Scott confronts Bethany after her lies cost him everything. Now, he is going to everything from her.

Aftermath
Part 1: Kintsugi
By Tomi

Three years after leaving for a company training assignment, Haruto Akiyama comes home carrying wounds no one can fully see. Back at his old office, he struggles to fit into a life that continued without him while learning to accept a body that no longer feels entirely familiar.

Supported by his family, reunited with lifelong friends, and quietly welcomed back by a gentle coworker named Rina, Haruto begins discovering that healing is found not in extraordinary moments, but in ordinary days shared with people who never stopped believing in him.

The heat was the first thing.

The ceiling was only the ceiling.

To Boldly Go
by Suzan Donamas

As the door opened, a bell bracketed to the wall rang. “Welcome to the Magic Shoppe,” the tall, thin man behind the counter announced. “What can I do for you today?”

The man in his mid-thirties approached the counter. He mostly ignored the maid sweeping near the front of the shop. “I hope you can help. I need to be a woman.”

“Interesting. How long have you wanted to be a woman?”

“I haven’t.”

“I knew this would be interesting.”

“I’m in love.”

It still being before 2 PM the Expo seemed to be closing up at this point and there were not a lot of people still heading for the parking lot. I took my time walking to the car and then let the car air out before I got in it. As I got in, I received a text from Cindy asking me if I would consider meeting her for a glass of wine at a lounge adjacent to the mall where I was now parked.

January means performance reviews. The forms have been in everyone's inboxes since the second week of the month - self-evaluations, peer feedback requests, the annual accounting of what you did and what it was worth. I've been filling mine out in the gaps between client work, in the gaps between other things.

Dave stares too long over the cubicle partition at nine-fifteen.

As I pulled the convertible into a parking space near Doctor Hartwell’s clinic, I began to wonder if I should have asked Lauren along after all. Somehow the overpass seemed taller, the shadows longer, and the alleyways between the buildings darker.

Garnet Smith was an experienced Marine when he was transferred to 48 Commando. His statuesque figure and shock of red hair made him quite obvious in any military parade, so his hair was kept short and hidden under his green marine beret. Otherwise he had performed well when deployed around Britain’s shores. He had picked up a Scottish accent from living in Faslane, and was comfortable protecting nuclear facilities as part of 43 Commando.

Authors note: I know I said I wasnt' going to post the rest of the story, but if you can't read it anywhere else here it is. Please consider giving me a review on amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Mud-Creek-Sarah-Hillcrest-ebook/dp/B0H6JS7MW7 I know many of you can't and I totally understand, no need to buy it, just looking for reviews to try to get people to notice it.

The apartment looked like it was judging me for leaving.

It was a short drive from campus to the bar. As we drove up I saw a sign outside that said happy hour starting at this hour with all mixed drinks for the ladies half off. Seeing that it was open I was keen on going in but asked Sam if he was up to it. Seeing how this excited me he agreed for a short stop and said smiling that since it was ½ price drinks for the ladies it would be a cheap date.

In the morning I did the regular routine, light makeup, jogging outfit, cap and stretching. This time Ted was washing off his car while he watched me. His conscious efforts to keep observing me again boosted my confidence but there was still that nagging doubt in the back of my head that I was going to be outed. As I stretched, I noticed a definite camel toe outline in my spandex shorts. This appeared not to have gone unnoticed by Ted.

Every year on Reassignment Night, the world changes and reality itself skips a beat. Every year, some people are transformed in ways that the cannot control or predict. These are some of their tales.

This is a collection of short vignettes taking place in the same universe as my story Reassignment Night.

The brochure was following me.

My phone rings at twenty past one.

"I've got it," she says, before I can speak. Her voice is different — faster, something lit in it. "The reactivation isn't a response to the gradient. It's a response to the timing. The nodes are pattern-matching the suppression interval and compensating. If we randomize the interval — structured pseudo-random within a fixed variance band — the mesh can't predict the next suppression event."

I sit up.

"Show me," I say.

"I'm at home. I've been running it on my machine."

I'm already looking for my shoes.

“Okay, Mountain pose,” Lauren said, taking a long, slow breath. “Stand tall, feet shoulder-width apart.”

The venue is a large room, three thousand capacity, standing floor with a balcony above. We get in and I find the accessible section along the side wall - a riser with a handful of stools, a sight line to the stage that's partially obscured by a PA column but clear enough. Emily takes the stool without argument, which tells me her back has been at it since this afternoon. I stand beside her and the opener is already playing, the PA system at full output, the low end moving through the floor and up through the body before the first song has finished.

I started Sunday with my usual morning jog showered, did my feminine routine and had just dressed in some casual clothes when I came out to the kitchen and saw Sam there wearing a collared shirt and a pair of dress pants. I asked him what the occasion was and he said that he was heading for church. I asked him what time the service was and he said it would be in about an hour and a half. Pondering this for a moment I asked Sam if it would be alright if I accompanied him.

I go to the hospice on Thursday morning without calling ahead. The ward is quiet at that hour — a different nurse at the desk, the corridor smelling of the clean that hospice corridors smell of.

Mom's door is ajar. I knock and go in.

I awoke early and went into my morning routine preparing for my jog. By the time I had returned Sam was already up and having breakfast. After stretching a bit I came in and joined him. Looking at the clock he said we would have to leave in a couple of hours if I was to make my appointment in the basin LA basin area due to traffic. I agreed and went to cleanse and prepare myself for the day.

I awoke from a troubling dream coming from my encounter with the woman in the bathroom the other night. The dream dealt with being chased by woman yelling you are not a woman at me.

As I started my morning preparation, I felt depressed and anxious in that today I was to go out on my own and work as a woman. From somewhere deep inside of me a feeling of despair came over me, and I could feel tears forming and drip down my cheeks. It was a feeling of being overwhelmed in my efforts to present a full feminine persona.

There was a knock at my door and I heard Sam asl Barb are you awake? I moved off the bed and grabbing a robe from the closet I cracked the door and saw Sam standing there. He said that he was sorry to wake me but wanted to know if I would like to go out for dinner.

Looking at my watch I saw it was a bit past five and I replied sure but it would take me a bit to get freshened up. He said no problem and to take my time, it was still early and there were no appointments to keep. I smiled and said thanks and closed the door.