#also yes i made a new gmail so no one could see my fucking name or whatever ur not the boss of me

[simmonsized]

The Bro Strider Meta Post (yikes)

Hi, it took me literally 5 days and a lot of pondering over whether or not to share this. I don’t mean for this to be something to like, start debates, nor do I want to argue with people about it, it’s just. Something I poured a little bit of time into, for the express purposes of my own entertainment.

But jokey jokes or nuh-uh, I promised Bro Thoughts, and I have delivered those thoughts. Some of it is speculation, some of it is me leaving you to your own devices, to draw your own conclusions. I probably sound a little unhinged, if I’m being honest, but after writing a very long fanfiction where this dude plays a main role, it feels par for the course.

So without further ado, I present my little nightmare:

Bro In Context: Speculation and Extrapolation Based on Canon Evidence and In Relation to Dirk Strider (Part 1): Canon Evidence, Speculation, Extrapolation

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #310

“i get pretty just to fuck my face up.”

Do you have a clock in your room? No. What book, movie, TV show, or video game have you been wanting to start up? I *want* to read The Testaments by Margaret Atwood, but I care more about reading Wings of Fire, so I probably realistically won't for a long time. I don't read enough for that; Sutherland will surely keep pumping out books in the series so I'll never catch up, haha. As for a movie, I've been interested in seeing Jacob's Ladder for a very long time; it served as a very large influence on the Silent Hill series, and boy, anyone who brings up video games in front of me knows SH is my SHIT. I also just know I'm bound to like it with how essentially legendary it is in the psychological horror genre, which is my favorite. Onto TV show, I'm not certain. Shows don't really interest me. I would like to keep watching A:TLA w/ Sara, but "start up" implies beginning something new, so. Lastly, video games. There are a LOT of games I want to play, but yeah, I have no operational gaming console above a PS2. I'm dyinnnngggggg to play a ton of PS4 remasters (namely the original Spyro the Dragon trilogy and SoTC), but as for a fresh game I've never experienced, Ico, which is from the same producers of Shadow of the Colossus. It's an old game, and Mom's bought it off of Ebay for me twice, but neither disc worked - they froze only minutes into the game. It's hella expensive in new condition though because of its age... so who knows when I'll actually get to play it. Do you put anything else on your grilled cheese sandwiches? Just butter. Have you ever read a book in a different language? I've read some simple fairy tales as well as the play Faust in German courses. Do you want to go to the Harry Potter theme park at Universal? I have no connection with the franchise, but I mean, I'd go if you're paying, haha. If you had a secret room in your house, how would you decorate it? I'm trying to think what kind of room I'd keep a secret... Ha, actually, IF my love of tarantulas expands so largely to having dozens (which I doubt, but I acknowledge the possibility once I get my own place), a room kept on the down low to others just for them would be pretty cool. Imagine someone not knowing they're sharing a house with like, a hundred Ts, haha. As for actual decor, I'm unsure. I'd definitely keep it generally dark for them as nocturnal creatures, maybe with some Halloween decorations, like lots of fake webbing and neon green or orange lights. Man... that sounds dope. What did you get your dad for his last birthday? I couldn't buy him anything, nor did I actually make anything since I didn't know what to create. I just told him happy birthday, of course. Do any of your relatives live in another country? No. Are you claustrophobic? In some spaces, yes. Ever seen Blair Witch? Without spoilers, you know "that part" near the end? Yeah, if you've seen it, you know. That would be a fucking NIGHTMARE for me. Even watching it made me squirm. When grocery shopping, do you usually buy brand names or store brand? With most items anyway, we just get the store brand bc we cheap. Around what time do you usually eat dinner? Generally between 5:30-6:30 nowadays. Do you have any clothing that you get dry cleaned? No. Do you like foods with coconut in it? Eugh, not a coconut fan. I don't hate it as much as I used to, but I still don't like it. Have you ever researched your family history? No, but some past relative researched our family tree. Have you ever had surgery that kept you in the hospital for over a day? No. Do you like carrots more if they’re raw, or cooked? I hate carrots. Did you play with Legos as a kid? Nah, I was more into Lincoln Logs. Which bothers you more… spelling mistakes or bad grammar? It really depends on the severity and simplicity of the spelling or grammar rule. Grammatical misuse of "there/their/they're" stand out very strongly to me, though. Have you ever bought anything off of eBay? Yeah, a good number of things. Is anybody in your family schizophrenic? If so, what is their life like? I have a scizophrenic half-sister that I've never met, so I couldn't tell you. How organized is your mind? How do you know it's organized/disorganized? My mind is running Windows '98 with multiple windows and even more tabs open, all of them not responding. :^) Why do you follow the religion that you do? I don't follow one. My personal religious journey was a train wreck liberating to jump off of. Do you feel superior to others because you're that religion? I don't care if you're atheist, Christian, Buddhist, Islamic, whatever - you are by no means superior to another person in any way just because you believe different things happen once you die. If you do, it's time for some introspection. Are you a blind believer, or do you frequently challenge your own beliefs? Seeing as I went from Catholic to Christian to briefly Neo-Pagan-ish to what I am now, just believing there's some higher power/knowledge and some form of sentience after death, I obviously challenge them. What's the greatest thing about science? Life itself. This universe, this planet, your state of just knowing is a product of science, and that's pretty damn beautiful. Are you emotional or very stolid? I know I'm too emotional. I'm trying to get better about it. Do your siblings look like you? To a degree, but not NEARLY as much as they look like each other. Ashley and Nicole have been mistaken multiple times in their lives and even asked if they're twins. How many states have you lived in? Just this shitty one. How many states have you traveled through/vacationed in? Traveled through, a whole lot. Up and down the east coast. I've stayed in New York, Florida, Ohio, Illinois, South Carolina briefly, and I think possibly Michigan as a baby. Which state was/is your favorite? I don't know. Not NC, haha. You have two weeks alone in any place in the world; where would you go? Alone? Um... I dunno. I'd get lonely through two weeks in absolute isolation. How old were you when you first moved out of your parents' home? I want to say I was 18 when I briefly "moved in" with Jason and our roommates. Did you ever have to move back in? Yeah; the apartment didn't last very long. None of us were ready. How old were you when you thought you were "in love" for the first time? I was in love at 16. I'd fight God literally for eternity to prove that fact. How many exterior doors are in your home? Two, or maybe three, depending on your outlook. We have like this deck in the back with a roof and mesh separating you from the outside, and then you properly go into the yard from the door beyond that. How many cars have you owned? I myself, none. How many email accounts do you have? Ummmm my very first one I misspelled, so I didn't use it long before making a new one with the correct spelling, then later I had no choice but to make a Gmail to use YouTube, and I know I've had at least one email specifically for school. I'm probably forgetting some other oldies I used for small things. What was the last movie you watched alone? The Shining. What (if any) one television program do you watch religiously every day/week? None. What (if any) is your favorite sport? Dance. Scoff at that shit and then try one dance session and tell me it's not one. What is your favorite musical? None. Have you ever seen a live opera production? No. Dressing up for an evening out: Pants or skirt? Pants. I don't show my legs. What do you currently hear right now? I'm listening to Dance With the Dead's "The Man Who Made a Monster." I LOVE the aesthetic of synthwave and rock mixed together, but the only problem I have with this song is that it's very repetitive. Still stuck in my head though, haha. What type of survey do you refuse to take? I'm not into bolding surveys, specifically. Do you like to run? bitch fuck no Do you think you could run the mile in 10 minutes? Zero chance. What was the longest movie you watched? Hm, I don't remember... It's faintly there in my head, I just can't identify it... Have you ever been to a job interview? Well yeah. Who was the last person to call you? My psychiatrist. Now that I'm doing the partial hospitalization program again, he calls once a week. When was the last time you talked to your last ex boyfriend? Uhhh I think around the start of this month? Missed him and felt like chatting for a bit. Is your dog mixed or full? I don't have a dog, buuuut... we're getting one soon! I'm quite sure she's a mutt. What was the last thing you and your mother did together? Rode to the pharmacy to pick up my meds. Do you take good pictures? I like to think so. What is your display picture on myspace/facebook right now? The most recent selfie I took and liked. I'm finally comfortable using makeupless photos as a display picture. :') Not that I like my body by any means, I just don't care enough to feel like I HAVE to wear makeup to be even remotely pretty in the face. As for everywhere else... ahahaha. What is going on outside right now? It's raining. Like it has been for what feels like literally weeks - and it might actually have been. There's been one or two sunny days in a huge streak of just nothing but rain. It's so gross outside by now; we've been under a flood warning for days on end. Who was the last person you kissed? My best friend, but we were dating then. What color looks the best on you? Black. Have you ever bought the wrong size because you were too lazy to check it? Oh, absolutely. I LOATHE trying on clothes. You have to essentially drag me to go do it. I don't have a good reason other than I don't want to, lol. What was the last thing you bought over 5 dollars? I put down the deposit on my tattoo. c: Do you have any mag subscriptions? No. What is something you're not scared of but a lot of people are? Snakes are probably the highest on the list. I adore snakes, all snakes. Would you ever have a threesome? No; I'm strictly monogamous and to me would be cheating even if your partner was in on it. Are you an U.S. citizen? Yep. Do you have any step siblings? I have a stepbrother, yeah, but I don't see him as my brother, honestly. He's a very quiet and reclusive guy I've had almost no conversations with, and they've only ever been short. Do they annoy you? Nah, he's fine. How many times a day do you talk to your mom on the phone? Well, we live together... What did you wear yesterday? The same pjs I'm in now. I'm changing when I take a shower later. The tank top is a Day of the Dead-esque skull pattern, while the pants are mostly navy with skulls and candy can crossbones that say "nice until proven naughty" arching over and beneath them. They were a Christmas gift from my sis and are really soft and comfortable. Really don't care that it's now out of season, I wear them anyway. I do not match colors AT ALL, but again, I don't care. What color straightener do you have? We don't have one; neither Mom or I use one. Do you listen to music really loud or really low? Turn that shit up LOUD. I'll be nearly deaf one day, but... worth it? lol Do you live with anybody other than your siblings and your parents? No. Both my sisters have moved out. I'm still here because I'm just not emotionally or financially equipped to live on my own yet. Who was your last crush? I still like my best friend, but agree with her that right now isn't the time for anything. How many tattoos do you have? Currently only six. :( What is your favorite thing to do? Car rides with Mom while I ride passenger, controlling the music nice and loud with my iPod. It's odd, considering I'm very afraid of being on the road, but it's just such a freeing, wild feeling to blare music and just go, letting your mind wander. How many pets do you own? I only have a cat and a snake right now, but we're getting a dog hopefully very soon, preferably today actually when Mom has to go to the appropriate city for her normal check-up to keep her cancer at bay. Her name is Vanna and sounds so perfect for us. Mom can barely wait. Are you close with your parents? Yes, very, Mom especially. Where do you shop the most for your clothes? Hot Topic or Wal-Mart. I'd really like more stuff from Rebel's Market; they have such a wide range of stuff that just scream my aesthetic. I got my purse from there, and it's fantastic quality and so cool-looking. Have you ever read a whole series of books? Well, one trilogy that I remember: Shiloh. I adored those books and the movies. I got very, very deep into Warriors by Erin Hunter, but then my interest in reading waned, and I'm immensely behind. I don't think I'll pick it up again, but I've thought briefly about it. When you tell someone you love them do you mean it? Yes. Are you going to walk at your graduation or just pick your diploma up? I walked. Do you ever eat anything everybody else thinks is gross? Hm, perhaps. I'd have to think for a while. What did you do for your last birthday? I just ate pizza at home with my one sister that was free that day, Mom, and a family friend, as well as opened presents. What do you plan on doing for your 18th birthday? I don't recall, but I think that may have been when I was in the psych hospital. Or was that my 21st? I don't remember. Do you have to type with good grammer? Yes. I type pretty much exactly how I talk. What is your favorite quote? It's hard to pick one singular favorite. Are you allowed to cuss in front of your parents? Dad could care less, but I try to limit myself with Mom, especially with "fuck." She's not a fan, nor does she like if I just swear too much in front of her. Like she won't yell at me or anything, she just makes it clear she wants me to stop. How long was your last phone conversation? Just a couple minutes. I didn't get the Zoom link to group therapy one day and let the place know. Turns out their email was fucking up. Which one of your friends annoy you? The family friend I mentioned a few questions above has the ability to be incredibly aggravating. I love her, but she has zero issue with inserting herself into everything (and sometimes we just don't want to see her), and she voices incredibly rude opinions literally no one asks for a whoooole lot. She's got a strong tendency to try to take control over every situation. Her being our landlord now makes it harder to speak up, and besides, no one wants to hurt her feelings. Don't be mistaken though, she truly is an incredible person with a heart more caring than probably any person I know. Have you ever lost a close friend to death? No, thank fuck. I mean, I think. I do believe one of my childhood online friends committed suicide because of sexual abuse from her own fucking brother, but I guess I'll never know. She was talking to me one night horribly depressed and scared and then just vanished. Bless her, I loved her. Do you know someone who suffers from addiction? Yes. Do you have a lot of pictures in your room? Tons of posters and artwork, anyway. I currently don't have any photographs, but I got this shadowbox thing for my bday to decorate with pictures of Teddy so I can use it in my "tribute shrine" or whatever for him, and I'd also like to frame the picture of Sara's and my first hug and maybe put it on my bedside table. Do you have Facebook? Yeah, I do. Have you ever found a dog/cat on the side of the road? I myself, no, but a friend's mom did find two poor kittens thrown aside in a fucking plastic bag... Some people are abominable. Knowing how much my family loved cats, she reached out to us, and we took them in and named them Aphrodite and... I can't remember the other's name. She disappeared kinda early. Aphrodite wound up being one of my most beloved cats and was even the mother of a kitten that same family adopted. Delilah is still alive, doing wonderfully, and incredibly loved. <3 Aphrodite, meanwhile, as well as all our other cats at the time, were taken by animal control because our neighbors were tired of them wandering, even though they were too fucking cowardly to confront us first. I've said in many surveys that I am very much against outdoor cats, but I wasn't then because I was uninformed and really didn't understand. I wailed and sobbed and just pure shrieked like a banshee outside when we came home to learn they were taken. I have no clue how any are now, and that's the worst part. Do you go bowling in your town? We are in the middle of a pandemic, lol. Even beforehand though, I rarely went. Last time I did was on a date with Girt. We had fun. Do you have a drive-in theater? No sir. What brand is your favorite shoe? Converse. Is your best friend's mom like your own? They're quite similar, yes. Both are very sweet and caring for others. Do you have anxiety or depression? Try both. What is your favorite fast food restaurant? Sonic. Do you own a pair of brass knuckles? Nah. Have you and your friends ever made up a word? Likely as kids. Do you have any embarrassing baby pictures of yourself? Not that I know of. What is the worst smell in the world? Anyone remember that survey I took mentioning my dog's old tumor? Yeah, that after he spent overnight in a diaper and inevitably peed himself in his old age. And he had a UTI. You probably can't even imagine how fucking vomit-inducing that smell was. Do you dye your hair a lot? No. :/ I really wish. I have so many colors I wanna try. Do you have anybody in your family who rides dirtbikes/fourwheelers? Not really? No one in my family owns one. My younger sister would totally go if you asked her and had one for her to use, though. She's done it plenty before. Have you ever rode a dirtbike/fourwheeler? Yeah, a fourwheeler, and it's really fun! Tell me how you got one of your scars? Hmmm, let's think of a unique one. Ah, my shins, left one especially. When I shave my legs, they get unbelievably itchy, even if I use lotion, and I would scratch my skin absolutely raw so often that I have permanent scars. It's partially why I barely shave my legs anymore. Have you ever had a friend who cut themselves? I know many, sadly. I don't know of any that still do, thankfully. I promise, it never helps. If you ever have the urge, I can't suggest enough running where you want to self-harm under cold water or slap the location (like your wrist) with a rubber band. The latter is especially helpful. It's a similar burning sensation and doesn't leave marks. It would help me refrain sometimes. What is your favorite thing to do in the summer? Swim in a nice, warm pool. Otherwise, become a hermit and wait for the outdoors to not be prepared to melt the flesh off my bones. x_x Do you go tanning or do you lay out? Neither, ugh. As you can guess from above, I hate the sensation of heat on me. What is your favorite skin lotion? I just really like cocoa butter. Smells really good and is perfectly moisturizing. Do you use a lot of hair products? The only hair product I use is shampoo, haha. Do you have a cousin you dislike? No. Well, one is incredibly brainwashed and misled by her psychopath of a father, but I love her nonetheless. We talk now and again because family is important to her. Have you ever heard Theory of a Deadman? Yeah, they're good. What is your comfort food? Absolutely ice cream. Who is your celebrity crush? Mark Fischbach/Markiplier is a perfect human being with the looks of a god and heart of a saint and you cannot convince me otherwise. What’s the song you most wish you had written? "Imagine" by John Lennon is a high contendant, for sure. Definitely something I'd write. Have you ever been stuck by someone very annoying on a plane/bus/etc? I think so at one point or another. Did you get lost at all on your first day of high school? Ha, for sure. Have you ever been interrupted during sex? A bitch knows how to act asleep if she hears a door so much as barely squeak, I'll tell you that much lmaooo. Have you ever been recorded doing stupid things while drunk? No. Has a significant other ever called you by the wrong name? No. Have you ever cooked anything and it turned out horrible? I've barely actually cooked anything in order TO fuck up. Have you ever made a bad first impression on someone’s parents? I can't say with certainty, but I think Jason's mom had her doubts about me at first because she commented on the ripped jeans I wore when I went to his house for the first time. She came to love me like her own though, and I love(d) her. I was actually just thinking about her and how she's doing the other day. What is a food that you always are in the mood to eat? Always? Perhaps sour candy, like Sour Punch Straws in specific. Ever held a newborn animal? Many kittens, yes. Do you make a wish when you blow out your birthday candles? I do, but just for the annual appeal of it. I don't actually believe it will have any effect on what I wished, it's just... normal, ig. What is the last thing you searched for online? Medical coding classes. Having trouble finding any free ones that are actually legit... Is it wicked hard for you to sleep when it's hot in your room? It's borderline impossible. Do you dunk your cookies in milk? Sometimes, and almost always with Oreos. Do medical terms make you uncomfortable? Ha, speaking of medical coding... No, not really. It's unnerving to hear "you have _____," but I understand it can be something so, so minor. Of course, it could be the exact opposite, but. I also actually find it quite interesting to learn the Latin roots of the terms. Are you afraid of failure? Beyond measure. Have you been called a bad influence? Yes, to my former friend's son. Not that that witch of a woman was a great person. I'd love to know how an infant can be negatively affected by receiving nothing but love from his "aunt," also having no concept of understanding about me being unemployed and not very "adult-ish" in general, which I'm sure is what she meant. Normally judgment hits me deep, but that shit I just rolled my eyes at.

[sky-girls]

Look at me

So leaving aside the fact that it’s sad that i can barely keep up with the ficweek me myself decided to do here is day 5 finally!! and i hope you guys enjoy it!!

“im sure i can get some kind of sexual gratification just from staring at /them/  if i try hard enough”

It all starts with a kitty pic and of course  at that moment she doesn’t think much of it. She just sees the picture of one fat, grey kitty on her instagram search page and decides to go to the page of the person to see if maybe they have more pictures of kitties.

And flor.ph , photography student does have some pictures of kitties, some pretty cute and adorable ones, but mostly she has picture of people, lots and lots of attractive people. A particular guy calls her attention. Probably a model, he has to be a model, because he is the hottest guy she has ever seen in her whole life.

He is wearing a white dressing shirt, first few buttons undone and he is looking straight into the camera, his eyes are a deep dark brown and even through the screen of her phone they make heat pool into her lower stomach, his hair is curly and slightly messy and before she can even control it she has images of herself caressing it and pulling it. She sees the description and finds a hashtag #MByFlor. She taps on it instantly.

What she finds takes her breath away almost literally. There’s so, so many pictures of this guy and Luna crosses one leg over the other as she looks around, of course there’s no one, she is alone in her room sitting on her desk but somehow she still feels slightly exposed, like she could be catched doing something wrong any minute, not that there’s anything wrong with just looking at pictures of a guy. But the more she scrolls through the hashtag the more certain thoughts she wouldn’t want anyone else to know, slip into her mind.

She can’t say it’s her fault though, it’s obvious these pictures are made for this kind of reaction, the clothes the poses, the abs, the hands, she has no idea what it is with those hands, but they will be feeding her fantasies quite a while she is sure.

She sighs softly to her face as she  keeps going through the pictures, some of them are staged obviously, there’s no way the way this guy is lounging on a pool chair with his shorts and an opened button up shirt, his abs all noticeable and making Luna’s fingers tingle to touch them as he holds his sunglasses a little bit away from his eyes is not staged. But there are also some that are obviously candids, some that have him messy haired and looking sleepy and it’s such a 180 from the other pics but that still makes her feels things, things like wanting those lips he is biting as he is playing the guitar while wearing glasses and a sweater on hers and every inch of skin they might want to be in.

There’s nothing shameful on following the hashtag and the account, even if she feels kind of ashamed doing it, even if it might be about all that came before that. She just wants to see him again. He is nice to look at.

Why wouldn’t she?

⭐

She learns a few things about the guy the next few weeks as his pictures constantly pop up on her instagram. One, his full name is Matteo, he is cousin of the photographer, who is also super fucking hot by the way, he plays guitar, he seems to like space, he has a grey kitty called Lyra and none of these things help with the massive crush she has been developing on him lately.

It’s not actually a crush of course, she doesn’t know him but she has a pretty decent picture of him on her head and she can fill up the rest in whatever possible ways she likes, she can make him everything she wants him to be and mostly she wants to imagine him on her bed, she also very likes looking at him.

Matteo is very pretty, besides being hot as hell, he is pretty and just looking at him makes all kinds of feelings stir up inside of her body.

She ends up using one of his pictures as her phone’s home screen just because she like looking at him too much and not even Pedro’s incessant teasing will make her change it.

Overall she thinks she could be doing worse, she is not obsessed with him or anything, he is just some hot guy she can use to fill up her thoughts.

The only bad thing is that his account is private. And he hasn’t accepted her yet.

⭐

After vacations things take an unexpected turn, a very very unexpected turn that has her choking on her tea silently as Pedro pats her in the back softly and sends her a weird look.

“What happened?” He asks her when she is better but she doesn’t look at him, she can’t stop staring in front of her. Where fucking Matteo is, in a white button up shirt and black pants looking as hot as ever and maybe even more.

There’s something different about seeing him on real life, something different about the energy he gives off, about the way he makes the room feel. He calls everyone’s attention for one reason or other and he hasn’t even talked yet but she is sure everyone is staring at him and she has no idea how she will manage to breath in this class from now on. There’s no doubt here, Matteo is her T.A.

“Good morning.” He says and his deep voice sends shivers down Luna’s spine in ways she wasn’t ready for. She bites her lower lip and takes a deep shaky breath cause of all the stuff her brain could be doing right now it’s only going all those dreams, all those fantasies, all those moments where she imagined him, his hands, his lips and filling them with words said by him in this exact same voice. It’s even better and hotter than she imagined and she wasn’t ready for this.  “My name is Matteo Balsano and I will be your physics ta this semester.”

She stops paying attention to his voice lulling her softly as she keeps staring at the way his lips move as he talks Pedro kicks her under the table softly and she sends him a glare. He sends her a questioning look and she blushes more that she ever has, she slowly takes out her phone of her pockets praying Matteo doesn’t notice and unlocks it quickly and the laugh that comes out of Pedro calls everyone's attention. He turns into a cough soon enough that people get worried but she can see that Matteo doesn’t believe him.

“Are you okay?”He asks the guy and Pedro is seriously having  problems breathing so the wheezing sound that he makes when he tries to say he is okay doesn’t sound any convincing him. His eyes fix on Luna and there’s something weird about it but maybe it’s just because she is very not subtly holding her phone

Luna struggles to hide her phone, the last thing she needs right now is for him to want to look at it and find himself shirtless staring back at him.

The class goes fast, it goes the fastest any physics class Luna’s has ever had and the only thing she learnt of it is that she needs to get home as fast as possible and be alone.  But she still has classes after this one and more importantly she has Pedro at lunch trying to interrogate her.

“Why is he on your phone? Luna, please.” He asks for the third time and Luna sighs, he will tease her so much but who wouldn’t in his situation, this is honestly ridiculous.

“There’s this guy.” She mumbles. “This instagram guy.”

“An instagram guy you have a crush on?” He asks teasing before gasping. “Is he the instagram guy?”

“Of course he is.” She huffs and Pedro chokes on his sandwich laughing. Good. “And now he is teaching us physics.”

“This is great news.” Pedro exclaims still laughing and Luna looks at him like he is crazy. “Don’t you see it?”

“What I see here is that I am fucked.” She says annoyed and he nods.

“Not yet, but this is where I am getting, yes.” He tells her and she rolls her eyes. “This is your chance to get laid.”

“This is not my chance for anything, don’t be ridiculous.” She tells him and Pedro huffs.

“Why not?” He asks. “You are hot and you have the hots for him that’s perfect combo right there.”

“Oh, wow.” Luna starts trying to distract him. “You said I am hot this is the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

“I can admit it sometimes.” He says simply. “But really, you have a once in a lifetime chance, you should use it.”

“What I should do is change my phone background.” She says with a sigh and he nods.

“Yeah, that too.”

⭐

After she gets home that night his phone buzzes with an instagram notification, someone is following her and the profile picture makes her trip over her feet and almost step on poor baby cassie. Matteo is smiling lazily at the camera from it. when she taps on the profile she sees that she can see all pictures.

She doesn’t mention this to Pedro this probably means nothing.

⭐

And it actually doesn’t, now she can see all of his pictures , all of his stories and she gets to have much more pics of him saved on her phone but also he barely ever pays attention to her except to ask her things when she is spacing out. Usually because she is staring at his arms.

It’s all normal and it’s obvious that for him she is not someone worthy of notice. Which is okay, she never expected anything else and she of course won’t do anything to change that no matter how much Pedro insists she should. He is just a crush, an impossible crush she kinda blogs about but that’s all of it.

She expects nothing of him, she is perfectly content with him just appearing on her dreams.

And apparently her gmail inbox too cause a few weeks into the semester she has a mail from him, a mail sent only to her. Which is weird on itself. The mail is short. Very short, only informing her that if she would like it she will be the person in charge to deal with class in physics subject but also kinda implying that she can’t really say no here. She sends a screenshot to Pedro of course and his answer is about what she expected.

Peter rabbit:

do it!!!1

do it do it do it do it

Me:

Are u crazy?? The last thing I need is to be alone with him

Peter rabbit:

That’s exactly what you need tho lol

come on we both know what goes through that mind of yours now you can actually have a chance to use that desk in the ways you would like

Me:

JESUS FUCK PEDRO YOU ARE NOT USEFUL

Peter rabbit:

I am very useful excuse you, just bc you don’t wanna follow my advice doesn’t mean its good advice

just say yes nothing has to happen (even if it totes will)

Luna bites her lower, lip, he is right nothing has to happen and this is good chance to stare more at him, to spend more time with him and even if she will end up all tense and stressed because she wants something she can’t have at least she will be close to him. Maybe this will be worth it.

She sends him an answer saying that she will do it and then opens her instagram profile, because she has issues, many, many issues. This will be awful but she will manage somehow.

⭐

It all goes better than expected he is nice and funny and interesting and she can hear him talk for hours but she manages to keep it in her pants and act like a decent human being around him no matter what. She is very proud of herself.

At least until one tuesday comes after a long weekend and she has to stay after class to discuss if they can change the date of the next quiz they have and all she has been able to see when her eyes close is that instastory from friday night where he is dancing with a girl pressed against him, his lips on her neck, his hand on her hips and the other under resting on her thigh under her dress. And that image usually leads her to imagine what would have happened if that girls was her, what would have happened if his hand went higher.

She is honestly the biggest mess and is in no state to be in a classroom alone with him but no one else will do it so it has to be her.

“Hi.” She says walking to his desk after everyone else has left and she ends up resting her hips against one of the table on the front because she can’t keep her legs from trembling just a little. He grins at her, authentic a little tired and a little lazy and she wants to pull him from his tie and kiss him. She needs to keep a safe distance because she has no idea what she will do if she doesn’t.

“Hi, what’s the problem now?” He says with a fake tired sigh and she shakes her head at him.

“Why do you always assume there is a problem?” She asks and his deep, soft chuckle, makes her take a deep breath.

“Because that’s all you come talk to me about.” He says raising an eyebrow as he rolls his sleeves up exposing the tattoos on one of his arm and Luna shifts uncomfortably at the sudden heat that takes over her body.

“Well, you are right.” She tries to say casual. “And I am sorry to ruin the amazing weekend you just had with these problems but the class was wondering if we could change friday’s quiz for next week.”

“Yeah, no problem, I do have one question though.” Matteo says and Luna nods looking at him but not really at his eyes, she wouldn’t handle that right now. “How do you know I had an amazing weekend.”

The teasing sparkle in his eyes fills her with anger and desire all in one blow and she needs to take a deep breath to calm down and hope her face doesn’t wanna match her red skirt right now.

“I just assumed.” She stutters and Matteo nods unbelieving. “I mean you look relaxed so I am guessing you had fun this weekend, let out some tensions.”

“Oh I did, not the ones I would have wanted but I did.” He says and Luna chokes on air when he says that, he probably doesn’t mean the same kind of tensions she is thinking of right now also maybe he does.

“That’s sad.” She manages to say. “At least you had fun.”

“I did.” Matteo says simply and Luna nods. “What did you do this weekend?”

“Not much.” She clears her throat.

“Didn’t you have fun?” He asks and she swallows hard, why does she feel like there is some other intention to these questions? “I thought maybe Pedro and you did something interesting these long weekend.”

“No, he went out with these girls he is seeing.” She clarifies for some reason. “And I stayed at home doing some reports I had to fix.”

He just nods and Luna has no idea if she can leave or no.

“I think I saw some of your stories on instagram.” He comments and Luna dies a little inside. “You are very responsible.”

“Yeah,that’s me.” She says nervously. “A responsible girl who has other class right now so she needs to go.”

She runs to the bathroom and skips her last class. She can’t believe what just happened and has no idea what it means, but she is dying.

⭐

After that she is kinda done with him, she can’t keep being like this around him, she can’t keep feeling like this. She needs to forget about him and what better way than to find some hot stranger in some bar get laid, leave their place in the morning and forget all about them too.

She needs a quick thing that will leave her satisfied for a while and won’t bring her any problems, so she puts on this tight black dress she has, the one pair of heels she owns, that one leather jacket and paints her lips red before she tells Pedro to meet her at the club and getting a taxi.

Pedro being Pedro gets excited about anything that involves alcohol and the chance to hook up with some hot girl so he throws himself into it right away. He lives closer than her so he gets there faster and when she arrives he already has two shots waiting for her.

Or maybe one was for him but she drinks both of those and that’s what matters.

She lets him post some pics of her on her instagram, she looks hot, she feels hot and she posts it just thinking once about what would Matteo thinks when he sees it before dragging Pedro to the dance floor and deciding to forget all about Balsano.

She manages mostly at least until she is back on the bar ordering more drinks and her phone vibrates so she takes it out and sees that she has a notification on instagram from mbalsaon.

She opens it fast and sees that he liked her pic and he actually send her a message. She takes deep breath, it’s probably going to be something nice or something teasing about her having fun now, it will be nothing important.

Her fingers still shake when she opens it.

mbalsaon:

do you have any idea just how hot you look?

She almost drops her phone when she reads it.

me:

sorry???

mbalsaon:

you look so good with that dress and the way you are dancing

me:

the way i’m dancing? what??

mbalsaon:

turn to your right, cucciola

She does as he says, ignoring the weird nickname and finds him sitting not far away from him on the bar, he is wearing a black shirt and dark jeans sipping on a glass of something she can’t recognize from him but he lifts it softly on her direction.

mbalsaon:

if you don’t want this i apologize the last thing i want is you make you feel uncomfortable

but i kinda feel like you do

so if I am right i am going out right now, i need some air, maybe you do too

She sees him down the contents of his glass and walk towards the doors much closer to him that to her, when he disappears from her sighs she takes a deep breath, texts Pedro and follows Matteo.

She definitely could use some fresh air right now too.

[yuriblackwoodtealeafgamgee]

I was tagged by @basked-sunlight  <3 If someone wanna do it than do it! <3<br>

last

- drink: milk

- call: my mum

- text: mine in a group chat, about an animation series

- song u listened to: HeavyDirtySoul by twenty one pilots

- time u cried: Don’t remember very well, i tend to keep everything inside, but probably at night

have u ever

- dated someone twice: yes

- kissed someone & regretted it: no

- been cheated on: i don’t know, but i’m like 90% sure it happened

- lost someone special: to many times

- been depressed: like… everyday…

- gotten drunk & thrown up: nope

favorite colors

1. Black

2. Red

3. Blue, Purple, Emerald Green

in the last year have u

- made any new friends: yes <3<br>

- fallen out of love: i don’t think so

- laughed so hard that u cried: yes ahahaha

- found out someone was talking abt u: no, but i will always think it, it’s like one of my biggest problems

- found out who ur friends were: if you mean who my true friends are, then yes

- kissed someone on ur fb friends list: on the cheek

general

- how many ppl from ur fb friends do u know irl: i think… 8? (i’m considering my fake profile)

- do u have any pets: 2 cats <3<br>

- do u want to change ur name: no

- what did u do for ur birthday last year: resturant with 4 friends and pub

- what were u doing last night at midnight: watching La Casa de Papel

- what time did u wake up today: 10 am circa

- what is something u can’t wait for: graduate, see my friends again

- have u ever talked to a person named tom: no

- something that gets on ur nerves: close minded people, when someone talk me over, not being listened/considered, when people doesn’t recognize what I’m capable of and/or have a wrong idea about me

- most visited website: I use apps for sns, so… Netfix and other streaming web sites; GMail for university

- hair color: brown

- short hair or long hair: long

- do u have a crush on someone: to many crushes for too many people

- what do u like abt urself: my butt probably? aaand… my determination and imagination i guess…

- want any piercings: no, I mean i want others on my ears but just there

- blood type: A+

- nicknames: Yuri (fake FB) and… i don’t know sometimes people call me in other ways but rarely

- relationship status: got a boyfriend

- zodiac sign: capricorn

- pronouns: she/her

- fave tv shows: Bitch, there are so many! Ok, here’s the most loved by me: Versailles, Sense8, New Girl, Doctor Who, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, La Casa de Papel, Scrubs, Glee.

- tattoos: no and i’m currently not planning on having any

- right handed or left handed: right handed

- ever had surgery: no

- sport: dance since i was 3, but I’ve been very unlucky because of lot of things

- vacation: out of my country to discover the world, but also chilling with my friends somewhere calm that we know

- trainers: I actually have one pair and rarely wear them, i like other types of shoes better

more general:

- eating: I love to eat, but i guess i have a fucking food disorder cause lot of times, mostly in summer but also during stressing periods, my body just don’t wanna have anything to do with food

- drinking: my favourites are tea, Dr. Pepper and Caramel Macchiato. I have to admit that i love alcohol, but i don’t go out a lot, also I don’t have enough money -.-”

- i’m about to watch: nothing right now, but late in the afternoon I’ll watch Attack on Titans

- waiting for: be able to see my friends more, be able to do the things I love

- want: to succeed in things that are important in my life, my goals, find a way to meet BTS (I know, it’s fucking impossible) + graduate and all the things above. For material things… a lot ahahahah

- get married: yes, when I’ll be ready and able to.

- career: well… that’s a rough point. I have no idea of what i want to do in the future or even what i could do. It’s difficult in my country and that doesn’t help. I just hope to find something that i like that can give me the possibility to go on with my life.

which is better:

- hugs or kisses: I think hugs, kisses are good too, but just with a few people.

- lips or eyes: I am more into eyes <3<br>

- shorter or taller: I don’t mind

- older or younger: Not a problem either. If it’s about someone i would date, I don’t care, as long as they have a grown up mind.

- nice arms or stomach: Well… I have a thing for male shoulders, so I think arms, but a nice stomach is appreciated

- hookup or relationship: I’m not able to have something with someone if it doesn’t envolves a relationship. It can be an important one or a simple one (starting simple and see how things go), but definitelly not a hookup

- troublemaker or hesitant: absolutelly hesitant

have you ever:

- kissed a stranger: NO

- drank hard liquor: Of course

- lost glasses: yes, but found them immediately

- turned someone down: probably anyone who knows me, I’m SO fucking good at it

- sex on first date: GEEZ NO

- broken someone’s heart: I don’t know, I hope not, but I’m afraid I did

- had your heart broken: God, yes

- been arrested: no

-  cried when someone died: yes

- fallen for a friend: yes, also because most of the times I need to become friend with someone before falling for them

do you believe in:

- yourself: not really, but I never lose my determination

- miracles: no

- love at first sight: you can like someone even in a romantic way, the first time you see them, but love is something that born from a relationship and grows with time

- santa claus: nope

- kiss on first date: gnnnn… it’s very difficult for me, but it could happen i guess?

- angels: not really

other:

- best friend’s name: they’re more than one

- eye colour: brown

- fave movie: The Lord of the Rings saga <3 for me it’s like so important, it’s not just a film<br>

- fave actor: Geez, i don’t know, i have a lot. Alexander Vlahos, Ryan Reynols and David Tennant for sure. But also, almost everyone in The Lord of the Rings cast and probably someone I don’t remeber at the moment.

[davidquigg]

This is a short story I declared finished almost seven years ago. I dredged it up accidentally on Saturday morning by plugging “Canon AE-1″ into my Gmail’s sent messages.

I still like this story and care about it but nonetheless have shown that I’m capable of forgetting it exists, so I’m posting it here to give it a chance to go play outside.

SOMETHING ABOUT AIRPLANES

Draw her face.

Or his.

Yes, yes, you're not an artist.

Fine. Shut up.

Just try.

Try because I want you to know what I came to know only a few hours ago.

Start simple. Get paper. Get a pencil. Sketch the shape of her face. Don't overthink. Let's stipulate that this will not be art.

Just sketch.

You're paralyzed, obviously. I had the same problem. This is what it feels like when you start to know what I came to know only a few hours ago.

Go on. Sketch the outline of her face. It's just a shape. This could be middle-school geometry. I mean, you've got to know the shape of her face. You've thought of her at least once today. Because today is either a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, and whenever it's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, you think of her. So you've got to know the shape of her face.

This is when you'll be tempted to screw this all up by cheating. Log the fuck off Facebook.

You don't get to look at that little thumbnail photo she posted to her profile. You don't get to look at it because it's cheating. You also don't get to look at it because you promised yourself you wouldn't look at it. She's not even your Facebook friend. And you've supposedly come to realize that there's something unseemly about clicking on the profile of one of your seven mutual Facebook friends and then clicking through to see their friends just so you can scroll down and smear your screen with nose grease because you're crowding in close and then closer to her thumbnail photo. Look at it this way: If she lived next door to a friend of yours, would you contrive to visit that friend's place just so you could look out his window and into hers? Don't answer that. I'm liable to hate you for your answer. Or I'm liable to hate myself less. I'm not interested in hating myself less. I'm not interested in you hating yourself less. I'm interested in you knowing what I came to know only a few hours ago.

So sketch. It's hopeless. I know. Let me save you some hours. Draw an oval. Any oval. Does the oval look exactly like the outline of her face? No. Obviously. But it's a start. Darken the inner edge of the bottom of the oval. Does the oval look more like her? Less like her? Adjust accordingly. Keep darkening inner edges. Keep assessing. Keep adjusting. Somehow you will eventually end up with a shape that seems surprisingly right.

Now pick a facial feature. Maybe eyes. You're not an artist. I know. Neither am I. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because I just need you to point to the exact spot inside the oval where her right eye should go. You've got to know that, obviously.

It's hard. But you got the face shape eventually. Or you think you did. So you should try. Just point to the spot. Just point. With the pencil. If I managed it, you'll be able to manage it.

But did I actually say that I managed it? I'm pretty sure I didn't say that. I didn't say it because it didn't happen.

Try to realize what this means and let it really sink in. Try. I say "Try" because you're not going to realize what this means. What you're going to do is wonder what this means.

You're going to wonder what it can mean that the same brain that can picture Jay Fucking Leno or Don Fucking Knotts or Angelina Jolie or Justin Fucking Bieber is only capable of rendering her as some smudge in a haze of longing.

She accused you once of just loving the idea of her. But nobody had ever been more real to you, so the accusation seemed ridiculous. And now this.

You have never had a sewer rat lick you with the ardent, rhythmic persistence of a family dog. But just the thought nauseates you, and rat-lick nausea's back-of-the-throat scuttling is what you feel now. Without knowing why. Without really knowing what this whole Leno- Knotts-Jolie-Bieber-her syndrome adds up to. Knowing, though, that it is something novel and morale-wrecking and mercilessly survivable.

Everything seems to be mercilessly survivable. This, for example. It happened years ago, when I could have drawn her face. It is happening years ago, when I can draw her face. It is happening.

She has found me out. Or thinks she has. She does not see me seeing that she is setting a trap. She is among the new CDs. In the D section of the shop. I look away.

A moment before, she did something to a copy of Something About Airplanes. I don't know what. But it doesn't matter. I'm assuming it involves some kind of subtle identifying mark. If I wanted to avoid getting caught, the specifics of what she'd done to the CD would matter. I don't want to avoid getting caught.

What she is doing now is an equal mystery to me. As I said, I have looked away. This is not an easy thing to have done. She has made a starer of me. I am not a starer. I could have been. I would have been. But back when my unfurling teenage libido threatened to ruin me, Andrea Zilpop sat me down on a humming Kenmore dryer and made me watch "The Tao of Steve" on the TV/VCR her parents had installed in their laundry room.

Andrea had seen the movie at work, which for her in those days was Rain City Video in Fremont. She hoped the movie might somehow trump my testosterone and allow me to remain someone she could bear to stay friends with. Her plan was not crazy. There is, I dimly remember, some learn-a-lesson section of the movie. But that is not the lesson I learned. What stuck in my brain instead is one pillar of the obese, irresistible protagonist's mantra of seduction: "Be desireless."

Being desireless has worked. So I have stuck with being desireless. In every way.  I do not, for example, stare.

As I said, I have looked away.

I do not want to be looking away. My face tingles from the perverseness of looking away from Mali. Mali may be her real name. Or it may not. Maybe her east-of-the-mountains parents named her Molly and she has moved to Seattle and become Mali. I don't care. This isn't about her name. This isn't about her Value Village clothes. This isn't about her piercings. This isn't even about the seemingly extravagant breast tattoo that reveals its topmost sliver whenever she interrupts her clack-clack-clack perusal of our latest used CDs and arches her back.

I am an expert on what this is not about.

I balance a stack of CDs on my left palm. New CDs. Not truly new. Used, in fact. But new to us. Willy bought them. Sam priced them. Now I'm stocking them.

Somewhere in this stack is Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. I know this because an imaginary Jeff Tweedy has been singing my favorite track inside my brain from the moment I picked up the stack. "… Tall buildings shake / Voices escape singing sad, sad songs …" Jeff just sang that.

Imaginary Jeff.

When I'm stocking, there is always a song in my head. And sometime during the course of stocking, I always discover that the disc that holds the song has been in my hands all along.

Somewhere in the stack. This has stopped freaking me out. It has stopped seeming mystical, beautiful, impressive, oppressive.

Someone is moving into my peripheral vision. Closer. Closer. Whoever this is, they are not Mali. Even out of the corner of my eye, the blur is all wrong. And they're getting close in a looming, intrusive way she never does.

"Uh, have you heard if …" He does not pause. The elipsis is mine. Because, hell, I just have to interrupt. Here, at least.

Even if not in real life.

Because it's so obvious what's going to happen here. It's time to play Stump the Record Store Guy. And, yes, I'm human. I'm stump-able. But not by this guy. I can tell that from his blur. I don't even have to look over at him. I can also tell his question is not real. He doesn't want an answer. He wants me to know that he knows stuff that he assumes I don't know. Fine, I'll let him talk.

"Uh, have you heard if Andrew Bird is going to put out a live CD of his '05 show at Doug Fir Lounge? I think it was like April. Yeah, April 9th. Best show I've ever been to, dude."

No it wasn't, I want to say. Because this guy was not at the show. Don't ask me how I know. I just do.

"Yeah, they say …"

This is the sure tipoff that all this comes directly off the Web. Which is cool. Just be straight about it.

"Yeah, they say it was his best performance ever of that Happy Birthday song."

This is nonsense, of course. I don't claim to know when Andrew Bird's best performance of the song happened. But I do know that he performed a purer, better version in Amsterdam nearly four years earlier.

"Man, I'd give anything to hear that show again," he continues.

This is where I almost snap. I want to tell him to go back to www.archive.org/details/ abird2005-04-09 if he wants to hear the show so badly. Because we both know that's where he heard it in the first place. Not live.

This guy is talking over imaginary Jeff Tweedy's singing to involve me in his charade of self- esteem building. I want it to end.

"Let's check something," I say, smiling as I lead him nowhere near the Andrew Bird section and straight to the Andrew W.K. section. I paw through the discs, looking in vain for a recording on which Andrew W.K. performed in Portland under the name Andrew Bird.

He snorts. This ingrown hair of a man snorts. He's not even going to call me out on my error. He knows he knows more than me now. This is all he came for. He can tell himself that this is why he buys all his music on iTunes. He's smarter than all of us. Nothing for him to learn here that he can't learn by consulting John Cusack's iTunes Celebrity Playlist and clicking "Buy All Songs." I mean, John played a record-store owner in a movie. So if John recommends fifteen tracks and two of them are by Gnarls Barkley, then it must be for a good reason. Right? Right.

"I'll take it from here," he says, shaking his head.

Good.

"Uh, OK?" I say, feigning bafflement. "Let me know if I can answer any more questions." This all feels so good. The hollowness of his swagger washes away all my annoyance. Stuff like this is what I'd miss if I quit. And Mali. I'd miss Mali, obviously.

She is finished with whatever trap she was setting for me in the New section. Unless someone else with a fake question intercepts me, I am about to be standing shoulder-to- shoulder with her in Used. She does the back-arching thing. I'm way too far away for a glimpse of tattoo. But still. Still.

I would pay to have someone competent take my picture right now. Because I sense that I have never looked happier. And I'd like to know what this feeling looks like. I'd like to hold a print of this moment in my hands when I'm very sad or very old.

Mali is doing something with her eyebrows. She is acting. It is bad acting. Bad, adorable acting designed to convey concentration. She is flipping through discs in the catchall section where we indiscriminately file all bands that start with D.

She exhales loudly. Loudly and adorably. Crap, I am so not desireless.

"Hey, Hilliam," she says, looking up while still doing the frustrated, focused thing with her eyebrows.

I should explain that I was Willie before I started working here. Willie Hill. But Willy already worked here. So I couldn't be Willie at work. When I refused to be Billy or Will or Bill – Will Hill?! Bill Hill?!! – it was Evan who cracked himself and everyone else up by blending my given name and last name. Hilliam. I'd become Hilliam. And that's who I am. Here in Ballard, at least.

My parents hate it. Obviously. But they live in Wallingford. In Wallingford, I'm still Willie.

"Hey, Hilliam," she says, doing the eyebrow thing. "I've been wanting Something About Airplanes. For weeks. Does anybody ever bring that in used or do people just hang on to it?"

"We see it sometimes. In this town, there's always at least one person swearing off Ben Gibbard."

"For serious?"

"You'd be amazed."

"Oh."

"Last week. No, two weeks ago. Dude comes in. He's got an empty kitty litter bag that he's filled up with every Death Cab record, every Postal Service record. He's got All-Time Quarterback. And he's growling."

"Growling?"

"Well, words. But he's growling the words," I say and yell out "Travesty!"

Sam is closest. He yells "Travesty!"

Willy hears. He yells "Travesty!" He pauses, stomps his foot, and hollers "Unconscionable!"

"Unconscionable!" Sam yells.

"Unconscionable," I tell Mali.

"Is there more?" she asks. "I don't want to clap between movements."

"But you do want to clap, right?"

"I want to know what's unconscionable."

"And what's a travesty."

"Yes, a travesty, too."

"'Cupid.' The guy downloaded some unreleased solo tracks by Chris Walla. On one, Walla covered 'Cupid' by Sam Cooke."

"Travesty!" Mali says.

"You've heard it?"

"No," she says. "I'm just being cooperative."

"Right."

"Active listening."

"Right."

"Anyway …"

"Anyway," I say. "This guy hates Walla's 'Cupid' cover so much that he decides to sell everything ever touched by Walla or by people who touched Walla."

"So you've got his copy of Something About Airplanes?"

"Never at the end of the month."

"What?"

"We sold it almost right away."

"Oh."

"We'll get another."

"OK, well, can we do the thing again?"

"Of course. I'll call you if we get it in."

"Used."

"Right. I'll call you if we get it in. When we get it in."

"Used."

"Used."

With everything but her arms, she moves to hug me. It's a kind of lurch. You can't hug without arms. So we don't hug.

"You're the best," she says instead.

I love that she knows what I'm about to do. I love that she set a trap. It hasn't occurred to me that she might find this whole thing creepy.

I mean, how can it be anything but endearing to discover that the guy at the record store perpetrates a lovelorn fraud every time you mention a CD you're hoping to find used? It will go like this: 1) Hilliam retrieves a new copy of the CD Mali wants; 2) Hilliam pays for this new CD in cash; 3) Hilliam removes the CD's clear wrapping; 4) Hilliam buys the CD back for the shop, screwing himself out of about ten bucks because the CD is now, technically, used; 5) Hilliam waits seventy-two hours before calling Mali to say that the CD she wanted has miraculously appeared.

Fifty-some hours later, she calls the shop.

"Hey," she says, sighing.

Just that. She's never called before.

"Mali?"

"Uh, yeah. Does that junkyard phone have caller ID?"

"I recognized your voice," I answer unstrategically.

"From me saying 'hey'?"

"You sighed, too."

"Shit," she says, laughing. "Am I the Sighing Girl of Ballard or something? Is this how everyone thinks of me?"

"Not that specific. Sighing Girl of Seattle is what people tend to say."

"Smartass! … Want to meet up for a cigarette break?"

"You smoke?" I blurt, glossing over this unprecedented non-retail-related overture and fixating on the seeming impossibility that a smoker could smell as nice as she does.

"No."

"Then why are we meeting for a cigarette break?"

"Don't you smoke?"

"Not since high school."

"Oh, I just figured all you guys did. The shop smells a little like my grandpa's overcoat."

"Noooooooooooooo," I say, as if this truth stings badly.

She laughs. But this moment is slipping away. I slap at my pockets. I detect packaging.

"Lemonheads!" I say.

"What?"

"I've got Lemonheads. We could do …"

I'm looking around to see if anyone is within earshot.

"Do what?" she asks.

"Sorry, we could do a Lemonhead break. Are you down?"

"Lemonheads? Hell yeah, I'm down," she says. "Meet me like halfway?"

"Halfway like skatepark halfway or like kitchen-store halfway?"

"Kitchen store," she says.

We hang up.

The little guitar riff that opens "Portions For Foxes" is chiming out of the shop's speakers.

This is a coded message. What we mean when we play this song or any of the ten other tracks on Rilo Kiley's 2004 release is that we knew the sound of Jenny Lewis singing long before a National Public Radio review of her solo album introduced her to the ears of every amiable Dockers-wearer within range of Terry Gross's voice.

I yell to Willy that I'm going on break. He looks quizzical. So I pantomime smoking a cigarette. His eyebrows rise, signaling comprehension, and he waves goodbye. I walk out, striding west on Market just as Jenny Lewis sings me a warning: "the talking leads to touching / and the touching leads to sex / and then there is no mystery left."

This is not what I want to hear as I walk to meet up with Mali, hoping that the talking will lead to touching and the touching will lead to sex. Not what I want to hear at all.

So, reflexively, I play a song in my brain. Not just any song. And not even a whole song. Just the opening lyrics to a song from Jenny's bandmates' side project: "Well she gets real mean when she's drunk. / And she finally fell asleep and I'm glad. / She said, 'The only way you got as far is you did / is 'cause of me. Your songs suck.' " I've always wondered if those lyrics are about Jenny. Now, for convenience, I've decided to decide that they are definitely about her. I willfully black out the second verse where the mean drunk – whoever she is -- recants and apologizes.

Heedless now, I walk past the shoe boutique that used to be a rubber-stamp store and the booming restaurant/bar that used to be a failed restaurant.

No song plays in my head now. A rare relief.  I hear a Vespa start. I hear a clang. It's the type of clang made after a successful wallop of one of those smack-a-lever-with-a-hammer contraptions they erect in the feats-of-strength section of county fairs. This particular clang is synchronized with the Walk part of the mid-block Walk/Don’t Walk indicator. With its blessing, I now cross Market.

Continuing west, I pass the kids' boutique Mon Petit Shoe that used to be a friendly, long-in- the-tooth toy store, the yoga studio that used to be a Hallmark shop, the furniture store that used to be a competing record store, and the Puerto Rican restaurant that used to be an Australian restaurant that used to be the eastern part of the now-shrunken kitchen store.

Kitchen 'N Things is closed for the night. Mali has not noticed me yet. Her face is pressed against the store's front window, peering at something green.

I find myself wishing I were famous, wishing some paparazzi would leap from the shadows.

Though I'm not smiling, I sense that I look as happy as I feel. Again, I wish for a photograph that I could hold up and compare with every future joy. Is this pessimism, optimism, premonition? I stop my footsteps and watch Mali for a good fifteen seconds before calling out her name.

She does not turn to me right away. She peers a moment longer, seeming to say a kind of goodbye to whatever merchandise it is that she's coveting.

"Ah," she says, instead of greeting me. "I love Kitchen Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn Things."

I can't honestly tell if she's mocking the store's middle "'N" or cooing it like a loved one's nickname. I don't care. Either way, it strikes me as adorable. Anything she says drives me deeper in love.

"What were you leering at, lady?" I ask.

"Brushes. Silicone brushes."

"Don't you guys sell brushes?"

"Sure. Housewares. Aisle three. But not like these. Not silicone."

I don't know what to say. She goes on. Very earnestly.

"Plus, they're 100-percent recycled material. They're made from old fake boobs."

I nod without really registering what she's said.

"Are you serious?" I ask, regaining my common sense.

"Horribly serious," she says, giggling. "Dour. Humorless. Can't you tell?"

"Smartass," I say, reaching up and giving her left arm a gentle tap. "Let's get very, very serious here. How goeth your shift, fair maiden?"

"Goeth?"

"I don't know. I'm just making stuff up. How's your shift going?"

"Fine. The usual bizarreness. I just had two customers start bad-mouthing each other at the checkout. Freaks."

"What happened?"

"Well, we've got like two weeks left at the store before they tear it down to build the bigger, better store with the stacks of condos on top," she says, pausing to make some kind of crazy jazz hands that I take as a signal she finds the whole "bigger, better" thing to be bullshit. "Anyway, this woman pays for her stuff and starts chatting with me about where I'll be transferred during construction. Turns out, she knows my new store. I say that I've heard everyone's mean to each other there. She tells me, in this well-meaning-slash-excruciating detail, everything she knows about the nice people who work there. She also gives me advice. Career advice. Life advice.

Meanwhile, I'm ringing up some semi-older dude with a twelve-pack of Bud. The first woman does not stop talking. The dude keeps glancing back and forth between me and the woman.

Mostly, looking at me, though. Finally he leans in toward me and says, 'I think she likes you.' I pretend not to hear. Because like what, what am I supposed to do? Join in? Give him a little giggle? Help him slam this lonely, sweet woman who is so intent on being nice to me that she will not leave me the hell alone while I try to do my job? No. No. I won't. So I ignore him.

"And that should be the end of it. But as he walks past the woman with his beer, he says, 'Why don't you just leave her alone? She's not interested.' Now, the sweet woman stops being sweet. It's go time, man. She's like, 'Why don't you back off? Go home and drink your Budweiser and mind your own damn business.' "But she gathers up her plastic bags and heads for the door, where they go off on each other a little more. I manage to tune that part out. But now I've got the rest of the line to deal with.

The next guy is this mumbler. So, you know, he mumbles something. I say, 'What?' He says, 'I feel so low-maintenance all of a sudden' and glances over at Advice Lady and Budweiser Prick.

And, of course, he's low-maintenance by comparison. And that would have been totally great if he hadn't felt the need to point it out. Still, I say, 'You are low-maintenance and I appreciate that.' Luckily, he doesn't stick around to chat. He just takes his strawberries and his Odwalla and gets out of my life."

I tell Mali, "Oh my god. You're way too nice. I don't know how you can deal with people like that."

I say this. But it's not what I mean. I mean something more. I have a whole theory about this.

The theory goes like this: In all the world of retail, the most exhausting thing a woman can be is sexy and nice. Nobody girl-chats with mean and sexy. Nobody flirts with plain and nice. And pretty much every kind of customer just wants to flee from mean and plain. But sexy and nice? You get everybody. You get everybody who wants to see you naked. You get everybody who wants a friend. It is endless. And retail is already endless.

But I don't say any of this. Because what makes me any less weird than Mali's customers if I use her crappy-shift story as a clumsy excuse for telling her I think she's sexy? Better to impersonate a friend right now. Better to save telling her she's sexy for some dizzy, panting, half-dressed moment in our hypothetical shared future.

What words should pass through my lips if I manage to wipe away this smile? I simply don't know.

"You make me smile," I finally say since it is true.

"That's just because I'm too nice," she teases.

"No, it's in spite of that. Nice people make me frown. Every last one of them."

"Until now?"

"Until now."

"You're so full of shit."

I smile yet wider. She smiles, too.

This continues. Continues for longer than I want to document here, for longer than anyone would want to read. I remember every word, every gesture, every crumbly nibble of the cupcake we share down the street, every last expansion of my smile.

****

The film was trickier than the battery. My hands and the film and the inner workings of my neglected Canon needed to collaborate. They did, eventually. I thumb-flicked the lever to advance the film. I clicked the shutter release. Thumb-flick. Click. Thumb-flick. Click. Thumb- flick. I was ready.

The 16 I boarded is a southbound bus. But first it goes west. It drives along 45th until it reaches Stone Way. This is one of the vivid intersections of my acne years. Here stood the closest McDonald's to my house. It had a drive-thru. Very convenient. I knew people who went there.

But I disliked all of them. My loose confederation of friends always made the walk – and later the drive – east to Dick's drive in, where we could dine without the nuisance of chairs, tables, or even walls.

For reasons that seem, well, petty to me now, each of us would raise a middle finger whenever we passed that McDonald's at Stone and 45th. So the teenage me would have certainly flipped me off as the 16 turned left on Stone and I found myself missing the McDonald's and resenting the condos that had risen in its place.

The 16 goes south on Stone and jogs diagonally to the southwest before merging its way onto the Aurora Bridge. In some unremembered year when I was not yet a grownup and, therefore, still impressionable, a bus like this one fell from this towering bridge. A guy named Silas Cool shot the driver and then himself. I've harbored a gut-level uneasiness about this bridge and about people named Silas ever since. The closer I get to my own natural death the more it shames me that I don't remember the names of the murdered driver or the one passenger who died in the fifty-foot plunge.

This forgetting didn't trouble me at all that day on the 16. The uneasiness eclipsed all other thoughts. What power we all held. How powerless we all were. Any of us could pull a pistol and, for reasons known only to ourselves, change – or even end – the lives of dozens of strangers. There would be no stopping it. So I averted my eyes from the driver and from all the possible catalysts of my death.

I stared out the window toward the shrouded Cascades and twisted a ring on my AE-1's lens, compulsively changing the size of hole that light would pass through if I took a picture.

And so it is that my first shot that day was radically overexposed. The resulting photo – of the front end of a climbing seaplane that seems to just barely clear the bridge's railing – is more striking, more beautiful that anything I would have shot on purpose. I wouldn't know this until I got the film developed. Even then, I would need to shoot five more rolls before understanding the error that gave me this treasured image. It would take another dozen rolls before I could replicate the effect more or less at will.

I shot nothing when we passed the Space Needle. I shot nothing downtown when I got off to transfer to a 174. Nothing as we passed the home of the Mariners, the Seahawks.

I traveled with the camera pressed to my eye as we neared Boeing Field. But the overcast sky had suddenly switched from being a veil filtering the sun to being a shroud. This mid- morning dusk made the camera useless. Even using the widest opening in the lens, I would have had to expose the film to light for one-eighth of a second. Such a small sliver of a second is actually a long time in the world of photography. It is a fatally long amount of time when you're shooting from a moving vehicle. Unless you happen to know enough to pan the camera and keep the lens pointed toward whatever passing object you're shooting. That's when things can get interesting. Spectacularly interesting. But, as you may sense already, the only spectacularly interesting photographs I could make at this point were accidental.

So I'd only shot that lone photo from the bridge by the time the bus pulled over on East Marginal Way long enough for me to get off at my stop. This put me in the city of Tukwila, essentially across the street from the Museum of Flight. I intended to throw down the $14 to go inside. It was my whole reason for riding the bus this far. But I got detoured. In all my family and field-trip visits to this place, I'd never noticed that the outdoor airplane display was plainly visible – even to deadbeats standing outside the fence, especially to deadbeats with long lenses on their cameras. Turning my back to the wind, I removed my normal lens and replaced it with a zoom lens that allowed me to get closer to the airplanes without getting closer to the airplanes.

****

We are at Besalu. Mali and me. She got the table. I got the coffee and pastries. It's not busy. A rarity. And this is a relief. Because I didn't have to stress that we might have radically different approaches to getting a table in an overstuffed café. I'm of the laughably civil school of table- getting: literally, ask every person ahead of you in line if they need a table before taking one.

Mali might believe in the more standard, snake-a-table-as-soon-as-you-see-one-and-screw- everybody-else approach. If so, I am not ready to know this. I'd be willing to tolerate it. But unlike so much else, it's not the sort of thing I could manage to see as an adorable quirk.

"Oh, they look so good," Mali says, reaching for the plate of pastries that I'm just about to set down.

"You've seriously never been here?" I ask.

"No, this is my first time above 58th Street."

"Wow."

"Don't you ever have that? Streets you just don't cross? Whole parts of neighborhoods you don't bother to explore?"

I think about this. She talks.

"You think I'm lame," she says.

"No. Not at all. I was just thinking about what you said."

She nods.

"When I was growing up in Wallingford, there was this McDonald's …"

She is nodding furiously. I realize what's going on.

"Please, go ahead and start eating," I say. "You don't have to wait until I get done talking."

She smiles. Not at me. At her ginger biscuit. She takes a bite. She stops chewing, stops moving – the way you might if you were about to spit out something unexpectedly rancid. She closes her eyes. She swoons. Literally swoons.

"Amazing, isn't it?" I say.

She resumes chewing, swallows, reopens her eyes.

"Oh my god," she whispers, slapping the table with both palms and making Jurassic Park ripples in our coffees. "I could have kept that bite in my mouth for the rest of my life."

"Amazing, huh?" I say, realizing as the words leave my mouth that this is essentially the same thing I said less than a minute ago.

"Uh, yeah," she says.

She swivels, looks back toward the kitchen.

"Does he make these right here?" she asks, jerking her head toward a dark-haired man who's loading some kind of dough onto both sides of an ancient-looking scale. With a big knife, he slices a hunk from the left pile of dough and drops it on the right pile. The scale falls into balance.

"Yeah, him and two other people. But it's his place," I say.

"Would it be inappropriate to run into the kitchen and hug him?"

"Probably," I say, laughing hard until I start to wonder whether the little artistic venture I'm about to unveil would stand a better chance of shining in some other café, some place without its own resident culinary master.

I'd planned on offering Mali a taste of my croissant at this point. But that would be an impossible act to follow. I push myself. If I just say the words, I'll have to go ahead and do it.

"Hey, let me show you something I've been wanting to show you," I say, sliding a Ballard Camera envelope from the pocket of my jacket.

There are three more envelopes just like this one on my bed at home. They are thicker envelopes. This thinner one holds what I consider to be the eight presentable images from my four rolls.

"Come on. What is it?" she coaxes, noticing the hesitation I thought I'd managed to hide.

I've given a lot of thought to what comes next. Just hand her the envelope? No, seems almost apologetic. Hand her the images one at a time? Too controlling. Instead, I've decided to lay the images out. Three columns of two, topped by the remaining two photos. Why? Don't know. But this is what I've decided.

I put down the first two pictures. A smile – so full, so deep, so reassuring – takes over Mali's face. It animates me. I lay out the six remaining photos with the flourish of an overcompensating tarot reader. My chair is now meaningless. I am an idiot marionette, dangling, waiting for her reaction.

She's deliberate. Each image gets a long, careful look. I become aware that I'm sweating. I breathe fast. Then faster.

Please. Say. Something.

"Did you download these?"

"No," I say a bit too enthusiastically. "I took these."

"Who did you take them from?" she says, holding a hand to her aghast mouth.

She is messing with me. She knows what I meant. I know she is messing with me. I know she knows what I meant. But I am so keyed up that I start to defend myself.

"IdidnttakethemfromanybodyI," I blurt.

She lowers the hand from her mouth. It has been hiding a smile, that same smile. I breathe again. I am ready.

"I took these," I say. "With my camera."

She stares at me.

"You've never told me you were a photographer."

"I'm not."

And I take a deep breath because I'm about to flay myself.

"There's something about you, Mali. You just make me want to make things."

She squints at me.

"To create things, you know. For once. Instead of just talking shit, you know."

She squints tighter. The eyes close now. But a tear leaks from each eye.

Her left hand slides across the tabletop. I put my hand on top of it. We stay that way. While I'm not totally sure what has just happened, I know that it is powerful, and I sense that it is powerfully good.

****

Arranged in the same pattern but in a different order, the photos are now Scotch-taped to the wall next to Mali's futon. I wake to find her looking at them.

"I have a new favorite," she says.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, this one," she says, jerking her head in the direction of all of the photos.

She can't point. Her arms are around me, encircling my left shoulder, my neck, my right armpit. We went to sleep this way. I can't decide what would mean more to me: us having held this position all night or Mali having chosen to recreate it as soon as she woke up. This is another one of those endearing-either-way choices.

"I'm sorry, Armless Lady," I say, straining to kiss her neck. "I'm having trouble seeing where you're pointing. You're going to have to describe your new favorite photo."

I am expecting it to be that first photo I took, the one of the seaplane cresting the Aurora Bridge on its takeoff from Lake Union. Its accidental overexposure makes it unique among these eight photos. Also, I'm disinclined to admire any photo that I made on purpose. I still feel incompetent. Incompetent but strangely helpless to resist the urge to keep creating. So my camera is here by the bed. There's a new roll of film in it. The camera has a self-timer. I could set it on Mali's bookcase and photograph us right now.

I don't.

I didn't.

I never did.

She releases her hold on me and slides her left hand down my chest. She retrieves my right hand, brings it to her mouth, and kisses it before delicately folding everything but my index finger in toward my palm. She guides my hand until my index finger is pointing squarely at the blurriest photo of the bunch. Shot from below and slightly off to the right, it shows the nose and two cockpit windows of a commercial jet.

"Really?!" I marvel.

"Yeah. It reminds me of a clown's face."

"Hmmm," I say and then stare at it until the plane's nose becomes a clown nose and the two windows of the cockpit become the clown's eyes. "OK. Yeah. Clown face. Got it."

We're quiet until I say, "It's funny. You can't see it in black and white, obviously. But the part that looks like a clown nose was painted a total clown-nose red.

"I believe it," she says.

Her arms are back around me.

"I have to say, I'm surprised that's your favorite. You seriously like it more than the really similar one that's in better focus?"

"Seriously. That one looks like a plane – not a clown."

"Didn't realize you have such a thing for clowns."

She laughs, gives me this tender headbutt. I expect banter along the lines of "Well, I'm lying in bed with a clown." But she must not want banter. So I retrace our conversational steps.

"I'm trying to figure out what it means that I set out to take pictures of airplanes and your favorite airplane picture makes you think of a clown."

"Don't think about it too much," she says. "The clown thing is just a tiny part of it. I'd like it without the clown thing. What I like most is that the picture looks like a mistake."

"You like it because it looks like a mistake?"

"I like it because it looks like a mistake. But mostly I like it because I don't think it's really a mistake. Of all of these, it's the one that looks most like you were pushing yourself, reaching for something. And I guess only you know if you actually reached what you were reaching for. But whatever. I like that you trusted me to look at it. I like that you trusted me to see past the blurriness."

"I almost didn't show you that one."

"And maybe that's what I mean. This is the one that stopped you. This is the one where you needed to decide what this was all about, whether you were going to show me some flawless, boring-ass pictures or whether you were going to show me you."

"What's weird to me," I say slowly, "is that I'm showing you a me that didn't exist a week ago."

"Well then maybe what you're showing me is us."

It is a flat, detached, factual statement. I try to catch my breath.

I can't.

I couldn't.

I never could.

[artificialqueens]

Just like in the movies (Vatya) - nellie

A/N: I’m sorry to everyone waiting for more of Older. I swear it’s coming, but I’ve also been writing this ridiculous 8k one shot Vatya that’s basically just an excuse to put a bunch of my favourite tropes into a story together and I kind of love it so I hope you enjoy it too.

Thank you to Aliena for being the best beta ever. Also, Katya’s ex boyfriend story is not from my imagination, I shamelessly stole it from a musician I like who talked about it onstage once.

A story that is basically Sleepless in Seattle with more lesbian sex. Violet is a fashion blogger and Katya is the weird stranger who keeps emailing her for fashion advice.

Violet sighs, closing the lid of her laptop with a click. The clock on her desk shows it’s almost 11pm, which makes it an early night by her standards. She knows she should probably keep working for another hour or two, but she’s too exhausted to focus. Nobody could ever accuse Violet Chachki of shying away from hard work. She’s proud of the way she built a successful fashion blog up from nothing, and the fact that she can now call herself a full-time blogger.

 Even so, there are some nights where she thinks she’d trade it all for a hot bath and a massage.

 Not having either option available to her, she lets herself fall face down on her bed, closing her eyes. It feels blissful for about the first five minutes before she starts feeling guilty for all the work she still has to do. These days, whenever she relaxes (or at least, whenever she tries to relax) all she can think about is how many more important things she could be doing.

She reaches out with one hand for her phone, reluctantly opening her eyes once she finds it. Ten minutes, she thinks. Just ten minutes to quickly check her work emails and then she’ll have an early night. She scrolls through all the unread messages quickly, scanning for anything vital. Nothing. About to put her phone down, one particular subject line catches her eye and she opens the email curiously, if not a little disturbed. 

To: Violet Chachki From: Katya Zamo Subject: I want to wear your skin 

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it would solve my problem. My best friend is getting married and she directed me to your blog for “fashion inspiration” because I guess “problem pattern loving bisexual Russian hooker” isn’t an appropriate look for a day wedding, or something.

Help?

K.

It isn’t the first time Violet has been emailed with a request for fashion advice, but it’s definitely the first time anyone has opened with what she can only assume is some kind of Silence of the Lambs reference. Somehow it isn’t as disconcerting as it should be, or maybe the creepiness is overshadowed by the truly alarming description of Katya’s style. Violet isn’t sure exactly what a problem pattern loving bisexual Russian hooker looks like, but she’s pretty confident the look isn’t about to take off on Paris runways any time soon.

To: Katya Zamo From: Violet Chachki Subject: You want to what? 

Hi Katya, 

Sorry, no can do. I know a lost cause when I see one. I’ve made a few posts on wedding fashion inspiration, maybe you should check them out. 

Good luck.

Violet

**

The first thing Violet does in the morning is check to see if she has a reply from Katya. 

Well. Actually, the first thing Violet does in the morning is make coffee. Then she drinks it slowly while combing through all the fashion blogs and sites she frequents daily. Then she goes back to the kitchen to get some granola, which she eats while flicking through her social media. Then she has a shower and washes off yesterday’s makeup. But then she checks her email.

To: Violet Chachki From: Katya Zamo Subject: Mother, I’m creeping out strangers again 

I went to look at your wedding inspiration. I’m sure you’d look great in it, but we’re not all 25 with a fantastic ass (although my ass is pretty fantastic). Are you sure you can’t help? Trixie’s planning some kind of Barbie fantasy wedding and if I don’t buy something soon she’ll force me into something pink and frilly. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?

What can you suggest in the way of “I’m classy, but I also live in a dumpster”? That’s really the look I want to go for. I figure it won’t be much of a stretch from my usual look, which is more “I’m sort of classy sometimes and I also live in a dumpster.”

K.

Violet laughs. Katya is weird as fuck, but at least it makes a change from the usual sycophantic fan emails she receives on a daily basis. She needs to start on the day’s content but she has time for one email. Right?

To: Katya Zamo From: Violet Chachki Subject: I have no conscience

 Katya,

 I don’t know what to tell you. Obviously you wouldn’t know fashion if it came up and slapped you in the face. Maybe you should wear a paper bag to the wedding and call it a day.

 Violet

 She gets a reply seconds later.

To: Violet Chachki From: Katya Zamo Subject:  (no subject) 

Are you always such a bitch? I like it. 

To: Katya Zamo From: Violet Chachki Subject: Re: no subject

 Yes. 

**

It doesn’t take long for Violet to notice that Katya never comments on her social media or blog posts. She’ll send Violet an email referencing something she’s done or said, but never acknowledges them directly. To someone like Violet whose entire life is more or less lived out online, it’s weird. What’s the point of making connections with people if you’re not going to do it in public?

To: Katya Zamo From: Violet Chachki Subject: Do you have Instagram? 

I’ll follow you if you don’t draw attention to it. I have standards and a reputation to maintain.

Violet

To: Violet Chachki From: Katya Zamo Subject: You can follow me anywhere, baby

 No. I use Instagram to look at photos of beautiful women and you don’t need an account for that. I don’t have Twitter either. Or Snapchat. I’m like a sexy ghost, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Oooooooh.

K.

Violet googles “Katya Zamo” but the results that come back are useless and, she hopes, definitely not the Katya she’s talking to. Obviously Zamo is some kind of shortened version of Katya’s last name, but Violet has no idea what it could be. She’s about to email Katya back to ask when she has a better idea, opening up a chat window instead. Thank god for Gmail, she thinks.

Violet: hey Katya: this is a new step in our relationship. are we going steady now?

Violet can never quite tell whether or not Katya’s flirting with her. That is, she knows Katya’s flirting with her, she just assumes Katya’s the type of person who flirts with everyone and who can therefore be safely ignored. She hasn’t let herself think about the alternative. It would be fucking embarrassing to start crushing on someone after a handful of emails, after all, and Violet has too much class to do anything that might lead to embarrassment.

Violet: give me your class ring and we’ll talk Katya: i lost it in a fire. heartbreaking story, actually Violet: i tried to google you and nothing came up. is katya zamo your real name? Katya: you were googling me? Violet: … i got curious Katya: if you do it too much you go blind Violet: fuck. off. Katya: yes, katya zamo is my real name. no, i’m not sending you nudes unless you do it first Violet: bitch, you can’t afford my nudes 

**

Violet is a professional. Lately, it feels like she’s had to remind herself of that more and more. It’s Katya’s fault, really. Every time Violet has something boring to do like create content or respond to comments she somehow finds herself chatting with Katya instead. It’s a welcome distraction, but Violet is damned if she’s going to lose sight of everything she’s worked so hard for just for a few flirtatious conversations and one oddly vivid sex dream.

Violet: are you actually russian? Katya: who wants to know? Katya: yeah. i have an accent and everything, but we moved to boston when i was 15 so it’s not very strong Violet: boston? that’s not far from me. I’m in new york Katya: i know, i’ve read your blog Violet: oh. right Katya: where are you from originally? Violet: georgia. got the fuck out of dodge as soon as i could, though. you can’t really make it in fashion if you’re not in nyc. or paris but i don’t speak french. Katya: you’d look hot in a beret. cigarette in one hand, cup of black coffee in the other Violet: i always look hot Katya: nobody’s arguing Violet: saying i’m hot just means you have working vision Katya: come to boston and i’ll show you exactly how much i appreciate your beauty

Violet’s not blushing. People hit on her every fucking day. She gets propositioned so much it’s actually fucking boring by now. It shouldn’t be any different just because the person doing the propositioning is some mysterious Russian woman Violet’s never even seen a picture of.

Should it?

**

Violet posts a candid shot to Instagram, smiling for a change. She knows she looks better with her mouth closed, so vanity usually wins out over likeability but she’s in a good mood and doesn’t think too hard about it. The likes and comment flood in but there’s one in particular that catches her eye. Looking fabulous! Love the smile. New boyfriend!?

She stares at it for a little too long, biting her lip.

Well, shit.

**

It turns out that Katya is hilarious. They’ve worked out a system, because Violet still works 12 hour days and Katya starts emailing her porn gifs if she takes too long to reply. And not the good kind of porn gifs, either. Katya has obviously scoured the depths of the internet to find the most disturbing porn she can with the sole reason of freaking Violet the fuck out. So Violet leaves the chat window open while she works and occasionally she checks in to catch up on whatever ridiculous story Katya has been telling her.

Katya: so anyway, he broke up with me Katya: and that was fine and everything because i wasn’t that into him anyway Katya: but i ended up in his city and i was bored and i figured why not text him Katya: so he asks what i’m doing and i say “i really need a nap” Katya: but i don’t notice my phone has corrected it to “i really need anal” Katya: and he just doesn’t reply Katya: BUT THEN like a year later he texts me out of the blue to go “sorry, i just got this, but i’m in boston if you wanna hang out” Katya: WHAT. THE. FUCK. Violet: i just got some new lingerie. maybe i should make “i really need anal” the theme of my next shoot instead of summer trends Katya: you are actually trying to kill me and i do not appreciate it 

**

Violet has started mentally cataloguing all the things she knows about Katya. It isn��t exactly helping her get over her (very slight, thankyouverymuch) crush, but she can’t help herself. Katya used to do gymnastics as a kid, but quit once it was clear she wasn’t going to be the next Russian superstar. She teaches yoga and is, apparently, very flexible. She’s ten years older than Violet and her longest relationship lasted five months and twelve days. She has absolutely no idea about fashion. She doesn’t like being serious, but if Violet’s still awake at 2am she suddenly starts talking about all her hopes and dreams. If Violet’s been making more of an effort to stay up late since she realized that, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

**

Katya: do you smoke? i smoke a lot. i had to quit drinking after an unfortunate bout of alcoholism so cigarettes are my substitution Violet: smoking is disgusting but i guess it’s better than drinking yourself to death Katya: i have an addictive personality Katya: it’s kind of a problem Katya: but i’m terrified of pretty much everything and addictions help me feel like i’m in control, you know? it gives me something to focus on Violet: i missed my best friend’s birthday party because i said i was too busy, but i really just didn’t want to be in a crowd. i’ve only been on seven actual dates in my life, because dates lead to relationships and relationships lead to feelings and i don’t do feelings. but i work constantly, so i don’t really have to think about any of that. i know exactly what you mean.

**

Violet’s having lunch with Pearl for the first time in months. She’s a pretty shitty friend, but for some reason Pearl has never minded that much. Violet always figured she must just have low standards.

“Happy belated birthday,” she says, handing Pearl a wrapped gift.

Pearl takes it and sets it on the table next to her drink. “Thanks. We missed you at the party.”

“I know. Sorry.” Violet really is sorry, even though she knows Pearl doesn’t actually care. She makes a mental note to be a better friend anyway. Call it an early New Year’s resolution.

Their lunch arrives – two salads, dressing on the side. Violet has corsets to fit into, and Pearl is a model with a shoot coming up. Neither of them have calories to spare and they’d both rather drink them than eat them.

“So, what the fuck is up with you?” Pearl pokes at her salad as she speaks before stuffing a large forkful in her mouth.

“What’s… what?” Violet’s confused.

Pearl swallows and tilts her head to study Violet carefully. “I’ve seen the shit you’ve been posting on Insta. You got a secret boyfriend or something?”

“No!” Violet shoots back, far too quickly. Shit. If Pearl wasn’t suspicious before she will be now. Still, Violet tries to laugh it off as best she can. “I’ve got a few new partnerships. Work’s going well, that’s all.”

“Mhm.” 

Pearl doesn’t look at all convinced and Violet inwardly curses how long they’ve known each other. Pearl has been her best friend since grade school and there’s nobody in the world who knows her better. Unfortunately, that can be both a good and bad thing and Violet is definitely leaning towards bad at this particular moment.

“It’s nothing, okay?” she says reluctantly, knowing Pearl will just keep on her case about it until she gives in. “I’ve been talking to someone, that’s all.”

 “Talking? Or talking?” Pearl says, making an obscene gesture with her hands.

Violet rolls her eyes. “I don’t even know what she looks like. We’re just emailing. Sometimes she hits on me and sometimes she tells me she’s afraid of dying. I guess we’re friends, I don’t know.”

Violet isn’t really sure how to define her relationship with Katya. It’s only been a few weeks and she doesn’t make friends too easily – although she suspects Katya is the opposite. Half their conversations are just Katya talking about what she’s been doing and who she’s been hanging out with and there are too many different names for Violet to keep them straight. There’s something inherently likeable about Katya and of course Violet isn’t the only person drawn to her.

“You don’t know,” Pearl repeats, her tone mocking. She reaches out to steal some salad from Violet’s mostly untouched plate. “You should go to Boston. It’s about time you got laid.”

Violet rolls her eyes. She can get laid any time she wants, and Pearl knows it. “You’re just jealous I won’t put out for you.”

Pearl laughs and the conversation moves on, but Violet is still thinking about Katya.

**

Violet: i have something to ask you Katya: i don’t think we should get married, but i’ll agree to a permanent engagement Violet: bitch, why wouldn’t you marry me? Katya: is that really your question Violet: no, i was going to ask if you wanted to voice chat or skype or something, but now i’m too offended Katya: sure Violet: what? Katya: sure, let’s talk 

**

Violet doesn’t know why she’s nervous.

She has no reason to be nervous. Less than no reason, really. It’s just Katya, someone she barely fucking knows at all, and sure she likes her but so what? She’s acting like a teenager with a crush and Violet outgrew that phase years ago.

Still, she can feel her heart beating a little too fast as she waits for Katya to answer.

“Hey, Violet.”

Katya’s voice isn’t what Violet was expecting. Her accent is subtle but really kind of hot and she sounds like she’s permanently smiling and about to break out into laughter at any second. Maybe she is.

“Hi.” Violet pauses for a second, biting her lip. “So, this is awkward.”

She hears Katya chuckle down the line. “Wanna have phone sex? Or, I guess, cyber phone sex.”

Violet snorts with laughter, the tension dissipating. “Maybe later.”

“I’ll wear you down one day.”

Violet swallows hard, glad Katya can’t see her face. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“It’s true, I do,” Katya says agreeably. “Some of the boys too, but they’re less fun. I saw your photos today, with the sunflowers. What the fuck was that?“

“I’m not going to defend my art to you,” Violet shoots back, her tone a mixture between offended and arrogant. She can’t tell whether she’s relieved or disappointed that Katya has changed the subject.

“I’ll have you know I’m a trained artist. I would have told you sooner, but you were too busy feeling superior.”

“You are?”

Katya never talks much about her life. She gives Violet broad strokes, but always stops short of filling in the details. Her conversations are full of funny stories and hilarious anecdotes, but never anything too personal. Violet knows about the time Katya got drunk and vomited on her ex boyfriend’s dick, but she doesn’t know if Katya went to college or whether or not she has siblings.

“Yeah. I studied performance art mostly, but I did some visual stuff too. I was in this program that was all about mixed media and creative storytelling.” Katya’s voice is animated and Violet wishes she could see her face. “It was a lot of fun, but it’s hard to make it as an artist. Yoga was meant to be a part-time gig, but I’m still here. It’s not a career, but it pays the bills. Some of them, anyway.”

“Tell me about it. Blogging isn’t exactly a stable career choice.”

“But you’re doing what you love, right? And you know exactly what you want. I don’t think you realize how rare that is.” Katya sounds almost wistful now. “You’re so young and driven and you’re fucking doing it. I know sometimes you hate it, but look at what you’re achieving. I’d kill to have half the passion you do about anything.”

Violet doesn’t know how to respond. Sometimes she forgets that not everyone can do what she does, mostly because she knows she isn’t doing anything special. Sure, she’s worked hard to get where she is but the truth is that luck has probably had more to do with it than anything else, even if that’s not something she likes to acknowledge. Luck makes it sound like she doesn’t deserve it and she knows she does. But so do all the other people who can’t make a living from what they love. People like Katya.

“Violet? You still there?”

Violet clears her throat. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Did I freak you out? I promised myself I’d stop doing that.”

“No. I’m just thinking.” She draws a deep breath, letting it out slowly, centering herself.

“Are you thinking about me naked? Cause I think about you naked all the time.”

Violet laughs, shaking her head. “How can I think about you naked? I don’t know what you look like. Which is fucking weird by the way.”

“I know.” Violet can almost hear Katya nodding. “I’ve thought a lot about this, and I want our epic but ultimately ill-fated romance to be like a 90’s romcom. I’ll meet you at the top of the Empire State Building and you’ll have to pick me out from the crowd. Maybe I’ll be carrying a single red rose so you can identify me. It’ll be super romantic, until the fighting and cheating and dramatic breakup.”

“Or we could meet in Boston.” Violet hears the words coming out of her mouth before she can stop them. Why the fuck would she say that? Shit. Katya is going to think that Violet takes her flirting seriously. Her cheeks flush as she waits for Katya to laugh at her or worse, to let her down gently.

“We could.” Katya’s voice is careful, as though she’s not sure exactly how she should react. “We don’t have an Empire State Building, but I’m sure I could come up with something. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” Violet agrees, quietly exhaling and pressing the palms of her hands against her warm cheeks.

“I mean, unless you want to meet not-hypothetically. Boston’s a great place to take photos of yourself wearing clothes and looking fashionable.”

Violet feels her heart start being faster. She’s not positive, but it sounds suspiciously like Katya is asking her out in a very roundabout way. She knows she should ignore it, but the nervous flutter in her stomach is back and she suddenly realizes that yes, she wants this. It’s spontaneous and ridiculous and not in any way Violet’s style, but she wants to meet Katya and she doesn’t care if that might be a very stupid decision.

“What about Saturday?”

Katya makes a sudden choking noise and Violet can’t hold back her grin. She’s still got it.

“Saturday’s fine. Great.” It’s the first time Katya has ever sounded off balance and Violet likes it. “I’ll show you the sights. Buy you some food. Wow you with my poor table manners.”

Violet glances down at the clock in the corner of her screen and makes a face. “Shit. I have to go. Work calls. But we’ll talk soon, okay? I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“I can’t wait.”

Violet disconnects and lets out a groan, resting her head in her hands. Fuck. She’s going on a date with some mysterious Russian stranger in a state hours away.

“There is something seriously wrong with me,” she mutters to herself as she clicks back over to her blog.

It’s going to be a long few days.

**

She ends up getting into Boston on Friday night.

It’s not that she’s impatient. It’s just that Saturday mornings are always busy for her and it doesn’t make sense to be traveling then. Even to Violet that sounds like a weak excuse, but it’s all she has so she commits to it anyway.

She knows Katya is busy teaching late-night yoga, which takes some of the pressure off. If she’s honest, Violet is a little terrified about tomorrow. She likes Katya. A lot, in fact, and she can’t see any way that won’t end in disaster.

She spends about half an hour trying to write up some content for her blog, but she can’t focus and her sentences barely make sense. She needs a distraction. Preferably one that ends in sex, but Violet isn’t too fussy.

Which is how she finds herself standing outside a strip club. It’s not the kind of place Violet would usually frequent – watching a bunch of drunk men get their rocks off isn’t exactly her idea of a good time, but half naked women dancing for her entertainment is definitely the kind of distraction she has in mind.

The club’s vibe leans towards the classier side of seedy, the kind of place where the dancers are more likely to be funding their way through college than supporting a drug problem. Violet is, of course, the only fully clothed female in the room. She can see more than a few men eyeing her curiously but she ignores them, settling herself at a table reasonably close to the stage and watching the girl dancing. She’s not too bad and she looks like she’s enjoying herself.

A few girls and more than a few drinks later, Violet’s relaxed and actually having fun. Sure, she’s not going to get laid but the girls are hot enough that she’s got a few nice visuals she can use later when she gets back to her hotel.

A new dancer appears on the stage and Violet’s heart skips a beat. She’s fucking gorgeous, all messy blonde waves and deep red lips. She sways her hips to the beat and Violet is entranced, unable to tear her eyes away. Their eyes meet suddenly and Violet registers something like shock on the other woman’s face just for a moment before it’s blinked away and replaced with a seductive smile. Of course, Violet figures, a female customer probably would be cause for surprise. The dancer keeps her eyes locked onto Violet’s as she slowly sinks into a full split and Violet’s mouth goes dry. Jesus. She’s sex on legs and fuck, Violet’s getting wet just from watching her. The blonde licks her lips and Violet presses her legs together, letting out a shaky breath.

She’s equal parts disappointed and relieved when the song ends and the woman disappears, blowing Violet a final kiss before she does.

Violet takes a slow sip of her drink, waiting to get herself under control enough to leave without drawing attention to herself. She gets to her feet and is about to head out when she feels a hand on her arm. She whirls around, expecting to see a drunk guy trying to proposition her and almost loses her footing when she looks into the eyes of the blonde dancer instead.

“I am Svetlana.” The woman – Svetlana – has a thick Russian accent. Violet instantly thinks of Katya, then regrets it.

Svetlana is looking at Violet expectantly.

“Oh, um. I’m… Pearl.”

“Pearl,” Svetlana repeats, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Would you like a private dance, Pearl? On the house. It is not often we see such a pretty face here.”

“Uh…” Violet hasn’t been to that many strip clubs, but she’s fairly sure that strippers don’t usually offer free private dances. An image of Svetlana giving her a lap dance flashes through her mind and Violet suddenly doesn’t care how weird the whole thing is. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Good.” Svetlana’s still smiling. Her teeth are almost blindingly white and just as perfect as the rest of her.

Svetlana takes Violet’s hand, leading her through the club and into a small private room. She nods towards the couch and Violet sits obediently, aware her heart is already beating a little too rapidly considering Svetlana is yet to do anything.

Violet watches as Svetlana begins to dance, moving her hips in a way that should really be fucking illegal. She swallows hard, digging her nails into the palms of her hands as the blonde sinks into another split before crawling towards her on hands and knees.

“We are not supposed to do this,” she says, voice soft. “But I think you will not mind, no?”

Violet blinks in confusion. Her mind is fuzzy and she can’t think clearly enough to understand what Svetlana means. And then suddenly there are gentle fingers trailing up her thighs and Violet groans, automatically spreading her legs. Fuck. Svetlana’s right; Violet definitely doesn’t mind. Svetlana leans forward, blowing cool air onto the already soaked fabric and Violet bites her lip hard, forcing back a moan. Svetlana licks her clit through her panties just once and Violet gives in, whimpering in a way that would be embarrassing if she wasn’t already so turned on.

“You sound so pretty.”

Violet flushes as Svetlana chuckles, hooking her fingers into the elastic of Violet’s panties and pulling them down and off. Violet closes her eyes, groaning with frustration as she feels Svetlana nip and lick her way up her inner thighs, so close to where Violet wants her, but not close enough.

“Look at me.”

Svetlana’s voice is commanding and Violet opens her eyes, biting her lip again as the Russian woman’s head disappears between her thighs. It’s fucking hot and Violet struggles to keep her hips still as Svetlana begins licking her in slow, broad strokes.

“More, fuck, please.” Violet doesn’t care how needy she sounds. Svetlana’s tongue is amazing and Violet can feel herself growing more and more desperate as Svetlana teases her. “Please.”

It feels like a lifetime before Svetlana finally gives in, her tongue working hard against Violet’s clit, making her moan. She feels Svetlana slowly work a finger inside her, curling it up suddenly and hitting just the right place. “Fuck.” Violet gasps for breath as Svetlana adds a second finger and the stimulation is too much and so fucking perfect. Svetlana sucks on Violet’s clit and she suddenly thinks of Katya, imagining her with her face buried between Violet’s thighs instead. The visual is enough to send her over the edge, her vision blurring as she comes hard with a broken moan.

Svetlana continues to work her through her orgasm before sitting back on her knees, licking her fingers in a way that seems more obscene than anything else she’s done so far. Violet’s cheeks are flushed and she knows she looks a mess as she breathes hard, heart still racing.

“This was fun.” Svetlana gets to her feet and blows Violet a kiss before exiting the room, leaving Violet shaking and exhausted.

**

When Violet gets back to her hotel room, she’s certain of two things. One, strip clubs in Boston are nothing like strip clubs in New York and two, there’s no fucking way she can meet Katya tomorrow. She’s in too deep and she’s not prepared to get her heart broken by someone who just wants a bit of fun. The flirting was one thing, but Katya is well and truly under Violet’s skin and Violet knows without a doubt she needs to shut it all down now before it goes any further.

It only takes a few minutes for Violet to block Katya’s email address. She feels a twinge of guilt, but she knows it’s for the best and anyway, Katya probably won’t even care. Violet’s sure she must have dozens of other people she flirts with on a daily basis. It’s not like Violet’s that special.

Exhausted, Violet curls up in her hotel bed. She falls asleep easily, but her sleep is restless, her dreams full of darkness.

**

Violet spends the next few days in a state of mild anxiety, waiting for Katya to find a way to contact her. She’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when nothing happens, but the fact that Katya doesn’t even try just affirms to Violet that she made the right decision. Obviously whatever they had meant nothing to Katya.

Violet’s life goes back to her old routine of all work and no fun. It’s reassuring and familiar, and she mentally chastises herself for ever getting distracted in the first place. Who needs mysterious flirtatious strangers when she has a successful blog that’s growing every day?

In the end, she can’t bring herself to post any of her Boston photos. She took enough on Saturday morning before she left, but looking at them makes her heart ache unpleasantly. It’s not important anyway. Better to pretend the whole thing never happened.

**

“What’s wrong, Vi?”

It’s been three weeks and four days since Boston – not that Violet’s been counting. She’s met up with Pearl for brunch (which, for them, is just a fancier way of saying “black coffee”) and Violet’s trying to pretend everything is fine. Obviously she’s not as good an actress as she thinks.

“Nothing, why?”

Pearl takes a sip of coffee, raising her eyebrows but not saying anything.

Violet sighs. If it’s a waiting game, she knows Pearl will win. Pearl always wins. “Things didn’t work out with that… friend.”

“The one in Boston?”

Violet feels her stomach clench at the mention of Boston, but she manages a smile. “Yeah. It’s no big deal. My ego’s just a little bruised. I mean, look at me. How could someone not want this perfection?”

There’s a momentary pause and then Pearl starts laughing, obviously satisfied with Violet’s explanation. “You wanna come out tonight? There’s a club I’ve been dying to check out and I guarantee there’ll be more than enough hot men and women who want you.”

Violet is about to say no, the way she always does when Pearl invites her out these days, but something stops her. Maybe a club is the perfect way to shake off the lingering feelings she has for Katya. She can find someone hot – someone emphatically not Russian – take them home, and fuck them so hard she can’t remember her own name, let alone anyone else’s.

“Sure.”

“What? Oh my god, I need to document this.”

Pearl looks genuinely delighted and Violet rolls her eyes as she’s pulled into a selfie that Pearl will no doubt upload to Instagram later.

“Calm down, bitch.” Violet laughs despite herself. “I love you, you know. Fucking cunt.”

“I know.” Pearl is still grinning as she looks at Violet before finishing the rest of her coffee. “I love you too.”

**

The club is crowded and the music is bad, but at least Violet looks fucking hot. Pearl tries to pull her onto the dancefloor, but Violet shakes her head. She’s way too sober for that. “I’m getting a drink.”

She pushes her way through the crowd and nears the bar, stopping dead when she sees a blonde woman who looks identical to the dancer she’d met weeks ago. Svetlana. It can’t be her, can it?

Svetlana – or whoever she is - meets her gaze, eyes narrowing. Violet’s standing beside her before she’s even aware of what she’s doing.

“Hello Pearl.”

Okay. Okay, it’s definitely her. The accent isn’t as strong anymore (although it’s somehow still familiar even if Violet can’t place it), but her eyes burn with the same intensity they did in Boston. Violet pushes aside the obvious questions about what the fuck she’s doing in New York and forces an awkward smile. “Um, hi.”

“Or should I call you Violet?”

Violet starts. She hadn’t ever told Svetlana her real name. And then suddenly it all clicks into place and Violet realizes exactly who the blonde dancer is and why her voice is so oddly familiar.

“Katya?”

Katya glowers at Violet. Violet figures she probably deserves it, but she’s angry too and she’s not backing down just because it turns out Katya is even more beautiful when she’s mad. She glares right back.

“What the fuck, Katya? Why didn’t you tell me who you were in Boston?”

Katya huffs a laugh, but she doesn’t sound amused. “I told you I was teaching yoga and then you suddenly showed up at the club. What the fuck was I meant to do? I was going to explain on Saturday, but then you didn’t show.”

“Oh.” Violet feels herself deflate. She knows she should be angrier about the whole kind of unethical sex situation, but she’s acutely aware she probably would have done the same thing if the situation was reversed, and it’s not as though she hadn’t enjoyed herself.

“We need to talk.”

Violet looks around. A club with almost deafening music and a crowd isn’t exactly the right place for a heart to heart, but then again she’s more than a little freaked out that Katya has somehow tracked her down and at least they’re in public.

“In private. Come on.” Katya grabs Violet’s wrist tightly as she speaks, and all thoughts about personal safety and sensible life choices fly out of Violet’s head.

She lets Katya hail a cab, meekly giving the driver her address when prompted. She’s still not sure what’s happening even when the apartment door is closing behind them and Katya is staring at her. It’s the first time Violet has really paid attention to Katya’s outfit and she’s horrified by the giant paisley monstrosity that Katya seems to think passes for a dress.

She figures now probably isn’t the time to critique Katya’s fashion choices.

“Um. Why are you here?” An obvious question, she thinks, but definitely pressing.

Katya shrugs. “You disappeared. I wanted answers.”

Violet snorts with laughter, unable to help herself. “Jesus, Katya. You didn’t think of setting up another email address or DMing me? There were literally hundreds of ways you could have contacted me and none of them would have been this creepy. How did you even know where I’d be?”

“I have my ways.” Katya pauses, then seems to realize that being mysterious only makes her look like more of a stalker. “I saw your friend’s Instagram and figured I’d try my luck. 

That… almost makes sense. Enough that Violet isn’t still wondering whether her phone is in reach and if she should be calling 911. “Okay. So you tracked me down. Now what? People ghost all the time, it’s not a big fucking deal. I changed my mind. Get over it.”

Katya smiles. It’s lazy and predatory and Violet instinctively steps backwards. “I didn’t come here for an apology.” She takes a slow step forward.

Violet backs away until she feels herself collide with the wall. Her mouth goes dry as Katya stalks towards her.

“What… what did you come here for?” She’s trying for detached and cool, but it’s obvious that Katya has thrown her off balance.

“I came here for this.”

Katya closes the distance between them, crushing her mouth against Violet’s. One thigh slips between Violet’s legs and she gasps into the kiss. She’s trapped between the wall and Katya’s body and she can’t think, can’t do anything except react. As Katya pulls back just slightly, Violet knows she must look a little dazed. She definitely feels it.

“Now, then.” The smile is back on Katya’s face and Violet swallows hard. “I can think of one way you might make it up to me.”

Katya pushes down on Violet’s shoulders and she sinks obediently to her knees. She’s used to being the one in control, but she’d be lying if she said Katya’s dominant side doesn’t turn her on.

Still. Even Violet has her limits. “Can you get naked first? I can’t eat you out when you’re wearing that.”

There’s a pause and then Katya is shrieking with laughter, flailing her hands in delight. “You are such a fucking bitch!” Her tone implies that ‘bitch’ is the greatest of compliments. She pulls the dress over her head and throws it to the side, somehow managing to compose herself, although she’s still looking at Violet with a slight grin.

“Thank you,” Violet says politely, which sets Katya off again.  

Violet is just beginning to relax when Katya suddenly stops laughing, her eyes narrowing. She moves back in front of Violet, hands in her hair and Violet swallows hard. Katya’s not wearing any panties – she’s obviously been planning this and the thought makes Violet bite back a moan.

Katya moves closer and Violet obediently opens her mouth, knowing this isn’t the time for teasing. There’s no question of her giving Katya what she wants. Katya’s hands push her head forward and Violet begins licking at Katya’s clit. She tries to move back enough to draw a breath, but Katya tugs her hair hard enough to make her gasp and Violet understands. This is not about her. She works Katya’s clit with her lips and tongue, pulling out every trick she has and savoring every sound she’s able to draw from her.

Katya’s hands twist in Violet’s hair and she knows she’s getting closer. It’s difficult to breathe and Violet starts to feel a little lightheaded, but she doesn’t stop, adding two fingers and fucking Katya slowly as she keeps going with the steady pressure on her clit. She uses the fingers of her free hand to scratch her nails along Katya’s inner thigh, and Katya cries out, her whole body tensing for a moment before she’s coming.

Violet licks her clean before finally leaning back, drawing in a deep breath as she wipes her mouth. “Well?”

Katya puts one finger under Violet’s chin, guiding her to her feet. Their kiss this time is less desperate but every bit as intense and Violet can’t help but moan into Katya’s mouth. She presses her hips forward, seeking friction, and Katya pulls back, looking at Violet with a smile.

“Bedroom?”

Violet nods, leading the way and trying to get naked at the same time, leaving a trail of clothes behind her like some kind of X-rated Hansel and Gretel.

“Fuck, look at you.” Katya’s eyes are dark with lust as she pushes Violet back onto the bed and hovers over her. “I’m gonna tie you up now.”

Violet wants to protest. Bondage really isn’t her thing, especially not with a relative stranger. But she can’t deny that Katya’s words make her wetter and she waits patiently on the bed as Katya finds a scarf without complaint.

“Hands above your head. A wrought iron bedframe, how convenient.”

Katya’s efficient and Violet finds her arms bound above her head before she can really think about what’s happening. She spreads her legs slowly, meeting Katya’s gaze, conveying exactly what she wants without words. She can’t hold back her moan as Katya’s thumb brushes over her clit with the perfect amount of pressure. She’s surprised Katya isn’t in the mood to tease, but she’s not about to question it as she rocks her hips, feeling herself get closer and closer. 

She’s squeezing her eyes shut and gasping for breath when Katya suddenly stops, pulling back entirely. Violet’s eyes fly open as she looks at Katya, shocked.

“What the fuck, Katya?” Her voice is embarrassingly high pitched, but she’s too turned on to care.

Katya merely smirks, settling herself between Violet’s thighs and licking once at her clit, too light to give Violet any satisfaction. “We still need to talk.”

“You want to talk now?” Violet looks at Katya in disbelief. She’d throw Katya out if she could, but her hands are too tightly bound and she’s helpless.

“Mmmm.” Katya traces gentle circles against Violet’s clit with the pad of her finger. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll ask you a question, you answer it. When I’m satisfied, you get to come. If I’m not…” she trails off, her finger pressing down hard against Violet’s clit for a second before withdrawing completely. “Deal?”

Katya is a fucking sadist and Violet is fuming, but it’s not like she has a choice, so she nods reluctantly. “Let’s just fucking get this over with.”

“Why did you change your mind in Boston?” Katya pushes a finger into Violet slowly, fucking her almost lazily.

Violet bites her lip, unable to stop herself from rocking her hips back to meet Katya. “I thought meeting you was a bad idea.”

Katya adds a second finger, her pace still torturously slow as she lightly brushes against the spot that makes Violet gasp sharply. “What did I do to make you change your mind?”

“You – oh fuck - you didn’t do anything.” Violet moans as Katya adds more pressure, fucking her harder now.

“If I didn’t do anything, why did you ghost?”

Katya’s thumb presses against Violet’s clit and Violet moans again, struggling to form words. “Fuck, Katya…”

“Uh uh.” Katya slows her pace again, leaning down to bite at the sensitive skin at the top of Violet’s thigh. “You don’t get to come until you answer me, remember?”

It’s torture. It’s worse than fucking torture and Violet groans, desperate. “I was scared, okay? I was fucking scared.” The words come out in a gasp as Katya resumes her earlier pace. “I want you so much it scares me.”

“Good girl,” Katya says softly before lowering her mouth to Violet’s clit, clever tongue replacing her thumb.

Violet almost cries with relief as Katya stops teasing her. She feels her orgasm building and lets go, giving into the sensation. Katya moans around her and it’s enough to take Violet over the edge, coming hard enough she sees stars.

**

When she comes back down to earth, she realizes Katya has untied her wrists and is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. Violet feels naked in a way she doesn’t usually, regardless of how few clothes she’s wearing and she knows she’s blushing.

Katya crawls up the bed and pulls Violet close. Violet gratefully hides her face against Katya’s shoulder, closing her eyes as Katya begins to stroke her hair.

“Do you think you’re the only one who’s scared?” Katya’s voice is soft, but there’s a tinge of sadness to her words.

“What? Why would you be scared?” Violet pulls back enough to look at Katya’s face, trying to gauge the sincerity in her words.

Katya laughs, as though Violet’s said something utterly ridiculous. “Are you serious? I’m a fucking stripper and part time yoga teacher with crippling anxiety and bad fashion sense. You look like a supermodel, you’re a judgmental cunt and you’re more driven than I’ve ever been in my life. You’re completely out of my league.”

“Oh.” Violet lets Katya’s words sink in, feeling stupid. It hadn’t occurred to her that maybe Katya might be as scared as she is. “You’re not… I mean. I’m sorry. I was selfish. I should have talked to you.”

“Yeah, you should have. But you’re hot, so I’ll let it slide this once.”

Katya grins, and Violet can’t help but grin back. She stretches up to capture Katya’s mouth in a soft, sweet kiss, the two of them still smiling against each other’s lips.

“I’m glad you stalked me.”

Katya laughs, pulling Violet a little closer to her. “Well. You ruined my Empire State Building idea, so I had to find some other way to romcom the shit out of you. You’re welcome.”

Violet rolls her eyes, which only makes Katya laugh harder.

“You’re the worst,” Violet grumbles, disentangling herself from Katya. “Don’t go anywhere.”

She leaves Katya in the bedroom, grabbing her phone and shooting Pearl off a quick apology text.

Had to go, sorry, I’ll explain tomorrow xxx

She turns out the lights as she heads back to the bedroom to find Katya still waiting for her. She switches off the bedroom light and crawls back into bed, easily fitting her body against Katya’s and presses a soft kiss against her shoulder.

She’s still not sure what the two of them are, but she feels confident that whatever it is, they’ll figure it out sooner or later.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, realizing there’s one thing she still desperately wants to know. “What’s your name? Your full name, I mean.”

“Really? Now, Violet?” Katya’s voice is full of disbelief. “It’s Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova. I go by Katya for obvious reasons. Now shut up. I need my beauty sleep.”

Violet bites back a retort, too warm and comfortable to give in to her natural bitch tendencies.

It’s just possible that certain distractions might not be so bad, after all.

[islandwanderlust-blog]

#2

Scams scams scams!

Just in the latest news on my “trying to get the fuck out of Dodge” .... As a quick warning, the VI Department of Labor isn’t without its bullshit scams and fake job opportunities.  So please be weary.  

Received a text (yes, a phone text) concerning a job.  They stated they saw my resume posted on the VI Department of Labor website and thought I was a great fit. The lady stated she was from the company “Eastman Chemicals”, gave her name, said the job was an admin/data entry position paying $30.75/hour, full employee with benefits, not contract.

I laughed at first.  When does data entry pay that much?!?! I searched her name on LinkedIn and surprisingly it came up, along with working at Eastman.   .... OK She then said to message this gentleman on Google Hangouts, so they could conduct an online interview. .... OK I messaged him.  I also looked him up on LinkedIn, too, and his name came up and matched.  He told me about the company, asked me questions, then verified my name/email/address and said to message him the next day and wait for an email from the HR department so they could look over everything and possibly send me new hire paperwork.   .... OK

Too many red flags.  Google Hangouts?  Hm, no.  I also looked up the Eastman email format and everything they gave me either ended in the wrong @ or they were gmail accounts made to look professional.  A quick Google search also indicated that the Eastman interviewing process is quite lengthy, as its a HUGE company.  I even asked the “interviewer” why the email addresses were completely different and he stated for privacy reasons until the person is actually hired.  Which was a lie as you can easily do a search and find all the Eastman employees company emails online.  So whats with the “privacy”?  LOL

So, following instructions, I messaged the gentleman at the time he specified and I did receive the email.  It was two forms to sign and send back to them.  One, a privacy statement, and another accepting the position.   Both looked incredibly legit, I won’t lie.  But there were red flags I noticed, such as different sized fonts, large spaces between paragraphs that were uneven, lack of important personal details like my address, etc.  However aside from that, they made everything look realistic.

I was “assigned” an online supervisor and was to message him at, yet another, made up supervisor gmail address on Hangouts.  He was straight and to the point, obviously cut and pasting instructions and was seemingly rude.  I said I would look over the forms and email them back ASAP.

All of this left a bad taste in my mouth.  Too many signs of being a scam, no real personal interview, and all in all, too much bullshit.

In order to find out for myself, I basically just emailed the company.  I sent them a message on their website and mentioned the ladies name who supposedly text me and then the gentleman who supposedly interviewed me.    The lady actually called me and left me a voicemail.   Remember - she was the one who “text” me about the job.  She said that she did not contact me about a job, that the gentleman was not the one who interviewed me and that they do not do any interviews online, especially in Google Hangouts.  

*BOOM*

I know the ending of this whole job scam would have been them sending me a W2 form, saying to please fill this out and send it back and .... low and behold.... some twats in another country have my social security number!

Part of me wants to fill shit out, or at least fake it, and see how far they go. The rude “supervisor” stated something about meeting in order to go through training.  Um... meeting?  Wha??

Anyways.

Just a lesson learned. Scammers will take shit insanely far in order to get your information.

.................................. but in better news

One of the places who contacted me earlier last week finally emailed back and wants to do a phone interview this weekend.

Fuck yes.

And a best friend might make the trek with me in a couple weeks to check it all out. 

Fingers crossed!

[whovian-of-rassilon]

AAAAAHHHHHHH

ahahaha so FUNNY FUCKING STORY. So I'm going to a new school next year and I found this small little scholarship that's being offered there, it's not make or break tuition or anything, but it would be useful all the same. So ALL I HAD TO DO was write two essays, email them in with my contact info, and wait to see if they would interview me. An excessively simple task, (besides actually writing the essays) especially for someone who has been working with Gmail and Google Docs in school for years. I am perfectly aware that sharing permissions are a bitch, and that any and all contests tell you FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T TURN YOUR ESSAY IN WITH GOOGLE DOCS. I use only use Google Docs because I do a lot of my work at libraries and on a lot of borrowed devices. There was no specification in the online submission that you couldn't use Google Docs, but I thought it would be much safer to convert it into a Word file. Of course, I handed this essay in late in the evening at my last fucking opportunity, because that's just how I roll. I did not expect an email back until Monday, so I promptly fucked off and rededicated my stress towards something else I needed to freak out about. I check my email, at nearly midnight on the final day of submission. Yes. Yes, I did not send the Word converted document. I sent to Google Doc. Which the judge could not access. So he sent me an email, almost three hours ago, when a normal fucking person would check their email before sleeping since they weren't nocturnal. This was not the problem. As I drafted my desperate apology email, I noticed that the email was not addressed to me by name. No. It was addressed to "Anabel". That is not my name, nor the name on the provided contact info. See dear followers, my email was set up for me by my father when I was about ten years old, and is simply my first name, my last name, and @gmail.com. I never felt the need to change it, because all of my accounts were set up under it throughout my life and it was fairly simple and workable. Anything that I needed to discuss with teachers was handled through my private school's closed system accounts, where I could only email teachers and classmates. The problem with this, however, is that although I have always liked the idea of being a writer, ten-year-old me knew firmly that I was a Writer. And to be a Writer, you need a Pen Name (This is what Andrew Clements does to children). Now, to a ten-year-old, the point of a pen name is so that people know you are using a Pen Name. In my ten-year-old opinion, this was what made you a PROFESSIONAL. So ten-year-old me, being oh so clever, hacked into the settings on my account and changed the name my father had put in (my actual, legal one) and changed it to Anabel Storm. I thought I was very clever about this, and that when ten-year-old me wrote my professional-grade novel, I could send this in to publishers and they would never know that the novel was written by a ten-year-old, because editors get half-finished stories about penguins learning magic all the time. All of this, NEVERMIND the fact that my email address was LITERALLY MY ENTIRE ACTUAL NAME. When I was no longer ten and a Writer, I used either my school email to talk to teachers or a dummy email to sign up for things I didn't want my parents to ask about. When I needed to hand in this essay, I couldn't use my school one, because it had been deactivated as I no longer went to that school. I also couldn't use my dummy one, because that was listed under the name "Cabbage". So now, not only did I have to scrape and bow to the judge about my screwed up formatting, I had to explain to him that what I listed as my name was... not actually my name. I do not know how to tell an actual adult I am asking for money based on my work ethic that my name was listed wrong on the email because it was my Pen Name from when I was ten, and I never noticed. Silver lining: I do not think I have to waste time prepping for an interview.

[valoniel]

85 Things Meme

tagged by @macavitykitsune​

THE LAST

Beverage: Tequila

Phone call: A guy named Eddie who is crushing madly on me.

Text message: My kid (aka Chibi)

Song you listened to: Zero for Conduct, by Bastarz.

Time you cried: Thursday night.

Time you dated someone twice: Um...the Spousal Unit? Unless you count the boys on the side, but I don’t. 

Time you kissed someone and regretted it: I seriously can’t even remember his name.

Time you’ve been cheated on: 2005

Time you lost someone special: 2016

Time you were depressed: Pretty much right now, though I’m fending it off pretty well.

Time you got drunk and thrown up: I can’t remember.

3 FAVOURITE COLOURS

12. Royal blue 13. Black 14. Deep purple.

IN THE LAST YEAR, HAVE YOU

15. Made new friends: Yes 16. Fallen out of love: Not a damn chance. 17. Laughed until you cried: Too many times. I have fucking hilarious friends.(ditto) 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yes? 19. Met someone who changed you: No 20. Found out who your friends are: I don’t do that whole thing. Different people can handle different things, so they’re around for different things. If you want to talk willfully batshit family, though... 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: 2015

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life?: Almost all of them, and I’m not sure how many that is. 40-ish? 23. Do you have any pets?: Two amusingly weird cockatiels and the aforementioned Eddie. 24. Do you want to change your name?: Not even a little bit. I could do without the singing when people find out about it, though. 25. What did you do for your last birthday?: I went out for sushi with the Spousal Unit, the Chibi, and some friends and it was pretty damn fantastic. 26. What time did you wake up?: first time 6:10 am, second time noonish. 27. What were you doing at midnight last night?: RPing Saiyuki fanfic with the Spousal Unit. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Until this month, I would have said MORE SAIYUKI. Since Saiyuki’s currently airing, I guess it’s….ANOTHER SEASON OF SAIYUKI.(concur) 29. When was the last time you saw your mom?: About a month ago. 30. One thing you wish you could change about your life?: I wish we lived closer to my brother and his ex (who is his best friend, and also one of mine). 31. What are you listening to right now?: The sound of the fan labouring uselessly. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom?: Yes? WTF? 33. Something that is getting on your nerves?: ANTI-VAXXERS AND PEOPLE WHO THINK ANCIENT ALIENS IS A FREAKING DOCUMENTARY. 34. Most visited website?: Gmail is on pretty constantly. Otherwise, it’s probably Dragonvale guides. 35. Hair colour: Dark purple, with a tiny grey-lo 36. Long or short hair?: Super short. 37. Do you have a crush on someone?: I crush on people pretty much constantly. I’ve got a few particulars, but I’m not telling :P 38. What do you like about yourself?: I’m way smarter than I’ve been giving myself credit for my whole life. I’m fierce and I try to behave kindly. Left to my own devices, I’m pretty much chaotic neutral, though. 39. Piercings?: three in the ears, and one in the nose. (planning the eyebrow soon, though) 40. Blood type?: A- 41. Nickname?: HAHAHAHAHA I’m not telling that. The Spousal Unit calls me General, though. 42. Relationship status?: Married. So very married. 43. Zodiac?: Gemini 44. Pronouns?: She/her, but I defnitely have my dude days. 45. Favourite TV show?: Saiyuki, K, Yu Yu Hakusho, Noragami, Sense8, Stranger Things, Gangsta, etc etc… 46. Tattoos?: Five (soon to be six, woo!) 47. Right or left handed?: Left. Some things I can only do with the right, but I’m not sure that counts.

48. Surgery?: Tonsils, gall bladder, appendix, exploratory laparoscopy...I’m running out of expendable organs.

50. Sport?: LOL heck off. 51. Vacation?: Canada, India 52. Pair of trainers?: I have one.

MORE GENERAL

53. Eating?: Lemon (bc tequila, see) 54. Drinking?: Tequila 55. I’m about to: play my turn on the RP 56. Waiting for?: The beginning of the term, so that the end of the term. 57. Want kids?: I made one already, and it’s almost an adult.  58. Get married?: done that twice. 59. Career?: Probably adult education.

WHICH IS BETTER

60. Hugs or kisses?: Hugs 61. Lips or eyes?: lips 62. Shorter or taller?: taller 63. Older or younger?: No preference 64. Nice arms or nice stomach?: have to admit I have  thing for a nice belly. Also for nice arms, though, so... 65. Hookup or relationship?: Both! 66. Troublemaker or hesitant?: I’d like to think I’m a troublemaker, but I’m really not.

HAVE YOU EVER

67. Kissed a stranger?: Yes. 68. Drank hard liquor?: Yes. 69. Lost glasses/contact lenses?: Do sunglasses count? 70. Turned someone down?: Hell yeah. 71. Sex on the first date?: Hell yeah. 72. Broken someone’s heart?: Definitely. 73. Had your heart broken?: I thought so at the time. 74. Been arrested?: Twice 75. Cried when someone died?: Yes. 76. Fallen for a friend?: Yep. Still together :)

DO YOU BELIEVE IN

77. Yourself?: Not really 78. Miracles?: Nope. 79. Love at first sight?: I believe it’s spelled “lust”. 80. Santa Claus?: Lol, no 81. Kiss on the first date?: It would seem to be anti-reality to ‘not believe’ in this. I mean...people do it. I might as well not believe in the dining room table. 82. Angels?: Nope. 83. Heaven?: Nope.

OTHER

84. Eye colour?: Grey-blue 85. Favourite movie?: Deceiver, Pontypool, Fifth Element, Brother Bear, Pacific Rim, Howl’s Moving Castle....we could literally be here for weeks, naming movies too numerous to enumerate.

[thing1ewot-blog]

Moonrider – Forum Troll / Fail Spy

Well, folks, here we go with our first troll of the new year. And the winner is:

MOONRIDER!

Congratulations, Moonrider. Now take a bow…and while you’re down there, kiss our ass you ugly, bearded, fat fuck. (No, the shave didn’t help you man. You looked better with that ugly-assed mug covered up…but we’ll get to that in just a few moments.

Now, our history with Moonrider goes back to when this site was first getting set up. I was, at the time, only a passive part of what was going on. Gomez was trying like hell to set up a forum for the site at the time and was just getting his ass handed to him by a bunch of fucking Wotlabs trolls that were spamming it non-fucking-stop.

And it was Moonrider who kept saying over and over again that he was blocked and couldn’t register his name and that Gomez had banned his ass.

Of course, none of that shit was true.

They even set up an account in his name FOR him and he made some other stupid shit accusations against them and I think at that point they just said, “fuck it” and moved on.

Moonrider has always been an asshole. He never has anything good to say about anybody or anything other than himself, which is funny since the ugly fuck doesn’t have a whole shitload going for him. But I digress…

Here’s the type of asshole Moonrider is – he’ll post this in a response to somebody:

But when somebody else does essentially the same exact thing, he posts this:

In other words, Moonrider is allowed to use images in response because he has no fucking brains or vocabulary, but if anybody else does it then they’re a fucking idiot that needs to go back to school.

That’s Moodrider. That’s how he rolls.

So here’s the next question, who is this prick?

Well, you guessed it, we’re going to tell you. Moonrider’s name is Jesse Woodson. Ahhh fuck it…here you go:

Jesse H. Woodson 22109 Countryside Ln Lignum, VA 22726 Facebook MySpace (YES!!! He has a fucking MySpace Page!!!)

We’ll pause for you long enough to stop laughing and clean up the shit you just spewed out of your mouth all over the fucking monitor.

So here he is in all his glory, folks:

Yep.

Ugly.

And fat.

Just like almost all of them. It’s so fucking predictable it’s almost disappointing, isn’t it?

So, that’s it then. That’s him. Typical fucking World of Tanks, ugly, fatass troll.

UPDATE 1/6/18:

So Leftist brought to our attention the fact that Jesse made a bit of an ass of himself over at the Wotlabs forum when they changed the colors of the WN8 scale back in 2014. Apparently, he cried like a little bitch over it, then got essentially neg repped / shamed off the board completely.

That lasted about two weeks before he crept back saying his wife had died of cancer and he was burying her that Wednesday.

WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK?!?!

His wife has cancer and is dying so he’s worried about and bitching about colors on stats in a free-to-play pixel tank game?

HO LEE SHIT!!!

How do we know this? Well, let’s look at a few things:

Here’s his Facebook page where he announced he was engaged to a lady named Erin Beach. That’s in 2013 as stated.

So a year later, he’s crying like a bitch over stats, gets neg repped and shamed to death, vanishes, then comes back announcing she’s dead of cancer:

You know, that would be very sad but for one small little detail.

Here she is just this past October:

Pretty damn nice looking…especially for an alleged corpse.

And we have her Facebook page which we’re not going to post, but it’s also alive and well. She’s a girl after God’s own heart. She’s going back to school to get her degree and working her ass off at two jobs to take care of her family while shit-for-brains Jesse plays fucking eye-spy and pixel tank games.

Nice going, dipshit. You pissed away a woman most guys dream of finding over a fucking free-to-play pixel tank game.

So where does the “spy” thing come in? Well, this is where it gets dicey. This is either a complete, total, epic fail on his part or the most staggering set of circumstances to occur since John Wilkes Booth leaped down to the stage with a smoking gun in hand after he didn’t shoot President Lincoln.

Oh wait…

Anywho, so I get this mysterious email. Here it is in it’s entirely:

Guys,

I often disagree with your approach. And I think your political commentary is shoddy and takes away from your purpose. But with those digs I just wanted to tell you:

Rita published this crap about a skin in the console game and didn’t contact anyone for statements, didn’t realize that WG can take anything they want that users post to the forums etc. My point is, it was shoddy journalism.

While I don’t agree with your editorial slant, you guys do great investigative work. Undeniable. And the quality of your work is a sharp contrast in comparison to the gossip column Status Report has become.

I check the site out. I have a different view. In the end you have a right to your approach and you do some great work.

I do PR work in DC. You fact check better than a lot of major networks and papers. In a time where journalism has really devolved to printing gossip, you guys have some respectable principles. Diversity of opinion is great when the opposing side has command of the facts. It’s why I keep reading your stuff.

You can print this if you want. I sent this privately simply because it is partially critical. Please don’t use my name or phone if you do.

I am a crappy 50% player in the game who struggles passed tier 8, by the way.

Christopher Alexander 202.779.8387

I responded back cordially:

We never expected for everybody to agree with us. Hell, that’s not even REMOTLEY possible.

We were just sick to death of never having a voice. Of the Wargaming power clans who are also the moderators deleting anything and everything that shows who they really are and what they’re really all about while putting their own bullshit narrative into place by nothing but pure censorship.

If we get it wrong, it’s not because we just fucking made it up. We’re simply telling it how we see it with the information we actually hunt down and find.

Thanks for the letter. No offense is taken. We’re not above criticism (god knows we’ve gone ’round and ’round with Scorpiany on more than one occasion), but criticize us. Don’t come on our site trying to troll us with your bullshit like they do on the official forum. You’ll notice that Scorpiany still hangs around.

Thanks for the letter. Believe it or not, we’re getting more and more just like it almost daily now.

Regards,

Thing 1

So then, VERY quickly, he comes back with this:

Well… The fact that a dude named Thing 1 could bets his beat better than half the DC press corps (on either side of political spectrum) pretty awesome.

You guys have your thing, and I get it. But I’d love to see you guys sit down with Wargaming and do an interview. You’d need to be softer in your tone and that may not work with your intent, but that would be something.

While I am not as negative about them in general, there media relations are poor, and I doubt they would do it.

Funny, Chieftan and I were in adjacent units in Iraq (I was a Scout) and a few years ago I was in a match and chatted with him. When I explained what I do now he encouraged me to apply for as their PR head.

That would have been a tough job.

So they invest in the new tech. Does this mean they stop being accountants now and spend money to enhance the game? Or will they be more arrogant and double down with the attitude that the graphics fixes everything so stop complaining about your tier 8 you bought perpetually being feasted on by tier 10s.

Guess we’ll know soon.

So, instantly, I’m like:

So what WAS an apparently innocent email now turns into “I know the Chieftain” and “you should sit down with Wargaming”.

SAY FUCKING WHAT?

So, I make a couple of calls and go into investigation mode.

The guys email address is: christopher.alexander.dk@gmail.com

Why would DK, a multinational fucking publishing/media company, use fucking Gmail? Well, folks, they wouldn’t. I made a phone call and it turns out not only does DK NOT use Gmail, they have never heard of anybody named Christopher Alexander and are sure that he and his message are a complete fraud as far as they are concerned.

OK. Cool. So who is he then?

Probably best to run the phone number he provided. So I make another call and get that done. I also open the source on the email itself and find the final IP address of the original sender:

That, folks, is the IP of the cell phone that sent the email.

It’s an unregistered, pre-paid cell phone. Oh how convenient, eh? But we do know where it was used last. It was last registered bouncing off a tower in close proximity to Jesse’s house.

Well, let’s look at a few pictures to help you all visualize this better. Here is Jesse’s house:

Now, if you zoom out from that, you’ll see where the cell phone last registered:

Folks, that is one hell of a coincidence, is it not?

But then the question arises, why would he go to all the trouble? Well, we have a theory on that. You see, we think he thinks that he’s smart. He wanted to see what we would do, and if one of us would call the unlisted, pre-paid cell so they could fuck with us or something.

I don’t really know.

But I do know this: Moonrider came to this site earlier to see if we had published anything. First time he’s ever been here, folks. Today. Right after all this shit went down, he shows up.

Now folks, any ONE of these things in and of itself means nothing.

But ALL OF IT?! What the fuck are the odds?

Less than zero, folks.

[2boldlyqueer]

LAST

Drink: water

Phone call: my grandma

Text message: my boss

Song you listened to: silver linings by rilo kiley

Time you cried: thursday night was the first time in a while, although there were no tears. a song reminded me of my life in such a poignant way i cried in the car driving home.

HAVE YOU

Dated someone twice: yep

Kissed someone and regretted it: lol yeah

Been cheated on: nah

Lost someone special: not to death, but I’ve lost contact with many people

Been depressed: the better question is have i ever not been depressed??? because i don’t think i have ever not been.

Gotten drunk and thrown up: yeup

Made new friends: kind of, recently

Fallen out of love: yeah?

Laughed until you cried: not fun on but close

Found out someone was talking about you: maybe? can’t remember

Met someone who changed you: ofc

Found out who your friends are: mhm

Kissed someone from your Facebook list: everyone that i’ve dated, but the ex that blocked me and the ex that refuses to friend anyone he knows. most of the people i’ve kissed.

Kissed a stranger: probably 4 or 5 times at this point? at pride. :D

Drank hard liquor: i love hard liquor.

Lost glasses/contact lenses: yes, also i’ve had them turn up really weird places, and also my dog ate a pair of my glasses once

Turned someone down: on tindr hell yeah, irl probably

Sex on the first date: i’ve hooked up with strangers from tindr the first time we see each other

Broken someone’s heart: yeah

Had your heart broken: yeup

Been arrested: yeh :(

Cried when someone died: ye?

Fallen for a friend: always

Kissed on the first date: mhm

GENERAL

List 3 favorite colors: red, black, cobalt

How many Facebook friends do you know in real life: most of them

Do you have any pets: 2 doggos

Do you want to change your name: I;m in the process of changing mine legally to tony rn!

What time did you wake up: 10:30

What were you watching at midnight last night: myself packing, mostly.

Name something you can’t wait for: me to finish unpacking

When was the last time you saw your mom in person: yesterday

What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: i wish i didn’t have health problems

What are you listening to right now: at this exact moment, silence. i was watching whose line before i got the notif about @hystehrichal​ tagging me

Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: i think so

Something that is getting on your nerves right now: classes

Most visited websites: tumblr, youtube, facebook, my drive, gmail, google drive, blackboard, and google calendar

Mole/s: I had one surgically removed on my back and now there’s a discolored crater where there used to be a GIANT mole. i also have two skin colored lumps on my head (either colorless moles or small cysts), and a variety of moles/freckles across my body.

Mark/s: scars i’m not going to talk about today. also a small piece of wood in my right palm from 10 years ago

Childhood dream: believe it or not at one point i actually wanted to be a major league softball player. also, astronomer, singer, actor, artist.

Do you have a crush on someone: lol

What do you like about yourself: I’m also a decent musician

Piercings: i have 2 i think? i used to have 7. been thinking of reopening my cartilage , or at least one of them.

Nickname: uh doc calls me his iron avenger on tumblr. no-ny is also a thing, and god of munchies.

Relationship status: ldr w/my bf, and two fuck buddies

Zodiac: cap

Pronouns: zie/zir or they/them

TV show: star trek, dark matter, almost human; i enjoyed watch ascension recently but it wasn’t good lol

Tattoos: I have 4 tattoos! my first is a small semicolon on the inside of my left foot. 

my second says “type 1 diabetic” in black script with a grey border hugging it and the loops is the e, d, a, and e are all light blue; on my left forearm facing out so other people can read it.

my third was inspired by @therealjacksepticeye​ - it’s his handwriting that says “be more positive”; on the inside of my left arm facing in so i can read it

and my most recent tattoo is of a shield with a ribbon wrapping around it that says “my body my choice”

Right or left hand: right

Surgery: wisdom teeth, knee arthroscopy

Hair dyed in different color: i literally have rainbow hair rn

Sport: softball for many years, tennis a little, quidditch very intensely but not for long.

Vacation: pls

Pair of trainers: converse, combat boots, SWB sandals in the summer and boots in the winter 

Current and all-time best friend: ~depends on the definition of best friend. /ducks question

Eye color: grey-blue

Favorite movie: star trek beyond was lit, 2012 avengers was lit, wonder woman was lit, spiderman homecoming was LIT

WHICH IS BETTER?

Hugs or kisses: yes.

Lips or eyes: eyes

Shorter or taller: generally i am attracted to people who are taller than me when they identify in the masculine range, and people shorter than me who identify in the feminine range. there are definitely exceptions to this rule and i also don’t really discriminate anyone based on size, but i’ve just noticed that as a trend

Nice arms or stomach: arms

Sensitive or loud: i’d love an ambivert like me, who likes to spend most of the time at home chilling but also really knows how to enjoy a party/bar

Hook up or relationship: both 

Troublemaker or hesitant: smart.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN

Yourself: no

Miracles: no

Love at first sight: no

Santa Claus: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

if you want to fill this out go for it

[veneficus-rex]

Teen Were-Furry

This is an older story of mine on FA, you can find the sequel on there too now!

http://www.furaffinity.net/user/veneficus-rex/

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Matt dribbled the basketball back and forth between his hands, deftly dodging the opposing players on the team. He smiled as a young freshman swiped at his legs, and just as the kid’s hands passed by the ball, Matt pushed it, bouncing it across the waxed court and passing it into the hands of Ross, his teammate and best friend. Matt wasted no time as the other teams offense moved to swarm Ross, and he ran across the court, holding his arms up for another pass from Ross. Ross faked out a player, and passed the ball back to Matt.

Time was almost up for the game, and Matt’s team was tied with North Canyon High, their rivals and practically only competition. Matt prayed quietly to himself and took a jump shot for the win. Everything seemed to slow down as Matt watched the ball, the timer slowly counted down, five seconds, four, three.... and just as the timer reached one, his ball hit the back board and fell into the hoop, breaking the tie.

Matt couldn’t even hear the buzzer over the cheers, nearly every person in the gymnasium stood up, either to cheer in victory, or to yell in frustration. Matt grinned ear to ear. It was great to be the star player on his school’s basketball team. The young blonde senior jumped and fist pumped the air as his teammates crowded around him. “Fuck yeah!” Ross cheered, and the others joined in with their own curses of joy.

“You did great tonight son!” his dad laughed on the way home, beaming with pride at his son. “Your father’s right hun, you were fabulous! If you don’t get a scholarship no one will!” His mom beamed happily. Matt nodded politely, “Awww thanks guys...” he said, staring at the window. As happy as he was, Matt was also a bit depressed.

Matt’s life was perfect, well as perfect as can be in high school. He was drop dead gorgeous 18 year old, with a body of a pro athlete, a perfect smile, and perfect skin, and was beloved and envied by all the girls and guys respectively. Not only was Matt handsome, like the poster child for the all american boy, but he was athletic as well, and excelled in every sport. Unlike most jocks however he wasn’t a dumb stereotype, and Matt excelled at his courses. For all anyone at the school was concerned, Matt was perfect.

Matt did have one secret, actually two. First was his homosexuality. Matt knew it wasn’t wrong, and he knew everyone would support him, but he was keenly aware about the reality of the world, and he doubted he would remain as popular or get scholarships if people knew.

Secondly, the source of Matt’s depression, and an even bigger secret than his sexuality, was his fetish. It started few years ago when he got aroused watching a a cartoon with anthropomorphic animals. He slowly realized he had a “furry fetish”, though he would never consider himself a Furry. Sure he had a fursona, and sure he browsed a few sites, but he rejected the term furry. He didn't want to be one, and he certainly didn't want to be seen as some deviant furfag While he was sure everyone would be at least supportive of his sexuality, he doubted anyone would be supportive of his other life.

Matt buried his desires as best he could, but still occasionally he couldn’t help himself, and he would get onto Furaffinity and browse. He hadn’t yet made really any fur friends, but he had a fursona, and commissioned a reference page. It was a blue and white Wusky. A wolf husky hybrid, with spikey light blue hair, a Wusky he named Frost, which he admitted wasn’t very original. It made his day to see some people ‘favorite’ his reference sheet when it was posted.

Despite his fursona, Matt was still deeply ashamed of himself, and would leave FA for weeks at a time to just try to turn his back on the whole furry scene. Unfortunately no matter what he did he found himself back, “pawing off” to a picture or two of hot sexy canine guys fucking and yiffing each other’s lights out.

Tonight marked three months since his last log in. The longest Matt had ever gone without going back. Despite very much wanting to, Matt was determined not to log on, even to celebrate his win.

Matt did his best to play happy as he and his parents got home, but excused himself to his room, “Sorry mom and dad, I just am tired and need be sure I have all my work done.” His parents nodded and understood, but his mom still demanded that she be allowed to give him a victory cheek kiss. “I am so proud of you hun!”

Back in his room Matt logged into his computer, “Finally some alone time!” he muttered, thinking of the hours and hours he spent this week hanging with friends or his parents. He clicked on his browser and went to the address bar. Right at the top was Furaffinity, and Matt hesitated, “Damn I really want to....” But he knew he couldn’t. Instead Matt clicked on his gmail, and went to the inbox.

As usual it mostly contained spam from various colleges and video game sites he visited. One stuck out however, in its heading was simply the word “Frost”. ‘It couldn't be? could it’ he wondered, he had never told anyone his furry secret, and he made sure that he used an alternate email with his Furaffinity account, there was no way...

His heart beat rapidly in his chest and for a moment Matt could have sworn he was going to vomit. Shaking, he moved his cursor over the email and opened it.

“Hello Frost, or should I say Matt, congratulations on your win tonight, it was very impressive.

Yes I know your secret, but don’t worry I won’t tell, this is just a warning...Be true to yourself and admit what you are... accept that you really are just a furfag, not just to yourself, but to the world at large.

If you don't there could be dire consequences, the furry truth always has a way of coming out on the full moon.”

That was it. “What the fuck does that mean?” he whispered to himself, wondering what the hell he just read. He knew he had a furry fetish, but he certainly wasn't a furfag, and how could this person know his secret. Moving his cursor back over the email, he read the sender, “furfag69@furmail.net”, ‘Is this guy serious?’ Matt thought to himself. He shook his head, it had to be a prank, at worst an empty threat. After all, there was no proof he was a furry, and even if someone started a rumor there was no way people would believe it. Then Matt worried about what the guy meant by “the truth always has a way of coming out on the full moon.” The full moon was tomorrow night, ‘was it a deadline of some sort?’ he thought anxiously, hell of a thing to give a guy less than 24 hours to openly admit something like this.

Shaking his head Matt turned off his computer and tried to forget about the email. He tossed himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. ‘Fuck, there is no way its real..’ he told himself mentally, ‘just relax, tomorrow will be great, I’ll be a hero because of the game!’ he said smiling. Slowly he fell asleep, though his rest was fitful. As he slept he kept waking up to hard ons and thoughts about the email. He just couldn't let it go, how could someone know?

———————————————————————————————————————

The morning came, and waking up for the fourth time, Matt groaned. He already had an aching case of morning wood. Biting his lip and checking the time on his phone, he thought ‘maybe just a quicky.’

Slowly Matt ran his hand down to his hard cock, and massaged it gently with a squeeze, ‘Fuck I am already so hard!’ he thought feeling the throbbing nine inch member in his hand. Slowly but surely he massaged his shaft, quickening the tempo as he formed mental images in his mind.

He thought of Channing Tatum, one of the few celebrities he always got hot for. He imagined the actor’s hard pecs, his dripping cock. Matt panted as he stroked imagining Channing Tatum’s mouth on his.

Slowly though his mental image began to change. Matt tried to fight it, but that only made it come more. Slowly the actor’s body shifted, growing thick fur, his nose turning black and wet. Matt struggled to continue thinking of the actor as human, but the more he tried the more wolf like Channing became. Soon Matt was stroking to an anthro wolf, a muscular handsome wolf... so masculine and rough.

Matt was panting with an occasional moan as he masturbated, no longer caring about masturbating to a furry wolf. Slowly he began to reach climax when he heard his door start to open. “Matt, time to get up!” his mom said cheerfully as she walked into the room. Fortunately Matt heard her just in time and closed his eyes, he pretended to wake up with a yawn, holding his throbbing cock down with one hand as he blushed. “Yahhhhh morning mom...” he moaned sleepily.

“Come on get up son, take a shower and get dressed, you may have won the game but you still have to go to class...” she said picking up his dirty clothes and walking downstairs, thankfully not seeing anything.

———————————————————————————————————————

After a quick shower to cool himself off and get rid of the BO he built up from the night before, Matt dressed quickly and ran down stairs to grab a bit of breakfast before school. He smiled to see his mom had just poured a bowl of cereal for him. “Hey thanks mom!” he said sitting down and digging in. His stomach growled and he wasted no time in eating.

Matt itched his chest as he ate, scratching his sternum. He felt as if he was developing a rash. ‘Could it be that new body wash I got?’ he wondered remembering the all organic body wash his mom had bought at some new popular store. He took some more bites of cereal as he thought about the sensation.

“Hey hun slow down, and use your fork like a person!” his mom called out. Matt looked at her strange and then felt milk dribble down his face. ‘Was I just.... was I eating of the bowl like a dog?’ he thought. Confused he wiped his chin, “Sorry mom I guess I was just really hungry!” It was as good an explanation as any. With red cheeks he picked up the clean spoon he hadn't yet used and started to eat again.

“Okay hun, but I would appreciate it if you ate like a human being, between you and your father this table is always dirty, and I would appreciate it if it stayed clean for more then five minutes.” Matt’s mom said as she grabbed a few paper towels. She quickly wiped off some of the splattered milk as Matt apologized “Sorry mom, i don't know what came over me...”

“No problem, such a good boy, even if you are messy.” She said as she poured a cup of coffee into a travel mug. The words “good boy” rang in Matt’s ears, and part of him wanted to wag his ass a bit, but he ignored the instinct, ‘fuck where did that come from?’ he wondered

eating another bite of cereal. “Alright, I’m off to work then Matt, see you tonight!” Matt’s mom said as she left the room.

Matt waved a quick goodbye to his mom, and quickly finished his cereal. It wasn't until after he finished though they he noticed he had dropped the spoon again and was face first in milk. He wiped off his face. “Fuck I didn't realize I was so hungry...” he said trying to convince himself nothing was wrong, but even he didn't believe it. Embarrassed by the whole ordeal Matt grabbed his favorite baseball cap and slid it over his blonde hair.

———————————————————————————————————————

School was just two blocks away so Matt rarely had to worry about being late. As he walked down the lockers to his first class he saw Ross. His best friend waved back with a grin. Ross and Matt had known each other for years. They originally lived next door to each other until Ross’s family bought a bigger house on the other side of the neighborhood. Ross was almost as popular, and just as handsome as Matt, with short but shaggy brown hair, chiseled jaw, and deep brown eyes.

“Heya bro!” Ross grinned and hugged Matt, and Matt felt his cock stir a bit. “Hey man!” Ross punched Matt’s shoulder playfully, “So how’d you celebrate last night man? Parents take you out for dinner or something?”

Matt shook his head at the question, “No man, I was so beat that I just headed home and went to bed, but I am sure I can get them to take me out this weekend.” He caught himself staring at his friend, ‘What the hell, sure Ross is handsome, but fuck, I have never thought of him that way he’s like a brother’ Matt thought to himself with a fake smile, shifting a leg to hide his semi hard cock.

Ross sighed, “Such a loser sometimes bro!” he laughed “Well guess what, after you won the big game for us, Melanie and I went back to her place.” He said with a wink.

“What man, you telling you guys you know... finally yiffed?” Matt asked, not even noticing how he phrased it.

Ross lifted an eyebrow. “If by ‘yiffed’ you mean I totally had sex then yes! What the fuck does yiff mean?” Ross asked like he had just heard some kind of unusual alien word.

The realization of what he just said hit Matt like a ton of bricks, his cheeks turned red as he blushed and he stuttered “Y-yeah, sorry thats what my parents say” he lied. ‘Fuck me, thank god Ross doesn't know what tiff means or else my secret WOULD be out!’. Matt tried to change the subject, “So thats cool man, at least you ain’t a virgin any more!”

Ross seemed to accept the explanation and nodded excitedly, his whole demeanor changing as he did. “Yeah man! Its great, I feel like a man now you know... wait man, you never told me, are you still a virgin?”

Matt blushed again, his mind immediately wandering to losing his virginity to Ross. He shifted his cock subtly with his hand in his pocket. “N-no man, I still haven't yiffed yet..” he said before hearing himself again. His cheeks beat red Matt tried to correct himself “I mean yiff... shit not yiff, I mean no I haven't been yiffing...” Matt said. ‘Fuck why can’t I say sex!” he thought panicking. It was as if he had forgotten how to say ‘sex’ instead only the furry term came out of his mouth.

Ross chuckled a bit and Matt said quickly, “Sorry man, lets just change the subject, i don’t want to talk about yiffing.

Ross shrugged “Um okay then, well did you do Mr. Snyder’s math homework yet because they BLOW!” Ross said. Matt still blushed and nodded “Y-yeah I did them last night before the game. As long as you remember the integer placements it should be fine.” Matt said, slowly forgetting about his boner. There was nothing like math to spoil a boner, and Matt had never appreciated it so much. As they walked to class Matt felt an itch on his scalp under his baseball cap, not realizing the changes were just beginning.

———————————————————————————————————————

Mr. Snyder’s math class was Matt’s least favorite subject in school, he was terrible at Math, and it usually required all of his focus in order to learn, usually it was a pain, but today he was actually thankful since it allowed him to ignore his strange behavior this morning as well as the email he received last night. He scratched his head through his baseball cap, and focused on the lecture

Mr. Snyder was droning on about sines and cosines, when he spotted Matt, “Matt, you know my policy no hats in class. Take it off.” Matt rolled his eyes, “Come on Mr. Snyder, its not hurting anyone!”

“Its a sign of disrespect to keep your hat on indoors, school rules now take it off.” Mr. Snyder said. Matt hated when the teachers were so rigid about trivial rules, but he obeyed and pulled off his cap causing everyone to gasp. “What?” Matt asked

“W- whoa!” Ross yelped as he looked at his friend. “What the hell did you do to your hair bro?” Matt raised an eyebrow, “I didn't do anything!” he said grabbing his hair, noticing it felt odd. “Dude, why didn't you tell me you were dyed it blue last night?”

Matt was confused, and he had to see it for himself. “Sorry Mr. Snyder, can I go to the restroom?”. The middle age teacher sighed and nodded, “Yeah just take the hall pass with you, be back soon, this lesson is a major part of your homework this weekend.” Matt nodded and grabbed the hall pass before he ran to the bathroom.

——————————————————————————————————————

Matt jogged to the bathroom and nearly yelped at his reflection in the mirror “Sure enough, just as Ross said, Matt’s hair was Blue, perfectly dyed without a hint of his normal blonde, as if it was natural, even more it was styled and spiked, something he almost never did except for special events. “What the how did my hair....?” Matt wondered before he looked more closely. He recognized the hair, the color and the style were exactly like Frost’s!

Matt touched the spikey blue hair and nearly fainted, it stayed up naturally, and felt velvety and artificial. “This isn’t possible....” He muttered before he felt a pain in his feet. “Oh no, oh no no no no no!” Matt began to panic out loud. He leapt into a nearby stall and sat down, and untied his shoes as they got tighter and tighter.

Part of Matt knew what was coming, but it still made him gasp as he tore off his shoes, revealing fluffy white toes and white fur on his feet. Matt leaned forward to inspect them, and sure enough, they were furry and white, his toes slightly swollen and black rubber pads were beginning to form on the soles of his feet. “NO NO NO NO NO NO!” Matt gasped muttering loudly in panic.

Inspecting his feet, Matt pulled on the fur, it was attached, and even weirder it didn't feel like dog fur, it felt like costume material, exactly how he imagined a fursuit looked like. ‘Could it be? No way, there was no way he was becoming some kind of fursuit, thats the kind of freaky thing that only happened in those weird transformation stories on FA, there was no way he could be turning into one, right?’ he wondered to him self. His feet hadn't completely changed, and if he had to guess he would said they were only about a third of the way complete

Matt sat staring at his feet, and thinking about the email. “They weren’t threatening me with exposure, they were warning me about this!” he realized suddenly as he reread the note mentally. “They knew I was going to become this... freak!”

Matt sat staring at his paws, he even lifted his jeans to see how far they spread. And saw that the artificial fur melded with his skin at the ankle. Before he could investigate for more changes however he heard a knock on the stall. “Hey man, its Ross, you okay? Mr. Snyder is worried, are you sick?”

Matt began to answer when he let out a loud “WOOF!” Covering his mouth in shock before making loud coughing noises, “Uhhh yeah *cough cough* I uh *cough* am not feeling very well... just kind of sick.... Like a dog...” he said not being able to help himself to the pun. “Well uh ok man...” Ross said with concern, “I’ll tell Mr. Snyder you are going to the nurse... feel better bro...”

Mat waited until the door closed before struggling to get his shoes back on, red from fear and humiliation. He sat trying to think, what could he do, could he go home? Not with a test today in chemistry, could he finish his classes? maybe, but could he hide the changes? And would more be coming?

Matt nearly vomited in fear from the thought of changing more into a fursuit or at least he would have if he didn’t feel his cock harden at the thought of it. “F-fuck... this is getting me hard?” he wondered. He lifted his pants and gasped as his hard throbbing penis began to turn red.

“F-Fuck...” he muttered pulling his pants down fully as he sat on the toilet. Matt barely noticed he was panting like a dog until he stopped himself. ‘Oh my god, my mind is changing too!’he thought to himself, still watching his cock shift. His pubes began to lighten from their normal brown to a light white, turning thick and soft. Matt couldn't help but touch them, moaning in pleasure at the sensation of the faux fur being touched.

‘F-fuck I really am turning into some fursuited were-furry aren't I?’ he wondered oddly aroused at the thought. The thought of a man turning into a fursuit made Matt horny. He began to pant at the thought, unconsciously rubbing his furry sheath. ���Mm yeah big sexy guy.... With a sexy plush tail....” He panted softly, his tongue getting slightly longer as he pleasured himself.

Matt thought about Ross, and his teammates changing too, all becoming fursuited furfags too. Soft artificial plushie fur covering their bodies as they yiffed. Letting out a canine whine

Matt rubbed his cock, looking in wonder as the still human but red cock regrew its foreskin before forming the beginnings of a sheath at its base. As he played with himself it got redder and redder, and he felt it change consistency. Where once he felt flesh, Matt began to feel silicone and rubber, the tale tell signs of a dildo.

It shifted in his hands becoming more canine and artificial, growing larger and thicker with each pump. Swelling occurred at the base of the dildo-like cock and matt squeezed it gently letting out a small bark of pleasure at the feeling of his knot.

Matt’s cock was as red as a fire hydrant and he panted in pride as he looked at it and stroked it. It wasn’t just a canine cock, it was a caricature of one, an enormous rubber doggy dildo dick, and it was all his. He knew it was wrong, and he wanted it back to normal, but he admitted it did look hot being so red and big.

Matt felt his balls suck up into his body as they were replaced by artificial fur, and with a loud canine howl he came, shooting liquid latex cum all over the stall. He panted as he regained his composure. ‘Fuck.... did I just masturbate to my own cock... and to my friends being turned into freaks like me?’

Matt realized what to do. He just had to get through the day, and go home, once home he could get online and confront this furfag69, whoever or whatever it was, maybe if he agreed to some kind of deal they would make him normal again.

He looked at himself once in the mirror, and prayed nothing else dramatic happened, and to his relief nothing was wrong with his face. He walked to the door just as the bell rang, and he gulped, praying he could hold off until school was let out.

———————————————————————————————————————

Hours passed, and everything seemed to be going fairly okay. Save for a few embarrassing slips of using terms like yiff, or referring to his feet as paws, Matt seemed to be doing okay, there were no more changes that he could see, and other than having to lie about dyeing his hair, Matt had little to explain. He had just finished lunch and was heading to gym class when he had a revelation, ‘Shit! How am I going to change in the locker room with my dick and feet like this?’

It was school policy that the boys changed in the locker room before and after Gym, they didn't want students injured running in jeans, or stinking up other classes after they ran, unfortunately it was fairly open, which meant everyone would see Matt’s changes. The only exception was the bathroom, ‘Maybe if I say I need to go I can change in a stall...’ Matt thought entering the locker room.

The scent of manly BO made Matt’s latex doggy dong grow in its plush furry sheath, and he tried to fight it. ‘Fuck I cant get a boner in here, not like this..’ he thought remembering the locker room hijinks the guys had. More than one student popping a boner had been panted and teased, and Matt knew if that happened to him, well the secret would be out, in more ways than one.

Matt quickly and quietly grabbed his stuff out of his locker and excused himself to the restroom. “You okay man, still sick?” Ross asked in concern. “Y-Yeah, I’m okay I just want to be sure man, don't want to get sick all over the gym...” Matt lied. Ross nodded and patted his friends back.

The locker room bathroom was small with only a few stalls. ‘Perfect’ Matt smiled locking himself in a stall. He quickly pulled off his shoes and jeans, and stared at his already half mast cock. The red rocket had slid halfway out of its sheath, and was steadily dripping its latex like pre-cum, and had formed a large wet spot on his boxers. ‘God, its so fucking hot...’ Matt admitted to himself.

With a gentle touch Matt slowly rubbed the pointed tip, sending an electric pulse of pleasure up his spine. “F-fuck ...” Matt moaned with a lusty canine growl. ‘I can’t, I only have a few minutes...’ Matt thought to himself trying to resist the unnatural pleasure his new cock brought him. It was in vain though, even as he tried to talk himself out of it, Matt found himself actively stroking his rubbery dildo cock.

It wasn’t long until Matt was lost in pleasure, stroking his cock quickly. ‘Gotta hurry... gotta get to gym...’, the thought of gym just made him harder, the thought of his fellow young men sweating and grinding as they played sports. His hot bear of a coach commanding them to work harder. He could imagine how sweet it would be to fuck his friends, suck off the coach, make them all were-furries. Matt shuddered at the last thought, he didn’t know where it came

from.... ‘was that what I am? A were furry? What kind of fucked up Tf story am I in?’ he thought still rubbing himself for all he was worth

The itching on his chest that he felt that morning returned, and Matt moaned loudly, not caring if anyone heard him. Rubbing his chest, Matt felt it grow softer, flatter, his nipples sucked into his body, and his belly button followed. He was never particularly hairy, so the sensation of hair was alien to him, the follicles activating, sprouting soft fur.

The soft plus white fur that Matt recognized as Frost’s sprouted on his pecs, and he felt a similar sensation down his spine as dark azure blue fur sprouted dow the line or his back. The fur didn't spread however, but it was more than enough to put him over the edge... With a growling canine moan, Matt came, bucking his hips as he shot his rubbery latex load onto the floor.

“F-fuck, I need to stop this...” he panted touching his furry pecs, now numb, flat and plush. “I’m a fucking freak...” he muttered looking at his body. He knew he had to stop it, fortunately Gym was his second to last class, he didn't have much longer, he just knew he could make it. Matt hurriedly put on his gym clothes, and forced his feet into his tennis shoes, they were tight, but fortunately he got them in. His shirt covered the fur on his chest and spine, mostly, but he didn't think anyone would pay enough attention, it was a running day, and usually everyone was so angry and spiteful that they just focused on running, not each other.

———————————————————————————————————————

Matt jogged out to the field, and fortunately realized he wasn't late, somehow he had beaten out half the class. He smiled at Ross as Coach Fjord, the big muscle gutted european weightlifter the school hired as a gym teacher, talked about proper breathing exercises.

Most of the class was half asleep, the other half was anxiously dreading the run. It wasn't too long before the coach abruptly said, “All right boys!” in his thick european accent, “Get to the running!” and clapped his hands loudly.

The class took off, no one wanted to test the massive coach, and all of the were pretty sure he would either eat or crush anyone who dared slack off. As much of an athlete as he was, Matt hated running, it felt useless as an activity when one wasn’t doing anything else, like dribbling a ball or trying to catch one.

Matt sprinted staying as far away as he could from others without drawing attention to himself. “Faster with the running!” the coach yelled, and the whole class, including Matt sped up. Already Matt felt his legs tire, and he panted as he ran, tongue hanging out slightly. His paws ached terribly. ‘Wait paws? No, shit not paws, fore paws... no, hind paws?’ he couldn't think of the word, he knew it started with an F, but whenever he tried to think of the word for the paws in his shoes he couldn't. He blushed knowing this was some part of this strange metamorphosis he was undergoing, it had to be.

Swelling began to occur inside Matt’s shoes. ‘Fuck my paws, could they be getting worse?’ he thought as he stopped a moment to catch his breath. He panted, tongue lolling as he watched his shoes begin to swell. He heard popping as the stitches of the shoes began to fray, white fur peaking out of the gaps. “Fuck no, not here!” he gasped. Inside his shoes it felt as if his feet were being pumped up like balloons, swelling slowly but steadily. The nails on the humans swelling toes thickened and turned black, they grew slowly poking into the shoe before black plastic claws began to rip through the sneakers. Matt felt like an eternity passed while his shoes vainly held together, they barely contained the furry paws he felt inside, and he knew that any moment they would burst.

“Matt, are you okay?” Matt heard as the coach approached. He gulped, what could he say, that he was sick? That he was turning into some kind of sick joke of a fursuit. He looked up at the coach, praying his sneakers would hold, and that the coach wouldn't notice them. “I-I am not feeling well coach, c-can I be excused?” he begged, letting out a slight whimper.

The coach raised an eyebrow and nodded, “Uh sure yes, go ahead to the nurses office.” he said in his eastern european accent. Matt thanked the gods and quickly began to run away to grab his stuff. ‘I cant stay on campus, I am already changing too quick!’ Matt realized catching a breath as the coach began to walk away. Before taking a single step though, Matt heard a tell tale POP, followed by a second. Eyes wide, Matt looked down and saw thick white toes, four of them on each foot, sticking out of his shoes.

“What was those sounds that I hear?” The coach asked turning. Matt didn't even bother to explain as he ran back to the locker room, his heavy paws making it awkward to run. Tearfully he made inside the locker room and started to collect his things. Before leaving he sat on a bench and investigated his new paws.

The thick padded furry feet stuck out several inches from is now destroyed shoes, as if they were clown shoes, far too big for his body. “What the fuck, this is insane!” he whimpered as a few tears began to fall. With one hand he squeezed a toe and shuddered. It gave away as if it was filled with the stuffing of a teddybear or pillow, and felt like one too, but he felt his fingers touching the fur... through the fur as if somehow, despite the plush, cottony filling he guessed had filled his paws, his nerve endings were still intact.

Still curious, Matt lifted his jeans and saw the fur was slowly, almost unnoticeably spreading up his ankles and onto his shins, where it stopped it looked like he had perfectly fused with a fursuit, no seams, no stitching, just flesh then fur. ‘I cant take off the shoes, at least like this they kind of look like a werewolf costume, but if people saw them fully...’ he thought, a chill running down his spine as he thought of what government scientists would do to a freak like him.

Matt was brought out of his thinking when he felt a pressure build on his spine. “NO!” he gasped touching his tailbone, feeling a mosquito bite like bump begin to swell. ‘Is it getting faster... I got to get to privacy!’

Matt didn't even bother to explain himself to Ross, his coach, or anyone else for that matter, he just knew he had to go. He ran off campus, luckily security was lax considering they were in such a good neighborhood, so he didn't think anyone saw him leave. He ran as fast as he could in his awkward flopping manner with his oversized paws. With one hand he continually checked the growing bump on his tail bone.

Fortunately given that it was early on a Friday afternoon, not many people were on the street, but Matt still couldn't afford to be seen and found out. Despite living just a few minutes away, Matt felt that the run home was never ending, largely because of his growing tail. Rubbing the bump with his fingers Matt felt it gradually grow, reaching an inch, then two. It felt soft and furry, azure blue and stark white faux fur covering the top and bottom halves respectively.

Matt smiled as he saw his home and turned onto his street. At last it seemed like some hope. All he had to do was get inside and confront this ‘furfag69’. He honestly didn't know if it would work, but it was the best plan he could think of. Matt was so excited to end the whole incident, that he was paying attention to walking on his new paws, and fell flat onto the ground.

“OW!” He hissed pulling himself up onto his hands and knees. As Matt began to send however the pressure in his tail bone was too great, and he double over. “F-fuck, not yet!” he whined like a puppy, the growing tail pressing painfully against his pants. “I don't want a tail... not naowwARROOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He howled as his jeans gave way. Denim ripped and out popped the tail. Matt whimpered tearfully and looked at it. Thick, long and overstuffed, it had to have been three feet long. It was wild and thick, with a slight sickle like curve to it... ‘just like a husky should have...’ he thought to himself before shaking away the unnatural thought.

Matt grabbed the tail in his hand. It felt so soft, so big, it caused him to moan audibly in pleasure as he touched it, and even squeezed it. Just like his paws, it was filled with stuffing, over stuffed even, and oversized for his average and muscular build. Matt quickly realized he couldn't just sit on the sidewalk examining his tail. He collected himself, and pulled his pants up and ran the rest of the way home, struggling to keep his pants on as the tail pushed them down.

Matt rushed inside and ran up the stairs as he entered his home, tossing his backpack aside on his bed. No longer caring about his ripped jeans, Matt let them fall to the floor, revealing the fur on his legs had started to also grow blue, reaching his knees.

The changing human logged onto his computer and tapped a paw impatiently as he waited for his computer, then the internet to open up. The moment he could, Matt logged into his email, and found the email from the night before. He typed furiously.

“What is happening, what are you doing to me, I know this is you, whoever you are. tell me what you want! Please I cant be a freak like this!

Please I am sure we can come up with some kind of deal, I will tell people I am a furry, I will give you money, just tell what I can do to stop this!”

He shuddered and pressed send without a second thought. He furiously and anxiously waited. he tapped his paws, and panted in fear. ‘What if they say no? They couldn't could they? They wanted something right?’ The maddening questions ran through his mind at high speed, he felt like he could vomit as he waited for a reply.

An hour passed, and nothing. No reply came, no answers, no apologies. Instead Matt cried, he couldn't help it, he was losing his life, his dignity, just because of some stupid email. Matt’s crying was eventually interrupted by the feeling of his hands swelling. Matt watched in horror, thick tail tucked between his legs as his hands puffed up. Slowly they filled with cottony filling, and the tips of his fingers swelled and grew thick rubber paw pads. He watched despondently as his nails grew thick and turned to black plastic claws.

The feeling didn't stop there however. As Matt felt his hands change, his whole body began to feel odd. Panting and whining Matt tore at his shirt and looked in the mirror. He watched his body lose more definition, becoming more tubular and plush like, straight and artificial as the white fur on his chest spread. The tingling spread on the back too, and Matt turned and sniffled as the dark azure blue fur spread from his spine, across his back before meeting with his chest.

Matt’s limbs were not spared either. His muscles seemed to turn soft as he watched helplessly, his body filling with stuffing, and sprouting blue and white fur. Matt rubbed his body with his paws giving it a few tugs and squeezes, trying to feel if it was really happening. He pressed on his stomach, his chest, his legs. It all had a slight give, like it was filled only with cotton. Eventually the changes stopped, and Matt stared at himself in the mirror for what felt like an hour.

He was clearly no longer human, and though his head and neck remained unchanged save for his blue hair, Everything below Matt’s shoulders looked like a fursuit. I fact, if anything, Matt looked like a fursuiter who had taken the head off of his costume. Matt rubbed his body and moaned slightly in pleasure. It felt good, as much as it pained him to say it. Just petting his own fur sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, and his dildo-cock began to harden once again. Matt shook it off and looked at himself “Fuck... I am turning into Frost...” he said allowed to nobody... and he cried. He wondered if he should just give in, just ride the change and hope it would revert, another part of him told him it would be better just to end it all with his dad’s revolver.

‘NO! I wont be beaten by this fucking transformation! I just need help!’ Matt told himself, rousing himself from sorrow and despondency. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Matt pulled out his cell phone. It was awkward to type with his paws, but slowly, and with patience, he crafted a message. “Mom, I am staying at Ross’s house tonight, we will be doing homework and working on projects for school, I will be back tomorrow morning.” he typed before sending it to his mom. Fortunately his parents were fairly lax in regards to Ross, and Matt thanked god they were.

‘Ross is the only one who might understand, the only one I can trust.’ Matt told himself as he prepared to leave. It was perfect actually, since Ross’s parents were out of town until Sunday, that meant only Ross would see him like this. ‘Even if I change all the way, I am sure the two of us can figure something out!’

He grabbed a bulky hoodie and pulled it over his furry... and admittedly sexy body. He struggled against the urges to paw off with his cock, and pulled on sweat pants. Unfortunately they refused to fit over the huge three foot tail jutting out of his back side. “Fuck I am going to have to be one of ‘those’ furries he realized, and grabbed a pair of scissors.

———————————————————————————————————————

Matt felt ridiculous as he snuck out, covered head to ankle in baggy clothing. Unfortunately nothing would fit over his paws, either fore or hind paws, nor would his tail fit inside the pants, so he had no choice but to let his paws free, and his tail hanging behind wagging slightly as he walked. To anyone that saw, matt looked like a typical furry wearing a tail in public.

Matt blushed, it was already 4:00 and people were coming home from work, or playing with their kids. More than one person stopped to stare, and more than a few kids pointed and laughed at the tail hanging out of Matt’s pants. He drew the hood tight around his face, praying nobody recognized him.

The agonizing trip to Ross’s house finally ended as Matt rang the doorbell. Ross looked concerned when he opened the door. “Dude are you okay?” He asked in concern, “You just disappeared in Gym and ....” Ross looked at his friends hands and feet, as well as the tail slowly moving behind him. “and what the fuck are you wearing?!”

Matt raised his finger and gestured ross to be quiet as he pushed his friend inside. “J-just let me inside, I need to talk...” Matt whimpered. Ross nodded and led his friend down the hall to his room. Matt slowly built up the courage to admit everything when Ross sat down on his bed and said, “Okay spill it, what the hell is that stuff, and what is going on with you?”

Matt felt his composure falter and blurted out “I-I am so sorry man but I don’t know who else to turn to!” he started to sob. “I’m a fucking freak!”

Ross gulped looking at what seemed to be costume pieces. He had heard of ferries before, after all he had the internet, though he had never seen one. “Are you some kind of furry dude? What is going on?”

Matt gulped. “I-I am!” he cried, admitting it for the first time “I’m a a fucking gay furry freak! But thats not the point!” he said and he pulled off his jacket. Ross went wide eyed and backed up. “What the fuck dude!? Don’t strip in my room like some fag!” he yelled.

“Dammit Ross look!” Matt cried showing the fused skin and fur he had grown. Ross slowly started to notice something wasn't right. “I am turning into a fucking pursuit man, I-I need your help!” Matt cried Ross just sat stunned, “A what?”

Matt cried as he explained the story, how he got the email, how his mind and body were changing. He admitted his sexuality and fetish, explaining somehow he had become cursed into becoming a were-furry. Finally Matt broke down, sat down next to his friend, and sobbed.

———————————————————————————————————————

It was an hours before either young man could say anything. Ross was too freaked out, having not only that his friend was some weird kinky furry fag, but was literally turning into a furry costume, what Matt called a ‘Fursuit’.

Likewise Matt was too ashamed and freaked out about his own changes to say much. Eventually as the sun started to set, Ross said, “So why are you turned on by animals dude?”

Matt rolled his eyes, “I am not man! Being well, a furry I guess, I am not into fucking animals, thats bestiality, but I don’t know, something about men that are part animals, or animal people, I am not sure why I like them, I just do. Do you know why you like girls without tails?”

Ross raised an eyebrow and thought for second. “They have breasts... thats reason enough for me.” Ross chuckled, and Matt rolled his eyes and punched his friends shoulder. Ross started again, “I guess, I don't know, it’s cool bro, I don’’t really get it, and honestly I don't want to get but... you are my bro. I will always love you man, you are my best friend, and even though I ain’t a furry, that doesn’t mean I don't care about you.”

Matt smiled and him and held back a few tears, “Fuck, you asshole now you got me all worked up” His tail wagged softly and he let out a canine whine. Ross looked at his changing friend smiling, “Super gay bro, men don’t cry..” he smiled his own eyes watering up, but then he noticed something odd.

“Hey bro you’ve got something on your nose.” Ross said. Matt reached up one of his plush stitched paws and rubbed his nose, it felt strange like a pressure was building. “Did I get it?” the changing human asked, and the dark spot on his nose grew larger. “No man, in fact you just kind of spread it, let me try.” Ross said and rubbed his thumb over his friends nose.

As Ross rubbed he noticed how cold Matt’s nose felt, he rubbed and the black but nothing was wiped off, if anything it was bigger... and hard like plastic. “Shit...I-I think you are changing more!” Ross said and Matt cried then and there.

Matt brought both paws to his nose, “No no no no no!” He cried whimpering like a dog, “I don't want a dog nose!” he cried as the plastic spread. Matt’s nostrils flared as they were pulled up, and his nose widened, he felt it shifting under his soft velvety paws as it grew bulbous and cold, turning black and plastic. In a moments the sensation of pressure seemed to stabilize, not gone, but no longer pushing his nose out.

Matt dropped and looked at his friend and Ross couldn’t help but chuckle, Matt looked oddly adorable with a dog nose and he flicked it, hearing a click as his nail hit the plastic. “ARF! What was that for?!” Matt yelled holding his new nose. “Sorry bro I just wanted to see if it was real!” Ross laughed.

———————————————————————————————————————

The two laughed for a few more minutes, exploring Matt’s nose and discussing heterosexual vs homosexual sex. They felt like their old selves, and save for Matt’s tail wagging and the occasional bark or furry term used, Matt felt like his old self. Neither noticed however that the full moon was rising.

“NO dude, a guy’s dick doesn't get covered in shit if he yiffs another guy!” Matt groaned, responding to a rather ignorant but no less honest question. “Well sorry man, its not like I would know! And besides I don’t have to worry about shit when I put my dick in a pussy!” Ross laughed and Matt joined in. Matt felt great, but thats when he caught the full moon in his eye.

Matt couldn't help but stop and stare at the moon. It was so beautiful, so big, he felt his heart beat faster, and his latex cock harden to full length as he stared. “God its so beautiful, no wonder wolves howl at the moon...” he muttered hazily. “Dude, you okay?” Ross asked.

Matt didn't take his eyes off the moon out the window. The pressure in his jeans was rising, as was the pressure in his face, soft blue and white furs sprouted on his chin, and his pupils turn bright icy blue. “God its so beautiful WOOF! How could I have ever denied being a wusky fag...” Matt muttered ignoring Ross.

Ross watched his friend become transfixed and he stood up. “Dude... stop it, you are freaking me out. Matt ignored him again, but suddenly he felt pressure in his face, tearing himself away he began to pant and growl in lust and heat. “F-fuck, its happening.... n-need to get out of these clothes!” Matt growled and barked tearing at his shirt, pulling it open with a loud rip, revealing his flat, almost shapeless costume like furry chest. White and blue fur covered his entire body, already thick and fluffy with padding.

Ross grew wide eyed as he watched his friends changes begin the final stage, as horrified as he was some morbid part of him wanted to watch a transformation like this, he had only seen them in the occasional werewolf movie, and this... this was insane.

Matt tore at his pants pushing them off, and pulling odd the tattered remnants of his underwear and socks, soon he stood clothe-less, naked save for the pursuit he had become from the neck down. Still panting Matt’s face pushed forward and grew larger in proportion to his body. His canines grew hard and plastic and his tongue turned to latex.

Wrapping one of his meaty paws around his canine meat Matt stroked and let out a loud earsplitting wolf howl. “ARRROOOOo ARR AR ARRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOO!” He howled. As the new were-furry howled his face pushed forward even more. Soft white fur spread from his chin across his muzzle, while dark blue fur spread across his ears and forehead meeting with the fur on his neck. Matt’s eyes opened wider as the pupils dilated turning into cartoon like mesh, the eyes grew large and toonlike, more befitting some kind of cartoon mascot than a real person.

Soon nothing human remained of the once closeted furfag. Matt moaned as he touched his throbbing latex cock with one paw, and touched his new muzzle with the other. “F-fuck a muzzle... it it’s so hot!” he moaned with a slight bark. ‘Fuck I’m a fucking wusky suit!’ he thought in fear... but it slowly became joy, it felt so good at the same time. As much as he hated to admit it it felt better than anything had in his life.

Ross was frozen in shock, terrified and admittedly curious that his friend had turned into some kind of dog like plushy suit. Matt sat panting slowly stroking as if catching his breath, but suddenly stopped both actions. “Matt?” he asked cautiously “You okay man?”

Matt felt so good, no, not Matt, Frost. He hated the way it happened, but how could he deny it any longer, he was Frost, a slutty gay plushy furfag wusky... and he couldn't be happier, or hornier. Frost’s tail began to wag as he liked up, his icy blue cartoon like eyes stared at Ross. “WOOF I feel great hun!” he chuckled in a booming gay toon like version of Matt’s voice. The slightly opened smiling mask mouth moving with his words.

“Thank god!” Ross sighed a slight breath of relief, “I was worried you had become some kind of monster Matt!” he chuckled still terrified but at least comforted by thinking his friend was still in the artificial fur and plush stuffing somewhere.

“Hehe, what do you mean hun? I’m not Matt, I’m Frost ARF!” the plush wusky said in his happy cartoon like voice.

Ross immediately felt his heart dropped as he backed away. “Wh-what do you mean, wh- who is Frost?”

“I am silly! Your buddy, the flaming laggy wusky butt slut!” the creature that had once been matt said snapping his finger and pointing it as a gun. “Now, get over here and give me a nice big kiss!” he chuckled holding his arms open.

Ross was frozen. “What the fuck?” was all he could say, all he could think. One minute his best friend was acting strange with some weird furry shit on, the next his friend had turned into some freaky mascot costume... a big cocked one he judged by the mammoth sized latex cock. “No fucking way!” Ross yelled as he finally collected himself, and he moved for the door.

The human was much less quick than the furry Wusky, who grabbed his friends arm and pulled him deep into a kiss. Ross grunted in disgust as his mouth was invaded by the tongue of the fursuit, and tried to push away. ‘Fuck I have to get out of here!’ he thought moaning in disgust as his mouth was invaded. Even as he struggled however, Ross had to admit it felt good to be in the arms of something so fluffy, and Frost was a much better kisser than his girlfriend.

Ross felt his cock start to harden, and he blushed in humiliation. ‘Fuck its just the sensation... I ain’t a furfag like Matt!’ he told himself. But even as he told himself that he reached a hand up, holding the back of Frost’s head as he kissed back. It just felt so good, who cared if it was a guy.

As they kissed Ross’s changes began. Slowly his chestnut brown hair turned ruddier messier, it grew brighter almost as the hair gained cherry red highlights, becoming soft and velvety plush material. Similar soft fur slowly grew out of the pores of his chest, spreading slowly into a cute white tuft of fur.

Ross moaned softly into the kiss, still disgusted with himself. He wanted to stop, but there ws just something so incredible about Frost, or Matt, something caused him to be unsure which he should call the beast. As he pondered this his ears tingled, and Frost mentally cheered, seeing red and brown fur start to sprout on the tips of his friend.

Frost felt his cock tingle in excitement at the changing of his friend into his mate. He knew instinctively he could make the human like him, and in some way he knew this is what he always wanted, to be a furfag with his best friend. Frost’s cock was dribbling latex smelling pre as he grinned against his friend. Finally he pulled out of the kiss, and Ross gasped for air.

“ARF! How was that sexy?” Frost asked playfully wagging his cottony tail. Eager to see if Ross had accepted that he too was better off as a furfag.

“It felt so g- n-NO!” Ross said snapping out of the spell of the kiss. “This isn't right man fuck!” he moaned. Frost chuckled and said “Well thats not what it looks like WOOF!”

Ross blushed and looked down. His cock throbbed tightly against his jeans and he gulped touching it. ‘Just a bit, I just need to touch myself a bit so I can think straight’ he thought rubbing

his bulge as fur started to sprout on the back of his hands. Wide eyed, Ross stopped pleasuring himself.

“M-my paws... I mean SHIT... my hands!” He screamed and glared at Frost. “Y-you! You are doing this... you are messing with my mind stop it!” He screamed tearfully. He started to pant in arousal as he looked himself over. He felt his chest, his hands, his ears, he finally realized what was happening. The Wusky was turning him into a freak too.

“Hehe finally figured it out hun?” Frost wagged his tail, “Mmmm you are going to be a sexy mate WOOF!”

The bark rang in Ross’s ears. He didn't want this, he wasn't a fag or a furry, he wanted to be with his girlfriend. Megan...Michelle? ‘what is her name?!” Ross panicked trying to think of his girlfriends name. Was it Melanie? That seemed wrong to... it was on the tip of his tongue... Frost? ‘No Frost isn't my girlfriend he’s my boyfriend..... shit no he’s just a friend, isn't he?’ Ross thought trying hard to think.

Frost slowly rubbed Ross’s back as the changing human struggled to retain his thoughts. The human was so distracted trying to remember his girlfriends name he was starting to pant, and he didn't notice his body grow more fur. What Ross did notice was the burning in his groin. He needed relief. ‘Fuck ...so horny...’ he whimpered and slowly went back to playing with his cock.

“Good boy Ross... that feels so much more fun huh?” Frost asked playfully rubbing his paws against the human. Ross tearfully nodded. “I- I a m just so horny.... I need Yip! Fuck... I...” Ross struggled to find the words, “I YIP! I need to yiff so bad!” Ross couldn't believe he said the words but he knew they were true.

“Hehe ARF sounds like someone’s a horny foxy!” Frost giggled rubbing his paws down Ross’s body and down to his cock, unzipping the human’s jeans. “Oh god yes YIP!” Ross moaned in pleasure using his own increasingly paw like hands to push down his boxers. Ross’s fingers swelled and grew thicker as brown fur sprouted on them. His nails turned hard and black with a slight luster of plastic.

It felt so wrong and right to feel the wusky’s fur on his back, as both lifted Ross’s shirt off, revealing his now soft white chest. Behind him, Frost grinned, it was going so well, soon they would mate, and he knew that would seal them both into these changes. Smiling he leaned down and pulled off the human’s shoes.

Ross had the feet of a true basket ball player, stinky, big and sexy. Frost couldn’t help but lick the soles of the stinky human feet. Ross moaned and let out a high pitched yip as he stroked his still human cock with his swelling paws, the fur traveling up his arms before turning cherry red. The rubbery tongue of the wusky was cold but oddly erotic on the human’s feet. As Frost licked the feet of his changing friend, they slowly swelled. The skin of the soles swelled into

thick black rubber pads. Brown fur followed suit, as the toes swelled larger, two fusing into one leaving Ross with four thick meaty paw toes on each foot paw.

Ross moaned looking at his feet, now paws. Part of him still wanted to fight, but he couldn't help but think how hot they were. As they swelled growing passed size 13, then 14, looking more like size 19 by the second, Ross grinned, ‘Why shouldn't a sexy guy like me have big paws, the bigger the paws the bigger the slut’ he thought with a slight smile, before another part though ‘What the fuck why would I think something as disgusting as that?!’

Frost pushed Ross slowly to all fours, and Ross obeyed, feeling oddly comfortable on his knees, something inside telling him, this was his favorite position...doggy style. Frost pushed his large muzzle into the cheeks of his friend and licked. “Yip oh fuck yes!” Ross moaned, his voice gaining a slight lisp and tony quality. Ross still continued to stroke his cock, the feeling of paws on it making it harder than ever. ‘Fuck I am so huge!’ he thought to himself with a grin.

Slowly as Ross stroked his cock it began to change in consistency becoming thicker and redder. In the meantime Frost was wasting no time rimming his changing friend’s fuck hole, making sure it was nice and lubed up. As he licked Frost felt the already hairy ass of his friend grow even hairier, softer, red and white fur spreading over the cheeks as they filled with cottony plush stuffing. The fur seemed to much up a bit on the tail bone, and Frost stopped, he wanted to see this part, and he grinned.

Ross moaned stroking his cock, or rather his red rocket with his soft plush paws when he felt pressure at the bas of his spine. Moaning he craned his neck behind to watch aa thick overstuffed tail shoot out of his tail bone with a loud ‘FLOOOMPH’. It felt so strange and thick, but so right, Ross gave it an experimental wag and smiled to himself.

Moving his friend and lover’s tail out of the way, Frost aimed himself and whispered “Are you ready for your first yiffing?” Ross was so confused. He knew this wasn't right, he knew he was somehow being changed into a foxy freak, but for some reason, against all logic he wanted it. It felt so good, so much better than being human. He never realized until this moment he wasn't happy with his old life, he wanted more.... he wanted Frost. Panting Ross let out a slight yip of lust and said “Yes... Y-yiff me hun!”

Frost smiled his lupine smile on his artificial plush muzzle and began to thrust into his lover. Ross yipped at the slight pain that came from his hole being invaded for the first time in his life, to be fucked and yiffed by a man.

Frost’s latex red rocket moved quickly, pushing in centimeter by centimeter, slowly at first, but more with each thrust. Ross groaned feeling his rectum hit, and he shuddered in pleasure, peristalsis started as his body milked and massaged the wusky’s thick red cock, and Ross yipped in pleasure.

Ross felt his face start to push forward with each thrust. It felt so strange to feel the pressure pushing his nose wider and out. Reaching up with one thick paw Ross felt his nose turn to plastic and push forward. The increasingly plushy furfag human’s ear pushed out, pulling taller and larger than a normal animals as they turned forward, tall red and brown triangles poking through his soft furry hair.

“Yes...YIP... oh fuck yes! Yiff me hun!” Ross moaned pushing back into his lover’s cock. Frost scraped his plastic claws over his lover’s back, then pushed himself fully into the tail hole of his slutty foxy friend, “WOOF like this hun?”. Ross could barely nod as his slutty foxy side took over and the heat of lust washed over him as his last resistances fell.

Ross yipped hornily as he pushed his swollen plush ass against the blue and white wusky, and his face pushed forward in a large pointed fox muzzle, the kind Frost always had a thing for. Ross, felt himself give over completely, and knew he wasn't himself anymore, he needed a new name. With both their balls churning, and orgasm quickly approaching, Ross felt a name come to him, Ember, Ember the slut fox! It was only right for the to be his name, after all he was a for furfag!

Both felt their furry, plush pulls churn with latex cum as Ember finished changing. With a loud ear splitting howl, Frost came, followed by Ember who joined in with his lovers howl.

Panting the two canine fursuit plushies caught their breaths. “Fuck hun that was incredible!” Ember yipped, and frost nodded “WOOF yeah! Best cum I have had in awhile!” He panted. Slowly they felt life returning to them, and Ember laughed, “So ready for round two hun? We only have a few more hours of the full moon!”

———————————————————————————————————————

Both Frost and Ember woke up as humans in the morning, mostly. They quickly discovered that both of their tails were, permanent additions to their anatomies. Neither minded much though.

By the end of the week, Frost and Ember had come out, both as gay, and as furries, though Ember never questioned the fact he was neither until that fateful night. At first it was a shock, and people wondered why they always wore their pursuit tails not realizing that the two were-furries had permanently grown them.

The full moon remained a pleasant trigger, and both Frost and Ember eagerly awaited each one. Sure they were able to change whenever they wished, but to them, there was something special about losing total control to their fursuited selves.

Eventually, as slutty as they were, the two canine furfags began to spread the infection. By graduation over half the boys in their school, and more than one teacher had come out as gay furries, sporting plush tails wherever they went.

Frost and Ember continued to date, albeit with an open relationship, and were quite happy together, but then, one day they realized they needed to go to college... after all, all the cute guys in frats and dorms, they were sure they could find plenty of boys to join in the fun.

Frost did think about the fateful email he got, and realized it was right, the furry truth always did come out eventually, he just never thought it would be on a full moon.

[useunknown]

Why I’m Afraid

“The paranoid spokesman sees the fate of conspiracy in apocalyptic terms—he traffics in the birth and death of whole worlds, whole political orders, whole systems of human values. He is always manning the barricades of civilization. He constantly lives at a turning point. Like religious millennialists he expresses the anxiety of those who are living through the last days and he is sometimes disposed to set a date for the apocalypse.” Richard Hofstadter, The Paranoid Style, Harpers, 1964.

“How is this to be avoided, among ordinary men, even highly educated ordinary men? Frankly, I do not know. I do not see, even now. Many, many times since it all happened I have pondered that pair of great maxims, Principiis obsta and Finem respice - "Resist the beginnings” and “consider the end.” But one must foresee the end in order to resist, or even see, the beginnings. One must foresee the end clearly and certainly and how is this to be done, by ordinary men or even by extraordinary men? Things might have changed here before they went as far as they did; they didn’t, but they might have. And everyone counts on that might.“ Milton Mayer, They Thought They Were Free: The Germans, 1933-45

Reason #1: Because I’m a White Liberal Coastal Elite Unaccustomed to Losing

We joked the race would be called for Clinton by the time our election-watch party started at 6:30. Which was fine, because who wanted to watch Wolf Blitzer stall for five hours while vote tallies streamed in? A gleeful gmail thread counted down to the party. Who was bringing the kleenex? There would be tears of joy to mop up. We wondered if Clinton would find a maze on the inside of Trump’s head when she scalped him. A Trump piñata was going to be on hand.

We gathered at a friend’s Echo Park home, “I Voted” stickers slapped over our hearts, half-surprised the election wasn’t yet in hand. Trump and Clinton were still tracking even in Florida, but needless to say that would change when the urban areas started reporting. 

We were graduates of good universities, many of us working in or around Hollywood, who yes, read The New Yorker, and had been listening to Keepin’ it 1600 and joked about Donald Drumpf and told everyone they had to see Moonlight because it’s just incredible. We wanted more diversity at the Oscars and used the right pronouns when we talked about transgender people, and talked about firewall states and paths to 270 electoral votes and how as soon as Clinton won Florida and North Carolina, it would be over. 

We flipped between CNN and MSNBC, watching stables of pundits on expensive sets dance around touch screens as they tried to divine the arcana of obscure suburbs. Trump was winning in counties Obama had won in 2012. The pundits scratched their heads– the polls were getting some things unnervingly wrong. Every so often they’d give a projection, a picture of Trump appearing on the screen with his smug smile, a check mark under his name. The map kept getting more red, Trump’s electoral tally creeping towards 270. We looked at each other– what the hell was happening? We poured more wine as we realized Clinton wasn’t going to win Florida, or North Carolina, or Ohio, or Iowa. Even New Hampshire seemed to be in doubt. I pulled up pathto270.com on my phone and did the math... Wait a minute: if Clinton didn’t win Michigan, she was finished. We broke out a moments-away-from-being-legal pre-roll to take the edge off.

And then Wisconsin started to turn red. And then so too did Pennsylvania. Suddenly it was Clinton who needed to surge ahead in five different states. We changed the channel to Fox News because we suspected that MSNBC’s Steve Kornacki wasn’t being entirely upfront with us. Sure enough, they had already called Michigan for Trump. "It’s over, isn’t it,” someone said despondently.

Those fucking deplorables, in their fucking baskets. Did they realize what they had just done to our country? 

We looked at the Trump piñata in the corner. We were too devastated to go near it, or acknowledge how wrong we had been. I don’t think a piñata’s ever had the last laugh at a party– but it was that kind of night.  

Reason #2: Because I’m Sheltered from Injustice and feel Entitled to Happy Endings

All around me, in communities real and online, in group-texts with friends and conversations with strangers, there’s an unquantifiable sadness. At a hip Silver Lake coffee shop the day after the election, baristas had become de facto grief counselors, each customer arriving at the cash register with a sorrowful sigh.

“How are you?” 

“Oh... you know.”

Sigh. “Yeah.”

I was in Los Angeles on 9/11. The mood on November 9th, 2016 was bleaker. 

Losing elections is one of the despairs of living in a democracy. Every few years you’re liable to feel like your country has been wrested away from you, and that you’re powerless to stop it. But Trump’s victory left us feeling far more bereft than if McCain had won in 2008 or Romney had won 2012. 

Part of it is the dissonance between where we thought our country was and where we’ve found it. We had our phones out, ready to record the moment when we burst through the glass ceiling into an era of a more tolerant, cosmopolitan, liberal, inclusive America. After 43 white male presidents, we’d have an African American and now, a woman. John Oliver had joked during the campaign that if Democracy was a computer game and Clinton was completing women’s 100 year-quest to get the oval office, Donald Trump made for a fitting final boss. We could endure his white nationalist chauvinist worldview and categorical unfitness to be President when it seemed like his campaign was a gross-out Farelly Brothers comedy and his defeat was an afterthought. 

We had believed in a myth of the teleology of liberal progressivism and placed faith in the ultimate goodness of “the American voter.” Clinton’s victory would be the triumph of forward progress over restoration, togetherness over division, high roads over low ones, love over hate. 

So it’s no surprise we were crushed. When a Republican beats a Democrat, that’s politics. When it seems like the forces of evil have triumphed over the forces of good, that can feel like tragedy. Especially to people not used to the world treating them with indifference. Perhaps we’d been standing upside down the past eighteen months– the glass ceiling we thought we’d been looking up at was actually a floor, and we’d just fallen down through it. 

But there’s also something more sinister in the air. A cosmic foreboding. A greater trauma has taken place, something menacing and chilling that makes you think “something’s different this time.” My body is tense, an epigenetic voice that’s seen demagogues and persecution in another life, warning me to be on high alert because somehow, I know how this one ends. It was only a hundred years ago that my grandfather bribed a boarder guard and dressed like a girl to flee pogroms in the Soviet Union.

Reason #3: Because I’m Being Reactive and Underestimating America

Cooler heads will cite America’s resilience: “We’ll survive because we always do.” 

We’ve had bad presidents. It hasn’t meant the end of the republic. We’ve emerged from wars, economic downturns, and attacks on our freedom. We’ve seen demagogues, and rebuffed them. If a president’s terrible, he won’t get reelected. Everything’s cyclical. The system can be slow and ugly, but it reacts and corrects. 

This is by no means the first time a party has controlled all three branches of government. Republicans did it in 2000. They proceeded to lose Congress in the 2002 midterms, and narrowly lost their senate majority in 2006. They may have charged into a few ill-advised wars that killed hundreds of thousands of people and ballooned the deficit and accelerated global warming and brought moral shame upon us with secret torture prisons and warrantless wiretapping and aggravated wealth inequality with tax cuts for the rich and the deregulation of banks and fostered conditions for the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression along the way, but that whole mess brought us Obama, and the republic survived. 

And when Democrats took the White House and a majority in the house and senate in 2008? Republicans curled up in an obstructionist ball for two years, and took back congress in the 2010 midterms. It is the greatest gift the founding fathers gave us– a system that errs towards gridlock, which has protected us against the forces of tyranny for some 240 years. 

The Cooler Heads will cite reasons why this will be the case for Trump. They cite the fact that Trump’s Republican coalition is unwieldy at best. That Trump isn’t even really a Republican– his campaign was against Paul Ryan, Mitch McConnell and the Republican establishment as much as it was against the Democrats. Once the Republicans cut taxes for the wealthy, appoint a few conservative judges to the courts, roll back Obamacare, Dodd-Frank and the Clean Energy Act, Trump’s coalition is going to start to fracture. 

Trump didn’t win the election because he broadened the Republican coalition and attracted new voters to the Republican party– he won because voter turnout was down. Trump had a million more votes than Romney in the states he won that Romney lost– Ohio, Florida, Iowa, Pennsylvania, and Michigan (with Wisconsin virtually the same), but total voter turnout was lower than it was in 2012 in all of these states (except for Florida, where voter turnout was up 8% from 2012 and Trump outperformed Romney by 11%). Longterm demographic trends still favor the Democrat’s coalition, and if Trump governs as poorly as we fear, democratic voters will be ignited to turn out for the midterm elections in 2018 and to take Trump down in 2020.

The Cooler Heads will also note there are mechanisms for the minority party to obstruct the governing one from getting things done. The Republicans don’t have the 60 votes they would need to force things through the senate. Democrats will copy the Republican playbook from the past eight years and at the very least, they’ll manage to stop Trump from doing anything that puts the country in existential danger. 

As for Trump’s campaign of intolerance and the wave of white nationalism he rode into office, cooler heads will argue that while he may hold views that are racist, misogynistic, and xenophobic, he’s more empty vessel than ideologue. His rhetoric during the campaign was designed to make the election about identity. But it was a cynical marketing strategy, not an ideology. 

The Cooler Heads might even pontificate that a Trump presidency might not be all bad. I think they’re wrong, and getting there requires a cocktail of denial and privilege, but they might reason that while Trump’s a demagogue and a narcissist with designs to use the presidency to enrich himself and his family, perhaps he’ll have a business man’s savvy about running the government. Maybe he’ll pass a big infrastructure bill that doubles as a stimulus, with Democrats ensuring its inclusive and a chastened media monitoring for corruption and graft. He’ll promulgate business-friendly policies that enrich banks and corporations and increase wealth inequality, but the American economy hums as high corporate profits propel the stock market upwards.   

Mike Pence and Paul Ryan try to push through a radical Republican agenda, but run into gridlock. They don’t have the 60 votes they need repeal Dodd-Frank, they repeal Obamacare through budget reconciliation but delay when the repeal goes into effect because no one can figure out how to replace it, as Republican voters realize through a haze of misinformation that Obamacare and the Affordable Care Act are the same thing, that repealing it would mean no longer being able to afford their cancer treatment, and that everything they don’t like about Obamacare was the result of Republican obstructionism and sabotage. Republican lawmakers stop short of Trump’s craziest proposals, which do indeed prove politically unworkable.  If Silicon Valley keeps innovating and a policy of isolationism keeps America out of a clash between Europe and the Middle East, Trump could even end up being remembered as a middling President, a tier above George W. Bush and Millard Fillmore.

Reason #4: Because the Real Best Case Scenario is Actually Terrible

Even if Trump was a normal politician, his platform would be dangerous. His incompetency and illiteracy and the fact that he processes the world like a five-year old child is enough to spell disaster.

Trump’s stance on climate change alone could be, by definition, apocalyptic. If he walks away from the Paris Accord, it could be a decade before the world cooperates on climate change again. We could look back on his presidency as the moment when we accelerated environmental degradation and doomed the planet. 

Trump’s complete ignorance about diplomacy and geopolitics could also rapidly throw the world into turmoil. He’s exhibited minimal understanding of how the world works or America’s place in it. He’s volatile, reactive and vengeful in a fragile world that manages order only through predictability and diplomacy. Our allies are frightened they can no longer rely on American support, and if we drive them away, they’ll find protection elsewhere. 

Trump’s belief in protectionism will cut economic ties that foster cooperation and American soft power. Trump’s plans to walk away from the TPP will cripple American influence in Asia Pacific, and cede influence in the region to China, and his plans to declare China a currency manipulator and use Taiwan as a bargaining chip could escalate tensions with China and make Sino-US relations openly hostile. 

Trump and the alt-right’s categorical condemnation of Islam and hardline approach to fighting terrorism, including a Muslim immigration ban, the astonishingly unconstitutional Muslim registry, the resumption of torture and black sites, and even the semantic obsession with saying “radical Islamic terrorism,” threaten to alienate moderate Muslims and foster more extremism, while compromising American values and diminishing our standing around the world. Trump could be the buffoon who brings the clash of civilizations to fruition.

Trump’s volatile temperament is at this point well-documented. He’s reactive and vindictive, prone to late-night Twitter rants that spew invective without any basis in fact. What happens when he takes aim at a foreign leader? What happens when he decides to escalate a Twitter War into a real one? U.S. foreign policy has never been in more reckless hands, and the possibility for a misstep that threatens our security, weakens our standing in the world, or triggers an international crisis have seemingly never been higher.

There’s a current of fear sweeping America and Europe, as white people without a college educations outside of major cities who are culturally and economically alienated from the forces of globalization, who never recovered from the 2008 financial crisis and in whom a fear of Islam and terror have been ingrained since 9/11, are turning to right-wing nativist movements that promise a return to a more prosperous past. Countries across Europe are being strained by the influx of refugees, and nationalist parties in Finland (18% of the vote), Denmark (21%), Austria (35%), Hungary (21%), France (14%), and Switzerland (29%) are gaining support on the back of anti-immigration platforms that call out Islam by name. 

This is the sentiment that loomed over the Brexit referendum, which saw British voters upend polling expectations and vote to leave the European Union. On the day of the Brexit referendum polls showed a 3-4% lead for “remain” that was within the margin of error, only to have an unexpected victory for “leave” that was spearheaded by the turnout of non-college white people in the heartland, who longed to reclaim some imagined “past greatness,” felt the loss of “national identity,” and scapegoated immigrants for taking jobs and straining public services. Five months later, the US election has followed the exact same script. 

Trump spent the campaign stoking fears that America was hurtling towards the apocalypse. Now that he’s the president-elect it’s tempting to invoke the same kind of hyperbole. I’m nervous Trump’s administration is going to be one of unprecedented corruption and division, that serves one part of the country at the expense of others, that brings out the worst in us and represses what’s best.

But even in this scenario, the country would survive. Our system, our principles, our resolve have always allowed us to weather these storms. Progress doesn’t move in a straight line. We’ll survive this and come out stronger on the other side, because we always do. Sure the idea that Trump could be the end of the 240-year American experiment is the thinking of the paranoid conspiracist.

But god, if there was ever a moment to wonder if we’re in uncharted territory, it’s now. Because there’s something dangerous about the “we’ll survive because we always do” axiom: it holds true until it doesn’t. 

Because this Time’s Actually Different

There is a critical difference between the 2016 Presidential election and the 57 that came before it: we’ve never elected a demagogue like Trump to the office of the President. 

Of all the demagogues that have emerged in the course of US history–Huey Long, George Wallace, Joseph McCarthy, Charles Coughlin– Trump is the only one to seize our highest office. We’ve watched him closely for 18 months. He’s not bound by any norms, or decency or sense of shame.  His politics are dangerous.

In Trump, we’ve elected the tyrant our founding fathers feared and designed our democracy to defend against. The populist who could rise to power by appealing to base emotions and making promises to the working class that couldn’t be kept. Soon-to-be-boycotted by the alt-right founding father Alexander Hamilton warned that it was democracy’s greatest vulnerability in Federalist #1: “Of those men who have overturned the liberties of republics, the greatest number have begun their career by paying an obsequious court to the people; commencing demagogues, and ending tyrants.” 

A vengeful narcissist who believes he’s above our norms should not be in the Oval Office. Trump’s campaign followed a demagogue’s playbook– drumming up fears of terrorism and national decline, scapegoating minorities and immigrants, shamelessly lying and promising the impossible. He’s announced intentions to jail his opponents and sue his accusers, incited violence at his rallies and shown a preference for confrontation and vengeance over compromise or resolution. He’s declared the rights to freedom of speech, religion, and assembly to be annoyances he could do without. 

The institutions and norms that were supposed to keep a demagogue out of the White House have already failed us. This puts the United States in uncharted territory, and the possibilities of a Trump presidency should be considered in that light.

Trump’s consistently demonstrated a belief that the rules don’t apply to him. For 25 years as a private citizen, he stiffed contractors and creditors, committed infidelity and sexual assault, and evaded taxes. Most disturbing, Trump maintained during the campaign he wouldn’t accept the election results if he lost, a statement he modulated but never retracted. The peaceful transition of power is the most fundamental and singular political feat of American democracy. It’s the reason any of this works. If Trump was prepared to challenge these precedents as a candidate who was expected to lose, what might he do when he’s in office? It seems not a matter of whether Trump will abuse power– it’s how brazenly and destructively.

Trump plans to have his children run the Trump Corporation while he’s in office, and has put his children in charge of the transition team that will make all key hires for his administration, an unconscionable conflict of interest. I’m not about to pretend that U.S. politics haven’t always involved horse trading and corruption. I’m sure the alt-right has corruption anecdotes about the Clintons and the Obamas– but what Trump’s trying to get away with is unprecedented.

Never before has there been such an obvious channel for directly bribing the President of the United States. Foreign leaders with holdings in foreign companies could award lucrative deals to Trump Corp to influence U.S. policy. Trump’s recently opened hotel in DC seems poised to become a direct channel for foreign countries to bribe Trump, and puts him in violation of the Constitution’s emoluments clause. Trump’s children headed his campaign and have chaired his transition team– there is no separation between them and Trump. The idea that a “chinese wall” could exist between Ivanka Trump, who heads Trump Corp, and her husband Jared Kushner, who Trump has challenged anti-nepotism laws to bring into his administration, is ridiculous. 

When a company or foreign government meets with Trump Corp, it will be hard not to imagine it’s also dealing with the United States government. It’s a dangerous line that at best opens the door to unprecedented corruption and at worst leads to Donald Jr. igniting a cyber war when he threatens a well-connected Chinese Developer. As Matt Iglesias reasons in one of the most chilling articles written since the election, given Trump’s philosophy of rewarding loyalists and punishing his rivals, Trump could turn the U.S. into a post-Soviet style kleptocracy. A pay-to-play system in which fealty to Trump’s administration is necessary for doing business, while businesses that voice dissent find themselves on the wrong side of regulations, losing government contracts, or embroiled in federal investigations. 

He’s already begun to set the stage for this kleptocracy, with his deal with Carrier “to save a thousand jobs from being shipped to Mexico.” The narrative on the right is that Trump met with Carrier and convinced it to keep a plant open in Indiana, thereby saving a thousand jobs before he’s even arrived in office. Obama would have been pilloried by the right if he ever boasted about “saving jobs from leaving.” He can’t even get credit for creating 16 million jobs during his presidency. No matter that 6,000 Carrier jobs are still leaving, and that Trump has merely slowed the inevitable. This isn’t an economic policy– it’s a precedent for companies to hold the government hostage– “cut our taxes or we’ll leave.” But of even greater concern, Trump has taken the first step towards his kleptocracy, and disguised it in a triumphant and politically-difficult-to-argue-against story about saving manufacturing jobs. A world where he picks winners and losers, singling out private companies to reward or punish on a case-by-case basis. Like the most dangerous demagogues and paranoid psychopaths, Trump keeps a list of his enemies. He has shown no hesitation in using his Twitter account to attack them and seems to relish the power his tweets have to move markets. 

As for Trump’s unwieldy Republican coalition– I want to believe there are reasonable Republicans that might serve as a check on Trump. That party cooperation with Trump’s agenda will slow after they’ve implemented the top agenda items of the Republican establishment and done their best to erase any trace that Obama was in the White House. But if Republicans were too spineless to condemn Trump during the campaign, how can we expect them to stand up to him when he’s returned them to power, touts a voter mandate, and uses the oval office as a bully pulpit? 

These are the same Republicans that began undermining our institutions earlier this year, when they abdicated their constitutional duty to give a hearing to Merrick Garland. A week before the election, Republican senators were vowing to obstruct any Supreme Court nominees appointed by Clinton, abandoning any pretense that this was ever based on even the most rickety of precedents. Our institutions are all that hold our country together. When they cease to transcend any one person or party, our entire republic is threatened. 

Normally the losing party regroups after an election and begins to work towards winning back legislative control in the midterm elections. Bush lost his Republican majority in the house and senate in the midterm elections of 2002, and Obama lost his in 2010. But while a lot can change in two years, the 2018 midterm elections don’t seem to offer democrats that possibility. Republican gerrymandering will aid Republicans in holding the house for the foreseeable future, with many Republicans more afraid defeat will come from “getting primaried” from the right than from a Democrat challenger. In the senate, only eight Republicans are up for reelection, seven of them from solidly Red states, while 25 Democrats are up for reelection, ten of whom are from states won by Trump. 

Even more than gerrymandering or specific senate races though, the Democrat coalition faces a longterm structural and geographic problem. Democrats enjoy a voter majority, but their support is inefficiently distributed in a system that awards political power based on geography. For the second time in five elections, the Democrats won the popular vote and lost the electoral college. Clinton won California by 4.3 million votes, and won its 55 electoral votes– Trump won Florida, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Wisconsin, and North Carolina by about 800,000 votes, and won 108 electoral votes. Representation in the senate is also geared towards geography– the 40 million people in California get the same number of senators as the 600,000 people in Wyoming. The arithmetic of congress and the electoral college was set up to create a buffer between voters and their elected officials and to prevent any one region from becoming too powerful. But with democrats clustered in cities and on the coasts, the arithmetic currently cedes disproportionate representation to Republicans, and even as demographic trends favor the democrats, it could be a while before demographics catch up to geographic distribution. Add to that the fact that Trump can appoint a partisan crony to chair the federal reserve in 2018 to grease monetary policy in the run up to the election in 2020 and that Republicans will delay the repeal of ACA until after the midterms, and the Republican hold on power could end up increasing in 2018.

Trump’s early cabinet moves also portend an Orwellian state, rendering every department’s name into cruel irony. The Environmental Protection Agency will be led by a fierce climate change denier who works for the oil and gas industry, the Department of Labor will advocate pro-business policies that aid in worker exploitation, the Federal Trade Commission will encourage monopolization and consumer exploitation, the Department of Justice will condone civil rights abuse and exact revenge on Trump’s opponents. Trump has appointed a white-nationalist anti-semite to a Bismarckian role exempt from congressional approval, and seems intent on filling most other positions in his cabinet with plutocrats and alt-right loyalists. Instead of emptying the swamp, Trump’s filling his cabinet with muck from the bottom of it. People is policy, and Trump’s administration is shaping up to be an intersection of the Christian right, white supremacists, Trump loyalists, and cronies of the oil and gas industry.

And what happens when a demagogue who doesn’t play by the rules decides he doesn’t want to relinquish power? For now, a 60-vote supermajority is needed in the senate for key appointments and legislation, which will allow Democrats and key Republicans to moderate Trump’s agenda. But what happens when Trump grows annoyed with the filibuster, and pressures the senate to blunt the tools of minority opposition? And makes dangerous appointments with a 51 vote majority approval that turn the courts from a check on his power to a rubber stamp?  And declares war on the the press, limiting White House access to conservative media of his choosing, and expanding on the precedent set by his friend Peter Thiel in the lawsuit that ruled against the first amendment and led to the shuttering of Gawker? And helps the passing of discriminatory voter suppression laws (the 2010 reinstatement of which already helped to sway the election for Trump) under the guise of addressing voter fraud, and deregulates campaign financing, while making Breitbart a state-sponsored TV Channel to be transmitted to every home and be built-into every American-made iPhone, which by the way, will now transmit all of your private information to the Department of Freedom. On one hand, it sounds unthinkable. On the other, everything that’s happened since Trump declared his candidacy has seemed impossible– until it wasn’t. It may be time to assume the worst about him and prepare accordingly, rather than being surprised with every new offense that pushes us incrementally closer to an autocratic kleptocracy. 

This is all without even mentioning Russia. At the very least, it appears Russia hacked the DNC and leaked information in an attempt to sway the election towards Trump, with the Trump campaign taking advantage of the leaks that dogged Clinton throughout the campaign. Remarkably, Republicans who used to call themselves patriots are now happy to condone interference in an American election by a hostile foreign power. Which is insane. But at worst, all of this goes much deeper. Multiple intelligence agencies seem to believe that Russian intelligence taped Trump getting peed on by prostitutes when he visited Moscow in 2013, giving Russian intelligence blackmail to wield against him. This theory would hold that the Kremlin systematically coordinated with and funded the Trump campaign, working through Paul Manafort, who took over Trump’s campaign over the summer of 2016 before disappearing back into the shadows and whose ties to Moscow are well-documented, and it would mean Russia has a puppet in Washington DC for the next four years. Trump’s consistent pro-Russian stance, his obsession with Putin, and his nomination of Exxon Mobil CEO and Russian Order of Friendship Recipient Rex Tillerson to be Secretary of State further suggests treasonously deep ties between Trump and Moscow. Trump continues to deny all of this, even the universally agreed upon fact that Moscow hacked the DNC. If there’s unrest in Latvia in the next few years, and Russia blocks security resolutions to intervene but moves in unilaterally as a peacekeeper, and Trump doesn’t do anything about it, we’ll know the tape is real.  

Because This Could Go From Bad to a This-Is-The-Darkest-Period-In-American-History Worse

There was speculation during the campaign that Paul Ryan and Mike Pence were more ideologically extreme than Trump. “Sure, Trump’s got some crazy in him,” the thinking went, “but at least he used to kind of be a democrat.”  If Trump was to end up being impeached, be it due to allegations of treason, perjury, violating the constitution, or demonstrating with finality that he’s unfit to hold office– or if he succumbs to a heart attack because of his incredibly poor health– there was an idea that the devil we knew might be better than the devil we didn’t. It was Pence, after all, who backed a law in Indiana that would force women to have a burial for their aborted fetuses, and spearheaded the charge to leverage Hurricane Katrina to pass policies that lowered labor standards and gave handouts to oil and gas companies.  

I’m offended by most of their politics, and would no doubt look upon their agenda in horror, but I’d accept this was our democracy playing out. Red vs Blue, D. vs R., hollywood liberals vs bible belt conservatives, with a lot of filibustering, fundraising, and shouting at each other on Sunday shows on the way to relative gridlock. But I would believe that no matter the appearance of corruption, religious fervor, or even bigotry, that they believe in democracy, the constitution, and the rule of law. 

But in Trump, we’re faced with a new set of concerns. I’ve spent a lot of words talking about alarming implications of Trump’s temperament, his policy views, and his incompetence. But the only scarier thing than Trump’s blustering incompetence is that he, and more likely Steve Bannon, are in fact maniacally competent. 

For the past eight years, Democrats and Republicans have had a philosophical battle over whether our system worked. Obama tried to navigate unprecedented partisan gridlock to pull levers that nudged the country in the direction of a progressive liberal agenda, even if the movement was sometimes slight. With the nomination of Hilary Clinton, Democrats continued to stake out a belief that change could be affected within the current system. The Republicans, radicalized with the ascendence of the Tea Party, became the party of revolution– they decided they didn’t believe the current system worked, and they wanted to overturn it. This made the Tea Party well-suited to be an opposition party, because it was always ready to play the game of chicken. Either it would get its way, or it would lose and take the whole government crashing down with it– and it was perfectly fine with either outcome. The Democrats would never have risked jeopardizing America’s credit to gain a policy victory, as the Republicans did when they threatened sovereign default unless Obamacare was repealed. But instead of being thrown out of power for needlessly threatening to throw the global economy into chaos, Republican lawmakers expanded their hold on both federal and state legislatures over the past six years. There was a time when conservative Republicans could at least be counted on to be patriots and believe in upholding the constitution, but Republicans have become the party that is willing to abandon those tenets for other ideological gains. 

The country’s susceptibility to autocracy is made more challenging by the  “post-truth” environment in which we now live. The fact that “post-truth” is now a term we throw around and accept is itself ludicrous and dangerous, but seems to be the only way to adequately describe the current political and media landscape. The polarizing impact of social media networks, the death of the local newspaper, the erosion of civil society, the divide between people with a college education and people without, between secular liberals in the cities and religious conservatives in the heartland, have made it so that Democrats and Republicans no longer inhabit the same reality, and have no mechanism for even communicating with each other.  As of 2016, 72% of Republicans still doubted whether Barack Obama was born in the US.  Over 60% of Republicans still didn’t believe global warming was due to human activities. If we can’t agree on objective facts, we open the door to unspeakable horrors, with no way to hold those who propagate them to account.

Republicans have denounced every news outlet that follows basic journalistic standards as an ideological arm of liberal elites. Meanwhile, many Trump supporters get their news from Breitbart, the propaganda organization of Trump’s top advisor, Steve Bannon. No US President has ever had a news organization for directly misinforming his supporters. State-run news organizations are hallmarks of autocracies.

The Great Con of the Republican party is that it relies on the support of people its policies don’t particularly help. It’s not just democratic campaign rhetoric that Trump wanted to cut taxes for the wealthiest 1% and deregulate banks and enrich businesses at the expense of their workers– that’s really the crux of their plan.  Trump added a populist spin that won him the election– but I’m against his policies because I’m confident they’re going to leave the country worse off. 

So the scary part of a Trump presidency happens when his policies fail to make a difference in the lives of his supporters. When it turns out that fixing health insurance wasn’t as simple as selling plans across state lines. When protectionist policies increase the prices at Walmart. When putting tariffs on Mexico doesn’t bring back post-WWII manufacturing jobs, but rather accelerates the pace of automation. When the Affordable Care Act is repealed and people can no longer pay for their cancer treatments. When Americans realize they’re worse off, and Trump faces a rising tide of disapproval and charges of incompetency, and begins to scramble to deflect his failures from his administration and place them somewhere else. 

This is the point when a lot of presidents would lose reelection. But this is where Trump and his demagoguery set up a different dynamic. Trump has proven uniquely adept at speaking to his supporters, and distracting them from policy by fanning the flames of intolerance and xenophobia. He has a strong cult of personality and commands blind allegiance from a base that puts faith above reason. They have perhaps been failed by our society-- left behind by our economy and education system, they are unequipped to understand their own self-interests or confront ideas that challenge them-- as Errol Morris mused, the "a stupid person is a person who treats a smart person as if he is stupid.”  Their shame leaves them angry, their resentment leads to tribalism. Those bright red Make America Great Again hats recall a tactic used by other fascist movements to identify their supporters– badges of allegiance that serve as a mechanism of deindividuation and embolden those wearing them to express their most base and intolerant beliefs.

But it may not just be a matter of incompetency. Trump has expressed his admiration for Putin’s regime, and Steve Bannon subscribes to William Strauss and Neil Howe’s theory that every 80 years America has a major crisis, when the system gets remade. Trump and Clinton were both viewed so unfavorably that the 2016 election was often framed as a contest between the lesser of two evils. But we may have actually seen the triumph of a deep-seated white-Christian authoritarian world-view. Trump might be inviting crisis. 

I’m afraid we’re about to see the most cynical version of disaster capitalism. Employed by the Bush administration after 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina (and documented by Naomi Klein in The Shock Doctrine), where the Trump administration welcomes disasters and leverages them to implement policies that roll back our freedom, weaken our institutions, enrich government contractors and cronies, and try to remake the world order. I’ve already mentioned why Trump’s bluster towards Islam is strategically flawed– we risk alienating moderate Muslims we need as allies in the fight against radical Islamic terrorism, and ending up in some sort of clash of civilizations. But there’s another, scarier scenario– given Trump’s clear racism towards Muslims, the many mentions he made of killing terrorists and their families during the campaign, and his belief that the mistake in Iraq was not securing the oil– I wonder if Trump is seeking out this clash. If he’d invite another terrorist attack on American soil, blame Obama for being too soft on terror, and use it as an excuse to partner with Russia to create a white Christian world order that wipes parts of the Middle East from the earth. Scarier still, I’m nervous his supporters would welcome it.

It would seem I’ve assuredly veered into the realm of paranoia and conspiracy that I set out to avoid. I hope we’ll laugh about it one day– I’ll be happy to get a boozy, yuppie brunch in Silver Lake with all of my liberal elite hipster friends in two years, after the Democrats retake the house in 2018, a Sunday edition of the New York Times on the table with a headline “Trump Card: Congress to Begin Impeachment Hearings,” as Trump sits at 18% in the polls. We can laugh about how I was a directionless millennial– a “whiny loser,” as Trump would say– who was prone to conspiracy theories and didn’t have enough faith in American institutions, which truly do always win out in the end. 

But I can’t help but watch what’s happening and think we’re living through that fateful, chilling, divergent moment that will appear in history books. The kind of moment of which historians will ask, how did this happen and why didn’t anyone stop it? 

[starryloft]

Honestly, don't be a fucktard in life

Honestly, some people are amazing at twisting their words.

I used to group with this 2 friends of mine since year 1, let's name the one that's currently in my class as S and the one that's NOT in my class as W. With S, W and me, 2 other girls make up a clique.

I'm currently in my 3rd and last year of getting my diploma. I've always worked with S and W since year 1. So I have an understanding that S does work. Apparently, in this year 3, 1st semester, it wasn't so.

S, me and the 2 other girls from our class since year 1, formed a new clique. Obviously so because we are in the same class. WHILE W IS IN ANOTHER CLASS. NOTE THAT I STATE W IS IN ANOTHER CLASS.

S was nothing but an utter freeloader this entire semester. The group REPEATED tried to include her and asked her stuff. Her response? Nothing but half baked and vague answers. What's a normal person to do?

Moving on, the group wanted to meet to discuss about the assignments. ONCE AGAIN, TAKE NOTE THAT IT'S ASSIGNMENTS WITH AN S. So it's not only ONE assignment, it's MULTIPLE assignments. Since S has been giving vague and half baked answers all semester, and with multiple assignments due on the same day, I simply gave her a yes/no option. What I literally messaged her was, "S, are you coming to my house tmr? Yes or no lollll"

I honestly see no reason as to why she felt compelled to send the message, "I Skype you guys" to "I think I Skype you guys". I have no idea what difference the "I think" adds into the context, but if S really feels that she wants to, so be it.

Let's talk about the Skype call on the day that me and the other 2 girls met at my house. If you are wondering why of all places to meet, it would be my house, the reason is:

1. My house is the most convienent out of everyone

2. Everyone has been coming since year 1 (once again, this information is crucial)

3. No one else is willing to open their house

Anyways, me and the other 2 girls met in my house. We skyped the girl. We discussed about our assignments blah blah blah. After that, I was getting really annoyed because I started to think about how useless and incompetent she really has been for the whole semester. I simply asked her, "S, is there something going on in your life or something? Because the amount of work and quality of work you are putting in is kinda terrible". I cannot state right from the get go that it's utter trash. I was literally trying my best to sugar coat. This stupid S started saying how she had a mental breakdown, and took 2 days break. Okay, can.

The thing is, we allocated her to place photos into the site A WEEK AGO. We found her the pictures, and ALL SHE NEED TO DO WAS ADD IT IN. She took a whole week, TO ADD IN 2 PICTURES. Honestly, if this isn't what you call a fucktard, I have no idea what else to call her.

Let's change the assignment now shall we? Let's move on to assignment 2.

Assignment 2 is lesson planning. S literally did nothing for the ENTIRE assignment, and on the day of implementation, she fucked up. The whole group fucked up. Everyone fucked up. Me and the other 2 girls, got really mad and angst. We have our own personal lives to deal with, we spend the night doing all these assignments. And in the end, we need to get the same grade as S? Think about it, anyone with a sane mind will think that it's unfair.

Right after the class ended, we told S that we wanted to peer evaluate her. The only reason she could give us to convince us was, "I don't want to remod". WHO WANTS TO REMOD dumb shit. Our grades for the first assignment was pretty nasty, and we put in the effort to save our grades. What makes you think you can get a free ride from us? And further more, she even acknowledged that she contributed literally nothing for the assignment. I have the recording.

The only thing that's going on in her life is school. ONLY SCHOOL. Me and the 2 other girls has way more commitments than the other girl. I honestly have no idea what makes it so difficult for her to contribute to the assignment. Anyways, remember W? This is when she comes into the picture.

S started telling W that me and the 2 other girls wanted to peer evaluate her. So what did W do? Gossip and spread the word! People that we thought were friends with us since year 1, started messaging us - to guilt trip us for wanting to peer evaluate a friend.

Let's be honest, what's the definition of a friend? Apparently, S's definition of a friend is to freeload off them? I personally really feel like she needs to think back of her actions before claiming that she feels betrayed by us because she thought we were "friends". If a friend is one who freeloads for the entire semester and acts so self entitled, I do not need that friend. Heck, losing a friend isn't that hard for me. In fact, I lived my life solo for 5 whole years in my high school. It wasn't that hard. Moving on with the story...

Lets go back to the first assignment. Me and the 2 other girls spent the entire night completing the site for assignment 1. Damn, we didn't sleep the whole night. We literally did the damn site from 12pm to 5pm and 11pm to 9am. What did we get from it? S stirring shit up.

Me and the 2 other girls literally just submitted the assignment. I've been really stressed all semester. I've been vomiting real bad, like everyday. I've been sleeping at 3-4am for the past 1 month. I have really bad backache from my bad posture to complete my assignments. And my period never even came once during the entire semester (1 semester is roughly 14 weeks?)

Right after submitting, I ran to the toilet RIGHT AWAY to vomit. I was literally in the middle of vomiting, when my lecturer messaged me - saying that me and the 2 other girls needed to come down to the school to meet her. She stressed that it was urgent.

Mind you. We spent the whole night doing assignment. Heck, when we submitted the assignment, the sun had risen. We spent the whole night doing, we haven't even slept and we need to go to school???? ON A DAY THAT WE DON'T HAVE LESSONS?

Long story cut short, we went to meet the lecturers and we saw S acting all pitiful as always. I have to really acknowledge her ability to twist words and cry on cue.

The lecturer in charge of the assignment didn't really take sides, however our class advisor was clearly siding her and casually spitting her comments that no one really appreciated as me and one of the 2 other girls were saying. (Honestly, fuck our class advisor. You suck at your fucking job. You met us only once in the whole sem.) The other girl went to the hospital to get an IV drip, because she was feeling THAT SICK.

S said mainly:

1. Me and the 2 other girls do work late

2. She didn't have assess to the site

3. We didn't include her

Alright. Let's get a few facts straight with this fucktard.

1. We all have our personal schedules. Like I said earlier, we all have WAY MORE commitments than S - which only has school. We have school in the morning till afternoon. After that, we need to attend to our other commitments. And we have assignments due. Let's use our brains to think shall we? God gave us a brain for a reason after all. You have school from morning till late afternoon. From evening till night you are settling your other commitments. By logical thinking, when and what are you supposed to do to complete your assignments? Obvious answer: stay up till you complete your assignments! WOW THAT DIDNT USE MUCH BRAIN CELLS DID IT.

BUT WAIT, S DOESNT HAVE THE BRAIN CAPACITY TO THINK THAT FAR.

2. S CLEARLY HAD ASSESS TO THE SITE. The group created a group gmail account to assess the site. We had notified her that the site has been changed. By common sense, you should have been able to know that the site is still the same!

As long as you take the effort to simply log in, you would have been able to see the site! WELL, WASNT THAT SIMPLE.

3. We tried many ways to include her. I even played a fucking mobile game to talk to her. AND TALKED CRAP FOR 30 WHOLE MINUTES. JUST TO PROVIDE HER WITH AN OPPORTUNITY. I have mobile games. I hate it but I honestly had no idea how to talk to her. So I had to play it. The other 2 girls did try to include her too.

Every single time we tried, she would reject and brush off aside and say, "I'll Skype you guys"

Since we have gotten these 3 points clarified, let's move on to why the situation had escalated such that the lecturers demanded to see us.

First thing in the morning, S and her parents went to see the lecturers. S expertly twisted words and portrayed herself as the victim. And that wasn't all! S required MORE moral support!

So W brought down her group of friends to give her moral support. (Her group of friends are also the ones trying to guilt trip us) and God knows why this stupid dumb fuck, let's call her J is involved too. She has absolutely no connection to me and the 2 other girls. (Seriously, why are you joining side the fray for?)

Me and the 2 other girls talked about our point of view and shut S down for being such a fucktard. Apparently from what I heard, S's parents were very sad because the lecturer had said that it was S's fault. It was her personality fault for being timid and not courageous (I honestly have no idea who's timid and not courageous since she's able to twist stories and put so much MSG into her stories and tell so many people about it).

I don't feel guilty in the slightest really. I only feel bad for myself and the 2 other girls.

I feel bad for even allowing myself to know about S's very existence. Her very existence is a mistake and me knowing about her very existence is an error.

Honestly, fuck you S. (I hope that society trashes you so bad in life that you just fucking cry your guts out)

You have done nothing but made my anxiety hit the roof and made me bring out my bitch tactics. If I really want to, I can slowly fuck with you but your existence itself isn't that important to me. I'll let society deal with fucktards like you.

[tupelohunharold-blog]

II. The Woman Series:

The Ocean

I really couldn't believe what I was trying to do. Trying out, I guess.

My hands shakily pushed down words on my laptop's keyboard, and at the same time I breathed in a huge amount of air, to the point I could feel it, even in my skin's pores.

I was an ocean.

Heavy, wild and most importantly: drowning. Not only I made people around me drown in my toxic thoughts and feelings, but I was also poor to myself. I was self-destructive. I've never really known a way to treat myself well -- the meaning of self-care was so unfamiliar for me that I did things like this.

"Things" as actions which may or may not be not even unlogical, but just pure idiotic. I guess.

I shook my head to focus on my task.

Shit, was I really doing it?

Yes, I was -- apparently.

On that website -- on that uncomfortable, dirty, strange, yet completely honest and open website which is not only complicated, but easy as well.

Complicated, because do you really want to show your naked body to anybody -- to strangers all over the world? Do you really need money THAT desperately?

Money. That's all it is about. Clearly.

This is why it's easy, too. There's no expectations in a way where they expect you to have a passion in porn industry.

You're clearly just a poor, desperate, easily used girl. A little baby who doesn't want to grow up like a normal person.

This is what I told myself.

I'm different, I'm less, so this is what I deserve.

So I really did it.

Shit, I fucking did.

"Hi everyone!

Recently I've made an account on paypal.me (Its link is in my profile, next to the "Website" subtitle.), because I'm in need of money.

I'd be really grateful if you could help me out a little bit..."

I shut my eyes, sighed and forced myself to continue.

Don't be a pussy.

"... And if you send bigger amount of money, I'll do anything for you. (For example using a special toy, moaning your name in one of your videos etc.)

Thank you so much in advance! Hope you have a lovely day!"

I completely collapsed.

All my energy left me.

I immediately signed out of the website, as if it was on the same level as Hell.

I hated this.

I hated being someone who always in need of money, who always stresses about money, even if I'm just eighteen.

The ocean: I became quiet. Again.

No waves, no screams, no movements or sounds.

I was just a girl.

I looked through the heavy darkness, my laptop's screen showed me the way to help me find and grab my phone. It spitted the raw truth: I should had been already asleep at that point. Tomorrow was school, not only a regular school day, but also a Monday. AND not just a terrible start of the next week, BUT a freaking photoshoot at the end of the day as well.

We needed to make some portraits to our class' group photograph, considering the fact that we indeed was in the last year of secondary school.

Senior year -- a very overrated school year in my opinion. All the special events and other fancy things that they make us to do are completely bullshit.

Why do we have to force ourselves to go to dance with a guy we don't even really know? Why do we have to smile to those teacher's faces who once made ourselves cry in our sleep or actually in front of our classmates? Why do we have to pretend that all these years which we were forced to being some fucking robots were something great to remember? Why?

I groaned, regardless I tried to calm myself down.

I sighed when I layed down and covered myself with my soft blanket. It smelt heavenly, because my mum had just recently washed it out. My bare feet couldn't help, but stroked the fluffy fabric. I buried my face into my pillow -- its vanilla smell made all my muscle relax into the mattress. I breathed out some air through my nose and closed my eyes. They were aching to sleep and rest some time. They needed it so much, but my brain decided otherwise. It wasn't that bad, this time there was no dark thought, only the small sparkle of wakefulness.

A quiet sound startled me. In my somewhat tired and confused state I didn't immediately reached to the source of the sound, I let it beep again. I let myself stay in the moment a little more as I rubbed my nose in the softness. My eyes were squeezed until the other moment -- I clumsily reached for my phone which was apparently hiding away from me. On the last straw of my patience finally I could grab that device, but I was startled again.

I sweared some beautiful words as its white light blinded me.

As I looked at my phone's screen, I noticed a notification from Gmail.

It informed me that there's already someone to pay me. I raised one of my eyebrows, then the other as well -- they were almost in my hair while my forehead was similar to a pug's skin.

Then my heart stopped beating for a minute. I couldn't believe my eyes.

Someone... fuck...

I shakily opened the link, and shit...

They sent me 500 dollars. 500 freaking dollars.

I was on the edge of having a heartattack which, I know, is impossible to have in my age, but regardless I really felt that way.

There was a message beside it. A short, a simple, but a well-written message.

"Hi, sweetheart..."

I let out an unattractive pitch sound through my closed mouth. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"... I have seen all of your photos and videos, I find you absolutely gorgeous. With your beautiful mouth it would drive me insane to hear you moaning my name.

I will contact you again soon. I am afraid that I am already obsessed with you.

Your Daddy,

Edward."

My cheeks were on fire and I couldn't breath properly.

I deeply buried my face in my pillow and I screamed into it.

500 fucking dollars!

500! fucking! dollars!

500! FUCKING! DOLLARS!

As the reality kicked in, I really did started to wonder whether I caught on a jackpot. What if I found a sugar daddy? Someone who's that rich to just throw around money to pretty girls, that person needs to be a sugar daddy.

With my red face I layed on my back, suddenly I felt so hot, so I pushed my fluffy blanket away. I licked my lips while I closed my eyes and imagined this person.

I liked doing this.

Daydreaming about certain people's lives that's a mystery for me. I imagine them in sceneries where they are happy. Where they are smiling and they are with their loved ones. I imagine them being alone, doing activities which are private and unknown for the outside world. I imagine them crying, because they feel lonely somehow.

So I imagined him being vulnerable. Doing his must-do-tasks, then going home to an empty home where there's space for someone special -- someone who he can take care of. A babygirl.

I was laying only in a two sizes bigger jumper and in some pink panties -- my favourite outfit that I like to wear, but with too many things to do during the day, I barely can make myself feel comfortable in this way. Nights are special, nights are filled with dreaming about someone who takes care of me.

I bit my lip. I bit my lip so hard that my teeth harshly ripped of the skin there and I tasted iron -- my blood.

And the thought came: what did I deserve to have this huge amount of money?

***

The next day came like a thunder: I closed my eyes for a moment and it was the morning already with its intense feelings and rush.

I forced myself to drink two cups of black coffee, and still: I felt like a zombie whose hunger couldn't be satisfied.

When I looked outside the waking sun through my windows I calmed down for a bit. Everything was orange and yellow and at the same time pink and purple -- all the colours painted the sky as if it was like a canvas, needed to be full-filled.

It was snowing. White blankets covered the empty streets -- only a few people were walking. Some with their dogs with sleepy eyes, some just came home from a night shift work with exhausting steps. At least, the last was a theory: who knows how the others really spend their lives.

I sighed, forced myself to turn around and start going to school.

Fucking Mondays.

The bus arrived with its high pitch sound: its wheels weren't some brand new objects to use, but they worked.

My lungs felt unusual weights suddenly: the vehicle was full of with people. I immediately felt my breathing quicken, and I somehow didn't want to go to school anymore.

After some bus stops and loads of "sorrys" later finally I could sit down -- I only needed four stops to travel from there, but I didn't care. With a heavy sigh I collapsed into a free place to sit, the air was still heavy and warm by all those people around me.

However as we stopped next, some long legs walked beside my sit, and I couldn't help, but held down my breath for a moment. The familiar legs, with its black and elegant trousers and a pair of expensive and black boots -- and the smell! It was heavenly.

With reserved movements my head tilted up, my eyes searched for the familiar and gorgeous face.

I needed to be disappointed, though.

It wasn't him -- and I noticed that as soon as my gaze found a long, black beard on the person's sharp chin next to me.

How foolish and childish I was!

It was clearly not him.

It was clearly not the unreachable person whose only love is his perfect looking wife. With her body forming perfect parts on the right places, no irrelevant fats or anything.

I wanted to be like her.

For a long time now.

My mind drifted away immediately to a scenery: a bittersweet picture where I'm attending their wedding and as I see him saying yes, my eyes starts watering the pain I feel in my heart.

His name was Harry.

Harry Styles, a lovely, kind, loyal and polite man who has a body like no other models with a baby face with his dimples, but the sharp jawlines and cheeks speak differently -- as if he is trapped in two personalities in one body.

His childish and playful soul was clearly visible throughout his grown body -- because we're not bodies with souls, rather we're souls with bodies.

I admired him: the way he spoke, the way he walked and most importantly the way he treated others. It was like his attention was never fading away, he always payed attention to every spoken words which others made.

When I sat there: in the small and cosy temple with beautiful red roses and people with widely smiling faces I couldn't focus on any other person, only on him. The way he looked at his soon-to-be-wife as she started walking during the soft melodies towards him.

Everyone was so amazed by that woman, except me who couldn't look away from the man who wore a fitting black and white suit that made him incredibly attractive. His hair looked terribly fluffy and the way its ends curled-- and I just continously were gushing inside. His eyes were bright and too green and overall he was too fucking gorgeous. Beautiful.

I wondered how could someone make me go crazy like this.

In the way I see him everywhere. As this time: in the full, warm and smothery bus where I sat anxiously in.

The next minute I sighed, and I rushed to the nearest door -- I almost missed my bus stop because of my daydreaming again. Fuck.

***

After school I received another message. But this time it was sent through Pornhub. Again: Gmail notified me, because usually I never really liked to be online there.

It was unexpected regardless.

The username was called "edwardh", and I assumed this particular guy was the same person who sent me money last night.

I blushed again, my heart started beating dangerously fast. Why did he make me act this way?

He wanted to be friends there -- I guess because to communicate through messages.

I clearly hesitated -- I just didn't know what to do.

I sweared that at that moment I felt the scariest in my life. In a strange way: because there was a bittersweet, some kind of bubbly feeling beside that part of my soul which was afraid as hell.

Afraid of the unknown and the consequences. I knew if I accept his request I can't re-do my actions.

I accepted it.

Immediately a message popped up:

"Hey, lovely! How are you?"

My fingers were shaking, I just couldn't hold them back -- and I did really felt like I was a pussy.

But then. I answered.

And this is how it really started.

***

After a few month it was like a routine: I came home from school, then I rushed to my laptop to talk with my so-called "Sugar Daddy". He liked to call himself Edward, and like me, he didn't really want to show his face either.

I understood.

However all this time later I found myself falling.

I guess, I was just too young. Easily manipulated, I knew that.

But the way he treated me -- the way he respected me and praised me... He just made me feel like I'm special. The way he murmured my name, sometimes in a tone which I knew so well, it created goose bumps on my skin. Sometimes he couldn't hold it back, and he touched the computer's skin while murmuring praises and wishes.

I wished the same things.

I wished I could meet him and hold him at night when it's all too quiet and lonely -- and when the thoughts are too dark and too bad to manage.

On some occasion I couldn't stop myself -- my teachers were especially on us with their expectations and judging voices and eyes; my parents were just too busy with their works, and my friends -- oh well. I didn't have any friends I could talk to.

So I called him through Skype at the middle of the night. Usually his computer always showed that he was online -- he had a strict job which he owned, so sometimes he worked most of the night.

I thought he will reject me.

He didn't.

After the first ring he picked it up -- his eyes painted red where it's usually white, the bags under them looked extremely painful.

I never really liked how much he worked. I wanted to reward him for all of his hard work, but he wasn't beside me -- and after all we were still strangers.

However when at that night, at that moment I saw his messy hair and exhausted expressions, I genuinely cooed out loudly, and even though I was just sobbing because of the unexplainable and anxious feeling of loneliness, I smiled. In honest.

He made me happy.

And yes, he forgot to cover his face and I forgot to do it as well.

We didn't mind.

We smiled to each other -- there was a little shock, but the familiarity only created warmness.

"Hi, Daddy", I whispered and a painful, yet happy smile appeared on my face.

His face was unreadable at first, then the said shock came, but after that... The sparkle was big.

Huge in fact, and his pupils expanded, I clearly noticed them. He breathed out through his nostrils --  it was a heavy breath.

Concern showed in his actions as he went to the screen closer automatically.

"Baby", he murmured, and continued in praise:

"You're so beautiful, God. But what's wrong, love? Tell Daddy, I'm here to listen."

"I'm always here."

[gretagerwigarchive]

Greta Gerwig's Gmail Thinks She's Pregnant

by John Del Signore, Jun 24, 2014.

source: http://gothamist.com/2014/06/24/greta_gerwig_sigh.php

Last week we spoke with Gerwig by phone, and tried to play it cool.

What are you up to? Are you multitasking right now?

Well, I just got done with a yoga class and I am waiting for a salad to be given to me, and then I'm going to walk home with it. It's not really multitasking, I'm waiting for someone else to give me food.

Is this a deli salad? Uh no, it's from a very nice new cafe that's opened up near me, which is delicious. It's called Peacefood Cafe, which ordinarily I would feel like, "No, I won't eat from any place called that," but it's really good and it's really healthy and delicious. It makes you feel like you're doing something really good for the planet even though you're just getting takeout. Which is exciting.

What neighborhood do you live in? I live in Greenwich Village.

You like it there?

Yeah, I love it. I've lived all over New York since I went to college here, so I've lived in a lot of different neighborhoods and am really lucky to live south of 14th Street in Manhattan.

Yeah, it's a pretty prime location. And with the gig you have now you can walk to work, right?

Yeah, I know. I do, I walk to work everyday. It feels like I'm living the modern day fantasy of what it means to be an actor. I actually ran into my friend, Matt Maher, who is also an actor walking to his show, and he said to me—we ran into each other and we were talking—and he said, "We're living the dream! We're in shows that we're walking to, and we're friends!"

He rocks. What is he in now?

He's in a play over at—I haven't seen it yet because we're up at the same time, but it just opened for previews. Oh God, I'm going to forget the name of it. [Editor's note: Maher is currently in The Muscles in Our Toes.] He's such a good actor. Anyway. We were mutually self-satisfied with the moment.  

I've never seen you in any plays in New York. Have I just missed them?

No, I worked in theater when I was in college a lot but I also did a lot of technical theater. I did work at the Ontological-Hysteric Theater Company, doing light and sound. And I was a stage manager at Summer Stock in Vermont. I applied to a lot of playwriting programs, and got rejected from all of them, when I graduated from college. So it's always been what I wanted to do, but it never seemed like it was open to me in the same way that film seemed to want me along for the ride.

But I've been watching all of these people and been kind of an aggressive fan for a long time. Sam Gold [director] is someone I've always wanted to work with and...anyway, I feel incredibly lucky because I actually feel like I'm, right now, doing what I've always wanted to do in that Freudian way of fulfilling some childhood dream. Which is maybe great and maybe that's what happens before you go crazy. I don't know.

Well, you're working with some of the coolest people in New York. I know! I'm so lucky.

But aside from that, what is it that about the play that attracted you to it? When I started reading the play, I knew very quickly that it was good and that it was written by a person who was a good writer. I just felt like I could hear it right away. As I was reading it, I instinctively felt like it was playing in my head, almost like reading sheet music. As soon as I started reading it I knew how it should sound. And I really wanted to do it. I felt like the play took these leaps that I was not expecting, which was thrilling and scary. But I think I really knew right away. It was just from the first scene, from the way it was written and the way it looked on the page, and the way it sounded to me. I thought, "Yeah, I want to do this."

Sex seems like another character in the play; it takes on a whole life of its own. Did you have any inhibitions about doing any of this stuff live on stage?

I mean, I think I have a certain amount of amnesia about this stuff. Like future amnesia about it. It doesn't actually occur to me that I'm going to have to do it every night, or, if it's a film, that I'm going to have to do it at all. Or if my body is actually going to be fit enough to do all that stuff!

So, I didn't think about it until we were in rehearsal and then I thought, "Oh no, oh goodness, this is going to be a lot." I think being with Sam, who I trust so much, helped alleviate a lot of that concern. But then it was really a process of getting there by gradation. I mean, even things like, I have to wear that nightie for a lot of the play and I knew I would be embarrassed in it so I started wearing it pretty early in rehearsals when we were blocking. Because I knew I had to get comfortable ultimately with a whole room of people looking at me wearing that nightie. If I could just begin and get comfortable with Sam and the cast and the stage manager, and then the producers, and then just expand my circle of comfort. And I think that's just what I did with all of the sex and the things that involved my body in a very explicit way. It was just starting at a very small, fixed spot and trying to expand it from there.

Did you know Scott Shepherd before you did this?

No. I told him I felt like I knew him because I saw Gatz. I knew a lot of the work he's done with The Wooster Group but Gatz: we hung out for eight hours, remember?! But he doesn't remember. I'd never worked with him, but I have so much respect and admiration for him. He's the only actor I've ever met who, if I mess up, looks at me with total interest because something is happening that's new and he just looks at me like, "Now what are you going to do?" I mean, if another actor messes up I look at them with panic. Because I think, "Oh fuck, this is a disaster!" And he just approaches it where those moments are alive and exciting.

Yeah, I can see that being the case with him. So, what about the pornography? Are you actually watching porn during those scenes?

Yep! I really am. I'm really watching porn. But I can't decide what porn it is I'm looking at. It's pre-set for me by the production design team so it's all pretty loaded porn that I'm looking at. But yeah, it's real porn.

Was that really necessary?

I guess in some ways it's not strictly necessary but I think Sam really liked the idea that I would actually be watching porn. And he also had this thing about actually wanting to show how boring and pedestrian it is to watch someone watch porn and masturbate. He liked the business of it. We would talk through and he'd ask, "If you were going to watch porn what are the steps you'd take?" He liked me taking off my shoes in the scene where I put on a DVD of porn, which seems sort of sweet and quaint, but he liked the slowness of it. He wanted me to take my time and not rush through any of it. He wanted it to be as uncomfortable as it could be.

Did you feel uncomfortable?

Yes. I did. Yes. I got less uncomfortable as it went on but I think—not that anyone needs to spend anymore time talking about the difference between film and theater, but I do think that there is a significant difference. With film, especially with sex stuff, you know it's coming but you don't actually do it until you're doing it. And with this one, Sam was like, "I really need to see, there's no saving it, you really have to do it every time." And I had to get over it. In film I'm like, "I'll give it my all in a day and do it then." Leading up to it, it doesn't matter if you get it exactly the way it's going to be, I'll just do it then.

There's this scene where I go to get Scott's character a bandage and I go up to my room and it just said in the script, "She pants like a dog." And Sam was like, "I want something else," and I said, "I'm going to do something and it's going to be weird!" And I just put all the pillows together and got on top of them, and then I put my fist in my mouth and he said, "Alright, if you can do that every night then that's what I want." And I was like, "Alright, okay!" But it felt sort of embarrassing to have to produce those sexual things...I mean, I guess it would have been more embarrassing if he said "No, I don't want that."

I'm curious how you relate to Becky, and where you diverge.

On a very basic level, I've never been pregnant. So I spent a lot of time reading pregnancy books and talking to women who are friends of mine who have been pregnant. Because I don't have that sense of my body not belonging to myself, in some bigger way. And now my Gmail thinks I'm pregnant, which is hilarious. I fooled it.

I mean, I think one of the things that struck me about the play is how little biographical data we have about Becky. We know almost nothing about her. It seems like maybe she was a little bit of a party girl. She says, "I never thought I'd be anything really before I met John." There's something unformed about her past life. But I think that's key, because she's completely defined through the men in her life. And her husband, who said, "I think you can be a teacher." I mean, she moved in with him three weeks after meeting him in a bar. Her entire existence, I mean even moving to the country, the whole back-to-the-country life, I think is all his fantasy that she's going along with it.

And then when she meets Oliver, she goes along with all of his fantasies. And I definitely thought I understood who Becky was, but I thought I understood her most clearly in how she let other people dictate what the terms of her life are. Were. I didn't really do a one-to-one analysis, like, "This is like me and this is not like me," but I do think there is a feeling of being almost infantilized or made to be a child that some women take in a way to make themselves more appealing. I understand that and I empathize with it and my heart kind of aches for it.

And those times in my life, when I've felt myself being a thing that someone else seems to want me to be, I think a lot of that came out in Becky. I think a play keeps revealing itself to you, especially when it's good and the director and cast are good, and different things will hit me every night. Sam said this thing to me which I really have hung on to; he said, "It's like laying down sediment layers. Nothing gets lost, even if it's not the final form of it. It all just gets layered down and it evens and it changes." So even choices that were wrong, where Becky was going too far in one direction or another, or even blocking that didn't work or a line reading that didn't work, all those add up to things that feel richer if you hadn't gone down the wrong paths to begin with.

Every night, I'll hear a different thing. I think it was a week into previews when I heard the question: "Why is this grown woman asking her husband if she can have a bike?" All of a sudden, I was doing this scene and I heard it. And I thought, "What?" Because I'd always been treating that like it was the status quo, and that there were things that were brewing, but it was mostly okay and I was suddenly like, "No, it's already not okay." Even before he turns her down for sex. Already there's a problem. Or like actually hearing in the play that she never asks for sex until the end of the first act. She never actually asks for it. And that's a big part of the character, that you wouldn't actually ask for it. Things like that, I feel, is the richness of Penelope's writing, that it keeps things coming up on my radar every night.

Where are we at on How I Met Your Dad? Is there any future in that?

I think it's a bird that never flew. I think that's the truth about it. I mean, I loved making it and I love the people who did it, and I really enjoyed the process of it and it's a bummer that it didn't happen but I also think you can't get too frayed about this stuff. I mean, it didn't work, onto the next, is the way I look at it. I really hope I get to make something with Carter and Craig, who made How I Met Your Dad, and Emily Spivey who made the show Up All Night and wrote for SNL. I just really like them and I think, in my experience—I can speak with some authority on life because I'm thirty (that's not true)—but I've done this for eight years and I know no good thing ever goes away. It comes back around, and I'll make a show with Emily Spivey someday.

Sediment.

Exactly! It's in the sediment of television.

That's terrifying.

I know. But I mean, there was a project with Sam we didn't end up doing five years ago fell through and it was sad but now I'm getting to do this. I believe that it's a combination of sheer will and stupidity that allows us to keep going and to find each other. But I do think that, in any form, you meet people who speak your language, even if it's not that one it will be another one.

That's a great attitude.

Oh, well thank you. I really love Gothamist.