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closedafterdark · 4 years ago

Text

Part Timer

Dreamcatcher Minji x Male Reader

6644 words

categories: smut, oral, creampie, employee minji

Read on AFF

Note: Brief mention of Dreamcatcher members from nsfwtwicecatcher’s stories.

Life works in mysterious ways.

Walking into a convenience store can be quite the stimulating experience.

The familiar tune of the doorbell being rung upon entering. The relieving rush of air conditioning. Thousands of plastic packages covered in bright colors ranging from simple descriptions of the item with cutesy cartoon animal characters to promotional shots of the model approving of the product.

It can be hard to navigate the refrigerated section of triangle kimbap with various fillings or the hundreds of bottles of tea in assorted flavors.

From wanting to expand lunch options, picking out the best snack for a quick break from life, or finally finding that specific ramen flavor that brought back fond memories, convenience stores have something for everyone.

Convenience stores were especially popular with the younger demographic. The affordability of the products meant a high school student's allowance or a college student's frugality can both stretch their money significantly. Most stores took advantage of this, often doing promotional deals such as buy one, get one or multiples of a product for a discounted amount.

"That'll be 9,000 won please" the cashier says after scanning two red Marlboro boxes.

You were patiently waiting your turn, a cup of ramen and banana milk in your arms.

Once the person in front of you pays for their cigarettes after complaining why the tobacco tax was so high, you place the items down next to the cash register.

"That'll be 2,000 won please"

Fumbling around your pockets, you realize you were out of money. You were completely broke after paying this month's rent and your friends wanting to celebrate one of your oldest friends getting promoted in their corporate job. You had enough money to pay with cash but remembered you had an app that contained store credits.

As you hand the cashier your phone, you look up. She wore a blue, orange and green tri-colored vest that replicated the colors outside the store. Her nametag was neatly placed on the left side, the GS-25 logo clearly visible. Underneath the vest was a white crewneck sweater with Mickey Mouse imprinted across.

Her smile was very inviting, making you question how she was able to keep such a cheerful expression for long periods of time. Her makeup less face complimented her dark, chestnut hair that was playfully teased to give a slightly wavy look. You felt quite shabby seeing how beautiful she was even in such a simple outfit. You had thrown on a pair of joggers and wore the same Mickey Mouse shirt you wore to bed last night, the shirt creased from you tossing back and forth trying to fall asleep from the summer heat.

"Oh, you like Mickey too?" She says as she hands back your phone after scanning the QR code, getting your attention.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I have a lot of these kinda shirts at home"

"Really? So do I. Mickey's my favorite" she said, her warm smile washing away whatever embarrassed feelings you had previously.

"Kim Jiyoo" you said, reading the name tag on her vest.

"That's me" Jiyoo replies, her eyes shining brightly at the delight of her name being called. "My real name is actually Minji, but my family and friends have been calling me Jiyoo forever that I've gotten used to it"

"I see. Well thank you for the items, Miss Jiyoo Minji" you reply, smiling at her.

"Please, either Jiyoo or Minji is fine" she giggles. "I haven't seen your face before"

"Yeah, I just moved to the neighborhood yesterday" you explain. "Finally living on my own"

"Really? I'm so jealous. I still have to live at home with my parents and brother" Minji pouted, puffing her cheeks at you with a cute sad reaction.

"Hey, stay positive! I'm sure you'll be able to move out soon!"

"Really? You think so?"

"Ahem"

You and Minji turn around and see an extremely large line has formed behind you, almost reaching the entrance. This store was extremely popular, you're sure having a beautiful woman as the employee made it that way.

You apologize to the customers and bow.

"Thank you again, Minji" you say, quickly grabbing your things and beginning to leave.

"Wait, I didn't catch your name!" Minji yells, tilting her head to see where you were.

"I'll drop by again tomorrow!" You yell, briefly being seen again by the door before leaving. Minji wanted to talk more, but was pleased to know you would be returning the next day. She smiled brightly at the customers and quickly got them in and out of the store.

And drop by the next day you did. Everyday for the entire month in fact. Some nights were slower than others, which allowed you and Minji to really get to know each other. Most of the time you didn't really need to buy anything, but dropped by anyways because you looked forward to your daily conversations with her. Minji would complain to you about the rude customers she had to deal with or how her and a group of friends had aspirations to be famous one day.

"What are you guys calling yourselves again?" You asked, slurping up noodles Minji made for you both.

"Dreamcatcher! We want fans to dream of us" Minji replies with her mouth full of ramen.

"That's the stupidest name I've ever heard! I preferred the first one you gave. What was it called? Minx?" You laughed at her, probably not the smartest thing to do. Minji pouted and hit your shoulder before replying.

"Ugh gross! I guarantee you this is what'll happen if we were named Minx. We'll debut with a cute concept. Two years will go by with steady growth but still no traction. We disband and go our separate ways" Minji yells, pointing her chopsticks at you in anger.

"So, tell me about these friends of yours" you ask, taking a rather large chug of water.

"Hmm, what's there to say? I'm the oldest out of all 7 of us. We all have day jobs so it's hard to find time to meet. Here's a photo of some of them" Minji replies as she scrolls through her phone, handing you it as you see three women: one towering over the other two as they smile brightly, posing in business like clothing.

"The giant's name is Kim Yoohyun. We call her the silver puppy. Kim Bora's the busty one you see there. That bitch really needs to cover her tits. Anyways, the small bean on the right is Lee Gahyun, an intern. Yoo and Bora have been with the company for several years now. Gahyun was about to be fired due to slacking on the job, but she and Bora managed to entice their coworker into letting her stay"

"Enticed how? And wow, Yoohyun has an ass on her" you say, scrolling through Minji's phone and finding a photo of her friend posing for the camera.

"Give me that!" Minji says, yanking her phone from you.

"Let's just say the girls have an... interesting relationship with Bora's coworker"

"Noona!"

The two of you see a younger man approach your table. He looked like a carbon copy of Minji, just taller. And a guy.

"Taehyun, what are you doing here?"

"Mom asked me to ask you for some money. “Oh, hey hyung”

Minji takes some money out of her wallet, but retracts it when Taehyun reaches for it.

"What is this for?"

"She wants to buy pastries from the baker that just opened up"

"Are you sure? Ah, mom has her own money. Why does she keep asking me for some”

"Yes" Taehyun replies, snatching the money from her hand before running. Thanks noona!"

"Ah, that kid. I already know he's gonna spend it at the pc bang. Sorry about my dumb brother. Like I was saying, Bora and her coworker are pretty much senior members at the company. All the responsibility for zero increase in pay. When it came to intern evaluations to see who was going to be cut, her coworker convinced Bora that Gahyun would be their intern after some… interesting evaluations”

"So they slept with him?"

"Yoo was the first one, being his personal secretary and all. She said he dropped a pen one day during a business call and when she went to pick it up under his desk, she saw what he was hiding under his slacks so she sucked him off. Bora’s encounter with him happened when they worked late one night and got caught in a storm, so they ended up getting a hotel room for the night. Even though he's had turns with Gahyun and Bora, I really think him and puppy will end up together. She already spends half of the week at his place anyways and goes on and on about how great in bed he is"

"Well, I now know about your friends that I've never met before's sex life quite clearly. Anyway, even though it’s bad, I like that option about you guys disbanding and going your separate ways. It means you and I will get to date" you tease.

"Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure I'll date you?"

"Oh come on, Minji. It's so obvious you're into me. You look like an adorable puppy waiting for me at the exact same time everyday"

"Psh. As if! I look forward to when my shift ends. You just help time pass faster" Minji puffs her cheeks and pouts. It was one of your favorite reactions from her. You pinch her cheek and she blushes in embarrassment from your briefly intimate interaction.

"Don't worry, I like you too"

Minji looks up at you, her eyes beaming with excitement.

"You do?"

"Of course I do. I don't come here everyday just because of the snacks. Although, I am looking at a snack right now" you wink at her.

You lean forward. Minji's eyes widen like a deer in headlights. Unsure of what was going to happen, she closes her eyes and puckers her lips in anticipation. Smirking, you decided to tease her.

"You really should brush your hair sometime. You look less cute than usual" you softly say, as your face is mere centimeters from hers.

She opens her eyes and sees how close you two are. Her surprised expression soon changes to embarrassment.

"Why did you pucker your lips? Think I was going to kiss you?"

Smack.

You catch Minji off guard by giving her a delicate kiss on the lips. She touches it right away, unsure of what just happened.

"Why don't I work here? You did say your family wants a part timer to help out. Plus, we'll get to see each other more. Dating in the workplace can be cute. Like the silver puppy and her boss. Wait, you’re eating again? Where does it all go?”

“Food isn’t the only thing I eat”

Your newfound confessions blossomed into a tender relationship. The honeymoon phase was always wholesome. You two wanted to be around each other, often staying up late on the phone or sending cute gifs. Minji was a lovable girlfriend, pouting whenever you teased her.

There were cameras everywhere, so you two had to be discreet when it came to kissing. Minji showed you where the blind spots were, both of you using it to your advantage to sneak in quick pecks or longer smooches. As your relationship went on, both of you became more daring.

Your hand might as well have been super glued to Minji's butt from the amount of times you would smack it during your shifts. She in turn would reciprocate, slapping your butt or squeezing your crotch when she knew no customers were around. The first form of physical intimacy occurred when Minji called you into the employee area one day to help her get a box from a high shelf.

"Thank you for the help, baby. I didn't realize how high the extra cups were placed" Minji turns around and smiles at you.

You don't reply, instead choosing to pull her into your embrace. She looks up at you, anticipating what your next move would be.

"You make me happy, Kim Minji" you tell her running your hand through her long brown locks before pecking her lips. Minji takes initiative and puts her hand behind your head, pulling you in for another kiss. She starts off slow, nibbling at your lower lip. This elicits surprise from you. You've given each other pecks or simple kisses, but never fully made out. You had both just started dating and you didn't want to do anything to make Minji feel like you were going to take advantage of her.

Minji continues to take charge, inserting her tongue into your mouth. Your eyes eventually close, giving into the temptation. You both were supposed to be working, but here you both were, sucking on each other's faces in the employee room. Minji finally releases her mouth from yours when she began to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen. You were no better, beads of perspiration forming on your forehead as your chest heaves from oxygen finally flowing into your body.

Minji smiles at you, a seemingly innocent one. But her cheerful expression soon shows a certain twinkle in her eyes. You knew that expression all too well. It was the same one she made whenever she talked about her group member's escapades. Minji already wanted you both to take the next step and be intimate, but you kept declining. The truth was, Minji was your first ever girlfriend. You didn't want to disappoint her. Although she has squeezed your crotch several times, you allowed it since she respected your wishes and never overstepped the boundaries you set. Also, you would end up going home and releasing that sexual frustration with your hand anyways. But this time, you knew what was gonna happen.

"I know we agreed to not having sex yet, but there are ... other ways to be pleasured" Minji said, her words dripping with pure seduction as she got down on her knees.

"And it all starts by doing this"

"B-baby, we're at work. We c-can't do this"

"I need you" Minji murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "I want you" she had already unzipped your vest and removed your shirt. She gives your crotch a firm squeeze before reaching for the button on your jeans. As she unzips your pants, Minji shows you her beautiful eye smile. It melts your heart, you wonder how someone so sweet can be committing such sin.

Minji peppers your stomach with kisses, each leaving a thin string of saliva. Your boxers did a poor job at hiding what was underneath. Normally, your erections would go away after quickly. But today, you seemed to be consistently hard. It definitely didn't help that Minji would grope you every chance she could. And so, with a new toy to be played with seemingly in front of her, she grabs onto the elastic edge before swiftly pulling it down. Your agonizingly hard cock hits Minji's nostrils. She giggles, licking her lips at what is now presented in front of her.

"I'll make this quick babe. But not too quick. Don't want you bursting right away" she says, wrapping her delicate hand around your shaft. She could feel you pulsing in her grip, one that was loose enough that it left you wanting more. She begins with careful, sliding strokes, each one sending spikes of unrestrained pleasure throughout your body, increasing her tempo slightly at the end of each stroke, all while never breaking eye contact with you. The lewdness of it all, your girlfriend asserting herself as the dominant one in your relationship. She mixes things up by swirling her hand around your tip a few times, forming her fingers into a loose representation of a claw and captures your head, raking it a few times. You moan, continuing to run your fingers through her hair, hoping she would take the hint. Even though she coerced you into this situation, there was no turning back now. It has to happen.

“You’re so hard already” she moans, lubricating her lips once more with anticipation.

She doesn’t even give you time to breathe as she slowly opens her mouth, sinking her head as she draws closer and closer to you. She releases her grip on you, choosing to caress both of your hips for support until her lips finally connect with your head. The warm and soft flesh connecting with yours instantly makes you feel lost in their tight hold. Minji gets to work right away, her lips forming an air tight seal around you as they glide back and forth. Each suck is punctuated by the smack of skin on skin as she begins to take you entirely in her mouth. Your fingers that were previously running through her hair now grip the back of her head, pressing it each time. Minji goes deeper, putting her full effort into pleasuring you, her head bobbing back and forth rapidly. Occasional muffled gags are released as your shaft reaches the back of her throat. The little signs she showed of having a gag complex are soon proven to be temporary as once she has warmed up enough, Minji begins to be able to keep you inside her mouth for longer stretches. As her pace quickens, she teases you by showing a few tricks such as licking up and down your shaft, starting from the base until she reaches the tip, and taking both of your balls in her mouth at once.

“You’re close”

These were the first words either of you have said since Mini began, communicating like cavemen through grunts and body language. This was the first intimate experience for you both but it feels like Minji knows your own body better than you do. You wonder if she’s had practice before or if her group members told her about the signs that a man is about to orgasm. Compared to when you first started, your knees were getting weak from the pleasure. Your muscles were painfully tight from not wanting to burst right away. Minji releases your sack from her mouth, a popping sound that sounds like a symphony for your ears as she teased you by sucking each ball individually several times. She returns to using her hand, stroking you fast and hard. Minji lines up your seemingly ready to burst shaft with her tongue, using it as a runway for your fast approaching release. She looks up at you, her eyes practically pleading, begging for you to ejaculate in her mouth.

“Please, babe?” She pleads. “Please give me your come?”

Those were your activation words. It sends you over the edge and your release comes hard, weakening your knees even more that you thought you were gonna collapse. You grip onto Minji’s head for support as she takes you inside her mouth one final time. The thick white fluid escapes from you, gushing out at a high burst of speed. You felt the initial few hit the back of her throat. Once the initial rush of dopamine subsides, you loosen your hold on her, letting her know your orgasm is finished. Minji laps up the remaining few squirts, stroking you a few times to make sure that you’re completely empty. With one final kiss on your tip, she flashes her signature eye smile at you before standing up.

“Thanks for the afternoon snack, babe. Hope I didn’t make you see black or white”

You were sweating profusely, none of your previous orgasms had been that intense. Minji giggles, kissing you one final time before staring at the mirror and fixing her appearance to at least be somewhat presentable.

“I love you honey. Now let’s finish this shift shall we? I take it you’re ready for us to finally have sex. Make sure you’re ready for me tonight. I’ll make sure you scream” Minji blows you one last kiss before opening the door and greeting a customer who was ready to purchase food.

You were still feeling the aftereffects from Minji’s blowjob throughout your shift. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed like she didn’t even do it from how she was acting normally around customers. You were distracted, getting jumpy from customers asking you to scan their items or yelling at you for handing them the wrong carton of cigarettes. Once Minji locks up the store, she puts her keys away before interlocking her fingers with yours. The walk home was peaceful, no dogs barking and very few cars passing by. Minji was in a very cheerful mood, singing songs about flowers and summer love.

The two of you enter your apartment and Minji heads over to your room. She’s stayed over several times, and by doing so unofficially lives with you as many of her belongings and intimates are sprawled throughout your home. As you place the dinner order, Minji comes out, wearing a simple outfit that consists of pajama shorts that end ever so slightly below her bottom and a white crop top with Slytherin embroidered on it. An appropriate shirt to be wearing considering what she did to you at the store earlier. She removed her contacts and is now wearing giant circle lens glasses. After dinner, the two of you are sitting on the couch watching a rerun of some movie you forgot the name of. Minji was sitting on your lap, your right arm embracing her legs.

“Babe, we’re supposed to be watching the movie. Why is your dick poking my ass?”

You respond by sliding your hand down Minji’s crotch, not surprised at the lack of undergarments. You take two fingers and thrust them inside her core.

“Do you know how horny you made me today? It was all I could think about at work” you snarl, increasing the pace of your thrusts inside her.

“A-ah!” Minji’s juices lubricated your fingers, making the squelching sounds loud as you continued to finger her. “Faster, keep going”

You pull out your fingers just as Minji was about to climax, ruining her orgasm.

“Babe! What the fuck, I was about to come!”

“I just can’t do it. Babe, the reason why I’ve been prolonging sex was not to torture you” you sighed deeply. “It was cause I was embarrassed for you to find out I’m still a virgin”

“Is that what all this is about? Babe. You’re my boyfriend, I love you. I don’t care if you’re a virgin. It would be more meaningful because it’s you. I’m proud of you, that takes a lot of courage to say. But if we’re being honest… I am too”

“What?” You were so surprised, Minji seemed like an expert.

“I’ve pretty much done everything except penetration. Most guys just wanted to get in my pants without us getting to know one another. I compromised by telling them I’d give them head whenever they wanted. But with you, I’m okay with giving my first time to. I mean it”

Minji gives you another powerful kiss, reaffirming her love for you. You inserted your tongue this time, wanting to thank her for this morning.

“Looks like you kept your promise about being ready to go right now after my present for you this afternoon” your girlfriend says, speaking in a more husky tone. Minji began grinding on your lap. Moving her butt up and down, causing you to reach inside her shirt and grab her breasts, hungrily massaging them. It thrilled you knowing she was not wearing a bra, her nipples hard enough that they could pierce steel.

Minji guides you to the bedroom, turning around so that you’re facing each other. She begins her assault and kisses you, the two of you begin running your hands through each other’s body. Your clothes are instantly removed, being deemed unnecessary as both of your bodies increase in temperature: you almost tear off Minji’s shorts revealing her smooth, milky legs. She returns the favor by ripping the buttons off your shirt, her hands running through your chest and stomach with wanton vigor. She pulls your pajama pants down to your ankles as the two of you return to the fierce dance your mouths were participating in.

"Ah, babe. There's a bag near the nightstand. I got a little present for you"

You part yourself from Minji just enough to reach the pink colored bag on your nightstand. You take a peek inside and are greeted with a can of whipped cream. Under different circumstances, you would've wondered why there wasn't any ice cream. You hand them to Minji, smiling.

"Just thought you wanted a small snack before the main course" she said, shaking the can of whipped cream. She playfully applies two swirls on her breasts. They weren't the biggest breasts, but you loved them no matter what. But especially when they contained a sweet treat on them.

You instantly capture one, Minji's back arching in pleasure as the artificially sweetened substance fills your taste buds. It soon melts away revealing the real treat: chocolate syrup covered nipples. You make sure to not leave the other breast, devouring both mounds leaving only the syrup behind. Minji's moans echo throughout the bedroom, her skin's temperature being raised from the feeling of the cold whipped cream melting from your touch. You take the time to appreciate her naked body, giving her breasts as many kisses as you could.

You take the canister of whipped cream and without instruction, apply a generous amount on her clit.

"I've never done this before but it only seems right to repay you" you say, your voice trembling.

Warm colorless liquid was already beginning to slowly leak out of Minji. It seems like she was already aroused from having stuff eaten off her body. You dive in, lapping up the liquid from her center before gradually moving up, reaching the bright white prize. Minji is unable to control herself, her body squirming as she grips the back of your head and pushes you deeper. You move your hands up until they find her breasts, gently massaging them before pinching her nipples softly. The feeling you were giving her of eating her out along with playing her nipples was earth shattering. Obviously you were inexperienced, but with advice from Minji to form letters of the alphabet with your mouth, her initial giggles were soon replaced with moans, wanting you to not stop. You wanted her to orgasm, before diving into the main course.

The ever so slight musk scent was intoxicating. Minji chose to keep herself cleanly waxed, not a trace of hair in sight. You wanted to build her up, tease her for her agonizing blowjob earlier. But you show restraint, not giving in to your desires.

"Oh, fuck. Keep eating my pussy babe. Please"

You oblige, continuing your oral assault on her womanhood. You place your hands on her hips, causing them to involuntarily buck into your face. Your tongue darts in and out of her right hole. She wraps her thighs around your neck, forcing you to go deeper. It doesn't take very long until the muscles of her walls tighten, signaling her climax. Just as Minji is about to reach euphoria, you pull away for the second time tonight. Minji is rightfully pissed, her second orgasm of the night is ruined just as it was about to arrive.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" She angrily demands.

You choose to hold your throbbing cock in your hand. Minji sees this, her anger subsiding as she knows her erotic moans to your actions brought you back to life. Minji almost lost consciousness from the pleasure, trying to maintain focus as you both about to lose your virginities.

"B-be gentle, okay?" She whimpers.

You nod, giving her a reassuring kiss. You hold her left leg up, giving you a much easier access to the treasure that awaited you.

You make sure to prepare her for it, rubbing your tip against her lips several times. It was now or never. You guide your cock into her. She grimaces in pain as you finally enter her, her walls are extremely tight as inch by inch sinks inside. You're about three fourths of the way in as you give Minji another kiss to calm her down and hopefully relieve some of the initial pain. She wraps both of her arms around her neck, nodding at you to continue. At last, you fully enter Minji. Her walls are painfully tight, you weren't sure how you were able to fit.

Once you give her adequate time to get used to your cock, you start fucking. The first thrust causes her to whimper. She whines during the second one, but by the third thrust Minji's feelings of pain are replaced with pleasure. She loses all sense of self control, becoming a gasping, moaning mess as your hard cock increases in tempo and moves in and out of her. Both your breaths are heavy, you lock eyes with one another. You were both lost in the heat of passion. Her pussy is welcoming, extremely soft and complying to your rapid movements.

Before long, Minji has become fully accustomed to your dick, clawing at your back. Whispering in your ear to fuck her like you mean it. She's begging you for more, finding small bursts of energy to kiss you with what little oxygen is flowing through her body. Your bodies are extremely hot and sweaty at this point. You gently knead her soft, delicate mounds once again.

You were constantly out of breath yourself, your exhales devolving into monotone grunts. Minji's pussy continues to constrict your cock as the bed frame creaks from the two of you’s actions. You take note of your girlfriend's face: doe looking eyes, cheeks that were cute enough to pinch, luscious pink lips and the cutest nose you wanted to boop.

"Babe, why don't we try a different position? Yoo's always telling me about how good it feels to be fucked from behind"

Minji turns around and shakes her cute bottom at you. You spank it, the sound echoing throughout your room. You give each cheek four firm slaps before positioning yourself inside her once again.

"Oh, fuck. You feel even bigger than before"

Minji unconsciously tightens her vaginal muscles and you are provided with an utterly wonderful feeling.

“Holy fuck” you grunt. “Do it again baby” you beg as you thrust into her again.

She listens to you, clenching her muscles even harder. Minji is rewarded with cries of pleasure.

Your hand returns to her bottom, palming each tenderly before giving a loud spank. Minji decides to take control and impales herself onto your shaft, your bodies grinding against each other.

“A-ah, oh my god” Minji groans as her eyes roll to the back of her head. It seems you have found Minji’s sensitive spot. Having located it, control returns to you as you penetrate her cave and continue hitting her weakness. Minji’s stomach began getting heavier, she knew what was fast approaching. You could tell what it was from her body language. Minji tries desperately to grip onto your thighs, but it was no avail. You abuse her sensitive area as hard as you can, feeling her freshly manicured nails scratch your thighs, her body trembling in pleasure as the orgasm finally hits.

“Babe!” Your name escapes her lips in a hybrid scream/whisper repeatedly. You continue thrusting into her, albeit at a much slower pace due to how sensitive she was.

“You came so much, baby” you say, leaning forward to kiss her back.

“B-babe, stop. I wanna ride you now” she says, turning her head slightly. From her tone, it wasn’t a demand; but rather a request. Who were you to deny your girlfriend the pleasure she is seeking.

“Oh my godddd” Minji mutters as she impales herself onto your shaft. She doesn’t bother giving herself time to adjust to your size. Her mind is clouded at this point, only wanting pleasure and nothing else. You close your eyes, throwing your head back as her warm, velvety walls close tightly around you. Minji notices how much her pussy has an effect on you: your eyebrows furrow, you grit your teeth slightly, your Adam’s apple moving forward slightly as you gulp saliva.

Minji places her hands squarely on your chest, using them as support as she rocks her body back and forth. She could feel every ridge and pulsing vein rubbing against her walls. Now she realizes what Yoohyun meant when she said there is nothing that can replicate the feeling of having an actual dick inside you.

“Am I a slut babe?” Minji asks you. You were taken aback hearing her say such a thing about herself. “Because if it means I get fucked like this when we have sex, I want to be a slut. A whore who only wants your cock!”

Minji’s scream leaves her mouth suddenly as your dick hits her sensitive spot once more. It’s as if your mushroom headed looking tip has made it to her cervix. She grimaces slightly from the pain, but it makes her go crazy. Her toes curl in pleasure, digging themselves into the small crevice between your thighs and the bedsheets. With every downwards thrust into her body, Minji’s bottom is still tender from the spankings you gave her earlier.

Your hands roam her body and find their way up top. Minji’s legs were starting to give out, she lowers her body which allows you to capture her perky left nipple into your mouth. Using your tongue, you flick it. To add even more pleasure, you occasionally throw in a few soft bites. You cup each breast in your hand, squeezing them. To make things even worse for her already sensitive nipples, you blow cold air over them. Minji’s skin reacts, goosebumps littering her pale breasts.

Minji orgasms again, her walls painfully constricting you as the sudden flood of her nectar drenches your shaft. She captures your lips, wanting you to be happy of the pleasure you were giving her. Her orgasm was strong, but not strong enough to push you out of her. As such, trails of her liquid begin to leak out and coat your balls.

Her breathing is erratic, the back to back orgasms she endured caused her chest to heave. You find her nipples once more, tasting them. “Mmm, babe” her body was still sensitive. She tried pulling you away from her embrace, but you don’t care. You continue on with your oral assault, alternating between each breast.

Minji is kissing you senseless, and you take the chance of her being momentarily distracted to push yourself inside her once again. “Oooh” she moaned in pleasure. Her back has returned to the bed. You grab her thighs, pushing each apart momentarily before wrapping them around your waist. Minji embraces you as you thrust, her bottom syncing with yours.

“Babe… please keep fucking me. Don’t stop. Please, please, please. Don’t… stop… ahhhh!” Minji moans while trying to catch her breath. She was desperate. Gone was the aggressive woman who teased you about you both not having done the deed yet. All Minji wanted now was to come, and to make you come as well.

The room sounds like a symphony of moans, wet flesh slapping against one another and the consummation of a relationship being taken to the next level. Minji wraps her arms around your neck, her breasts pressed up against your own chest. Despite being the one to initiate things, there was a slight tint of red on her face as she could hear the lewd sounds your lower bodies were making.

You continue to thrust inside Minji. You were tired, but you had held back from being intimate with a woman for far too long. You savored Minji’s body, her lovely moans following each of your thrusts. Her breasts jiggled up and down from your swift movement.

“I’m gonna come” she manages to squeak out. You were so focused on fucking her you temporarily lost the ability to speak, grunting in order to acknowledge her. “I can’t hold it… aaahhhh…” Minji trembles, her body squirms as she clenches her walls around your shaft. Her flesh filled cave spasm along with his continuous thrusts.

“Aaahhh… yes, harder! Harder!”

You wanted to ask Minji where she wanted you to release. As you were about to do so, she lets out a loud scream. Your orgasm was fastly approaching.

“I’m coming baby!”

Minji’s thighs that were locked onto your waist pull you down. With one final powerful thrust, you reach the deepest part of her pussy. You emit a loud groan as your cock throbs erratically in her tight, velvety walls painting the inside with burning hot semen. You lose track of time in that moment, releasing sperm into her awaiting womb. It flows quickly and continuously, spreading all throughout her insides.

“Ohhhh my god” Minji’s body squirms in pleasure. Your orgasm triggers another one from her as well. With a quick kiss on her lips and one final thrust, you pull out, watching your bodies detach. Minji’s pussy is bright red, the poor victim of your sexual hunger. You watch as the slimy, white liquid oozes out of her. You hum in satisfaction, wiping off the sweat from your brows and caressing her face. As both of you struggle to catch your breaths, you lean down and give her a long, loving kiss.

Minji motions you to bring your cock near her mouth. Using the little strength she has left, she places a hand on your thigh as she is now face to face with your shaft. Your tip was bright red, glistening from the mixture of your love. She giggles as she sees her freshly released pussy juices and your sperm lathering your cock. She licks her lips with excitement before diving in. She wraps her left hand around your shaft, kissing the slit on your tip affectionately before putting it in her mouth. She makes eye contact with you, happy to see you clenching your teeth, trying to restrain yourself from grabbing her head and facefucking her.

Using the tips Yoohyun gave her, Minji swirls her tongue around your tip. She slowly draws a circle with her tongue around the slit. You groan in satisfaction, Minji couldn’t be happier at knowing she was pleasuring her boyfriend. Her pussy is tingling, slowly leaking out onto the bed sheets. Taking you in her mouth once more, she slips your cock in between her lips. Before going further into her mouth, her lips grip onto your shaft like a magnet. Once inside, Minji flattens her tongue below your tip. She sways it back and forth, left and right to tease you. She finds out she loves being in control just as much as she loves you taking control. Minji takes you all the way down her throat one last time before releasing her mouth’s hold on you with a loud pop. Her delicate hand cups your balls and with just enough grip, squeezes them. They were still heavy, even after how much you released. Minji knew they contained wonderful treats for her. The night was still young, and she was going to make sure she was going to empty you out. She takes her index finger and gently rakes your sack, you groan at the act being done to your sensitive area.

“Oh babe, I didn’t tell you. My parents ordered a bed for the breakroom at the store. We’re gonna have to break it in, you know? But before that… we have to change the sheets. And maybe continue this in the shower?”

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #dreamcatcher smut #jiu smut #kim minji #male reader #reader insert

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thesinglesurgeon · 4 years ago

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Feb 28: Hot Jon

What did this picture cost me?

A 1.5 hour drive down the Long Island Expressway on a rainy Sunday night. I was blasting Bronze Whale, my latest favorite artist culled from this weeks Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify. I had to gently swerve to avoid the crater-like potholes left behind from all the snow plows, the snow still hadn’t melted and gray heaps of it dotted the banks of the road and the lawns seen from the highway. I had a coffee next to me with sugar free vanilla syrup added, a new thing I was trying. It was 5pm but I was post-call from a boring 24 at the VA, of course someone needed an emergent chest tube at 2am. My sleep was like it has been for months: in chunks punctuated by achey backs in hospital beds, the intern calling for help, bloody bowel movements the nurses saved for us to see, hiccups and nasogastric tubes, and sometimes a code blue page.

I finally found this guys apartment building and the parking garage right below it (he sent me a picture of it when I got closer for QuikPark). I walked outside of the parking garage just to take a picture of the city skyline in the rain. The fog and the colored lights during a rainy sunset were perfect. It quelled my nerves. A first date.

We had talked on facetime before, something I had dreaded but did anyway with a full glass of wine (carefully out of view, sipping subtly to not appear like an alcoholic). He was handsome, with really good hair. I think he used to have a speech impediment, he had to slow down to talk to me. He seemed passionate about his job, whatever it was (I swear I tried to understand it). Something about business solutions and IT and team management. I laughed a lot, and I didn’t roll my eyes once. Right before we hung up he asked when I could come and see him.

Here I was now cruising down the highway, the bass reverberating through my bones, feeling sultry, but tired. My tiredness lived in me now, had settled into my bones. I sipped the coffee, something I carefully matched it with water intake during the day. It felt like liters of coffee and liters of water.

His apartment was hot, it was uncluttered. He had 2 pictures on the wall and a lamp that changed color when has asked Alexa to change it. His bathroom had toothpaste still stuck in the sink. But the toilet was clean, so was his shower when I peered around the curtain. The view was amazing (see above). He was wearing a t shirt and shorts and socks. I had spent hours getting ready, to be honest, to look like I was always this sleek and clear skinned. Poor women of the world.

He talked to me confidently after he made Mojitios using mint from his quarantine project indoor garden. He wasn’t scared of me. I made up an elaborate lie that i had to go at 7:30 to pick up my friend at Penn Station who had been in town enjoying tapas restaurants with her friends from med school and she didn’t want to take the train home since it took too long. I had her call me at 655 reminding she would be ready on time. God bless her.

So this guy sat on the couch at 7:15, said I could sit down too. I did, but I was at least six feet away, maybe quarantine habits had sunk in hard. Our fluid conversation became jagged, I knew what was happening. I asked if he was afraid of COVID, he said “not enough to stop from kissing you soon.” He actually said that. And he scooted over, across the distance I had placed and kind of pushed me down and took over me and touched my face and neck and it was a good make out session. But I designed this so I had to go. I had mentioned it one hundred times. And he stopped and lifted up his body and said to me “please let me go down on you, please? Please? I want twenty minutes.”

Was I dreaming? And also, how did I say no? I could feel my hair pushed into twenty directions. I could fell my lips burning from being rubbed against his stubble. I could hear my ragged breath, but I said no, in as cute of a way as I could, I pretended I just really had to go. We kissed goodbye, but he had this look of fascination in his eyes, his facade had been broken. I like that look, but I also feel like I won too early.

I left the apartment, I felt neutral, not on a high or in a low. It was misting outside, I put up my hood and walked for a mile. I found a pizzeria. I ordered a Margherita slice at 8pm in the rain. I stuffed napkins in my pocket and walked outside, unwrapping the pizza. I will eat pizza in the rain in the city because I don’t care. It’s a story, it’s romantic, it’s artistic. I saw the yellow-white lights in all the apartments, people in all of them, sitting around tables, one guy with a guitar. Interesting curtains, weird wall hangings. And the voice I fight now everyday was very loud in the rain in Long Island City on this Sunday while I ate melted cheesy pizza dappled by raindrops: I want to be an artist.

I found the parking garage. My brown boots were wet, my toes were getting wet. I paid 21 dollars for parking. 4 dollars for pizza. 3 hours of driving. I listened to the entire Bronze Whale album twice. I wondered what I could do about new resolutions in March, did I need a self help book now, why was I turning down a man begging to go down on me, who lost all his composure because he wanted so badly to give me pleasure? Was something wrong with me? Also, why do men beg me lately to come over, come inside, have sex? What happened to mixed drinks at pricey restaurants and being nervous about kissing by a car before saying goodbye? Was this thirties-something dating, or New York dating, or was I giving off thirsty sex vibes that made them all beg?

I drove home, and fell into a perfect sleep with the comforting admission that I am just overwhelmed right now, maybe all the time, and the only thing I can do is take it day by day, moment by moment, tackle what scares me (in small measured bites). I texted my friends I had shared my location with informing them I was alive, don’t worry, we will analyze this all to death with wine next week.

#singlesurgeon #resident #Residency #newyorkcity #skyline #view #surgery #surgeryresident

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7team7 · 4 years ago

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Choosing Fate: Chapter 8

A surprise leaves Sasuke and Sakura alone for a while. // Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

A/N: thank you everyone for your encouragement and kind words on this fic. I’m trying to dedicate myself to it and finish it before moving on to new stories, but sometimes that’s still a slower process than I expect? And the plot seems to want to complicate itself more, but I promise more ss moments are coming!! Hope this chapter is ok, the slow burn is still burning

Tsunade was relentless in her tutelage. Sakura’s tutoring sessions with Sasuke were idyllic in comparison. The older woman pushed and pushed and pushed.

But the discipline and hard work only served to strengthen her. Tsunade raised a brow when the petite woman cracked her knuckles before getting to work everyday. She knew she had found a determined student, but her dedication was truly something remarkable.

And it yielded results.

Once complicated combinations became embedded in her memory and her hands were able to move without thinking. Tsuande stopped lecturing and started questioning, pushing the envelope: What if we did this? What do you think of that? How would you approach it?

What started as a favor she agreed to do on a whim became a cherished relationship. Maybe Konoha wasn’t so bad.

Sakura greatly respected her teacher, but she barely knew the first thing about her. She used to keep her chatter to a minimum while they worked, but she had grown much more comfortable in the Senju’s house. “Tsunade-sama, you were never married, right?” For once, a woman’s professional work had superseded her romantic history.

Tsunade paused in the middle of tidying up some papers she pulled out for reference. The question wasn’t necessarily unwelcome, but it took her by surprise. No one had asked her about that in a long time. “No. There was someone I would’ve married, but we never got the chance.”

“Did he have to marry someone else?” Arranged marriage was awkward at best, but it would’ve been downright heartbreaking if she was already in love with someone else.

“He was hurt in battle. And I couldn’t save him.” She sighed heavily, “After him, there was no one else. Why do you think I leave the village so often?” The ghosts of her past would never stop haunting her. Her ties to Konoha weighed heavily.

“Oh,” she bit her lip, “I’m so sorry.” She assumed Tsunade was just a wild spirit, but the reality was much more tragic.

She shrugged. Time to change the subject. “And you? Was there someone else before that sulky brat?”

Sakura opened her mouth to protest, he was not a sulky brat! But then she remembered the way he would hang around outside Tsunade’s house if she wasn’t home before the sun set. “No, I was too young and too busy with my household chores to find someone else. But Sasuke’s not so bad…” She blushed a little; before, she could hardly fathom getting married to Sasuke but now, she couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else. She couldn’t fault him for their circumstances, even if he was a little rough around the edges.

“And your parents?”

“Ah, they were actually childhood sweethearts. Lucky them,” she said weakly.

“Well, I guess Sasuke’s good enough for you to stay.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could always leave. Plenty of women do it.”

“Oh,” she said, taken aback, “I had never considered that. Where would I even go?” She didn’t think she had a choice in the matter, or any other real options.

Tsunade raised a brow, “You could go home. Have you been home yet?”

Sakura laughed bitterly and confessed, “Actually, no. It’s not that I don’t want to, I guess I...just haven’t gathered the courage.” Was it her home there anymore? Was she a wife before she was a sister? She started fiddling with a stray herb that had escaped a jar.

She continued, “I miss my siblings dearly, but it’s easier to just stay away. If I visited home and saw everything I’ve been missing...it would be too hard to come back here. I don’t know if that makes me a good wife or a terrible sister.” She had assumed she was leaving for good after the wedding. Life as Uchiha Sakura might still be new and full of surprises, but it wasn’t completely miserable. Should she expect more? The leaf in her hands was completely pulverized after she worked her anxieties out on it.

Her mentor nodded in understanding. “You won’t figure it out in a day. And when you feel like you’ve got it, something will change and you’ll be back at square one. That’s life.”

Sakura nodded glumly. She supposed being young almost always meant standing at a crossroads. They got back to work.

Training and learning took up the majority of her time lately. She was exhausted, but not unhappy. Most days she stayed at Tsunade’s for long hours, only returning to frantically complete some chores. Today, Sakura slapped her palm to her forehead when she remembered that she had promised to help Mikoto fold dumplings. She all but flew out the door, shouting, “See you tomorrow!” before heading home. She rushed into the kitchen and greeted her mother-in-law. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help with lunch-” she started, but Mikoto held up a hand to stop her.

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you’ve found something to keep you occupied. Tsunade is a formidable woman, history or not. There’s no reason for a young girl to be cooped up forever.” Her daughter in law always put on a brave face, but she could tell there was something missing.

Sakura breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you for understanding. Still, I’ll try to be home a bit more.” She didn’t remember when she started calling this house her home, but she did have a certain obligation to maintain it. She would be so upset if Mikoto suddenly started abandoning her duties! Who would pick them up? Certainly not Fugaku.

Mikoto shook her head, smiling, “I’ve become content with being at home with my husband and children. But until that day comes for you, just lean on me. Go rest, I’ve got it.” Even as she spoke, she kept deftly folding dumpling skins like it was second nature.

“A-are you sure?” She had realized she was treated like a strange, permanent guest in the Uchiha household. In her childhood home, she was anything but a guest. “I’m sure. Sasuke’s home, by the way.” Sakura nodded and ventured off to find him, starting with the bedroom. It felt like ages since she’d last seen him.

“Where have you been?”

“Excuse me?” His tone was accusatory, but hers was incredulous. “I thought you supported me going? Don’t tell me you changed your mind.” His hot and cold personality was jarring.

“Didn’t think you’d be gone so often,” he grumbled. Those precious tutoring sessions together had been cut short by her lessons with Tsunade, but there was nothing he could do besides walk her there and back. He had half a mind to offer her another trip to the market just to get her to do something with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to impede on her schedule for such selfish reasons. So he sulked, even if he didn’t quite understand why he was so upset.

He had just finished getting dressed, perhaps taking a bit of extra time smoothing down his hair and clothes in an attempt to get her to look at him. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where? What makes you think I want to follow you anywhere?” If he felt like being a jerk, she would stay home and fold dumplings, thank you very much!

He sighed, like the answer was obvious. “We’re going to Itachi’s. Apparently Izumi’s been feeling off lately. They requested your presence.”

She perked up slightly but then remembered she was supposed to be mad. As maddening as her husband was, their fights were usually small and quickly diffused. “Fine, I’ll go. But are you sure it’s alright for me to leave the house instead of waiting on you hand and foot?”

“Annoying,” he muttered, leaving the room but not before he made sure his wife was following him.

Knock, knock, knock. Tsunade pursed her lips, who would be calling on her at this time of night? Everyone should be sitting down for dinner. She set down her cup of tea to answer the door.

To her pleasant surprise, Sakura stood at her doorstep looking breathless and bright-eyed. “I thought I sent you home hours ago?” Tsunade raised a brow at the girl.

“You did. But I have news! And because of that news I can’t stop for today. There’s more to do.” The words tumbled out of her mouth and if she didn’t slow down, she might just swallow her own tongue.

“More? But-”

“Izumi is pregnant!” Sakura blurted. A grin overtook her features, “Isn’t that exciting?” She pushed her way into Tsunade’s house for the second time that day. They had work to do! Sakura had so much to learn! Babies were so complicated.

The older woman sighed. Uchiha or not, it would be useful for Sakura to learn about midwifery and the like. Really, she couldn’t say no to her favorite student. She closed the door and rolled up her sleeves again.

“She started out weak, you said?” Tsunade was mulling over which round of roots and herbs to send with Sakura first. Izumi’s pregnancy was still new, but was already proving difficult and draining. Even a placebo would help reduce the expecting mother’s nerves.

“Mm, I had a suspicion that she has some kind of illness, and the pregnancy is just making things more difficult for her. I think she can carry to term, but she’ll need lots of rest. I want to do whatever I can to make this easier on her.”

Smart girl, she praised internally. She finally picked out the jars she was looking for, “Here. Crush that bottom one up and mix it with her tea, the other is an ointment to rub on her ankles when they swell. She should be resting in bed, but there might still be pain. And tell everyone to stop hovering, they’re so pesky.”

Sakura practically saluted her teacher, “You’ve got it, Tsunade-sama! I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh, I know you will,” she laughed affectionately. Her little apprentice was really something.

Between caring for Izumi and learning from Tsunade, Sakura barely had a moment to rest. While Sasuke initially made a few more snippy comments about not being home, he couldn’t help but feel the pride welling up inside of him. Other women had started seeking her advice and she earned a reputation as Tsunade’s apprentice who would one day surpass her. He felt smug thinking about how good of a mother Sakura would become, but then he reprimanded himself. He really needed to stop thinking like that.

When a contraction ripped through Izumi’s body, she immediately gasped, “Get Sakura.”

Sasuke all but sprinted to Tsunade’s house, but somehow, by the time they got back, half the clan had gotten wind of the labor. They had to shoulder their way into the house just to get a glimpse of the expecting mother.

“I thought you said you brought the best,” some grumpy old auntie eyed Sakura skeptically.

Sasuke narrowed his eyes at her, “Sakura is the best. Now everybody out, let her work.” No one dared question the authoritative tone in his voice. Sakura brushed past him after squeezing his arm in thanks.

Sakura thought she could be calm, but all sorts of emotions bubbled up inside of her when she knelt next to Izumi’s tense body. Her face twisted in pain and shone with sweat when she panted desperately, “I can’t lose this baby.” The implication was clear: or else she would prove useless as the one to produce the next heir.

And it broke Sakura’s heart. As a mother, she would naturally be worried about her child, but this was unacceptable.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she reassured her, even as her voice shook and she could barely believe her own words. “Now if someone could please get me some water.” Itachi practically tripped over his own feet fetching the water. She had never seen the man so on edge.

Sakura couldn’t help but let out her own sob when the baby’s first cry pierced the air and Izumi slumped back in relief.

After a tense eight months, Itachi and Izumi’s son is born, small but healthy. The clan breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was finally time to celebrate.

Once a few weeks passed, it is agreed that the new little family should visit Izumi’s parents for a while. After only exchanging letters for the past three years, it is only right that they got to see their new grandchild for a while. They were only distantly related to the Uchiha and had established residence in a different village. The journey would take a number of days and Mikoto and Fugaku insisted on going along.

Which meant the main house was left to only Sasuke and Sakura for at least a month.

A/N: HAHA THERE’S ONLY ONE HOUSE!! AND THEY ALREADY SHARE A BED!! Pervsuke incoming also hopefully it goes without saying that Time is Passing so ss are getting a teensy bit older. I kind of liked how this chapter flipped it so that sakura is the one always gone but even if he’s grumpy at first he’s like damn..she rlly did that LOL you like her don’t u ssk /.\

#sasusaku #fan fic #my writing #arranged marriage AU #um um tags? do not remember anything else

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dreamcatcherfication · 5 years ago

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The Queens of London Part 6 - What Am I To Do With My Life?

Man, I wrote this at like... 1 AM and it shows, it really shows.

Hello everyone, welcome back! I know it’s been a while (2 weeks!) since I’ve posted another chapter for this fic, but I got really busy with a bunch of other stuff, so it kept getting pushed back. I know you guys are used to getting pampered with new fics coming out everyday, but I still have a lot of stuff to balance, and sometimes my longer fics get put on hold as I get things back on track. But not to worry, we’re here now, and I’m not abandoning this fic! I didn’t get to edit this chapter, so I’m going to post it unedited and I’ll go back through and edit it later today when I have time. I hope you enjoy this part and that it suffices for a 1 AM keyboard smash. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my body is on fire and yes that can be interpreted figuratively or literally.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Depression, feelings of worthlessness, self destructive thoughts

Kat was sitting on her couch, legs curled up to her chest and a cup of hot chocolate in her hand. She was in her pajamas and her hair was a complete mess. Kat’s guitar was leaning against the wall, it’s chords unused and forgotten. After her failure with the queens, it had been impossible for Kat to find it in herself to get up and street perform during the day. She couldn’t go out and watch Jane walk by. She couldn’t perform knowing that she had let down the people who had been depending so heavily on her.

It should’ve been obvious to her this whole time. Kat knew from the start she wasn’t a queen, nor was she a lady. She was in way over her head, that much had always been clear. But after the party at Henry’s house, it was practically spelled out in glittering letters for Kat. She didn’t belong. Never had, never would. Plain and simple. So why should she try?

The depressive haze had taken over Kat’s body as she sat in a ball on the couch, her eyes blankly staring at the wall. She didn’t have a television, so all she could look at was the moldy walls that housed her. It was disgusting to her, the life she lived, but it was all she had. To believe, even for a second, that she could trade it for fancy suits and lavish parties…

Kat was naive to think anything would change. She knew better now. She knew that she couldn’t keep this charade up, and she certainly wasn’t cut out to be a queen. Not now, not ever.

The knock on the door wasn’t enough to shake Kat out of her blank staring. She didn’t answer it, choosing to stay silent and still. There was rustling on the other side of the door before the lock clicked and it opened up.

Walking into the room with a small bag, Anne frowned at Kat’s appearance. “Kat, why are you in your pajamas, we got a meeting tonight?”

Shrugging, Kat barely reacted to Anne’s question. She hummed something noncommittal and squeezed herself tighter into a ball. “Kat, come on,” Anne set the bag down and moved over to her cousin. “You can’t just wallow here for eternity.”

“Yes I can,” Kat mumbled before groaning and unfurling herself. “Just go away Anne.”

Sitting down on the couch, Anne flicked some lint off the crusty plush furtniture. “I’m not going to leave you here alone. Tell me what’s up?”

Dropping her eyes, Kat sighed. Without looking in Anne’s eyes, she answered, “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

Not believing it for a second, Anne moved closer to the teen. “Come on, I can tell that something’s up. You can tell me.” “Why?” Kat glared at her own hands defensively. “So you can make fun of me?”

“I won’t make fun of you,” Anne argued, almost putting her hand on Kat’s back but thinking better of it. “Promise. Cross my heart.”

Kat didn’t trust Anne’s words, but she spilled anyway. “I’m a failure. I let you and the others down. I haven’t belonged here since day one and I’ve only made things worse and harder for you all. I shouldn’t be here.”

Letting the words bounce off her, Anne huffed. “Come on now, that’s not true. We knew from the start it would be hard, none of this is your fault. And I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Anne paused dramatically before continuing, “None of us belong. None of us are really friends - except Cathy and Aragon, and each of our ladies. We’re all struggling Kat, not just you.”

Anne’s confession made Kat feel slightly better, but it was still overshadowed by her fear and doubt. “But at least you all have a reason, a motivation. Something important that you contribute. I’m nobody.”

“And yet you’re perfect,” Anne assured her. “When you watch a spy movie, does the government pick that famous billionaire or the naive looking ‘newbie’ to go undercover.”

Kat shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever been able to see a spy movie.”

“Okay -” Anne reiterated, “What I’m trying to say is being ‘nobody’ is exactly what we need. You’re practically invincible if you can’t be tracked down. You’re special Kat, far more special than any of us.”

The words sunk into Kat’s skin, even though she tried to keep them out. Kat wanted to say that she was worthless, because it was easier to hate herself than to look into Anne’s eyes and believe her promises. “I’m going to quit.” The forcefulness of her statement surprised Kat herself, but she held firm. Even when Anne gave her a pleading face, Kat didn’t budge. “I’m going to tell them the truth and I’m going to quit.”

Scrambling for a reply, Anne stood up. “At least come to tonight's meeting. Sit through the meeting and make your decision by the end. If you still want to back out, then I won’t stop you. But please, at least think about staying?”

Kat nodded, although internally she had already made up her mind. There was no way she was going to let the queens convince her to stay. Standing up to go change out of her pajamas, Kat froze a few steps away from Anne. “What’s in the bag you brought?”

“Hmm?” Anne turned her head to the bag. “Oh, nothing much. Just some food I bought from Tescos for you.”

Biting her lip, Kat went into her room and grabbed a change of clothes. She muttered lowly enough that Anne couldn’t hear, “I don’t need your pity,” as she got ready.

The familiar table sent shivers up Kat’s spine as Aragon went over the recap of the failed party. Kat was drowning out the woman’s voice, her shoulders hunched in as she waited for it to end. It felt like all the women were staring at her, blaming her for what had happened. It was all too much, but Kat wouldn’t let herself break down in front of them. She would keep her Katherine Brandon facade for one more night, and then it would end.

“We’ve got some news,” Joan spoke up when Aragon was done. “Maria’s been spending some time creating a code, and she’s finally ready to share.”

Maria made her way to the head of the table and set her hands down. “Yesterday we only had a single earpiece for Cathy, but Maggie’s been making sure we get them for each and every one of you. It took some time, but I’ve figured out the best way we can interact with each other using these. It’s going to seem quite simple, but it’s actually extraordinary. You see, each of you are assigned a number, and with those numbers, we and your fellow queens can contact you.”

“Interesting,” Anna stuck out her bottom lip in appreciation.

Leaning forward, Jane asked, “So what are our numbers?”

“Very basic,” Maria explained, “Aragon is one.” The CEO nodded. “Anne is two.”

Blanching, Anne rocked in her seat. “Really, I’m second to Aragon?”

Narrowing her eyes, Maria shook her head. “It’s not a contest of who’s better. The numbers are a timeline. You’re all arranged in the order in which you met Henry.”

Freezing, Kat set her eyes on the table. She was being put in this pattern that didn’t even apply to her. She was going to mess it up in a matter of minutes when she revealed herself. Anne shot Kat a glance across the table, but the girl missed it. “Three, Jane Seymour.” There was no reaction on Jane’s face, but behind her eyes there was a flash of pain. Maria continued, “Four, Anna.” The German woman tipped an imaginary hat. “Five, Kat.”

Acting like she had expected it in the first place, Kat nodded not particularly caring about her number. She would be five for five minutes, and then it wouldn’t matter. “And Cathy, number six. Whenever we address you in code, it will be using these numbers,” Maria finished.

“Sounds good to me,” Cathy affirmed. “I think that’s the last thing we had planned for tonight. If anyone has anything else to share, please do.”

Nervously, Anne watched Kat. The teen was psyching herself up, preparing for her admittal. Opening her mouth, Kat’s opening words were drowned out by Anna’s much stronger voice. “Actually, I do.”

“Anna,” Bessie warned as if she knew what was about to happen.

Shutting her mouth, Kat let the other woman talk first. “I was delivering a suit to Henry this morning, checking up on him after the party. He had a terrible hangover and straight up told Bessie and me that he’s going to be stuck at his office from tomorrow night through the morning.”

Standing up as well, Aragon scratched her nails on the table. “Did he seem suspicious of you at all?”

“Not one bit,” Anna spoke proudly. “We’re safe, for now. It didn’t even seem like he remembered anything from last night, so Kat’s still in the perfect position to sneak in and get the evidence we need. We aren’t finished.”

Breath hitching, Kat watched her hands. Her cover wasn’t blown? She could still… she could still do her job? If there was any way she could make up for what she ruined… “I’m in,” Kat shot up out of her chair, making a split second decision.

Anne’s mouth opened in shock when she saw Kat’s determination return to her eyes. Kat wasn’t done yet. “That’s good, because we’ll need you now more than ever,” Anna addressed Kat.

“What exactly are you saying Anna?” Jane questioned.

Smirking, Anna cracked her knuckles. “I’m saying it’s time for some good old fashioned breaking and entering.”

--------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thedemidisaster @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom

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artxyra · 5 years ago

Text

In Her Darkest Moment - Part 2

Part 1 | 2 | 3

Note: The song inspiration came from Utada Hikaru & Skrillex Face My Fears. Yes, there will be a part 3. It just felt right to end the part where it was rather than continue it to be a completed two-shot story. Don’t know when the next part will be out but I did start it.

Marinette’s day started off okay. Her usual clients emailed her for some design commission, her lovers decided that today they would the day that they make breakfast for her, but the day comes to still when she sees an official letter in the mail.

You Are Invited to Lycée Fantômette Dupont Reunion!

Oh yes, an invitation to the worse years of her life. It still amazes her how she was able to graduate with all her absent days and constant visits to the dean’s office.

“Did you see the news?” Marinette turns to see Kagami, dress in a casual black and red jumpsuit.

Marinette sighs and places the letter down. She didn’t know how to answer this. There were already too many memories running through her brain to even think of a proper reply.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Kagami comforts placing a kiss on the conflicted woman’s cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, we don’t have to go.”

Marinette shakes her head, “No, we should go. I want to see whether or not they have changed enough to understand that her lies have consequences.”

Kagami takes a step back, a hand coving her heart. A smile sneaks it away onto the Japanese’s native woman. “Of course, you would. Should I tell Fe and Luka of your decision?”

Marinette nods, “That would be wise. Actually…I might have something better in mind.” The designer teases biting her bottom lip.

Kagami has known Marinette long enough to know that mischief is that woman’s best friend through thick and thin. Nodding, Kagami notices the time and rushes out of the room. Marinette lets out a small chuckle and returns to reading the letter.

There is never a bad time to face her past, and as much as she blocked out everything regarding her times in Lycée, there were still some good memories. It’s an odd feeling to have ten years’ worth of fear piling in her small body structure, but she didn’t want to linger on to that feeling any longer.

Burying herself in her commissions, Marinette barely heard the slamming of her office door late on that evening.

“This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!” A certain blonde shout to the heavens. Marinette stops her sowing and turns to see one of her closest friends, who’s chest is out and seething. Pushing the fabric aside, the bluenette gets up and lightly push against the blonde’s shoulder.

“What happened?” She asks looking at the blonde in the eyes.

Chloe huffs and folds her arms, “Our favorite liar decided that it would be useful to use your name once more for personal gain.”

Marinette’s bluebell eyes widen. She stands frozen against Chloe. Her breathing quickens as the once buried memories flood their way into her mind. Subconsciously, she touches her shoulder and rubs her forearm.

Chloe quickly notices the woman’s actions and guide her to the futon. Siting blue-haired woman down, Chloe immediately tries to get her to do some breathing exercises. Realizing that wasn’t working, Chloe pulls out her phone calls the others. Luka’s the first to answer.

“She’s having a panic attack,” Chloe immediately states, placing the call on the speaker.

Luka immediate sings a soft lullaby, as Chloe adds Félix and Kagami to the call.

“Netta, listen to us, you are safe, she can’t get to you now.” Félix states in the softest voice he could muster.

As the three lovers try to soothe their love, Chloe paces back and forth thinking of possible ways to get the panic woman out of her attack. She hates seeing Marinette like this, Lycée was hard on all of them and here was the past creeping its way back up to them.

They have created a life outside of lycée, away from their former classmates and tormentors. Marinette became a successful designer despite doing it under a pseudonym named Fortunate Red, Kagami being a fencing instructor and agent, Félix becoming a well-known lawyer, Luka taking off in his solo career as a rock star, and her being the best damn PR specialist for the group.

“I think she’s coming to.” Chloe acknowledges seeing the clouded look in Marinette’s eyes fade away. Immediately after saying that, the three on the phone simultaneously sighs in relief.

“That’s good to hear, Chloe,” Kagami states what they all were thinking. “Please keep an eye on her. We know how much she hates it, but I wouldn’t want to take the risk.” The others were quick to agree but not without promises of being home soon.

The call ends; Marinette shakes the daze away and looks around. “What happened?”

Chloe pinches the bridge of her nose and murmurs, “You don’t want to know. Anyways, as your PR, I advise you to stay away from social media, especially your old accounts.”

Marinette tilts her head sideways, why would Chloe mention her practically dead social media accounts? She hasn’t posted anything on there in ten years—perhaps it was longer than that.

“I won’t. I promise.” Marinette promise. “I think I need to take a walk—a break, maybe. I promise Madeline that I would meet her at the café.”

Chloe gives Marinette a reassuring smile.

“Maybe I should go with you, besides I miss Madeline.” Chloe offers.

“You don’t have to do that; besides, I will have Tikki and Plagg with me.”

“I thought Plagg was with Félix.”

“He didn’t want to listen to another long meeting without cheese being present.” Marinette giggles.

Chloe loves these moments. Moments when Marinette is herself, carefree, and the weight of her past behind her even if it’s for a moment.

“Fine, you can go but the moment Madeline calls us, we’re going in.” Chloe readjusts her purse, “Also tell her to call me, she missed our last dinner date because of the late-night rush at the restaurant.”

Marinette nods and calls for the two kwamis out of their miniature house. Due to Marinette becoming the guardian of Miraculous box once she was fully trained, she felt bad for the kwamis and decided to make them a little house—similar to a dollhouse—for them to live and have fun in. It works out as it gave something to come back to and give them all personal spaces.

“So, Marinette are you going to go to the reunion?” Tikki wonders flying next to her chosen.

Marinette didn’t answer. Her mind wanders off to the possibilities that could happen regarding the decision to go. They always did say the best way to be free is to face the fears that are holding you back.

~*~

Breaking News: Lila Agreste nee Rossi claims that her husband Adrien Agreste is having an affair with a former Lycée classmate!

“I caught them in our bed!” Rossi claims. “This wasn’t the first time, either!”

Headlines: Adrien Agreste remains silent at this acquisition.

Headlines: Are Rossi and Agreste getting a divorce?

Breaking News: Rossi claims that former classmate Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a homewrecker!

~*~

Marinette couldn’t help but feel an enormous amount of guilt. Chloe’s warning may have done her good on the social media part, but it didn’t stop her from seeing the newspaper and hearing the whispers behind her back as she continues with her daily routine.

“You shouldn’t be reading those, Netta. We don’t want you to have another relapse.” Luka states wrapping his arms around her shoulder.

“I-I-I can’t help it.” She stutters, her voice cracking. “I haven’t seen or spoken to any of them in a long time, so why put my name out there?” She ponders covering her face an attempt to hide from the world around her.

“You’re not obligated to attend the reunion.” Luka reminds her, but Marinette shakes her head.

“It won’t do me any good to stay away now. That will only make me look guilty to those that still believe her lies.”

She did have a point. Everyone in their graduating class received the invite and nearly everyone in Marinette’s class believed the lies especially after the photo incident.

Luka sighs and a quick text to Félix.

“I guess I’ll get the car prepared, then.”

Marinette goes to kiss Luka’s cheek, allowing herself to feel a little peace with this decision.

~*~

Lila couldn’t believe how easy it was to bring the Dupont’s everyday Ladybug name back into her crazy schemes for attention and power. All it took was a little bit of blackmailing on some well-known reporters and the waterworks.

No matter what, she will get her happy ending. Lila believed she thought her plan entirely through. Soon Juleka would be able to sway her rock star of a brother into her scheme allowing her to be his lover. Adrien was dead to her. She dried him the minute they got married, but her spot-light fantasy faded away when Gabriel Agreste had to file bankruptcy. It was then that Lila knew she needed someone better, richer, and handsome than the former model.

“I can’t believe that Marinette would do such a thing to you Lila.” Alya spats clearly angered at her former best friend for all the pain she causes the Italian woman.

Cue the waterworks, “It’s true, I caught them. She didn’t bat an eye when she rushed out of the house.”

Alya immediately goes to comfort the teary-eyed black widow.

“I would feel embarrassed for Marinette if she dared showed her face here tonight.” Lila couldn’t help but internally smirk at the damage she has caused.

“Oh look, there’s Rose, Juleka, and Alix over by the punch bowl.” Alya attempts to direct the conversation to something else.

Lila cheekily smiles and allows herself to be dragged over to the punch bowl. Alya immediately greets the small group of women.

“I heard about your divorce, Alya, how are you doing?” Alix cautiously asked despite the concerned look she’s giving to the reporter.

Alya sighs, “It was hard, but we manage to get an agreement for the kids.”

Alya wasn’t alright, she loved Nino with all her being, but when he asked for a divorce, it was out of the blue and she was going through a hard time finding a new journalism agency. Together they have twin boys that were as energetic as their mother when she was teen chasing after Ladybug.

“Oh my, I didn’t realize and here I am in tears about my marriage.” Lila gasps bringing the conversation back on her. Alya gives the Italian woman a soft smile and hands her a glass of punch. “So Juleka, is your brother joining us this evening?”

Juleka shrugs and pulls Rose into a side embrace. “He told me it was possible as his girlfriend is also a part of our graduating class.”

Lila nearly spits out her drink, “G-girlfriend.” She stutters cursing in the back of her mind that her plan was already going down like a sinking ship.

“Uh…yeah. I think he’s planning on proposing soon but we haven’t been in contact since the start of his tour.” Juleka adds cautiously seeing the slight change in Lila’s behavior.

Lila sends Juleka a sheepish smile and turns around to fold her arms against her chest.

“Well I do hope he shows up, it will be nice to see whom he’s dating.” Alya wonders, probably thinking of a new scoop for her blog.

~*~

Marinette is feeling a panic attack approaching, that or a nervous breakdown. Since the last time she saw the news, more information regarding the cheating scandal came to light. Reporters are going at each other throats about the lack of truth and trying to make as much sense as to why this story is just now coming out. Few of them tried to contact her, but she told them they had the wrong number.

“Deep breaths, Netta, we’re almost there.” Félix softly whispers into her ear holding the bluenette’s hand in his own.

Félix’s right, she does need to calm down.

The limo stops in front of the venue that the school provided for such an event. It was time for her to face her fears.

Exiting the limo, Marinette could only wish that she had taken up Tikki’s offer for her to accompany her, but she denied seeing as Félix, Kagami and Luka would be there with her. Even though their poly-relationship is hidden from the public they every much have a plan. Kagami’s dating Luka while she’s dating Félix. They only hope to marry one another one day but they’re happy with their dynamic.

“I’m ready.” Marinette murmurs, but her tense shoulders and quicken breathes would say otherwise.

“Baby steps, Netta, baby steps.” Kagami grabs hold of her black and blue-haired lover’s arm and walks towards the entrance.

Entering the banquet hall, Marinette could spot her other favorite blonde amid a conversation she clearly did not want to be in. Thankfully, Chloe caught sight of them and excuse herself from the conversation.

“Nette!” Chloe exclaims, but not before wishing that her voice was a little bit lowered.

Everyone has their eyes on the group of newcomers. Gossip spread throughout the adults and the majority of it was how Marinette showed her face to them after what she had done to Lila’s marriage.

“How are you doing?” Chloe asks her friend. “Don’t worry, my guys and I are working overtime to get this scandal handled. I’m sure Félix is putting together a case against Rossi and whoever’s involved with this.”

“That would be wrong of me to not help save my Netta’s reputation, Bourgeois,” Félix states wrapping his arms around Marinette’s small waist.

“Félix!” Marinette stares at him in shock. A small weight of negative emotions are lifted from her shoulders.

Félix gives her heartfelt smile and gently place a kiss on her temple.

Very audible gasps fill the ambient sounds.

Alya angerly charges towards the happy group with fire in her eyes. “How could you, Marinette! You show your disgraceful face here and have the audacity to kiss another man when you’re hoeing around with Adrien.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cesaire. I haven’t seen Agreste in years.” Marinette states clinging to Félix’s blazer.

Alya screeches, her hand making a swing at Marinette. However, if it wasn’t for Félix grabbing her wrist mid-swing, Marinette would have been hurt.

“That is enough, Cesaire.” Félix growls, his cat-like instincts kicking in. “Marinette and I came here to have a good time and it would rude of you to act out at such a formal event.”

He then violently shoves her wrist away. Alya gawks at him.

“Your so-called girlfriend has been hooking up with another man behind your back and you’re acting like everything is okay.” Alya shrieks and if there wasn’t a crowd before, there was one now.

“I have not been hooking up with other men. I love Félix and I would never cheat on him.” Marinette sneers, her fears of the past coming at her was being boiled away by fury red anger. If Hawkmoth was still in action, this would have the perfect time to become Scarlet Moth. The amount of fury, confusion, and sadness ran high at the reunion.

Part 3

#fic: In Her Darkest Moments #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug au #ml au #marinette dupain cheng #ml felix #kagami tsurugi #luka couffaine #more edits to come later #so did you guess the ship right

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pink-wisp · 5 years ago

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Featuring Penny being an innocent robot and observing people, trying to understand what emotions and relationships are. For those that just want the rarepair Penny/Winter I’ll put it under the cut.

Can be read standalone. Summery of last chapter: Penny snuck out to met her faux teammates. ‘Aro’ Glade is one of them and the only friendly one. Hard of hearing, goat faunus, has prosthetic horns. She’s lil quirky like Entrapta.

Successful interpersonal action: Three people.

They spent half the day drilling her backstory. Penny was adopted from one of Dr. Pietro’s clients who lived in Atlas. They were board members of the Schnee Dust Company who… disappeared on a business trip to Vacuo. Dr. Pietro adopted Penny and changed her last name to hide her from White Fang extremist.

The young women didn’t like it. It was… common and therefor believable. But it was sad. It placed blame on the innocent- but they weren’t really innocent and-

“Darling? Something is bothering you again.” Dr. Pietro gently prodded. Penny was reluctant at first. It wasn't a problem that could be solved. The cover story solved many issues but…

The more she thought about it the more her aura stirred and amplified her power unit to overwhelming capacity. "It's about lying," Penny blurted out. She squeezed her hands, almost tight enough to damage the artificial skin. She didn't know if admitting it stressed her out more or relieved the internal conflict. "It doesn't feel right."

"That's because you’re a good person." Dr. Pietro said with a smile. His hands covered her and squeezed. The pressure reaffirmed his presence and was comforting. "How about you go for a walk, outside."

"… Outside?” Penny repeated. She wouldn’t consider her trip to Aro’s apartment outside. She went from inside the facility to inside a transport, then inside a building. "Around Atlas?"

"We're still setting up your official documents but now probably the best time to explore as… as a normal girl, not a huntress-in-training or savior of the world," Dr. Pietro said. He was smiling, but like Aro last night it wasn't a real smile. His tone was soft, possibly sad? "The air might do you good."

"But I am not impacted by air quality."

Dr. Pietro chuckled, a hand cupped her cheek for a moment. "My dear girl, it's not just about taking care of your body. But also here," He tapped Penny's nose. She gasped and giggled. Her nose was various types of silicone and sensors, very sensitive ones apparently. "Go on, you're also supposed to learn, and you can only do that outside." Penny still squeezed her hands. And her father hummed in thought. "Oh I know, this would be the perfect time for you to meet Ms. Glade!"

"Oh! Um…" Penny froze a little, panic written over her face. Luckily her father turned around, chair walking to another workbench. Xanthic had to sneak her out, so it is highly probable meeting her soon to be teammates was supposed to be a secret. That would explain the private communications network, or maybe Xanthic was just trouble. So many thoughts fired through her processers jumped a little when she found a box containing a pair golden horns in her hands.

"These are Ms. Glade's new horns! I've made some modifications after all that testing we did with your artificial skin. She lost most of her hearing years ago and uses those horns to detect wavelengths as well as aura." Penny remembered the photo Xanthic altered. The Faunus ears on the sides of Aro's head must be the original traits she was born with, hopefully still flesh and blood. "Ms. Glade should be at Atlas Academy, helping with the weapons department."

"Understood," Penny said with a smile. She closed the package and left for the Academy.

Despite Dr. Pietro's encouraging words it was still difficult to actually leave the facility. The process involved using her scroll to open the door and moving her legs but they suddenly felt heavy. That instinct that caused her to throw herself into cover during her last trial suddenly pulling at the wires in her chest.

“I’ll be fine…” Penny whispered to herself. She was in a room with a hacker and a mechanic, two people that could directly manipulate her software and hardware and turned out fine.

The first few steps were terrifying. She made a note to research this strange feeling of being to protective of herself when logically there was no reason to be. She felt exposed, as if the artificial skin was peeled back and her metal chassis was open.

Penny yelped, holding the box to her chest when a Faunus on skates zipped by, a rainbow trail following her. Then she looked over her shoulder again, turn around and did one ring around Penny. In turn Penny notice the Atlas Academy uniform. The Faunus grinned and gave a thumbs up as she skated away, "Brothers! You are adorable! Cute dress too."

"Thank… Thank you! Your compliment is much appreciated!" Penny yelled back, hoping the pink Faunus could hear her.

After that Penny was able to relax. She may not had faith in herself because of her lack of experience, so instead she trusted her father and Ironwood's judgement. They put her through those trials for a reason and it was to make sure she could pass in public.

With some confidence restored she continued to the Academy. She allowed herself to wander from the most efficient path. Unlike Mantle, Atlas was a polished city. Buildings over twice as big as those on the ground, and hard-light displays everywhere. All sorts of amazing technologies walked the streets, from pets with prosthetic limbs to robots trimmed with gold and bright lights like Xanthic’s butler.

As she got closer to the school the number of weaponshops, Schnee Dust Company distributors, and restaurants increased. Nearly everyone around her wore an Atlas student or military uniform. A few gave her a glance but never lingered long enough to make Penny feel uncomfortable.

That changed once she entered the Academy.

The cool and steady tone of Special Operative Winter Schnee called out to her. “Ma’am, all non-personal are required to state their business at the guest office and receive a pass.” She said. Unlike the recordings Penny saw her in she was dressed in a civilian suit, almost business but just high Atleasian fashion. “And unmarked packages are to be inspected. This is partially a military facility after all.”

“Oh um…” Penny held the box to her chest. These were sensitive instruments. The horns connect directly to Aro’s brain and if the inspectors were to pry it open and damage it, it could cause neurological harm. “This is a delivery from Dr. Piertro to Aro.”

Flicker of instant recognition passed over Winter's face. Then consideration. Xanthic did say Aro's reputation preceded her, but would Ironwood's second in command really make an exception for the Faunus?

“Aro… You’re friends with Ms. Glade?” Winter asked leveled tone somehow flattening even more. She seemed resigned. An aggressive huff escaped her lips, “Of course she’d… Ugh. I will accompany you. State your name, civilian.”

“Penny, ma’am!” She answered clicking her heels to attention. Winter didn’t seem satisfied, instead waiting a moment then just walking into the Academy. Penny half jogged to catch up.

“Are you and Ms. Glade close?”

“Oh, perhaps? I do not know how to gauge relationship depth.”

“An accurate statement with that women,” Winter said. Then was silent for a few minutes. Penny didn’t encourage a conversation, she was too busy looking at the Academy. The hallways were so tall the new Paladins could fit but it wasn't wide enough for the mech to walk through. Winter noticed, “Would you like a tour?”

“That would be lovely!” Penny said with a large smile. She would be attending this school soon and experiencing it would provide better information than just maps and recordings. “I would like to examine the hard-light technology in detail, the sustainability is quite efficient!”

“It better be, for something so minuscule and unnecessary.” Winter said with a scoff. “Such dust is better in practical applications.”

“Hmm… I don’t think that’s true.” Penny gently argued. Winter looked over her shoulder. Penny winced, expecting a glare like Xanthic but Winter merely raised a brow. The specialist stayed silent so Penny continued. “These everyday applications helps further our understanding of hard-light dust. Only those very skilled with aura can use create something that last more than a few hits.” Penny noted Aro's hard-light blades didn't break or flicker once.

“That is a fair point.”

“Though installing 20 hard-light lamps within a single hallway is excessive.” Penny finished. At that Winter gave a hum of approval. Penny couldn’t see it and Winter’s tone was still rather flat but some part of her detected a smile.

Conversation lulled into hard-light application and the use of it in Argus. They both agreed that the barrier was brilliant but implementation needed much work. Winter thought sturdy walls like the one around Mantel with hard-light gates was the solution, though she conceded the opinion when Penny brought up ecological damage.

Eventually the hallway began to change. They widened so even a Spider Droid could walk down the halls. Classrooms were no longer around but instead numbered and heavily armored doors lined the walls.

“This is the combat section of the Academy,” Winter said, “We are approaching the workshop. It is open during training hours for student use, smiths such as Ms. Glade volunteer from time to time.” Winter pressed her scroll to a lock and the thick doors opened.

The workshop was huge, nearly as big as a single floor of Aro’s apartment. There were several rows of benches, some taken by students and three being used by Aro and her companion. Weapons in various states were scattered around them, dust ammunition and crystals on another workbench. Aro and her friend seemed to be using the third as a conversation prop, the former leaning against it while the latter sat on it.

Aro looked like a proper mechanic, jumpsuit in oil and grime. There was a little on her face until her friend pointed it out. Then it became a lot as Aro swiped at it with dirty hands. Penny quietly giggled. It reminded her of her father and brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. Apparently they pair was too focused on their own conversation to detect Penny and Winter, even as they advanced closer.

Aro rolled her glowing blue eyes. “Marigold. My answer is no.” Her words were stern even if her smile was playful.

“Me and Fiona will step in if anything goes wrong!” Marigold said. Blue hair, gold eyes. She looked familiar but immediate facial scans didn't recognize her. It brought up a Huntress Marigold several times but it didn’t match. Penny overwrote the current scan as ??? 'Aro's friend' Marigold. “I’m telling you, you have a knack for this kind of stuff.” She continued, picking up a rag and grabbing Aro, "Stop you're making it worse. Don’t move."

Aro made a displeased noise. A growl or perhaps a whine? She did comply and stayed still while Marigold cleaned her face. “It’s called Focus-“

“It’s called illegal and reckless.” Winter barked, voice nearly echoing the room. Aro let out a small scream, jumping almost a foot into the air while her friend flinched and slid off the workbench. They both slowly turned to the new pair. "Marigold."

The Huntress answered back in a tone just as cold, "Schnee-"

"Penny!" Aro yelled. She vaulted over the table and crouched. The purple glow in her prosthetic legs changed to a fiery orange. Combustion dust cartridge locked in.

"W-Wait!" Penny gasped holding the box above her, "These are sensitive equipment!" Just as the words left her mouth an explosion of purple and orange pushed Aro towards Penny. Winter had just enough time to take the box as the dense metal woman was lifted off the ground.

Penny squeezed Aro's shoulders, trying not to follow her programming. Processors immediately list several maneuvers to escape, everything was saying this was an attack. But it couldn't have been because Aro was laughing. Aro wasn't dangerous, she was a kind civilian but that information wasn't registering to herself defense protocols. Something else was off- her gyrostabilizer couldn't detect the ground.

"I am unequipped for zero gravity! Down please!" Penny squeaked. Aro sneered the slow levitating twirl slowly changed back to a stable vertical. Before Aro turned off the gravity dust, she hoisted Penny onto her shoulder. Her sensors couldn't process what was happening, visual data conflicted with her sense of gravity, logically Aro shouldn't be able to lift Penny with ease. "Wai- Wait!"

"Trust exercise!" Aro said with a grin and hearty laugh. Penny was tense, waiting for her density to pull them both to the ground. After several solid steps on metal tiles, it didn't happen. "See! Ease the grip, Penn."

"Oh! Of… of course. I'm sorry." She said quickly letting go. She was thankful for the durable muscle there. If it was a normal civilian like Ciel there would be a bruise. Penny yelped as the walk turned into a light jog, hand holding down her dress with a tight grip. It was impossible for her to feel sick but her sensors was still scrambled after her first zero-gravity experience. It was a highly unpleasant sensation Penny did not want to experience again.

"Penny! This May Marigold, my favorite Huntress and friend."

May chuckled a little and patted Aro's head. Her father did it too, earlier. Penny noted it down as an affectionate gesture. "Sorry about this one. Aro gets a little too hyper at times. A pleasure to meet you." She finished ruffling Aro's hair to hold a hand out to the young women.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, May Marigold," Penny said shaking her hand, quickly updating the information in her recognition software. She was a little surprised at how hard May squeezed and also updated her pressure output for next time.

"We have come with a delivery from Dr. Polendina," Winter announced set the box on the table.

Aro set Penny to sit on the workbench but while she was up there she noticed glowing purple circuits on the horns, as well as a few cracks and other signs of wear. If these horns were the basis for Penny's artifical skin it would explain all the complications. It was made for neurological input, human input… Penny willed her processors to focus on the conversation around her. Instead of opening the box Aro looked at May who couldn't hold in a snort and brief laughter.

"You came because you, and you," May glared at Aro who rolled her eyes. "Don't understand what a day off mean."

"I understand it quite well. What I don't understand is why I need it."

"I agree with the Schnee," Aro said with a shrug. "I'm still good! I don't need a break."

"You've been working for nearly ten hours straight! When was the last time you ate?" May asked. Aro grinned. The mechanic pulled a candy bar from her pocket and slowly unwrapped it. Her smile grew, glowing blue eyes never leaving May's glaring gold ones even as May's expression grew frustrated.

Penny tilted her head and watched them. From her experience with Xanthic and Ciel a few nights ago, frustration was a negative emotion, something to avoid. Between May and Aro it felt… teasing? Penny looked at Winter to confirm her suspicions. The women looked… indifferent. Humans express themselves quite differently and she hasn't been exposed to Winter's behavior to decipher it. Still Penny was confident that the lack of urgency was amusement. In Winter-language.

At the last second May snatched the candy away. "Alright you assholes, we're going to dinner." She declared, ordering the General's second-in-command. Winter gave a tired roll of her eyes while Aro shrugged.

"Nothing Minstral, I'm still working through the leftovers from a few nights ago. May if you would kindly…" Aro pulled her hair into a ponytail and turned the back of her head to the huntress. Penny leaned back to watch May's fingers trail over circuit on the back of Aro's skull before pushing a button. The gold horns shut down, color fading to a black glossy material and the glowing purple disappearing. Setting the fashionable aids aside, Penny saw a glimpse of complex wiring. The Faunus ears had no sign of cybernetics but they looked damaged.

"I will have to decline," Winter quickly said as Aro opened the box and inspected her new horns. Aids, Penny reminded herself. Her father said she lost most of her hearing in the accident that took her legs but Penny did not know the extent of the damage. "I already have prior arrangements to show Penny around Atlas Academy."

"You just can't stay away from work can you?" May sighed.

Apparently the damage was enough that Aro could not understand a conversation in close proximity at average volume. Penny looked at the two huntresses a little confused. Was it not considered rude to have a conversation that left one party unable to communicate? Why would they not want Aro's input?

"Do you really want me to interrupt your date?" Winter asked. Her tone was flat, mostly flat. The smile was hard to detect if without understanding micro expressions.

May scoffed, a blush feint on her cheeks. Her voice was noticeably softer than Winter's. Soft tones were personal but this situation was different. The word secret popped into Penny's head but why wouldn't they want Aro to know? "We aren't… I hadn't-" A loud click interrupted them and they all looked at Aro who winced, a new aid plugged into her neural input.

It signaled an end to the interesting conversation, much to Penny's disappointment. They displayed so many emotions and behaviors she never saw from her father or the General. May and Winter's body language quickly shifted back to normal, or as Penny saw it as, lightly guarded. She couldn't define the conversation as anything but teasing. Intimate was close but too personal. Friendly? Were they friends?

"Argh, ouch," Aro held the second horn to the port and twisted it in. Another click and almost a whine. The pain was brief and she turned back to the group. "Sorry about that. What were you saying Schnee?"

"Penny agreed to a small tour of the Academy but please have a lovely… " Winter said. There was definitely a small change in inflection, very subtle. The specialist paused looking at May who tried not to finch under those blue eyes. What did that mean? Penny hungrily observed all these small interactions. It was a puzzle she was slowly solving and still finding pieces too. Winter's eyes then cut back to Aro with a hard look, "Uneventful dinner."

May scowled, crossing her arms. She was about to say something but Aro literally jumped between them, "Then how about we do something eventful?" She asked with a grin. The ears on her side of her head poked out of her hair, wiggling up and down as she nearly bounced in spot. Penny wanted to touch it. "The Military Robotics Event."

"Aren't you banned?" May quickly asked.

"From viewing unattended! But I'll have two of Atlas' best huntresses accompanying me! And honestly if you two can't keep me out of trouble, Goddess save the Brothers."

May and Winter looked at each other both displeased and unyielding to Aro's pout until Penny spoke up. Aro was her soon to teammate, Penny could inspect the Faunus ears later, but this event sounded temporary, "I think attending the Military Show with friends would make for a most wonderful and eventful evening!"

"Yeah!" Aro slid by Penny's side, ears wiggling up and down in excitement. This time Penny found her hands trying to touch them but Winter calmly pushed her hands down. In her excitement, Aro was oblivious to the attempt. This must be what May meant when she said too hyper. "Please May! I won't touch the bots this time!"

May practically growled under her breath. Her face was a little red again. Penny knew blood rushes to the head when frustrated or flustered, but she did not understand enough about relationships to know which it was. Overall they seemed to be on positive terms so she hoped May was flustered- May suddenly grabbed onto Aro's ears and pulled them a little, making the Faunus squirm. It confirmed that they were still flesh and blood, but also resulted in an inconclusive assessment of May's emotion. Perhaps the flush was due to frustration? Both?

"You better. Or I'll sick Fiona on you."

"Yes, ma'am!" Aro said. As soon as May let go of her ears, Aro tried running but May quickly grabbed the back of her neck and picked her up. "Why- Seriously how are you all so strong?!"

"It’s almost as if you have gravity dust all over you," May drawled with a new tone Penny hadn’t heard before. Her systems registered it as sarcasm, emphasized by May rolling her eyes. "I'll help Aro clean up. Meet you at the front, Schnee?"

"An acceptable plan." Winter said, hands in their default position behind her back. She looked at Aro, the arms of her jumpsuit tied around her waist, sweat, grime and oil smeared across well-defined muscle or fat. Winter gave the first true expression Penny saw, a very tiny and sly smirk. "Good luck," She mouthed so Aro wouldn't hear.

This time May did blush- due to being flustered, Penny finally decided- and she only acknowledged Winter's teasing with a middle finger behind her back. Out of sight from Aro, Penny observed but why? At the entrance to the workshop the group split into their respective pair. Penny could hear Aro’s playful struggle and banter a few halls down. She wasn’t sure how sensitive those new horns are so Penny waited a few minutes more until talking.

"Schnee, ma'am-"

"I suppose since I am off duty," The Specialist said the last words with dread and more emotion than Penny had seen yet. "Winter will suffice."

"Winter…" Penny said slowly. She smiled and followed the huntress out of the Academy, "Are you and Marigold close?"

Winter's long strides seemed to falter, slow even. "In a way, perhaps. The Schnees and Marigolds are on good social terms and it's not often one from Atlas’ Elite families peruse a hazardous lifestyle."

Penny frowned. "I don't understand. Your similarities are enough to be friends?" If it was that easy wouldn't Ciel and Xanthic like each other? They were both serious.

"If only," Winter sighed. She finally slowed down and matched Penny's strides to look at the young women she was conversing with. Penny smiled up at her, showing appreciation for the gesture. She noted the Huntress' silence stretch on a little too long, eyes a little studious. Did Penny do something wrong? "The situation with me and Marigold is similar to you and Aro. Not many people understand us, so we cherish the ones that do. Even if there are differences."

"Interesting…"

Successful interpersonal action: Five people.

#penny polendina #winter schnee #May Marigold #rwby #penny x winter #winter x penny #pfenning #toy soldiers #wispywrites #cutting strings

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migleefulmoments · 5 years ago

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Anonymous asked: Something I've been thinking about lately, is D doesn't just suffer for the moment, he also has to anticipate taking responsibility whenever he does come out. And the dread must gets worse as time (& more BS) goes by. Speaking from experience, even w/ people who love you, who will support you through everything, the guilt/fear/shame still wrecks havoc on you each day. And ofc he knows what people say & sees fans mock & criticize him for it all. I imagine that adds a lot of pain and stress

ajw720 answered: Anon. I can only imagine that guilt and fear weighs heavily and is a part of his everyday life.

I think he has such an amazing support system and I take comfort in that fact. He was truly blessed with his parents and partner. But they aren’t him and no matter how hard they try. They can never take the burden off his shoulders. Never. He’s the one whose internalizing and living with the full fear. (Abby’s very childish and romanticized ideas about love and how love makes everything bad go away. It doesn’t. If Love was actually effective in curing mental health issues, we wouldn’t have much drug abuse or suicide in this country. The truth is that love and caring family and friends are certainly important, but they could never help someone under the kind of distress that ccDarren is supposedly under. Just the mistrust issues alone would be overwhelming. ccDarren would have developed paranoia and trust issues as his entire team, his wife, and his brother work to methodically destroy him. He never spends any time with Chris so even if Chris is supportive, they don’t spend enough time together for Chris to actually support him.. Just knowing someone loves you isn’t going make up for Darren’s human rights violations. Abby seems to get her ideas about love from Cinderella and Snow White- both women were in terrible situations for sure. They both had evil step-mothers who were torturing them and putting their lives at risk over petty jealousies. Both women were saved by their handsome, wealthy princes who fell in love at first sight and whisked them off to the palace to live happily ever after as the Queens. It’s not at all realistic-we don’t even have Monarchy in Americ- but certainly romantic when you are 5 years old and believe love solves all problems.)

As for the fans. I personally make an effort to not blame him. I won’t say I don’t question some things. But I fully recognize that he’s a victim living the best life he can while under these constraints and surrounded by toxic people constantly trying to exploit him. Further. I fully understand that’s he’s not in control.

I too get frustrated when others think they have free reign to mock and laugh. And each time I ask. What would you do? How would you survive? How can you judge when you’ve never lived anything remotely like it? (So dramatic Abby,, it draws in your followers and keeps them hooked. After all, nobody wants to be the person who ignores a fellow human being suffering even if that person is a multimillionaire with two wealthy parents, a wife, many friends, work confidants, etc etc.)

It’s so damn infuriating that people forget about his humanity (Oh his humanity, how dare we forget his humanity. Keep reeling them in Abby). And that the only person truly hurt in this is d himself. Who are we to judge? (HILARIOUS Abby, You judge Darren and Abby and all their friends all the damn time) To me. The point of being here in CCland is to offer support. If I can no longer offer that, I can walk away. D never can.

I know I say this a lot. But I know a lot about bravery. I’ve witnessed it first hand with people in my life. And there are a handful I truly admire for being able to continuously overcome the obstacles in their path. (Life is complicated. In 2020, people have extreme stressors from so many different parts of their lives. People survive illnesses and injuries they never would have before. But we all know people who have been through hell and back from illness and injuries. You aren’t unique. Darren is a multi-millionaire with an entire team of people he hires to help him work better, a lot of close friends, two wealthy parents, and a job he loves. He is filled with resources to survive hardship. There is nothing about Darren’s life that we know of that I would consider heroic).

I count d among that group of people. The fact that he is not only still standing, but thriving in his career, and still able to remain a kind and humble human being is a testament to his strength and endurance. (The fact that Darren is thriving in his career and still able to remain kind and humble proves he isn’t going through the horrors that Abby envisions. Nobody is so strong they can withstand severe decade-long stressors and still thrive professionally- especially in such a public career.)

If I ever had the chance. I’d tell him just that. (NEVER CONTACT THE PLAYERS...isnt’ that your rule Abby?) And that I think everything is going to be ok in the end (It’s all a fairytale so that is a likely ending if you write it that way) More than ok. It’s going to be grand (Again, fairytale so anything is possible) Even if not at first. Because d has spent so much time reinforcing to his fans that his worthy of love and support. Because of his talent. Yes. But because of the way he treats people. This is a man who goes out of his way for his fans. Truly one of a kind. (Huh? “He spent so much time reinforcing to his fans that his worthy of love and support. Because of his talent. Yes. because of the way he treats people? I don’t understand your point. You broke so many rules of grammar).

I have nothing but faith. (Well that makes sense since you have no proof. "I have nothing but faith” is the most accurate statement you have ever made @ajw720).

#2 years of hell on earth. #i pray everyday this gets better and soon

#crisscolfer #crisscolfer lol #Darren Criss #Debunking cc lies #love cures everything #love conquers all

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aurora-daily · 5 years ago

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"It's about believing in all the tiny people who are actually very big": An interview with AURORA

Interview: AURORA for Bandwagon (October 22nd, 2019) by Celia Ong

AURORA is a symbol of resistance and tenderness.

Embodying a resplendence that simmers from within, AURORA stands in contrast to the fatalistic outlook of today with an unceasing, bubbling optimism and music which transcends the self and boldly serves as a public letter to the world. With her distinctive blend of folk, electronic and pop, as well as her hard-hitting, political messages, she resists against the current state of things with a fiery focus in her latest album A Different Kind of Human – Step 2 precisely because she yearns for and believes in a better future.

Ahead of the Neon Lights festival, which AURORA is slated to play at, she speaks to us about her vision for humanity and the place it has in her expression.

You'll be returning to Singapore soon for the Neon Lights festival. How are you feeling?

I'm so excited! I loved being in Singapore. It's so beautiful. The crowd there was so nice and I really enjoyed myself. I'm so excited to be back!

Congrats on your latest album A Different Kind of Human – Step 2! It's a sequel to Infections of a Different Kind – Step 1, so why a different title and why this particular one?

I wanted to make an album that would put people through an emotional process. But I realised there're two steps to this emotional process, so I wanted to make two albums, where each part represents the exact emotional process.

Step 1 is more about internal things; it's about learning to stand up for yourself, learning to be a warrior for yourself and to make yourself happy and healthy. Step 2 is a lot bigger; it's about standing up for the whole world, about standing up for nature, women, children and men. It's about being a warrior. It's these two important parts of the same kind of empowering process.

Can you share a little more about the headspace you were in when you wrote the album?

I made Step 1 in this big castle in France and it was really beautiful. There were really big fields and the nature was incredible, so you just kind of let your imagination and dreams run over the hills every morning. For Step 2, I felt like I needed to really dive into myself and I wanted to feel way more lonely and down-to-earth. I made Step 2 in a very small room – a very dark, small room with a blue wall and a purple floor. It was really tiny and I just thought it was the right thing to do – to make this album in a small space, because then I would be alone with my own thoughts. I wanted to make sure I was reaching into myself for my opinions about the world. It's a more political album, so I felt I needed to be locked in a room to really figure out what I felt about the world, nature, equality, and all of these things. It was very a different process.

In 'Apple Tree' and 'The Seed', there is an anger directed towards the earth dying, but the former is more optimistic. Can you share more about these two related songs?

I am extremely invested in Mother Earth. I love nature, as you know. In all my songs and videos, there is so much nature. I feel like nature is so important to us and that's what I love about Singapore as well! You have such beautiful nature; you plant trees in the buildings and you have these beautiful parks.

It's just so important to take care of the earth. It's the only place for us where we can just exist, where we have free beauty and where we can be calm – in nature, we can just be. The world is so demanding of people; it puts a lot of pressure on people to be perfect or to achieve big things. But nature just lets you exist. I think that's such an important emotion to experience and that's why I'm very passionate about the battle of saving Mother Earth for the future children.

It's been so fun to sing 'The Seed' and 'Apple Tree' live. I can feel the whole crowd feeling it with me; we all want to save the Earth and we all want to fight for something bigger than ourselves. I think it's natural for people to fight for something bigger than ourselves and it's so beautiful to see it happening. Especially young people, who are shouting loud enough for change. I think we're close to a big revolution.

'Apple Tree' is a lot about the individual. I believe so much in the power of every small human being. I think people can do really big things, especially if we stand together. All the people out there have so much potential to change things, and that's the whole idea behind 'Apple Tree' – believing that people can make a change and that you can make a change. It's about believing in all the tiny people who are actually very big. We can do big things.

You once said that the title track is something special and close to you.

It is so special to me. I think about death quite a lot. I'm not afraid of it and it doesn't make me sad. It's just interesting how it surrounds us all the time, but we still dare to care about each other and to fall in love, even though we know nothing is forever – it's such a beautiful thing. It's a promise that life gives us; we know that it will happen one day but we learn to live with it. Everyday, because we live everyday, we only die once.

I really wanted to make a song to help people cope with death and to cope with losing people they love. That's why I wrote this song. I think it was my mum, who said to me when I was young, that it's always the good people that die and that the best people were just too good for the world. People commit suicide, which is a horrible, sad thing, but it happens everyday. It's almost like the world was too cruel for them and they were too good for this world.

That's why I wrote this song 'A Different Kind of Human', which is about these creatures that come to Earth to a dying human. And they say, "Don't be scared, we're going to take care of you. You'll be safe and we'll take you to this new home where you'll be with people as kind as yourself. You'll be happier at this safe place". I was hoping it could help people who have lost someone and convey that they're in a safe place.

Your music delves into different aspects of humanity and touches a lot on the state of our world today. Personally, are you more hopeful or pessimistic about the state of our world today, and are you ever apprehensive about revealing your views in your music?

I am very hopeful. I'm always hopeful, because as long as there are new children, there will be people who can learn from the mistakes of their parents and there will always be people that will try to make things good again. As long as there is one tree, we can help that tree become a whole forest if we just plant the seeds. We can reverse a lot, but we have to do something now.

I feel like things are starting to happen now. We don't hear about the good things that happen everyday. Everyday, a lot of big changes and a lot of small changes that have big effects are made. Everyday, people do things to help. I'm very hopeful, because without hope, there will be no need to try. That's why people need to have hope and believe that it will be worth trying.

I will always be a big speaker of human emotions. I feel that music can be the emotional education for people. We have no other place that teaches us how to deal with emotions and how to understand them. People don't always like to talk about emotions. But I'll always write music that I hope can be best friends to people and can help people educate themselves within their own emotions.

I really like speaking my opinions about things that I feel are important and things that I care about in my songs. I can feel that my fans really care about these things too. I wouldn't be able to make any change without my fans. It's only because of my fans that I can actually do some good with my little time on this Earth. Together, we are so powerful; we are a whole wave together. I'm definitely going to continue to speak my opinions and my perspectives in my songs as long as I'm here.

You're already working on a new album. Can you share a little more?

I'm actually working on two albums and I don't know which album I will release first. One of them requires quite a lot of travelling and time. The song 'A Different Kind of Human' is actually a hint for one of the albums and for the direction I'm going in. The other album will be completely different and it will be very fun. The next album I'm going to release will still be quite political and emotional, but I'm quite inspired in a different way now. It will be even more emotional than the others, and even more powerful. It's also more quiet. I will try to incorporate a lot of nature in it and capture the beauty of life.

It’s really exciting and it's going to be, I think, the best album.

#aurora #aurora aksnes #interviews #ioadk #step 2 #The Seed #apple tree #adkoh #new album

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famedexclusivearchive · 5 years ago

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[INTERVIEW] 7ROPHY’s Eunah talks role in A-Teen

7ROPHY’s rise within the idol industry has brought with it a stream of new solo opportunities for some of its members, especially lead vocal Eunah, who has released three songs through the Portal digital music project this year and played the role of Cosette in the recent Seoul production of Les Misérables. The young idol is now making her transformation from stage to screen as she makes her webdrama debut as Kim Hana in A-Teen. Exclusive got to have the first interview with Eunah about her first on-camera acting role. Read what she had to say below!

A-Teen is your on-camera acting debut. Why did you choose this project?

“My manager was contacted by the producers of the webdrama, I took a look at the role descriptions, and I thought the character of Do Hana was very interesting … because that was who I originally auditioned for. Then, they called and said they wanted me to play Kim Hana. I was really surprised, but I thought it would be a good challenge.”

You starred in Les Misérables recently. What has been the difference for you between stage acting and on-camera acting?

“There’s a big difference, which I expected. I had to tone down a lot of things, and it was really strange to not have to look at the camera at all. The camera is your audience, and when you’re performing on music shows, you have to make sure to look at them, and when you’re on stage, singing to the audience is part of the experience too, but when you’re acting for screen? No eye contact with the camera, the audience isn’t there! If they’ll allow me, maybe I’ll upload a blooper of me accidentally looking at it onto my Instagram.”

Speaking of Les Misérables, how would you compare the roles of Cosette and Kim Hana? Which one did you enjoy playing more?

“Well, how can you compare the two? Playing Cosette was a childhood dream come true, but it was scary to step into such a famous role. Kim Hana was another dream … to get to create my very own role. There hasn’t been another Kim Hana from the webdrama A-Teen, but there’s been hundreds of Cosettes. They were both fun to work on in their own way, but I think Cosette was more enjoyable for me overall. I’ve never worked on screen before, so I spent most of my downtime on set learning about the process. It was a lot more hands on, whereas the stage process is something I’m familiar with, meaning I could relax more.”

What challenges did you face while playing your character?

“Like I said, I spent a lot of time on set just trying to settle in. Those first few days were hard … I feel like I only really got into the swing of things during the second week of filming, so I’m grateful for everyone who helped me and put up with me. An ensemble cast is a really comfortable thing to work in, and it made things a lot easier on me. When I was feeling lost, I always had my castmates around me to bounce off of.”

Do you think you and your character share similar characteristics? Do you think this made it an easier or harder role for you to play?

“Kim Hana and I are very different, but we still have some things in common. I’m the type of person who keeps things close to my chest, I’m not very good at expressing the truth about myself. We’re similar in that regard. However, I was never popular in school, and I was definitely never top of the class … those things impact your school years more than you even realize. More than I realized anyways, until I found myself struggling to relate to KimHa. I didn’t have any experiences to draw on. I actually ended up calling my sister to ask about her life as an A+ student.”

Do you plan to explore acting in dramas more in the future? What type of roles would you want to take on?

“If I’m lucky enough to, I would like to do more dramas. Maybe on TV? Or a second season of A-Teen. I feel like Kim Hana’s story still has more to be explored. I’m still too young at the moment, but I always like the cool, tough older women in dramas. Nothing fazes them, which is so different to me. I’d also like to try taking on something in the horror or mystery genres. Like a Nancy Drew kind of character!”

Why do you think people should watch A-Teen?

“It’s a drama that captures the everyday life of teenagers! I think it deals with lots of relevant issues today, without being too over the top or overly serious, and I’m proud to make my drama debut in it! And the episodes are short, so it’s a drama that’s easy to fit in to your day, if you’re looking for something to watch but don’t have the time to sit down for a whole hour.”

Do you have any other comments you’d like to make to your fans?

“I hope you’ll give A-Teen a chance! International Pepe couldn’t come to see Les Misérables, but you can see A-Teen, so I hope you’ll watch! Thank you for streaming my portal release, and thank you for supporting Senorita. The seven of us are thankful for you every day!”

#excinterview #exceunah #queued post

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dresupi · 6 years ago

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hard pressed

Darcyland Crack Challenge 2019 | Day 2: An Unexplainable Predicament to Explain |

Ship: Bruce Banner/Darcy Lewis | Prompt: Day 2 - An unexplainable predicament to explain | Rated: M | Word Count: 1422 | Other Tags: Adult Situations, Dum-E. Crack, Established Relationship, Fade to Black, Implied Sexual Situations, Humor |

Summary:

Bruce walks in on Darcy doing something… well, it's something alright.

Darcy's got some explaining to do, and the best way to do that is just complete honesty.

No matter how crazy it sounds.

Bruce didn't like to think of himself as someone who stuck his nose where it didn't belong. In fact, he usually only went one of three places in the new Avengers complex. The first was the lab, which was considerably smaller than the older one Tony had set up in Avengers Tower, but it was still pretty substantial. The second was his apartment. And the third was Darcy's.

So he wasn't really involved with any of the interpersonal drama, so to speak. Darcy filled him in on almost everything, but he wasn't in the thick of it.

Which was why he really wished he hadn't walked into the thick of… whatever this was. Even if it did involve his girlfriend. All he wanted was to duck into Darcy's office and check to see if she wanted a coffee from the kitchen. But now… this.

At first glance, it looked as though Darcy was controlling Dum-E through an app on her phone, instructing him to push against a panel by the open door, which was innocuous enough by itself. Darcy liked to fiddle with the bots, and Tony was only too happy to give her quick lessons. But there was something significantly off this time.

Since Bruce was standing in the open door, Dum-E was rolling toward him. With an insanely huge dildo duct taped to his arm extension.

He liked to think of himself as a fairly smart guy, but there weren't enough pieces to this puzzle. Bruce tilted his head before speaking, but it didn't help his confusion at all. "Um… what?"

Darcy looked at him like this was completely a normal, everyday occurrence. Like she always secured sex toys to the bots, and Bruce was the one with the problem. "What-what?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Not to be one of those guys, but I have to ask... what are you making Dum-E do? Is that thing strapped to his arm what I think it is? What are you making him do with it? And why?"

"Okay, you only asked me one what. There were two extra 'whats' and a 'why' in there too."

Bruce sighed. "Okay. How's this? What? Why? And Darcy???"

She pressed something on her phone to pause the bot's progress and pocketed it, holding both palms out in front of her in mock surrender before she spoke. "Okay, so there is a completely logical explanation for this, and you'll just have to bear with me until I get through it.. Firstly, and most important, Tony grounded me from my door."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she shushed him and continued. "And before you even suggest it, this is what happens when I ask FRIDAY for help." She looked up at the ceiling. "FRIDAY? Can you shut my office door?"

"No, Ms. Lewis. Mr. Stark says it's better for you to 'move your ass'. It's good for blood flow."

She shot Bruce a frustrated look.

"FRIDAY can shut my office door," he mused, figuring there was more coming. When it came to Tony and Darcy, there always was.

"Yeah, but I regularly ride Tony's rear end for not going home and going to sleep and for practically living in this lab like some kind of goblin, so he's getting me back by forcing me to do business without an office door. Which you think wouldn't be a big deal, but you have no idea how many of the little interns want to stop and chat. Or how chatty Scott can be. About everything." She gestured around to her desk. "I have so much crap piling up and I need to close this."

"Why don't you just… apologize to Tony and get your door back?"

"And let him win, Banner? If I let him win, then he'll know he has a wild card and I need at least the illusion of control or Tony will lapse into full-goblin. No one wants that. You don't remember full-goblin, because the Other Guy yeeted you into outer space. You weren't even on the planet for the last full-goblin episode."

Bruce reached out and pressed the button, closing the door easily. "There."

"Yeah, are you going to stay in here with me? Because that's the only way it stays closed. You have to be in here for the door to stay closed."

That was true. "I mean, I could, but I have some stuff that I…"

"Right? So just… leave me and Dum-E and Nixon to our experiment."

Bruce glanced over at the dildo, a veiny, comically large phallus that Dum-E was sporting. Apparently named Nixon.

"Nixon?" he asked, gesturing towards the extra appendage.

"Tricky Dick," she countered with a shrug.

He smirked, reaching up to cover his mouth with his hand. "Of course. Can I ask why he's here as well?"

"Well… Dum-E can't press the panel, it requires something with more… heft? Something meatier? That thing's pretty thick. And made of silicone. I figure if it can work for a vagina, it'll work for a door."

"There's a sentence I didn't think I'd ever hear…" Bruce muttered, folding his arms and stepping back behind Darcy. "So try it. I need to see the end of this saga before I'll be able to focus on my work."

Darcy unpaused the program and started it up again. Dum-E slowly moved towards the panel, and when the dildo pressed against the contact area, it did nothing.

She sighed heavily. "Goddammit, Tony."

"Sorry Nixon failed you…" Bruce said, crossing the floor to remove it from Dum-E's 'arm'. It was green. Veiny. Definitely something else vaguely interesting about it. He froze, his gaze catching a seal at the non-business end. It was licensed. And hell if he didn't recognize from where.

"Is this a… Hulk dildo?" he asked, somewhere between alarmed and surprised Not that he and Darcy didn't engage in amorous adventures, because they did.

Never anything with this… girth, but to each their own.

The toy wasn't accurate, not that it mattered.

"What…" His mouth fell open and Darcy quickly scurried over to him, ripping the silicone monstrosity from his hands. "Okay, so I know this looks awful, but I have an explanation for this too."

He blinked, not upset in the slightest. More amused than anything else. Amused and inquisitive. "And I'd like to hear it."

"First off, this hasn't been used by me."

"Okay… not sure if that's better or worse..."

She blushed and reached out to playfully swat his arm. "I got it from Pepper's bachelorette party. I won some naughty raffle and that was the grand prize. Since the party was here in the lab, I just tossed it in my desk drawer and forgot about it until today."

"It's a Hulk… product."

She grinned. "It is. It's like… a novelty. I'm sure women don't use them…" She didn't even sound like she believed that, but Bruce couldn't really help but laugh a little.

"It's… it's fine. Far be it for me to judge…"

She narrowed her eyes in a mock-glare."I don't use it. I'd be the first to tell you if I did."

He reached over to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Hey, I'm just kidding, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I still wish it would have closed the door. Might have been actually useful…"

Bruce reached around behind her back, grabbing the toy and stowing it in his bag. He reached for her hand and tugged her towards the door.

"It's not even close to lunchtime…" she said, taking a few steps before stopping.

"Figured we could play hookey until Tony gives you back your door…" Bruce said, leaning down to nuzzle her neck."We could go to your place… see if we could find another use for Nixon here…"

"Dr. Banner…" She raised her eyebrows, her tone rising like she was scandalized, but Bruce knew her better than to believe that for a second.

He mirrored her expression, catching the blush rising in her cheeks and thrilling a little.

"Okay, so like everyone who ever said you were a nice boy lied to me," Darcy said, laughing. "You are not a nice boy if you want to use that on me."

"I don't want to use it on you. I just want to watch.."

"Still. You're a dirty, dirty, boy." Darcy teased.

"Hey. You're the one with this…" He gestured towards his bag. "You're the corrupting influence."

"I've never heard any complaints," she countered, following him out the door.

"And you won't."

#Tasersmash #Darcy/Bruce #Bruce Banner #Darcy Lewis #dlaf2019 #slight lemon #fade to black #Crack Challenge

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the-mira-life-project-mtf · 6 years ago

Text

The Art Of Trying To ‘Pass’ As Female (My MtF~HRT Research)

Just as Krista described her need to change her face in order ‘just to leave the house,’ most of the 28 patients with whom I conducted interviews and observations, and the many others with whom I shared casual conversations, explained their desire for facial transformation in order to carry out everyday activities. As much as patients might want to be beautiful women after surgery, their primary desire was to walk through the world being recognized as women—which, in a sense, meant not being recognized at all. But just as physician discourse often conflated or collapsed the biological category of the female with the aesthetic category of the beautiful when describing the aims of feminization, so too did patients draw on both of these notions when communicating what their goal of being a woman actually means.

Woman is difficult to define as a surgical category precisely because it is difficult to define as a social one. Not surprisingly, patients had different ideas (and ideals) in mind when they imagined the kinds of transformations that would allow them to be the kind of women they wanted to be. When I asked Rosa if she had a particular idea of what she hoped to look like after surgery, she immediately said, “Yes,” and reached into her bag. She pulled out a stack of papers wrapped in plastic sleeves and held together by a binder ring. She shuffled through the stack, unfastened the ring, and put a page on the desk in front of me. There were three photographs that had been clipped from magazines and pasted to a sheet of white paper. As she began to talk I was not sure which one I was supposed to be looking at. “I want to look like a woman,” she began. “I want a face that a man falls in love with. Like an angel. Innocent. You are a man. You understand. Look at her [pointing to an image on the page.] What do you feel? Body is nice, but look at her face. In that picture you can’t see her breasts, but you can see her face. She’s beautiful. You feel inside something like love. I want a face that a man sees and it makes him turn red.” Rosa was not sure what her particular features would be when all was said and done. She did not expect Howard to replicate the model’s face onto hers. She did, however, expect that her face would be one that would do something for others and, in turn, do something for her. Rosa described the changes she was after in terms of how particular aspects of her face evoked gendered attributes.

When our conversation turned from the effect she desired to the precise means of achieving that effect, she gave an inventory of her face and the multiple ways that it works against her. The bone above my eyes gives me an aggressive look. I have dark, shadowed eyes. If you see that actress Hillary Swank, she has this. Something doesn’t match on her face. Nose, obviously. My nose is male. Upper lip. I can’t wear red lipstick. If I wear read lipstick it makes me look like a man in a dress. When I watch videos of myself, my expressions never look happy. I look angry.

Rosa was confident that following surgery she would ‘feel more sure of [her]self.’ It was this confidence that made women beautiful. Just something about them that had such power and sex appeal. Women, in her telling, were not aggressive or angry; their faces are built to be adorned. Though she knew that Howard could not necessarily make her beautiful, she was confident that he could make her a woman. For her, that was enough.

Gretchen had much more modest desires. Her hopes for surgery were less about eliciting a particular response, than avoiding a reaction altogether. Just…I hope that I won’t have this kind of jerk that was sitting just to my left on the plane this morning who was seemingly horrified by seeing this (gestures to her face and body). He was probably having the idea that I was fantasizing about him or something. I just hope that next time, he won’t think about it twice. ‘Yes, I’m sitting beside a girl. So what and that’s all.’ End of story.

Pamela expressed her desires this way: I'm doing it (having FFS) so I will feel that I "pass" (making air quotes). Whatever that is. And of course the operative word there is ‘feel.’ I'm tired of thinking, is that person reading me? No? Well how 'bout that person? I want to think about something else as I walk down the sidewalk.... Like, say, what a nice dress in the window. Maybe that's it. Going unnoticed is a thing that most people take for granted.

Erving Goffman (1963) called those who do not draw unwelcome attention from their bodily appearance ‘normal’s.’ Normal’s, Goffman argues, simply cannot understand how it feels to be the object of derisive looks and hostile attention from complete strangers. To be a member of a stigmatized group is to be the object of distain. When some aspect of your physical body is the source of that stigma, there are, according to Goffman, two possible responses. You can come to terms with the fact of your stigma and attempt to ‘normificate’ it by acting normal, as though the stigma did not exist. Or, you can normalize it by making a conscious effort to correct it. Though ‘norming’ surgeries are sometimes the objects of ethical debate, the validity of the desired outcome is hard to dispute.

In an article entitled, ‘Self-Help for the Facially Disfigured,’ Elisabeth Bednar put the matter simply. Whether we are shopping, riding the subway, or eating in a restaurant, all of which are casual day-to-day social encounters, there is the initial stare, then the look away, before a second, furtive glance inevitably puts the beheld immediately in a separate class. For those who experience this discrimination, the question of the moral justification of surgery to increase societal acceptance...

She pointed out photographs in Howard’s book in which surgery did not necessarily improve a patient’s attractiveness, but it did change her sex. When referring to before and after photographs she said, “See this is an ugly boy and this is an ugly girl, but it is a girl. Other doctors can’t do this.”

There can be no greater wish than to melt into the crowd or to walk into a room unnoticed (Bednar 1996:53). The patients and surgeons with whom I worked, referred to the fact (or fantasy) of going unnoticed as ‘passing.’ The language of passing is contentious for some transpeople because it can be read as implying a sort of deception; being taken as a member of a group to which one does not really (where really refers both to an ontological truth and to the rightful membership based on it) belong. This deception is also often marked by a supposed opportunism; passing is really only considered as such when a person passes from an undesirable group and into a desired one (Gilman 1999). It therefore frequently carries a connotation of a strategy to access particular forms of privilege. Many transpeople object to the language of ‘passing’ because, they argue, to say that one passes as a woman is to acknowledge that woman is not a category to which she rightfully belongs.

As Julia Serano insists, “I don’t pass as a woman. I am a woman. I pass as a cis-gendered woman” (by which she means a woman who has never changed her gender). These sorts of concerns about what it means both politically and ontologically to pass, were only voiced by two of the patients with whom I spoke. Despite their reservations, they, like all other patients I met, held the desire to pass as an incredibly important and explicitly stated aim. As historian of medicine Sander Gilman explains, ‘The happiness of the patient is the fantasy of a world and a life in the patient’s control rather than in the control of the observer on the street. And that is not wrong. This promise of autonomy, of being able to make choices and act upon them, does provide the ability to control the world. It can (and does) make people happy’ (1999:331-2).

Like language, social roles do not exist in isolation (Wittgenstein 1953:§243); they are by definition shared properties conveyed between people in given social group. A person’s individual conviction that she is a woman is not enough to maker her a woman in any social sense. To be a woman requires not simply the conviction that one is a woman, but the recognition of that status by others.

FFS is a surgical recognition that how one feels about and lives their sexed and gendered embodiment is not a private, psychic reality, but is the product of social life, of living with others. Passing is not a subjective act; it is a social one. Nearly all clinical literature as well as most popular literature on transsexualism suggests that transsexualism is a property (and problem) of an atomized and bounded individual. This focus on the individual and psychic nature of the bodily dissatisfaction that characterizes transsexualism is named explicitly as well as through the invocation of metaphors of isolation, internality and invisibility. While an individual body may be the site of the material intervention, the change enacted in FFS takes place irreducibly between persons. The efficacy of FFS is located not in the material result of surgery itself, but in the effect that the surgical result will produce in the perceptions of imagined.

Other writers argue that the goal of ‘passing’ not only obscures but effectively forecloses any possibility of a trans- specific radical political subjectivity (Bornstein 1994, Green 1999, Stone 1991). These writers insist that living as out trans-people is the only way to call attention to the oppressive gender system that devalues and delegitimizes trans-lives and bodies, among others. This kind of visibility can come at the great cost of personal and emotional safety, leading to a conflicting desire to be a part of the solution while maintaining ones safety and sanity (Green 1999). Perhaps nowhere is this made clearer than in the imaginary scene through which Howard explains the goal of his surgical work:

If, on a Saturday morning, someone knocks at the door and you wake up and get out of bed with messy hair, no makeup, no jewelry, and answer the door, the first words you’ll hear from the person standing there are, “Excuse me, ma’am….”

This incredibly powerful scene was a staple of Howard’s conference presentations, and was repeated in slightly altered and personalized forms by many of the patients who had selected Howard as their surgeon. Through this turning outward—and the making of femaleness at the site of the exchange with a stranger—FFS reconfigures the project of surgical sex reassignment from one rooted in the private subjectivity of the genitals, to one located in the public sociality of the face. Time after time, patients told me that their primary desire was to go through their daily lives and be left alone, without thinking about what others may see when they look at them.

Krista rode the city bus on the day before our interview. On that day, for the first time in recent memory, she did not prepare extensively before leaving the house. “I didn’t have to worry about having my bangs just right, or having just the right pair of glasses on. I just got on the bus and thought, ‘Wow, this is cool.’” Although her face was covered in bandages, sutures, and bruises, and people on that bus were undoubtedly looking at her, Krista found joy in the certainty that whatever they might have seen when they looked at her, the did not see a transwoman. The stuff of her maleness was gone. It was a novel—but so, so welcome—experience. It is important to remember that the stakes for passing are often quite high, often quite serious. The desire to pass does not only exist for the gratification of personal goals, but also achieves a mode of physical and emotional safety. It is crucial to remember that trans-people are disproportionately incarcerated, unemployed, and lost to suicide and other violence. I make this point not to hold counter discourses hostage to its message— as in an accusatory stance from which any divergence is a de facto support of transphobia or worse—but to tell the complete story of the context in which these procedures become objects of desire, and accomplish practical goals sometimes on the measure of life and death.

THE FULL FACE

Facial Feminization Surgery includes interventions in both the bone and soft tissues of the face. In general, the procedures involved in FFS are aimed at taking away or reducing particular features of the bones and soft tissue of the face. This focus on reduction and removal is based on a fundamental assertion that males are, on the whole, larger and more robust than females.

This assertion applies both to the bony skeleton and to soft tissues such as skin and cartilage. Whereas the modification of the facial bones are guided, at least in Howard’s case, by numerical norms, most soft tissue procedures are not. (The exceptions are the height of the upper lip and of the forehead; these assessments are guided by numbers and measurement). Instead, soft tissue procedures are often oriented toward and aesthetic ideal of feminine attractiveness.

Below are brief descriptions of the surgical procedures organized under the sign of Facial Feminization. Not every patient undergoes all of the procedures described here, though some certainly do. In Dr. Howard’s parlance, a patient whose surgery includes all of these procedures gets, ‘The Full Face.’

While one of the fundamental goals of this dissertation is to trouble the claims to absolute difference that often animate FFS, in the following descriptions I make use of the dichotomous distinctions that doctors use when characterizing the masculine features of patients’ skulls.

Bone Procedures

Brow Bossing and Frontal Sinus:

The prominence of the brow is one of the most distinctive and recognizable aspects of a masculine face. Some reduction of the brow can be accomplished through burring down the bossing (the thickness of the bones) just above the eyes. In other cases the anterior wall of the frontal sinus (the empty space just above and between the eyes) is removed (“unroofed”) and set back. The reduction of the frontal sinus is considered the most aggressive of all procedures involved in Facial Feminization Surgery (see Figure 1.7).

Rhinoplasty (internal reshaping of the nasal bones):

Rhinoplasty involves the fracturing of the nasal bones as well as the removal of cartilage. More radical bone fracturing and removal is required when frontal sinus reconstruction is performed. When the forehead is ‘set back’ through this procedure, the bones at the nasion (the depressed area between the eyes just superior to the bridge of the nose) must be reduced in order to create the desired relationship between forehead and nose.

Malar (cheek) Implants:

In order to produce the desirable oval shape of the female face, implants may be placed over the malar bones to enhance the fullness of the cheeks.

Genioplasty (chin shortening):

Based on the claim that female chins are shorter than male chins (as measured from the top of the bottom teeth to the most inferior point of the chin), a wedge of bone can be removed from the chin, and slid forward. Moving the bottom section forward also results in creating a more pointed chin.

Reshaping mental protuberance (chin):

A pointed chin is recognized as feminine, whereas a square chin is masculine. In combination with the advancement of the inferior portion of the chin, contouring is also done to enhance this characteristic.

Reduction Mandibuloplasty (jaw bone):

Alterations of the mandible focus on the undesirable squareness of the masculine jaw. This squareness is attributed to two aspects of the mandible: mandibular angle and mandibular flare. The mandibular angle describes the angular value of the posterior and inferior portion of the jaw. The more acute the angle, the more masculine the jaw. This is best seen from profile. Mandibular flare describes the extent to which the squareness of the jaw extends toward the lateral sides of the face. This squareness is best seen when looking at a person from the front. In both cases, bone can be removed in order to reduce the appearance of masculine squareness.

Soft Tissue Procedures

Scalp advancement:

By severing the tissue that connects the scalp to the scull, the scalp may be brought forward toward the face to help a patient compensate for a receding hairline. Excess tissue at the top of the forehead is excised. Scalp advancement as well as hairline reshaping and eyebrow raising all occur through the coronal incision (from ear to ear just behind the hairline) required to alter the bony contours of the forehead.

Hairline Reshaping:

In addition to bringing the hair-bearing scalp forward, the hairline itself can be reshaped. In this procedure, the M shaped male hairline is rounded out to reduce (if not eliminate) temporal baldness caused by a byproduct of testosterone.

Eyebrow Raising/Crow’s Feet Reduction/Forehead lift:

As noted above these procedures are performed at the site of the coronal incision after the bone work on the forehead has been completed. When tissue is excised during scalp advancement, the position of eyebrows is raised up higher on the forehead. This is described as a feminine characteristic. The appearance of the eyebrows is also changed as a result of the changes to the bones of the brow and forehead beneath them. The pulling of the skin of the forehead generally produces the addition (and typically considered beneficial) result of eliminating the wrinkles around the eyes often called crow’s feet. During this procedure, surgeons have access to the internal muscles of the forehead and may choose to perform a perforation of those muscles; this procedure is typically referred to as a forehead lift.

Rhinoplasty (reshaping of the cartilage and tip of the nose):

The tip of the nose is given its shape by internal cartilage. After the bone modifications have been made, the cartilage can be reshaped in order to achieve a ‘more feminine’ nose.

Upper lip shortening:

According to the surgeons with whom I worked, males have a longer upper lip (distance between the bottom of the nose and the vermillion part of the upper lip) than do females. This distinction can most easily be seen by observing how much of the upper teeth are visible when a person’s mouth is slightly open. This measurement is referred to as ‘tooth show.’ The length of the upper lip can be reduced by excising the desired amount of tissue just beneath the nose, raising the upper lip toward the nose, and applying sutures in the crease just at the base of the nose. This also results in increasing the amount of vermillion visible in the upper lip.

Lip Augmentation:

Lips can be augmented through a variety of procedures including the injection of pharmaceutical products (such as Botox and Restylane) or fat taken from other sites in the patient’s body. More permanent augmentation can be achieved by placing some of the tissue excised during the scalp advancement into the tissue on the underside of the upper lip.

Reduction of the thyroid cartilage (“Adam’s Apple”):

The Adam’s Apple—or more properly, the thyroid cartilage—is considered to be one of the clearest indicators of maleness. Thyroid cartilage removal is often referred to as a Tracheal Shave (or just trach shave) despite the fact that it is neither the trachea being altered, nor a shaving motion used to reduce it. While a relatively simple procedure, the thyroid cartilage reduction carries significant risks. An inexperienced surgeon may remove more tissue than necessary, and inadvertently alter the site where the vocal chords insert. This can result in a radical modification of vocal pitch.

CLINICAL EVAL

Clinic One -- Dr. Howard

Upon entering his office from the hospital corridor, one enters a warm but unremarkable waiting room: carpet and walls in shades of neutral brown, upholstered armchairs separated by low coffee tables offering a selection of news and fashion magazines.

In addition to personal and administrative offices, the practice has three small examination rooms, each equipped with a large examination chair (somewhat like a dentist’s chair, it defaults to an upright but gently reclining position), a rolling stool (on which Howard sits during most of the exam), a small side chair (where I sat while observing exams), and a counter at the back of the room that contains a hand-washing sink and a light box for illuminating x-rays.

There are few decorations in the exam room dedicated to initial consultations and pre-operative appointments. To the right of the patient seated in the exam chair, a silver and bronze toned image of a naked and reclining woman hangs on the wall. Her long hair flows down her back and shoulders but leaves the side of her breast exposed. On the wall facing the patient—and so behind Howard as he conducts the exam—is a magazine rack that holds several fashion magazines.

When I entered the room, Tracy was seated in the reclining exam chair, hands folded in her lap and looking nervous. Howard urged her to keep her seat as I introduced myself and shook her hand. With Tracy, as with all other patients whose consultations I observed, Howard began the appointment with a few minutes of friendly conversation. He inquired about the Canadian city in which she lives. As a person who has done a considerable amount of traveling throughout the world, Howard often has a personal story to tell about the patient’s hometown.

Though he tends to speak rapidly as a norm, these exchanges do not seem to me to be perfunctory or rushed; people’s stories sincerely fascinate him. After having seen this routine enacted a number of times, it is clear that Howard uses these first moments to establish a friendly rapport with new patients who are frequently very nervous—and in some cases could be best described as star struck. While this moment may be the culmination of many months or years of a patient’s personal and financial work, for Howard, this is another day in the office.

After the brief exchange of pleasantries, Howard moved into questions about Tracy’s medical history: height, weight, medications, prior surgeries, and so on.

When Tracy stated that she was actively losing weight and would like to get down to 180 pounds, Howard made his first recommendation of the appointment. “I’d like to see you down to 160,” he said. “The best results I see—not surgically but in terms of overall femininity—are in patients who get down to a female weight for their height. When you get down to 180, just keep on going.” While completely unrelated to the craniofacial surgical consultation underway, Howard’s recommendation on “overall femininity” signaled his understanding of FFS as both part of a larger goal of corporal feminization, but also as just one part of achieving that goal. In addition to signaling a holistic understanding of the project that brought Tracy to his office, this shift from conversation to recommendation marked the beginning of the exam; he is the expert with information to give.

Howard did not ask why Tracy was in the office to see him. He did not ask what her goal was for surgery. He assumed in Tracy’s case and in all other consultations I observed, that a person whose paperwork indicates that she has come to the office for an FFS consultation is doing so because she wants to have her face reconstructed to take on female proportions. I have not heard this assumption corrected. It is with this assumption that directly following the medical history, he began making measurements on Tracy’s face.

Clinic Two -- Dr. Page

Page’s office, located in an office park in an affluent suburb of a major West Coast city, shares a building with accountants, attorneys, and dental offices. The Ambulatory Surgical Clinic where he performs most of his operations is attached to his office, though it has a separate entrance at the back of the building. In the waiting room, leather armchairs and a long couch are arranged around a low coffee table covered in fashion magazines. The walls are covered in an ivory-toned wallpaper that in combination with the light coming in through a large window makes the space bright, though somewhat impersonal.

The dominant feature of Page’s waiting room is a mirrorbacked, top-lit curio cabinet featuring branded cosmetic products such as Juviderm and Botox, the presence of which makes it impossible to forget that this is not a neutral space; there is something for sale here. The reception desk is located in the front waiting room and is staffed by a few different young women.

On two occasions the stillness of their faces and the shape of their lips have made me quite aware that they have ‘had some work done.’

The two exam rooms in Page’s office are considerably larger and more brightly lit than those in Howard’s office. Here too, the reclining exam chair is the largest and most central object in the room. A small chair (where I sat during observations) is positioned just to the right of the exam chair, and a full-length mirror hangs on the wall next to it. A counter with a small sink occupied the left wall of the room. A model of a human skull sat on the counter, looking directly at the exam chair. When Page invited me in to observe the consultation, Leanne was seated in that chair.

Leanne was one of the few patients I encountered during my fieldwork who arrived for an FFS consult in what was referred to in both offices as ‘man mode’ or ‘male mode.’ She had taken the opportunity to visit Page’s office while traveling through town on business and looked every bit the businessman: short-cropped sandy blond hair graying at the temples, a crisply pressed pale blue shirt, navy blue necktie, grey trousers and black oxford shoes.

Page habitually opens the conversation by asking patients how they heard about him and his practice. This sets the tone that the patient is a consumer who has shopped around, and it helps to identify him as a businessman who is eager to grow his practice. After a bit of small talk about Leanne’s hometown and learning that this was her first visit to the region, Page began the exam not by taking a medical history, but by prompting a personal conversation.

“Tell me about yourself, about your transition.” An examination is frequently understood to consist of two parts: the history taking and the physical examination (Young 1997:23). It is immediately clear that though Howard and Page each ‘take a history’ from their patients before beginning the physical exam, what constitutes relevant history is different for each of them. Howard asks his patients about what are traditionally understood to be medical issues: their height, weight, current medications, previous surgeries, and overall physical health. This information helps him to assess whether the patient is physically well enough to be a candidate for surgery. It also signals that his primary interest is in the physical properties of the patient’s body, an interest that is born out in no uncertain terms in the examination that follows.

Page, on the other hand, does not ask such questions of his patients during their initial appointments. Instead, he elicits a ‘history’ of the patient’s feelings about herself and her transition, more generally. Because the appointment begins with the disclosure of personal—and often quite emotional—information, the examination that follows is framed as one directed toward the realization of personal and emotional goals more than physical ones. As the consultations progress, the distinctions between Howard and Page’s approaches become clear. Howard’s meeting with Tracy appears in the left-hand column below. Page’s meeting with Leanne appears on the right.

Clinic One -- Dr. Howard

Howard: “Now I’m going to take some measurements and we’ll look at your x-rays.” Howard washed his hands and came back to sit down in front of Tracy. She was sitting in the exam chair and he rolled up to her on a small, wheeled stool. He took a small white flexible plastic ruler from his coat pocket and measured the distance from the cornea of her eye to the most forward prominence of her forehead. “Your brows are down a little bit.” He felt the brows and temples on both sides of her face using both hands. He pressed the sides of his thumbs up under the bones at the top of her eye sockets in order to get a sense of the shape of the bone. “Look at the top of that light switch.” Howard directed Tracy’s attention to the switch on the wall directly in front of her. Looking at this object helped to make her head level. “Open your mouth just slightly.” Howard measured the distance from the bottom of Tracy’s nose to the inferior ends of her front teeth. “Bite down on your back teeth.” Howard bit exaggeratedly on his back teeth to show her what he meant. Looking away, he felt the muscles on either side of her jaw with his hands. He turned to me and explained to the patient that we had been talking earlier about how he decides whether or not to remove some masseter muscle when he does jaw tapering.

Talking to me: “She has a fairly prominent jaw, but the muscle is not that large. I won’t even consider removing any muscle on her.” Howard runs the pad of his thumb up and down the center of Tracy’s throat. “Have you got one of these things?” Settles on the patient’s Adam’s Apple.

Howard: “If you have this done by someone else don’t let them put a scar at the middle of your throat.” Tracy lives in a country that has a national health service and Howard makes explicit reference to this since he knows that by using that service Tracy could save a considerable amount of money on this procedure.

Howard: As he describes the potentially problematic placement of some other surgeon’s scar, he draws a line across her thyroid cartilage with his index finger to mark the cut. “If I do it I’ll put the scar up here…” He draws his index finger just under the point of her chin to indicate where he would place the scar. …so no one can see it. “Plus if you put the scar here [in the middle of the throat] it can stick to the cartilage and then it moves every time you swallow. It looks like the dickens. Let’s look at your x-rays.” Howard walks to the light box behind the exam chair and invites Tracy to join him. They stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the light box looking at the cephalograms that Tracy brought with her to the exam. “First I look to see that you’re brushing your teeth, and it looks like you are (laughs). When I was measuring here before…” Uses his finger to show the measurement he took from the forehead to the cornea. “…I was looking at the maximum prominence of your forehead to the cornea of your eye. In you it was 15mm, which is average for a male of your height. As far as I know, this measurement is not taken anywhere else in the world. It is not a standard measurement. Once I am in there and I begin to contour the forehead, I can’t tell where I am. This measurement helps me locate myself in space.” By this he means that because the cornea does not move as a result of any bone reconstruction in FFS, he can use it as a constant reference. He took a handheld mirror from a small drawer and handed it to her. She sat, holding the mirror, looking at her face as he spoke.

Tracy is being educated about what Howard will do and why it is the best approach.

Tracy: “How far can you go back?”

Howard: “The most I’ve gone back is 9mm.”

Tracy: “Let me rephrase. How far can you go back safely?”

Howard: “I could go all the way back here.” Pointing to the posterior wall of the frontal sinus on the cephalogram.

Tracy: “What happens to the sinuses?”

Howard: “They go away. As far as we know.” He indicates with his fingers where the sinuses are located on the cephalogram. “…is to reduce the weight of the skull. Now, the jaw.” Howard looks at Tracy’s jaw, and then down to the x-ray. “Do you grind your teeth?”

Tracy: “I know I used to.”

Howard: “You’ve got some wide angles here. Feel your jaw.” He places Tracy’s hand on her jaw. “Feel how it flares out? We can get rid of the bowing that males have in the mandible that females don’t have.”

Tracy: “How do you do that?”

Howard: “We use a bur instrument on the sides here…” Indicating anterior portion of the lateral mandible on his own face. “…and then we have an oscillating saw that we use to take out the larger parts of the bone here...” Indicating posterior section on his own face.

Tracy: “You actually take out parts of the bone?”

Howard: “Yeah.”

Tracy: “Okay.”

Howard: “Can I borrow a finger?” Howard reaches down and grabs the index finger of Tracy’s left hand. He places it on the side of his face in the medial section of his mandible. “Feel my teeth?” He presses her finger into his cheek and moves it back and forth so she can feel the texture of the bone below his bottom teeth. “Feel that ridge? That is what we take away. For some people, a thin layer of blood that forms on the bone becomes bone. I am one of those people. I was hit in the head with a golf ball when I was 13 and I got this big bump.” He feels the bump on the top of his head. “I’ve still got the bump because the blood that formed there turned into bone. If you look at an x-ray you can see it plain as day. If you are a person like that—and I don’t know how to know that in advance—it is possible that some of that ridge may come back. But it won’t all come back. The chin. I measured from the top of your bottom tooth to the end of the bone and that is 50mm. That is average for a male of your height. I want to take out 8 mm of chin height. I can’t do that by shaving it off the bottom, because then the muscles and tissues that attach to the bottom of your chin have nothing to attach to and they just sag down. Instead, I take out a wedge of bone that is 8mm thick, and stabilize the bone with titanium plates and screws.” Howard explains that medical grade titanium comes from recycled Russian atomic submarines. He makes a joke that the addition of this Russian material may make Tracy fond of vodka after surgery.

Tracy: “You cut a wedge out of the bone and then rotate it up?”

Howard: “Yeah. Have you seen my book? Maybe you want to buy one. There is a lot of information in there about all of this stuff. And some stuff that you don’t need. It can answer a lot of questions. We want to get ride of the sublabial sulcus at the base of your chin. I think of this as a very male feature. Now, what to do. The brow. Right now the distance from your brow to your hairline is 7cm. I want 5.5cm. The average male has a distance there of 5/8 of an inch longer than the average female. This is the case in 16-year-old males, even before they’ve experienced hair loss. You have a type III forehead. We talked about that. We’ll do your nose—if we do the forehead we have to do the nose. Do you remember Dick Tracy? His nose went straight out like a shelf? You probably won’t like that. Upper lip. Now your upper lip has a vertical height of 2.5mm and drops 2-3mm below your upper teeth. If you look at me when I talk, you don’t see my upper teeth unless I smile. He smiled to demonstrate. Women show their upper teeth when they talk. We’ll want to move you up to get some good tooth show. So. We’ll do your chin, your lower jaw, the thyroid cartilage. If I do all this at one time—and most patients choose to do that because it saves them a lot of time—I know this will take almost exactly 10 ½ hours.

Tracy: “Everything?”

Howard: “Yes”. Howard went on to describe the risks associated with these surgeries, the recovery process, and necessary preoperative preparation. When he’d answered Tracy’s questions, he led her down the hall to talk money with Sydney.

Clinic Two -- Dr. Page

Leanne: “I began dealing with my gender issues at 50, when my wife and I became empty nesters. I have already been cleared for hormones but I am waiting to take them until after my daughter’s wedding in a few months. I am a manager—I mean, that is what I do for a living but that is also who I am. I like to have everything figured out before I start. That is why I am here. I don’t really know how hormones will affect me and what changes they might make to my face, but I do know that the face is the most important thing to me. I can do things with clothes, but I can’t hide my face.”

Page: “Making changes to your face can make you more feminine appearing.” As she spoke, he sat quietly, almost motionless. Like a practiced interviewer, he allowed her short silences to linger unfilled, and it turned out that she had a good deal to say.

Leanne: “I know that if I proceed with this my marriage will be over, and I understand that. My wife didn’t really sign up for all of this and I can’t force her to feel better about it. I am here because I want to manage my expectations; I need to know realistically where I might end up, instead of going forward with all of this and then finding out that you can’t do what I think you can do. I don’t want someone to give me all of the classic female things. This is a clear reference to Howard’s approach. I was interested in talking to you because you said that you work with features not totally remake them. It is not a clean slate. Given the face that I have, I want to know what to expect. Right now, I don’t look like a woman; I look like a man in a wig. I haven’t gone out much; I only wear women’s clothes when I go to counseling. But when I go out I worry about my face. I just don’t want to attract attention. I want to fit in.” Page did not verbally respond to any of Leanne’s personal and emotional disclosures; he simply began the physical assessment of her face.

Page: “We’ll start at the top and work our way down. These are only suggestions, to let you know what is possible, and how I think of things. We think of the face in three sections: forehead, midface and lower face. One of the most feminizing effects happens in the forehead. We can move the hairline forward. Bone work is required to make a feminine skull.” Page rolled his stool backward to retrieve the model skull sitting on the counter behind him. He held the skull in his left hand and used the index finger on his right hand to show Leanne how the frontal bone could be reduced. “By burring down this area [above the eyes] instead of removing the bone, we can retain the angle from your forehead to your nose. Patients with ‘the works’ often look worked on. That is not what I want to give you. When you lose the natural transition from the forehead to the nose you don’t look good as a man or woman.”

This is a direct defense of his surgical approach against Howard’s more aggressive style. Page runs the pad of his thumb across the orbital ridge above Leanne’s left eye as she looks at her face in the mirror. “Reducing this will give you the feminine appearance. It gives you sex appeal. That’s the approach we’re going for. Passing as a woman takes more than what I do: it’s about hormones, behaviors, dress, makeup, voice. What I do is just one piece of the pie. Now, when I’m in doing the forehead contouring I can remove some frown muscle, which would be nice for you. At the same time I can take away the peaks at the hairline.” Page uses the wooden handle of a long cotton swab to trace along the temporal baldness of Leanne’s hairline.

Leanne: “I’ll need a wig anyway. I had hair transplants all through there but they failed.”

Page: “This dark space is the frontal sinus.” He points at the sinus on the x-ray using a yellow wooden pencil. “In my mind, the most desirable female forehead is convex horizontally and vertically; it is not vertical. I could take you back 8mm. The 15mm you currently are minus 8 equals 7mm. That is where I want you. If you had an x chromosome rather than the y you were born with, that is where you’d be. You got this…” indicating the brow prominence of the frontal sinus “…when you were 14, 15, 16 years old. You have what I call a type III forehead.” Explains how he’ll remove the frontal wall, and form patches to wire back into the exposed sinuses. “When taking out the frontal sinus you have two holes left: if you sneeze you make a bubble and if you sniff you make a dimple. That is good at the first cocktail party, but not the second. I take the bone I removed and make two small patches and wire them into place to close those sinuses. If someone just burred this down, they could only go about .5mm to 1mm.” This comment acknowledges the common approach by other surgeons to burr the bone rather than unroof it. It is both descriptive and defensive.

Page: “Okay. Your nose is really necessary to do. We can take the hump out of the dorsum and decrease the projection some. The upper lip could be shortened. That is really common in feminization surgery. It’ll be like when you were younger.” Page presses the wooden handle of the cotton swab just beneath Leanne’s nose, causing her upper lip to rise on the surface of her teeth and allowing more tooth to show. “In terms of the jaw, I would leave it alone.”

Leanna: “Really?”

Page: “Beautiful women have a strong jaw line. For you, brow lift, cheek implants possibly to give you some more fullness in the midface, and nose for sure. If you’d like to see what this would look like, we can image you and give you a better idea of what I am talking about.” Page led Leanne to a small, dimly-lit room attached to the exam room. There was space for only two distinct positions in this room, so I observed in the doorway, looking over Page’s shoulder as he worked. Page was seated at a laptop computer equipped with a special trackpad that allowed him to move a stylus along the pad controlling the computer display. His laptop was connected to a digital camera mounted on an adjustable stand. Leanne sat at the opposite end of the room in front of a grey backdrop. Page took six digital photos of Leanne’s (non-smiling) face: (1) looking straight ahead at the camera; (2) turning her whole body such that her face is in ¾ view; (3) profile; (4) ¾ view facing the other direction; (5) opposite profile; (6) facing forward but looking straight up, a ‘worm’s eye view’. Page invited Leanne to pull her stool up beside his so that she could watch as he altered the photos he just took.

Page: “I try to do things with imaging that I can do during surgery so that it’s not unrealistic. One thing would be to decrease projection. Come over here and I’ll show you what I mean.” Leanne got up from her seat in front of the drape and sat beside Page in front of the computer. Using the stylus on the trackpad, Page selected the areas that he could reduce: frontal bossing, orbital bossing, and nose projection. He circled each of these areas on the profile image because this image produces the most noticeable contrast. Once these areas were selected, Page drug the stylus back and forth across the trackpad. As he moved from left to right across the pad, the nose, forehead, and orbital bossing all reduced in unison. As he moved back to the left, they ‘grew’ back to their original (current) size. Leanne watched this in silence for a few seconds. It was clear that she was not seeing all that she hoped to see. Page was quick to step in. “I am kind of limited in what I can show here. I mean, you have to imagine what it would look like once your facial hair is gone [she had a day’s growth of beard]. You’ve also got some skin damage that you should really work on. I’d say the most important thing you can do for yourself between now and any surgery would be to start a skin-care regimen. Work on that sun damage and some of the brown areas, the wrinkles around the eyes.” Page indicated these problem areas on the computerized image of her face. “I work with an esthetician right upstairs. I can set an appointment for you if you want. I really do think that is really important. You know, beautiful women have beautiful skin.”

Leanna: “Yeah, I spent almost 20 years in Arizona. I have a lot of sun damage.”

Page: “Here are some other patients I have operated on. Maybe these will give you a better idea of the changes I am talking about.” Page opened a file on the laptop with several pre-op and post-op images of his patients. He flipped through the images, describing the procedures involved. “Here you can see I did the nose…Here you can see the reduced bossing; that really opens up the eyes… Here you can see the difference that a brow lift really makes. She looks great…” This didn’t seem to alleviate Leanne’s sense of disappointment with her own images.

Leanna: “These people look much more feminine than what I see when we look at me. I have my wig with me. Can I put it on and you can take the pictures again? That might give us a better idea of how this is going to look.” She crouches down and pulls her wig out of her briefcase. It is a bit disheveled and needs brushing. Leanne does her best to place the reddish-brown shag cut wig on her head, but there are no mirrors in this room. In addition to the contrast produced by her businessman’s attire, the wig is not quite on correctly. To my mind, this photo session has just changed quite radically. Page appeared somewhat reluctant, but he agreed to take a new profile photo on which to make the digital modifications. One of the qualities that made the wig desirable is particularly problematic during the photo shoot: it obscures her forehead and brow.

Page: “Could you pull your hair back so I can see your forehead?” Page took the photo. Leanne resumed her seat beside him at the computer and watched as he made the same alterations to the new photo as he had to the previous set. The addition of the wig did not produce the effect she’d hoped for. Page reiterated the importance of starting a skin-care regimen and beginning electrolysis on her face. “I think those changes could make a big difference for you. Let’s go talk to my office manager, Hannah. She can give you a better idea about prices and we can look at some more images.” The pair left the room and began flipping through a photo album in Hannah’s office.

Leanna: “Do you think I could ever look this good? I’m worried about going through all of this and looking as ridiculous as I do now.”

It is clear from these two representative appointments that though these doctors punitively share a common goal—the ‘feminization’ of their patients—what ‘feminine’ means to each of theme is quite distinct. Their approaches to the project of ‘feminization’ determine both what each doctor identifies as the problematically ‘masculine’ and the desirably ‘feminine’ and how they do so.

SURGERY DAY

For most patients I interviewed, the anticipation of and preparation for surgery had given significant shape to their personal, professional, financial and emotional lives for many months. For others, many (many) years. By the time they’d made the trip to the surgeon’s office, they had come to think of Facial Feminization Surgery as the event that would mark the difference between the life they had and the life they wanted.

It would, they hoped, be the end of a deep longing for transformation. Structured by the future goal of surgery, for these patients the present had collapsed into a seemingly interminable time before surgery. It was a continuation of the past experience of bodily dissatisfaction and disaffection into the almost, the can’t wait, the before to which every day following surgery would be the after.

Dr. Howard pointed to a chair in the hallway outside his office. “I’ll walk by that spot at exactly 7:25am. If you’re there, you’re welcome to join me in the OR. If you’re not, you’re not.”

Patient: Rosalind

Rosalind, whose surgery is described in the interstices of this prose—had traveled from Wales to undergo surgery with Dr. Howard. When we met on the afternoon before her surgery, she was feeling very anxious. When I asked her about the source of her anxiety, she said that it was not the operation itself that worried her. Rather, she was nervous about the postoperative recovery period.

“I’m scared to death. A week before my plane ride I started praying for British Airways to go on strike. I saw a patient at the Cocoon House [Howard’s private recovery and convalescent facility, all gendered and natural metaphors intended] all bruised and bandaged and I’ve been walking around trying to think, ‘Why am I doing this?’”

Rosalind had hoped to make this trip five years before, but financial issues had delayed her plans. For her, as for all patients who shared their stories with me, arriving in this office was the culmination of a long process of self-discovery.

“At 25 years old my hair started to fall out and I thought, ‘Oh no! I haven’t decided whether I want to transition!’ I tried topical creams and things to try to keep my hair and I became pretty obsessed with it. Then I started thinking, ‘Wait, is the problem that you’re going bald or that you’re transgendered?’”

She began feminizing hormones in 1999, and hoped that their effects would be enough to ease the anxieties she had about her appearance. She was not ready to commit to surgical alterations at that time because, she explained, she simply could not accept the idea that she was a transwoman.

“I still thought I could cure myself of being transgendered,”

In spite of this desire to be ‘cured,’ she began taking tentative steps toward ‘accentuating the feminine in [her] face.’ She underwent facial electrolysis that had produced permanent pockmarks on her cheeks and chin, only exacerbating her self-consciousness about her appearance. In 2002 she had surgery to remove her thyroid cartilage (Adam’s Apple) and, shortly thereafter, a surgery to reduce the size of her nose.

“That only made my brow look bigger,” she lamented. “My brow is my major concern. I need my nose to match my brow. I have a kind of Neanderthal brow. I want to do my jaw too, but I may have to skip that for now depending on whether I can get the money together. I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t say that I needed to do my jaw, but I know it needs to be done.”

Rosalind knew that her decision to have surgery would cause complications in her work and family life. She presented as male at work and at family events, and planned to continue doing so at least until her elderly father passed away. The thought of disappointing him with the fact of her female identity was unthinkable to her. She worked in the building and construction industry in a fairly small town and, for her, living full-time as a woman was simply not an option. Worries about work and personal consequences had kept her from making many changes both to her life and to her body, but she had finally decided that such concerns could no longer determine her choices.

“If I have to think too much about what others think, I’ll never do it. I have to do this for me. I’ve spent 25 years of my life thinking about not looking like I do now. I want that to go away. Constant thinking about that ruins the mind. After this I’ll be able to think of other things, everyday things.”

Rosalind told me, as did many patients, that it was during puberty that she began to hate her face. As she watched her ‘button nose’ give way to the oversized nose of a pubescent boy, she taught herself how to wash her face and brush her teeth in the dark.

“My mum would go into the bathroom after me and always wonder why the blinds were closed.”

It was easier for her to re-learn these daily habits than to deal with the look of her changing face in the mirror. This was the beginning of the long story that brought her all the way from Wales to have surgery with Dr. Howard some 25 years later.

I was tired and anxious when I joined Howard the next morning. We walked briskly down the hallway to the surgical wing, he in a shirt and tie covered by his long white coat, me in my canvas jacket and shoulder bag. I saw the loafers on his feet and felt like an idiot in my running shoes—I thought they’d be best for endurance.

After so much discussion of looks and numbers and desires and abilities, it is in the operating room that faces are reconstructed. It is here, as they say, that the rubber meets the road. While for surgeons the operation is an event that has been routinized and repeated hundreds or even thousands of times over, for the patient, the operation is something absolutely singular—assuming all goes well. Over the course of the surgery (up to nearly eleven hours in the case of a “full face” operation), the patient’s skin, bone and cartilage is pushed, pulled, burred, sawed, cut, cracked, tucked and sutured. In the end a strikingly new face may emerge; one whose production is guided by the hope that its new form will enable a coincidence of the patient’s self and body for perhaps the first time in a very, very long time.

Facial Feminization Surgery is guided by a hope for phenomenological integration—the creation of a body that (re)presents the self. Though the technical work of surgery is something that patients do not experience in real time, its effect animates their anticipation of a better life through the body as a better and truer thing.

He brought me to the charge nurse’s desk. I was to register my name in the vendor’s logbook. Dr. Howard offered me a pen. “You can keep it,” he said. “It’s got my name on it.” I signed in quickly and was given a sticky nametag. I followed Howard into the physicians’ locker room where I was shown for the first—and last— time where to find the supplies I would need to enter the OR. I slid my bag and jacket into an open locker.

For those who desire physical transformation, the operating room is place that symbolizes corporeal change and all the attendant hopes of what that change will bring. In addition to the physical transformations enacted here, the operating room is also the scene of an encounter between patients and surgeons that is structured by a common conception of the body or, more specifically here, the face. For these two people in this place, the patient’s face is a material thing. It is not the irreducible site of personhood, the distinct shape of which makes us individuals; it is a series of structures whose problematic characteristics can be rectified.

These structures do not necessarily map onto or even remotely relate to the social or personal identity that the face is typically taken to be. That is just the point: this face is not her face. Not yet at least. The preoperative face is simple, disinterested material for the surgeon who cuts into and reshapes its parts, and it also is this for the patient whose experience of her face as something disloyal—as non-coincident with her self—has motivated her arrival here.

This is a distinct vision of the body shared between the surgeon and the patient, two people who have arrived together in the operating room precisely in order to alter it. We grabbed blue paper caps from a shelf near the door to the hallway. He folded the bottom rim of his cap upward in order to pull it down snugly before tying the white paper straps behind his head. I did the same. We were ready. Howard swung open the door and we headed to OR 3, his regular room. He handed me a surgical mask as we walked through the scrub room and into the OR where Rosalind was laying on the table being prepped by the Circulating Nurse (CN).

Dr. Howard went immediately to greet the patient. He caressed her forearm and assured her that everything would go well and that she would look beautiful. I! couldn’t stop staring at her fingernails: cotton candy pink against the blue and white striped blanked that covered her. Howard stayed by her head until she was under anesthesia. The moment the patient was unconscious, the feel of the operating room changed. With the presence of a guest no longer observed—I certainly did not count as such—everyone in the OR began their tasks in haste.

“This is Rosalind Mitchell, 37 years old. We’re doing her forehead and nose today. She wanted to do the chin and jaw but her credit card didn’t come through. Says she’ll be back for those in the fall. This should take four and a half hours. She has no allergies and is on no medication.” Confirming! that all parties were in agreement, he began to prepare the first site: the forehead. Sitting on his stool at the end of the table, he began to comb and gather Rosalind’s long hair in rubber bands. Once the site was isolated, he shaved a one inch wide track through her hair, combed out the loose pieces and dropped them into a biohazard bucket. He injected the incision site with local anesthetic and then left the room to scrub in. While he was out, the CN sterilized the forehead site with soap and water and then with iodine that dripped in deep brown yellow drops through her hair and into towels on the floor. The doctor returned with his clean and dripping hands held at chest level. The CN helped him into his gown and gloves

The process of making a masculine face into a feminine one only rarely involves addition (of bone substance or implants). Instead, making feminine is almost always a process removing that which is masculine to reveal the feminine beneath. The masculine is a problem of excess: the jaw is too wide, the forehead too long and too prominent, the chin too square, the upper lip too long. Whereas genital sex reassignment involves rearranging and repurposing body parts in order to make new ones, like mastectomy for female-to-males, Facial Feminization Surgery is essentially about taking parts of the body away.

For this reason it can quite literally be read as carving away the outer unwanted body to reveal the self within. The metaphorical representation of “a woman trapped in a man’s body” is, in other words, rendered quite literally here. In this OR scene, the ontological and phenomenological statuses of the body and self are radically uncertain.

The surgeon further isolated the incision site by draping sterile blue towels over the patient’s hair and securing them in place with skin staples. Fully draped from head to toe, only the patient’s face was showing. One stitch was placed in each of her eyelids—sutures are necessary to keep her eyes closed (and thus moist) because her face will be tugged and moved quite a lot throughout the procedure. All was ready to proceed. Dr. Howard announced the time of the first incision; the CN recorded it on the whiteboard on the wall, and the operation began.

To reduce the frontal sinus that accounts for the ‘male brow,’ an incision is made beginning at each ear and meeting at the center of the head, just behind the hairline. The skin of the forehead—from hairline to orbits (eye sockets)—is folded down over the eyes, revealing the smooth and very white frontal bone below.

The long, thin wooden handle of a cotton swab is broken in half, dipped in methylene blue and used to mark the frontal bone on either side. The periosteum (a membrane that lines the outer surface of bones) is cut at these lines and scraped forward into the orbits at the top of the nose bridge. Glancing at the cephalograms illuminated on the wall\mounted light board, the doctor marks the frontal bone with a yellow wooden pencil.

The burr tool whirs like a dental drill as it grinds off the undesirable bony prominence's above the orbits. Bone particles fly off the burr as it spins. They catch in the cloth and paper that covers the patient and in the folds of my scrubs as I lean in. By the end of the procedure they will become dry chalky dust. An oscillating saw blade replaces the burr tool and a cut is made along the pencil drawn lines. The cut bone is pried up out of its place, making a dull cracking sound as it is dislodged from the skull. The Surgical Tech (ST) collects this irregular oblong piece (about two inches across at its widest point) and sets it in the white plastic lid of a sample cup for safekeeping. The frontal sinus is revealed. Everyone’s frontal sinus (95% of us have one) is structured differently. Rosalind’s is internally asymmetrical, divided by thin walls of bone into three distinct cavities. Frontal sinuses are usually empty, but sometimes brain matter has protruded into them. “Is that brain or sinus? Not sure. Let’s go slow.”

A yellow pencil marks the location where corresponding holes will be drilled in the frontal bone and in the bone patch. Stainless steel non\magnetic wires are placed and spun down tight. The ends of the wires are trimmed and turned inward. The bone work on the forehead is done. Rosalind’s forehead has been set back 5 millimeters.

The anesthesiologist leans over and speaks loudly in Rosalind’s ear: “You did a great job. Surgery is over. Just relax. Let us move you.”

RECOVERY

When a patient first encounters her new face after surgery, it is covered with bandages and dressings. Much of the skin that is visible is taut, swollen and discolored. Her nose may be packed and casted. There may be drains pulling blood from around her newly contoured jaw. She must suction saliva from her mouth because the throat pack placed during surgery will make it uncomfortable to swallow.

For the first several days following surgery she may need to manually stretch the muscles of her jaw to keep them from clamping tight in a gesture of defense. Even if the procedure is considered medically successful—in that the surgeon was able to meet the goals that he set for himself and there were no compromising complications—there is no way to know how well the surgery went, or whether the desired effect will actually be produced. That effect is, after all, not a property of the face itself. It is, rather, a response that the face will (hopefully) elicit.

Such a measure of success cannot be clinically assessed, nor can it be known right away. Depending upon the particular procedures performed, it may take up to a year for all of the swelling to subside and for the face to ‘settle down,’ as surgeons say. Though new structures of bone and soft tissue were created in the event of the operation, the face itself is never a fixed and stable thing; it is always a thing unfolding in time.

After all of the waiting she has already done—waiting for self-acceptance, for surgery savings funds to grow, waiting for consultations, for travel arrangements—now the patient must wait to heal and find out whether the face she wanted is the face she’s got. Surgery is the quintessential anticipatory regime (Adams, et. al., 2009). It is forward looking, oriented to a future post-surgical life that will be somehow better than the life that would have happened without it. Surgery is about intervention: the imagined and undesirable future can be changed through the event of the operation. Once that event has occurred, there is nothing to do but wait. And hope.

I first met Rachel five days after her surgery. She had her forehead, hairline, nose, thyroid cartilage, and jaw done. In addition, her upper lip had been shortened and enhanced. When I was introduced to her by Heleen, a Dutch attorney who was back in town to see Dr. Howard for some jaw revision work, I had to stifle a sympathetic wince.

Rachel’s eyes were ringed in deep browns and purples, and the sutures beneath her nose drew contrastive attention to the thin red incision line where the length of her upper lip had been reduced. Though the packing had been removed from her nostrils earlier that day, the cast on her nose remained and was held in place by a large X of tape rising up above her eyebrows and down across her cheeks. Her thinning hair and receding temporal baldness left sutures and staples visible across the crown of her head.

I felt sore for her, like neither of us should move too quickly. She, on the other hand, said she was feeling better than she had in days and was light on her feet as she led me to the back garden where we could talk. As Rachel spoke—with the marked accent and dry humor of a life-long New Yorker—she dabbed saliva from the corners of her swollen mouth with a white cotton handkerchief. We talked for more than two hours in the garden behind Howard’s private convalescent facility, with only one break: the unseasonably strong sun was heating the staples in her scalp and demanded that we move into the shade of a leafy tree.

Rachel, now in her mid-fifties, had first decided that she wanted FFS fifteen years earlier, as soon as she saw before and after photographs posted online.

“From the moment I knew it existed, I thought, ‘Wow.’ I knew that I didn’t have a pretty face. I’d get dressed up but I knew I didn’t look like a woman. I could put all the makeup in the world on and nobody was going to mistake me for a girl. Maybe when I was like 16. Essentially, I would say that from the moment I knew people were doing it, I immediately started thinking to myself, ‘Wow, I could do that, too.’”

When I asked her what it was about her face that she had wanted to change, she had trouble locating the problem that she hoped surgery could fix—though she could quickly recount the list of the procedures that had just been performed. “If I was sitting here with a friend and just talking,” she said, “I would say, ‘Beauty is like pornography, you know it when you see it.’ And it’s the same thing with a feminine face: you know it when you see it.” Though she noted that her, ‘rather large nose,’ was ‘a male trait in [her] family,’ the nose by itself was not the problem. Neither, necessarily, was it her ‘fairly prominent forehead.’ It was something greater than these, and something more diffuse.

“I was a handsome man, but I didn’t want to be handsome. I wanted to be pretty. I guess, in a certain sense, I wanted to have all the things that I enjoyed in women that I liked. The way they looked. The way their lips looked. What their hair looked like. How all the features went together. I think it’s kind of a simple answer: I wanted to be a pretty girl. One of the great things that Dr. Howard did was define this whole notion of feminizing in entirety, as opposed to just doing one thing. One thing in and of itself is not going to do it. It’s got to be a holistic approach.”

On account of this ‘holistic’ transformation, Rachel did not really have an idea of what she would look like once her face had finished healing. More than any particular ending point, what she most wanted her face to be was something other than what it had been for her entire adult life: masculine. The particular form that that femininity would take was not something that concerned her.

“[When considering having FFS] I would say to [my friend], ‘Do I really want to do this? Because what if I don’t really look good?’ She would say to me, ‘Well, you know what you look like now. Would you rather go through the rest of your life looking like you look now, or looking like somebody else? Maybe you’re not drop-dead beautiful or even pretty, but you’re not going to look like a man.’ And the answer to that is the latter. I knew how deeply dissatisfied I was. To the point of it being painful what I looked like, and having to look at myself in the mirror everyday. That got worse as I got further into my transition. That just got worse and worse. The disconnect between what I felt and how I looked just became more and more pronounced to the point where I just didn’t want to look in the mirror. I just hated it.… [Someone] asked me, ‘Are you going to look very different?’ And I said, ‘I sure hope so.’ That’s the whole point. It wouldn’t bother me if nobody recognized me. That wouldn’t bother me at all. If I look good. If somebody said, ‘You look fantastic, but I can’t quite place you,’ that would be wonderful.”

Her new face—still tender, bruised and cut—held, under its bandages, the possibility of a radically new identity in which she was not recognizable to anyone she knew. While to me such a prospect seemed as if it might be quite frightening, for Rachel, the potential of this total change was ‘wonderful.’

As Rachel sat healing, she recounted the promise that the facial change would be a total one through a personalized version of Howard’s early morning doorbell scene.

“My goal, my ideal is that I could go out on the street dressed like I’m dressed right now—just a pair of pants and a t-shirt and some sneakers—and no gender markings other than I’d be wearing earrings, which I always wear, and that when I went into a grocery store the person would say, ‘Can I help you miss?’ That’s really what I want. I want to read as, accepted as, and reacted to as a woman. So that is what I was hoping he would say he can do, and that’s what he does say he can do. That is what he promises.”

Becoming ‘accepted as and reacted to as a woman’ would be the actualization of a truth about herself that Rachel traced back to her earliest childhood memories of dressing in her mothers lingerie and heels. Her knowledge of her gender as being somehow ‘not right’ had persisted throughout her life. “I’ve essentially been feeling ashamed of myself probably since I was five years old—or probably more like four,” she said. “Living daily with a sense of shame about who I was. And not only living with it but hiding it, because I was also hiding the source of my shame.” Rachel had undergone years of therapy with various psychologists and psychiatrists.

“I had met someone very early on in the therapeutic process that I interviewed with and he said to me, ‘Look, this is the way you are. You’re not going to change. This isn’t going to go away.’ And I just refused to accept that. I was 20 years old. And out of everybody I saw in all the intervening years, what he said was the truth. It took me 30 more years to accept that.”

Rachel’s feelings about herself as a transwoman changed somewhat unexpectedly. Her mother had become ill with cancer and as the child who lived closest, Rachel undertook what became a very intimate caretaking role during her mother’s treatment. Despite longstanding conflicts in their relationship—many of which were rooted in Rachel’s gender issues—the two grew incredibly close through this ordeal.

“We were spending a lot of time just together by ourselves. And I just sort of let go of any resentment or anger I had towards her, and I really just wanted to make her get well. Having a positive influence on her life kind of opened something in me that I had closed off. When the whole thing was over, I thought to myself, if I can give her this [beginning to cry softly], then why can’t I give this to myself? So, I did.”

Tears welled up and streamed down her bruised cheeks as she recalled the epiphany that had not only enabled her to relate differently to herself as a transwoman but had also revived a loving relationship with her mother.

“What started to happen for the first time in my life, is that I started letting go of shame. I thought: I got my mother through this, how bad a person could I be? So I did start to just let go of feeling ashamed of myself, and feeling all this guilt. And that was a really new experience.”

Her mother’s cancer in remission and her divorce from her wife finalized, Rachel began hormone treatments, the beginning of her physical transition from male to female.

“I had my first shot and it felt fantastic. I felt like Marilyn Monroe. I remember getting on the train going back downtown and I had to remind myself, ‘You still look like a man to everybody.’ That’s how powerful it was. I recognize that it was psychological, but it was also physical, too.”

Though she felt it was likely that she would eventually undergo genital sex reassignment surgery, FFS was her first surgical priority. “The most important thing I could do was change my face,” she explained. It was a change that would free her in ways that, on that sunny afternoon, she could only imagine.

For many patients, a new face promised not only a new life but also a radically new—and uncertain—identity. So long as they would no longer be recognized as men, the particular form of their faces did not really matter to them. For example, Patricia looked forward to the feeling of her new face more than its look.

“I do think it is going to be profound to just get up every morning and look in the mirror and go, ‘Oh my god, here’s somebody who I’ve always known was there but I never saw.’ You know? Feeling is one thing, but seeing is another. That’s kind of the aspect I’m looking for, without any idea of what she’ll look like. Whatever, it’ll be an improvement.”

Some patients hoped that the effects of their surgery would be subtle, simply accentuating the features that they already liked about themselves, while others had a very particular idea of what they thought they would look like following surgery. This was informed by their understanding of what surgical modification could accomplish, as well as their own interpretation of how—and like whom—they looked prior to the operation.

Katherine both wanted and expected to retain her individuality. “I want to be a feminine version of myself,” she said. “Some people just aren’t realistic. If you’ve got a head like a medicine ball and you want to look like Angelina Jolie, you’re going to have a rough time of it. Rather than emulate someone else, I’d rather be an individual.”

Similarly, Brenda—who had consulted with both Howard and Page and ultimately decided to undergo surgery with Page—said, “I guess I want to look like me but more feminine.” Though word-of-mouth, personal experiences and plenty of online research, patients felt confident that their wildest dreams could come true. They had seen the photographs of scores of former FFS patients whose images and narratives of transformation attested to the possibility of total surgical transformation. It is the actualization of this idealized possibility that has earned Howard a sort of cult following, and a legion of fans and defenders.

Jill’s Story

Howard had performed Jill’s ‘full face’ FFS nearly ten years before, and she had been an outspoken admirer and supporter of his ever since.

“I’ve been a Jim girl for a long time,” she explained with a smile. When I first met Jill, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone to show me a picture of what she looked like before surgery. I admit that the difference between the photograph and the face before me was astounding. She clearly took great pride in this fact.

“I don’t reject what Joe was. I don’t apologize for what Joe was. I don’t apologize for what Jill has become. I am comfortable with the unique mutt that I am, which is a combination of what Joe was and what Jill is. I like to think it’s the best of both worlds as opposed to the forces of having to be one or the other.”

The photograph—and her narration of it—was not only an affirmation of her own reconciliation with her past, but a testament to what FFS could do. When Jill first learned about FFS in the late 1990’s, she had already come to peace with the idea that she would never transition.

She had a reasonably successful life as a husband and father, and felt completely isolated in her knowledge of herself as a woman. If she could not be recognized as a woman, then she would have to learn to accept her life as it was. At that time, before the expansion of the internet, she explained,

“There was no validation. There was no hope that we could blend into society and just live our lives. The choices were twofold. One, you accept the fact that you live in some margin—if that was okay. Or you accept the fact that you live something less than a fulfilling life. I was married. I had a son. I had a good career. I had money. I had all of the trappings that society told me that I was being successful, except that I had this secret.”

Jill described first learning that FFS was possible, as a moment that was “very empowering but it was also terrifying. When you become comfortable with the impossible, realizing that the impossible is possible gets scary.” Jill’s initial surgery lasted nearly 13 hours and the recovery, she said, ‘was hell.’ Much like the radical transformation that Rachel envisioned, Jill’s surgery had changed not only her face, but her most basic understandings of herself and her world. Though she had not been politically engaged in her life as a man, since her transition—which began with FFS—Jill found herself confronted with social inequalities that she had never been aware of before.

“As a man, I had never experienced discrimination. Really. Not that I knew of. You take it for granted: you’re white, you’re heterosexual—or perceived to be heterosexual—you’re granted a level of privilege that you don’t know that you have that just comes with your birthright. You’re living in a world that’s oblivious to many of the unfortunate realities that others have to face. To have that stripped from you and see that people can be fired over this, people can lose their housing, to see that people in your community are not welcome in women’s shelters but have too much self-respect to go to men’s shelters and so they freeze to death on a park bench because they can’t get a job and they’re homeless. To recognize that in school people get the crap beat out of them because they’re different. Those things are contrary to everything my parents raised me to believe. So I found that I was given opportunities of making choices.”

Newly empowered by her changing body and newly outraged by an understanding of life that she had not been aware of before, Jill became a prominent figure in transpolitical organizing circles, delivering keynote addresses at national conferences and writing a widely circulated book about her experience of coming to terms with her identity and going through the process of transitioning from male to female. She attributed this radical shift in her life to FFS. “My own involvement never meant to be as significant as it became,” she explained.

“Coming here and meeting Sydney and going through this process was the single most profound experience of my entire life. It remains so. And I’ll tell anybody who asks….

The fact of the matter is that coming here, finally looking in the mirror and seeing somebody who more closely reflected on the outside who I knew was on the inside and watching that person develop—because the person that I was six months after I left here was very different than the person who left here. I never would have transitioned without coming to see him. Coming here was day one. It was a physical change, it was a mental change, it was psychological change. It was the impossible becoming possible.”

Jill was, quite literally, the poster girl for FFS and for Dr. Howard. Her before-and-after photographs are featured in multiple places throughout Howard’s recently published book on FFS and are staples in his conference presentation slideshows.

Not only does Jill epitomize the feminine—both visibly female and normatively beautiful��she also exemplifies the total life changing potential of Facial Feminization Surgery. Hers is a narrative of redemption that emphasizes her own efforts for self-acceptance as materialized by Howard, the person with the unique skills and vision to see in her—and make her into—the woman she knew herself to be. Despite both her own and Howard’s characterization of her surgery as an unqualified success, Jill’s time on the operating table was not done. She was in for some revision surgery on her jaw.

In some patients, the blood that pools around the bone following jaw contouring surgery can later be reabsorbed and turn into bone. When this happens, patients often return for revision in order to recreate the narrowed jaw that the initial surgery produced. This increasingly square jaw is what brought Jill back to the office. No face—no matter how fantastic—lasts forever.

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