Like Finally Finding Shoes That Fit
20250625
Prompt from PrideOnThePage
Sam was previously seen here and here.
Ok. Ok.
Come on, Sam. You can do this.
Her heart pounded as she stared down at the illusion patches. Funny. The sigils painted on waxed paper looked kinda like temporary tattoos. Took her back to the days where all she had to do was press butterflies on her cheeks or a moustache on her lip and it let her be whoever she wanted to be that day.
When did it get complicated? Was it when my body started changing, or when other people noticed what I was doing, or…?
Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
Her fingers played across the box. Weighing up each picture.
“Today, I want to be… this me.”
She squinched her eyes tight and held the patch against her skin. When she peeped at the mirror she could see it. A ghostly face coexisting with her own. Subtly different. Somehow… more Sam than the ‘real’ Sam was.
Ok. Deep breath.
Peel off the backing… ok, good, seems this stuff wasn’t prone to smudging. Phew.
She’d already picked the spot - her left arm. Below her shirt sleeve, way above where it was likely to get splashed. Mundane temp tattoos lasted fine there, so hopefully the sigils would survive until the end of the day.
Gotta remember to be careful if I put a cardi on.
Press down one edge, smooth the patch flat against the skin, apply pressure for a count of thirty… ok, make that forty just in case… couple more seconds wouldn’t hurt…
Screw it, she had to open her eyes eventually.
One, two…
Oh. Oh WOW.
The Sam staring back at her was… puckish. Lithe. Built like her thirteen-year-old self, the last time she’d truly felt at home in her body. But there was nothing childlike about her. This illusion had been based on an athlete Sam admired, and while it didn’t give the impression of toned abs or whipcord limbs it smoothed her into a similar shape.
Her grumbling mono-boob (this binder was going to take getting used to!) was suddenly the kind of cheekily fem flat chest which logically shouldn’t be considered indecent yet would totally get you arrested for going topless. But… put a sheer silk top on and it’d be fine… right? At least for a walk around the park or something.
Sam slowly brushed her fingers through the perky pixie cut. If she concentrated she could feel her real hair pulled tight underneath. Tucked into a secure bun. At a touch, though, the illusionary hair was entirely convincing.
Hm. Maybe I should’ve asked him to make it a fun colour.
“One step at a time.” Sam murmured to herself.
Unable to tear her gaze from the incredibly Sam-ish Sam in the mirror. She rose up on her tiptoes in a stretch she hadn’t done since quitting ballet. Drinking in how her body flexed and shifted and looked right. No mental chafing.
Ok… so… she had planned to just test it at home today, buuuut…
She dove into her wardrobe.
Part 2 here.
Prompt was “Euphoria”
[For me gender euphoria is akin to the feeling of relief and joy when, having been limping along in shoes which don’t fit, you finally get a pair which DO. After a while you grow accustomed to comfort just as you were to the suffering and it becomes a quiet, content kind of joy. But for those first times you can just walk without pain or struggle you SING.]
Leeron, That line about the illusion patch being like a temporary tattoo? Perfect. It bridges memory and transformation so cleanly, and it already shimmered with possibility. I followed Sam right into that moment—each breath, each press, each second of waiting. That pacing pulsed with just the right kind of anticipation.
For me, the scene wanted to lift even more once the illusion took hold. That mirror moment had such potential for sparkle and lift-off—it already had the recognition, the breath of surprise, the turning point. I imagine Sam spinning, arms out, laughing, or doing that little bounce you do when something fits better than imagined. There’s a quiet contentment here, yes, and I love the grounding in realism—yet I feel this version of Sam might gift herself more than just a murmur. Maybe a wink at the mirror. Maybe a quiet, audible “damn, I look good.”
This is a gorgeous continuation. I can already see the moment she steps out, the way the world might echo back that joy. I’d love to see it dialed up just a notch—like music turned from 6 to 8—just enough to let that early euphoria glow through.