “Happy Red Games and may the rose bloom.” It was the newest version of ‘May the odds be every in your favour’. A constantly repeated mantra through these games that caused a wave of cheers.

Garth motioned for the crowds to calm and I looked about. There was no chance of me finding Belba and Fredrick, or any of my family. There were just too many people in the stands. Still, I couldn’t help but look just in case. It was better than listening to yet another speech about finding love and fighting for its prize. It was laughable to think Love could be found anywhere in these games.

The way a tribute won, was through violence and lies. Each district would offer up two tributes of the chosen gender. Some years that’s girls, others its boys, most of the time it’s one of each. Then the tributes are brought to the capital where they must woe the rose. It’s their only chance of survival. Each week, a set of tributes will be thrown in the pit to fight to the death. The winner continues to court the Rose. This all continues until there is only one. So a tribute is expected to romance a Capitol citizen, spoiled and naive, so that they might live as a prisoner. At least the victor of the hunger games would be sent home to live their lives in peace. The Victor of the Red Games would never be free. The most they could hope for would be a gilded cage.

The crowd suddenly picked up in volume, jumping and screaming in excitement. I looked back to the front to see Garth dramatically waved his hand over the bowl. Oh, it was selection time.

“Alright ladies, are you ready?” He asked and the crowds around me screamed. I had to cover my ears to block out the screeching.

Garth dipped his hand into the bowl, stirring the names around and I held my breath as I was jostled around by the ensuing mosh pit. Trust to Capitol to show such undignified behaviour during a reaping.

‘Not me, not me, not me,’ I chanted in my head. I didn’t really think it could be my name pulled. There were hundreds of thousands of slips in that bowl. My two slips had very little chance of being pulled amongst the incredible number. Still, I held my breath while the anticipation grew and grew.

Garth lifted his hand into the air, a slip of paper in his stubby fingers. He made a great show of opening the paper and the accompanying roar was near deafening. He opened his mouth and the audience never ceased their cheering so that he had to yell the name into the microphone to even be heard.

“Gemma Silver.”

One time, when I was young, I was playing by the waters edge with some friends. We always liked the way the current felt against our legs. The nearer you got to the dams the stronger the current. I had been fooling around when I slipped on a rock and found myself submerged under the current, being pulled away towards the dam. I remember the way the water encased me, how muted everything else became around me as I was swept away without any ability to resist.

That’s how I felt now, stunned as the world slowed and went silent around me. Of course the screaming was still rampant as people turned to look for Gemma. A few who knew me began pointing and the whole crowd excitedly pushed me towards the front. I was swept away in such a daze that sound didn’t seem to return until Garth was staring right at me. He was pausing for something. It took a moment to realize he’d asked me a question.

“What?” I asked, my own voice a foreign whisper to my own ears.

“What’s your choice for Tributes?” He asked again with a nasally laugh. The crowds joined, enjoying my speechlessness.

“I….” I couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream, to tell them to redraw, to tell them I choose no gender, that I wanted no part in this. But the world watched, every set of eyes trained on my face, every voice paused in one silent moment as they waited on my choice.

“Come on darling, we haven’t got all day,” Garth prompted away from the mic for only me to hear. He was becoming impatient with my silence. The crowds itched with anticipation as well.

“Male,” I squeaked out.

“She’s chosen male!” Garth declared and the whole stadium erupted into more cheers. Garth took my hand and raised it into the air to which the audience grew impossibly louder.

I could only stand and watch as the Capitol celebrated. I… I had given in, just like that. I had become a part of what I hated most about this place. For all my desire to rebel and change the world…. I gave in. I was a coward.

It was a blur after that. The Panam anthem played and a few more words were said before I was swept away yet again, this time by peacekeeper staff, gently guiding me out of the city circle and into a tall tower nearby where what seemed to be a private party for the game makers and other important people was taking place. So many came up to me, congratulating me and complimenting me. I could only whisper hushed thank you’s and nothing more. I managed to find a window which overlooked the city streets. People filled the area so it was a messy moving river of colours. I stared down as I processed what had just happened to me.

I was reaped. I was the Rose now. I’d be married off to someone from the districts after I cause the murder of 23 men. I was everything I hated about this place.

No, this wasn’t happening. None of that could be true. This was all just a bad dream, a horribly bad dream, just like the one I’d been having every night for the last week.

It began as a memory. I was nine again, living in District 7. School had just finished and all the kids were rushing out of the school to head home. The Hunger Games were being broadcasted and everyone was to go straight home to watch it. I was heading that way when I was pushed to the ground. I spun around to look up and see Trig’s face. Her usually olive complexion was paler and her eyes were rimmed in red from tears, but she wasn’t sad. She was angry. Rage painted her face as my best friend looked down at me.

“You! You’re one of them! This is your fault!” She yelled at me.

I didn’t understand and words failed me which was the wrong answer as Trig swung back and kicked me in the side. It tore the breath from my body as a huddled on my side, cradling the pain.

“You killed my brother!” She screamed again and kicked me in the stomach. My lungs struggled for air without success as pain I’d never felt before ran through me. By now, teachers had come by and grabbed Trig, pulling her away from me. I was helped up from the ground in time to make eye contact with Trig. Her dark brown eyes held a fury as she thrashed against the men pulling her away.

“I hate you! I hate you!” She screamed to me as she was dragged back to the school for punishment.

In reality, Trig would never speak to me again. Her brother had died in the 73rd Hunger Games that day and she’d forever blame the Capitol and all born there for it, including myself.

However in the nightmare, Trig would escape the men holding her and come barreling towards me. A knife appeared in her hand as she tackled me to the ground. She’d slice at my neck and laugh as I bled out, just like her brother Carver died. I felt every moment of it and by the third dream I knew it was coming. I’d struggle against her, attempting release but she’d always manage to hold my down and slit my throat. I’d wake up wrapped in my blankets like knots and in a cold sweat.

I gasped rather dramatically when I felt a hand pull at my shoulder to turn me around. Belba stood before me with Fredrick not too far behind her.

“Congratulations!” She loudly proclaimed but as she leaned forward to hug me, she whispered in my ear. “Are you alright?”

I couldn’t speak. I could only shake my head and fight back the anger that was beginning inside me. Belba sighed and released me, holding on to my shoulders to look over me.

“Of all the people who could have been drawn…” she murmured for only me to hear. She understood how much I didn’t want this.

I opened my mouth to speak but a shrill squeal came from the room in it’s place. My mother came in, loud and ecstatic, she made it over to me and wrapped me in her arms.

“Gemma, we did it! You’re the Rose! Oh the life you’re going to lead now!” She cried. I had to pry her arms off of me to get some air. The feathers at her neck were chocking as it was, let alone her smothering affection. The last thing I needed was her joy.

Luckily, her mother turned her attentions to the other people in the room.

“Can you believe it? My daughter! The Rose! I couldn’t be more proud!” She coed loudly to the room. I could already see her eyes darting around to see who were the most influential and important people in the room. It took everything in me not to die of embarrassment.

My father came around then, looping his arm around my shoulder and only speaking to me.

“This is going to be quite the adventure, eh Gemma? Nothing is going to be the same,” he optimistically remarked.

It was hard to ignore the heaviness in my heart at his words. He meant them in celebration, but I felt them in dismay and despair.

The rest of the party felt like a blur. Important people shook my hand and asked me ridiculous questions such as what colour would be my signature or how tall I hoped my future husband might be. It all felt so trivial and it only worsened my mood. Guilt wracked me at every turn.

“Gemma! Over here!” Belba called at one point. I drifted over to her and the woman standing before her. “Gemma this is Belladonna. She’ll be your stylist this year!”

Belba was starry eyed as she looked over the lean woman who wore all black apart from a red rose. It would seem understated were it not for the large black cages that sat on either hip and her shoulders. A black veil reached over her left eye and gave her a dangerous look. Her blond hair was pin straight, ending in a sharp bob and complimenting her dark carmel skin.

“Charmed,” she purred, holding out her hand covered in a black lace glove. Her black lips quirked up in a smirk when I took her hand and shook it in a daze.

“Quite a shock to the system, this sudden surge in fame,” Belladonna offered but there was something in her eyes like she meant more that she couldn’t or wouldn’t say.

I could only nod before the designer began to circle me. She gently touched the few flowers on my dress and the gold clips in my hair with her spidery like fingers.

“A flower to be sure, but is there anything beneath it,” she commented to herself.

It was then my mother came barreling over. Letta had indulged too much on wine already. Her bleach blond hair was falling out of it’s careful curls and the literal nest she’d secured this morning was falling to the side.

“Gemma! My sweet girl,” she came over and pinched my cheeks. It hurt nearly as much as her checkered dress hurt my eyes. “You’re going to get married. You’ll have a wedding after all,” she explained a little too emotionally.

I looked about at the attention she was drawing. My shoulders tensed with it.

“You know, when Marcius broke off the engagement I was afraid you’d never find a man, or a partner. Honestly I thought Belba might have been your girlfriend for a time but then she found fredrick and I thought you’d be all alone.” Letta continued.

It was all too much, too loud, too embarrassing.

“Stop it mother,” I tried to speak through gritted teeth but she either didn’t hear me over her performance or didn’t care. Instead she placed her hands on my shoulders to speak directly to me, and the crowd that gathered around us.

“You were always such a hard one to match up. No matter how hard I tried, and believe me I tried, I couldn’t seem to get a man to stick around for you but now! Now they’ll have no choice, eh piglet?”

It was a cruel nickname my mother had for me when I was young. I carried too much weight in her opinion, my body not quite the style it should be and my refusal to take Capitol measures to fix it was what spurned the name. I grew out of it to some degree, my baby fat becoming a fuller womanly figure. Still, she could not help but comment on the willowy form that was popular in the city and my much curvier shape.

It was that name that made me snap. “Enough!” I screamed and pushed aside my mothers doting hands aside.

The room was silent from my outburst but I didn’t care. The startled eyes could look at me all they want, it wouldn’t help calm the simmering rage beneath my skin.

“The one thing I’m most grateful for mother, is the time I’ll have away from you,” I hissed before turning and storming out of the room.

All eyes watched and I could hear one quiet comment over the silence.

“The flower has some thorns,” Belladonna spoke.

I walked home that night. Few people stopped me as few people thought the Rose would be anywhere but the largest party of the night. I managed to get home with relative ease and went straight for my bedroom where I locked the door. The room was still silenced from this morning, the first quiet I’d found since this morning.

Finally I could have a moment of peace. A moment to process. A moment to sink to the floor and cry.

It felt like hours alone. I managed to pick myself off the floor and into my bed where I hid under the covers, hoping this was all a dream. No matter how many times I shut my eyes when they opened, it still wasn’t a dream.

A pounding fist on my door startled me. Letta’s voice came through.

“Gemma! Open this door this instant!” She screeched. I could hear my father trying to make her see reason and not confront me but she wasn’t having any of it.

My rage renewed I stood and marched to the door, opening it to both of their surprise.

“Gemma!” My mother seemed as angry as I was, even more of a mess than the last time I’d seen her. “What were you thinking!? Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me!”

“I embarrassed you?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes! Your blow ups, Gemma they’ll be the death of me I swear,” she tried to head into my room for her next performance but I refused to step out of the way for her.

“I wish they would already,” I spoke through gritted teeth.

“Gemma,” my father scolded but Letta took the insult and ran with it.

“You wish me dead? Is that it?” Large fake tears began to fall over her rosy cheeks. “Oh isn’t that wonderful. I give my daughter the world and she wants me dead.”

“Quit your crying, we all know you don’t mean a word of it,” I spat.

“Oh I mean it! These tears are real but they’re not for me! They’re for you!” She tried but I rolled my eyes. “You know this is the reason Marcius left you,” she tried.

Without thinking I reeled back and slapped her across the face. Silence prevailed as shock replaced my mothers dramatics. Not even my father dared to say another word.

“How DARE you!? I should-”

“You should what?” Letta was interrupted by a nasally voice. Behind her and my father stood Havvery and some guests he’d let into the house. Garth stood with Belladonna and a few others behind her.

“I.. I… she…” Letta sputtered but Garth was already moving past her towards me.

“Might I come in?” He asked and I stepped aside for him, casting Letta another dirty look. The others followed and when only Letta and my father were left in the hallway Garth offered a pleasant thanks and shut the door.

“Gemma Silver, I believe you’ve had the change to meet Belladonna Ivy.” I gave a not to Garth’s words. “Well this is Remington and Imogen, members of her, and now your, style team.”

I had no words, the sudden change from a fight to such polite introductions was staggering. Garth used this as a chance to speak a rehearsed welcome he must have given to all the Roses.

“As we begin the 8th Annual Red Games you will become the centre of focus for all of Panam. As such it is imperative that you make a good impression on the country. As such I will help guild you through these tasks and assist in any way I can. Together we will craft your love story and show Panam that life is always better unified.”

I was barely listening as he spoke and it seemed Garth didn’t care much.

“Now, I will take my leave. Belladonna will see that you are ready for your send off and we’ll head out on this marvellous adventure,” he spoke, again rather board.

I only nodded again. Garth accepted that and left to no doubt calm my mother down, perhaps scold her a bit if I was lucky. Though luck hadn’t exactly been on my side as of late.

Belladonna began rounding me once more. Her assistants, Remington and Imogen, who happened to look like twins with their lavender hair, near white skin and sweeping fitted cloaks. The only differences lied in their eyes. Remington’s were a soft grey and Imogen were a deep jade. They began taking notes on a small tablet while Belladonna circled me like prey. She came to the front and took my chin, raising it to meet my eyes.

“Tears of joy perhaps?” She commented, noting the redness of them and what must have been streaks of gold carried down my cheeks with my tears. She didn’t need me to answer. Instead she moved to my bed where Imogen placed a large box, unsnapping latches and opening all the various folding trays. Inside lay a smattering of colours, all waiting to paint my face. Her collection of paints and brushes put mine to shame. Belladonna spoke while examining the many tools and trays.

“My job is different than most stylists. Where most stylists are meant to help tributes find sponsors, my role is far more important.” She stopped and turned to me. “I am to make you worth dying for.”

My heart dropped at the idea. I hadn’t even thought of what the tributes might think of me.

“Now now, not to fear,” Belladonna sensed my fears all too clearly and reached for me, pushing my hair back and taking my face in her hands.

“This is your kindness to them, do you understand? They will be chosen, no matter who the rose is, tributes will be chosen and will die. It’s a service to them, you see, that you make yourself a worthy prize for all the loss they’ll face.”

Her words added more pressure that I hadn’t even thought to add to my shoulders. I would be their ruin and now I had to make myself worth that ruin? I had only hours ago let myself down. How could I not do the same to 24 unfortunate souls I’d yet to meet?

“Where are they?” Belladonna asked, confused.

For a moment I thought she might be speaking to her assistants but it seemed she was looking for something on my face.

“What?”

“Your thorns dear, where did they go? I saw them at the party,” she clarified with a kind smile on her black lips that didn’t match her usual mischievous grin.

She waited until I cracked the smallest of smiles before she released me and headed back to her work. My face was cleaned and drops were placed in my eyes to calm their redness. I was stripped down and placed in a robe as well, my hair untied around my shoulders to start from scratch.

“You made a sweet impression at the reaping, but let’s not have them think you’re some kind of soft girl. You’ll need to be capable. You’ll need to seem in control.”

The way Belladonna spoke, I had the impression the tributes were still more on her mind than the Capitol. That did ease my worry in some way. If her worries were alined with my own it would make this all so much easier.

Belladona began, painting my face with brushes and powders. She and her large cages stood in my way that I couldn’t see her work. Behind me I could hear the twin assistants working and moving, all in silence.

All the while Belladonna made small conversation. She asked me questions, about my family and my life. I wasn’t sure if it was to get to know me or to ease and distract me but it worked on all accounts. Soon she turned me and began working on my hair. I could see now that the twins were laying out clothing options, accessories and more that Belladonna gave the most subtle cues to. I couldn’t even perceive them but they seemed to know what she wanted.

The colours that laid on my bed weren’t far off from my peach choices this morning. White crossing strips of ribbon were embellished by flowers in blues, lavenders and soft pinks.

“So we’re taking the rose thing rather literal this year,” I commented to Belladonna. I instantly regretted it, I shouldn’t have been so rude to someone who was just trying to help.

“Oh the flowers aren’t about your title,” she corrected without skipping a beat. “The capitol can be cold, fake and cruel. Every district knows this but you, you will be different.” She finished with one last pin in my hair and encouraged me to stand with a push to my shoulders. The twins were already removing my robe and holding out a nude strapless one piece. The lines in it and corseting gave detail and shape as I stepped in.

“Though the Capitol look can be very alluring, it won’t be to tributes. I want to make a statement that separates you from the rest of us. A beacon for tributes to flock to.”

Once laced into the corseting, the white ribbons were lifted over my head. I could see now what the idea was. Each white ribbon wrapped around me as though the outline of a dress rather than the full piece. It began around my neck in a chocker and down my shoulders. More lines moved across my waist and at my hips the ribbon became stiff, moving away from me to create an a-line gown that reached to the flood. Through t it reacted the illusion of a dress my full leg was shown all the way to my one piece. This would have been rather risqué were it not for the flowers that wrapped around my waist and flowed down the ribbon cage. It was beautiful to be sure but…

“Ah, ah ah,” Belladonna waved her finger before me. “No second guessing yourself.” She took my shoulders and turned me towards my mirror.

On the other side of the mirror stood a beauty. Every line of ribbon the dress created was meant to accentuate my figure, making me look mature and kind of sexy, while the flowers made me look feminine. My make up matched that tone, colours that were reflected in the flowers of my dress had been painted on my lids, making my eyes large and my skin dewy. My hair was far less tamed than most in the capitol these days. My hair was pulled back in loose braids, nearly falling apart, that ran down my back. Delicate flowers had been woven into my brown hair all the way to its gold ends.

Belladonna picked and perfected a few of those flowers as she stood behind me. Imogen placed simple pearl earrings on my ears while Remington added a perfect violet gold band to my finger.

“You, my dear, will be a natural beauty amongst a world of harsh illusions.”

I gawked, unaware my curvy shape could be celebrated rather than altered. The look felt, simple and authentic yet would not be questioned by the capitol citizens. “Thank you,” I whispered as my hands began to explore the garden at my hips.

“Don’t thank me yet, we have a long journey ahead of us,” Belladonna added as she made a motion to the twins. In mere moments the entirety of their tools and things were packed away and ready to leave.

I was lead out to my living room where Letta and my father sat. Father read from his tablet while mother bowed her head. It was clear that Garth had been disciplining my mother. He all but ignored my father behind him and stood directly before Letta.

“We’re ready,” Belladonna announced and Garth lifted his gaze with a smile.

“Ah, aren’t you lovely,” he complimented and moved to my side with an offered hand. “Now, we’ll take you to the train station where we’ll begin the Reaping Tour. It is customary to say your goodbyes here.” He let his gaze turn to my uninterested father and emotionally exhausting mother.

“Goodbye,” I gave in a short tone. Father gave a wave and a smile, knowing he’d see me soon. Letta only made a blubbering sound, unhappy she wasn’t being doted on for her fake tears.

I gave Garth a nod and he seem to be quite understanding of my lack of sentiment. He lead me out the door without question into an awaiting black car.

This time I, or rather the car, was clearly noticed. They waved and screamed from either side even though I was sure they couldn’t see me through the tint of the car.

“You can stand and wave if you’d like,” Garth informed me when he noticed where my attention was. He motioned to the sunroof above us.

“No,” I spoke and cast my eyes down to my floral ring.

I’d been right not to wave. There was no need. It seemed the whole city had turned out at the station.

Citizens and reporters with their insect like cameras trained directly on my face all pushed to get just a little closer as the car doors opened. Peacekeepers kept them at bay but it seemed a struggle for them, especially once they caught sight of me. They screamed and hollered for even a second of my attention. This was fame it seemed.

I caught a glimpse of myself on a television screen on the wall that was airing my arrival live and felt gratified that I appeared just as Belladonna hoped. I looked natural, especially amongst the capitals vivid colours and multitude of augmentations.

I gave small sweet smiles but I just couldn’t hide how overwhelming this was.

I was ushered towards the train, eager to be out of the spotlight. Still, I was forced to stand a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobbled up my images, then we were allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us. The train began to move at once.

The speed initially took my breath away. It had been years since I’d been on a train. The last one brought me back to the capitol almost eleven years ago. It was one of the high-speed Capitol model just like this one. I ran a hand over one of the chairs, it even smelt the same as before.

The staff on the train wore Red outfits with golden trim and showed us each to our rooms. I was surprised as I passed door after door. Twelve to be exact, one for each district on this section of the train. Their handlers and designers would be at the other end of the train. My room was larger and set just before the last car of the train. I’d be close to the viewing room with all it’s windows, but every single person on the train would know where to find me.

Stepping inside my chambers had a lavish suite. It would have been a well sized room were it not for the monstrous bed taking up most of the space. There’d have been room for a sitting area otherwise. Instead I had only a bathroom and dressing area apart from the sleeping area. I wouldn’t have seemed so… spoiled if I didn’t know exactly why the bed was so large.

Though I’d avoided watching too much of either games, it was impossible to ignore. It was broadcasted everywhere and all anyone talked about. I’d seen the blood and carnage. I’d seen the parties and events. I’d even heard of and seen one of the more heated nights between the rose and a tribute. I could never understand how the rose agreed to allow the broadcast of such an intimate moment. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it, let alone be broadcast doing it.

The drawers were filled with fine clothes all approved by Belladonna, as was expected. They were simple and comfortable. The real dresses were in Belledonna’s room, those were the dresses for the cameras. For now I was free to wear whatever I wanted.

After carefully taking off my outfit I looked over the clothing and opted for the thick, warm robe instead. I pulled out my hair and all it’s flowers as well as wiping off my make up. They’d just re-dress me again when we arrived at district one in a few hours. That was our first stop. District one. The district took turns deciding which way they would be reaped. The rose was to be present at each so the order the districts were reaped mattered strategically, it added time alone on the train with the rose. This year would begin at 1 and end at 12B

The only thing I kept on was the violet ring.

Flowers weren’t often real in the Capitol. They were silk or other materials and the ones that were grown were genetic mutations meant to look perfect. The petrified violet on my hand however, that was a real flower. Or it had been once upon a time. I let my finger stroke over the now preserved petals. Real, genuine beauty. That’s what I wanted to be. Belladonna’s natural look was to make me stand out and it had certainly done that. I wanted more. I wanted to be separate.

I’d always played the rebel. I stood up to the capitol in meaningless, insignificant ways. A braid, a secret aversion to games, a reluctance to participate fully. It was pitiful attempts to make up for my birth given status. This time I would make it clear, I would pick a side. I would choose the districts and their tributes instead of the capitol I was born to. No matter what happened, I would be on their side.

Garth came to collect me for supper. I followed him through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There was a table set for myself and my team.

I sat at the head of the table. Garth took the seat to my right and Belladonna to my left with the twins beside her. The rest of the table held countless chairs with no place settings. It would be for each of my doomed suitors. A shiver ran down my spine at the horrid idea.

Supper came in course after silent course. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Garth kept blathering on about all the exciting things I would experience in each district. After the Reaping they would put on some sort of feast, celebration or custom to entertain me. It would all be for me. I knew Garth was trying to cheer me up and get me excited but every word grated on my nerves and worsened my guilt.

I remained quiet until the meal was over and the moment I was free I excused myself and rushed straight to the last car to be alone. This time of night it was actually beautiful, the capitol was so bright that seeing the stars was impossible. Out here, they twinkled far above me, perfectly displayed through the glass ceiling of the car. I curled up on one of the chairs and stared at the sky.

All night the parties in the Capitol would continue. They would rerun my reaping, speak about all the things they could find out about me through the day. My age, my parents of which Letta would be thrilled, my past in District 7, my past engagement and tragic break up with Marcius, it would all be playing all night for the Capitol to indulge. My life, their entertainment.

I didn’t mean to but I fell asleep in that chair. When I woke to sunlight I ached from being curled up. It took time to stretch myself out. The sun felt too bright and I stumbled even though the train was no longer moving. We were stopped at District 1’s station, ready for the first of district reapings.

[cncorner]

First Top Surgery Consultation! With University of Chicago

Note: I wrote several in-depth descriptions on Reddit about some of my experiences so far. Here’s one I posted on March 14

Hi everyone! I can't wait the three hours until my therapist appointment so you guys get to deal with me gushing instead. :) Also I've read on other posts that there's a demand for overly detailed accounts so that's an excuse for me to talk about myself extensively. Areas will be highlighted for easy jumping.

WARNING: Stupid long

About Me

I'm FTM, apparently! I've been dressing like a guy and using a male name for the past decade while spinning in and out of the closet. Earlier this year I've finally decided that enough was enough and started therapy, which cemented my decision to transition. I started looking for surgeons with the desire to get surgery this fall (originally August-September, but now no earlier than September) to give myself some time to save money and lose weight.

Before consultation

I started looking mid-February. First I called Dr. Shore (who's the most popular in Chicago, I believe), who called me back the next day with a consult date of August. I thought that was strange and asked about when the surgery would be. They said they were booked until 2021, which was way too far off for me. After that phone call, I sent messages through their online sites for Dr. Amanda Silva at the University of Chicago and Dr. Marco Ellis at Northwestern Plastic Surgery. Dr. Silva got back to me the next day saying that they can set up a consult for mid-March, and I made that appointment. They had several different doctors who did top surgery but I ended up going with Dr. Silva like I planned. Her hours available were all during my work shifts so I had to take time off, which was a little frustrating.

Dr. Ellis's office emailed me later that day saying they had times open for mid-April, and I needed to bring to the consult: two letters from two different doctors recommending surgery, a documentation of name change, and a detailed description of past treatments. I went HAHAHA NOPE and never replied.

To the consultation

The University of Chicago is in downtown Chicago fairly close to the Museum of Science and Industry. I came in off Lake Shore Drive, and once I got on campus I followed the signs for the Medical Building instead of listening to Google Maps. There's a large parking garage that the signs lead directly to, and a bunch of buildings around with no immediately obvious place to go. Once I got out of my car Google Maps lead me to a place that wasn't an entrance so I stopped by the closest building to get directions. They pointed me to the DCAM building, which seemed really obvious. There's a bunch of valet parkers outside that made it look like a hotel.

I went inside and the front desk person told me where to go (forth floor, "H suite", which was confusing until I got to the forth floor. There were signs pointing me to 4H). I stopped by the 4H receptionist and they got my ID and insurance card, and took my copay (it was under a specialist copay, so $60 for me). Then they gave me some paperwork for my medical history and I sat and waited.

The consultation

I only had to wait about 5-10 minutes or so before they led me into an examination room. A nurse verified my identity, took my temperature and blood pressure, and asked if I needed a hospital gown. I had no idea how to answer that question--they didn't tell me anything about that and I assumed the nurse would know. She asked what I was here for because they didn't tell her, and I waffled because I'm awkward and shy and don't like outing myself and eventually said "top surgery", hoping she'd understand.

She didn't. She assumed I was getting an augmentation and gave me a gown. Lol. I was nervous about correcting her so I didn't, then she left. I put on the gown.

A couple minutes later a doctor came in who was not Dr. Silva (I forget her name, I was too busy being confused) and she asked me a couple questions about what I wanted. She asked how long I've wanted the surgery, and if it was in relation to gender issues. I was honest and told her that I didn't know completely; I never even wanted breasts when I was a child. Tying it into gender issues came later. She asked if I wanted bottom surgery. I said I didn't know, that was off in the future. She said she wanted to take a look at my breasts, so I showed her and she poked at them a bit (I'm not sure doing what, but I wasn't looking). She didn't look longer than a minute. She also mentioned a couple of side effects from the surgery; the one I remember is that most complications come from the nipple grafts, and that the nipples likely won't ever regain feeling. I've heard a lot of conflicting information on nipple sensation, but it's not something super important to me so that doesn't bother me. She asked me a couple more questions that I don't remember, then she said she'll tell Dr. Silva all about me, which I thought was weird.

She left. A couple minutes later Dr. Silva and the previous doctor came in. Dr. Silva said that the other doctor told her all about me (??? even weirder). She asked me what surgery procedures I knew; I said that there were a bunch but I only knew keyhole and "reverse anchor" (whatever it's called). She said that patients come in all the time and tell her a bunch of techniques that she'd never heard of, and she personally does periareolar and "the one with the scars" (she described the surgery when she said it, so I'm assuming she didn't have a name because she hears a bunch of different names for it). Edit: I did some research and realized that she probably said "double incision, which leaves scars". I assumed that double incision had some fancy nickname like "keyhole" or "lollipop" that Dr. Silva didn't remember, but nope, very straightforward

She asked what cup size I was, I said I had no idea, and that I did those breast measuring things and they all said I was a D/DD and I figured that was wrong because those bras were always super huge on me. She asked to take a look, she poked (again, don't know what), and said I was more B/C. She said my skin seemed pretty elastic and my chest size borderline qualified for a periaroelar. This surprised me because I assumed that my chest was too big for that so I never researched it, but it's still exciting news. She said that if results for peri weren't what I wanted then I can still go in with another surgery resulting in scars that were more typical.

I told her that I wanted surgery to be in the fall to save money/lose weight/start T, and she said that was okay, and she recommended another consult closer to the time I wanted the surgery because weight loss and T can have an affect on my breasts. For that consult she told me to bring my letters then.

As a last surgery-related question, I asked her what "free nipple graft" really meant. Dr. Silva gave me a confused look and asked what I thought it meant, and I said that originally thought that it was a complimentary nipple graft (aka free-of-charge) and she laughed and said that, medically, when the nipple is taken completely off the body it is "freed" and needs to be grafted completely back on.

I asked a couple questions about finances after that and she said she didn't know (which I'm not surprised about, she's a doctor not an accountant), and she said that they had different options for putting codes in. If the surgery was too expensive with her they could have a resident (doctor-in-training I'm guessing lol) do it with her supervising, which would have the same results but be cheaper. That would end up with another appointment with the resident for that option. She also said that she believes my insurance would fully cover after my deductible, which is 5k, which isn't cheap, but not to take her word for it. I just wanted to know to see if I needed to take out a loan or if I could set up a payment plan with the hospital for what's not covered. She didn't know if they offered a payment plan and that I needed to talk to the finance department about that. She'd send in a nurse with more information.

And that was all the questions I had. We said goodbye, I got dressed, and a nurse came momentarily with a phone number to the finance department. She said that she didn't think they offered payment plans because she had called several times before, but that I should feel welcome to verify that information. It doesn't matter to me; my credit is good and I have no problem getting a loan and just paying my bank off in installments instead of paying the hospital off in installments.

I got my parking validated; I was parked for about 1.5 hours, and it's $6/hour normally. Parking validation bumped it down to $3/hour (so I paid $6/two hours). I think there was a green line stop really close to the medical building (I didn't investigate too closely) so I might take the train in next time instead to save on parking and having to drive all the way downtown.

I forgot to make another appointment, but I might wait until my health insurance through my job renews so I can get on the more expensive plan with the lower deductible. That also means that I might get the surgery around the time my job closes for the holidays, which reduces the amount of time off from work and gives me more time to save up money.