hugo site

content/_index.html

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+---
+---
+
+<p>Welcome to the written works of Madison Scott-Clary.</p>
+
+<p>Madison is an author of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry living in Loveland, Colorado. Her interests lie in the realms of furry fiction and non-fiction, collaborative fiction, and hypertextual writing. She is a member of the Furry Writers' Guild, and editor for several projects, fiction and non-fiction. This site collects several of her written works.</p>
+
+<p>This site comprises mostly completed written works. For drafts, in-progress words, and so on, head over to <a href="http://writing.drab-makyo.com">her blog and writing page</a></p>

content/about.html

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+---
+layout: home-page
+title: About
+permalink: /about/
+---
+<div class="small-wrapper">
+    <div class="about-container">
+        <section class="about-header">
+            <div class="author-image-container">
+                <img src="/assets/img/headshot.jpg" alt="Madison Scott-Clary">
+            </div>
+            <p class="subtitle">Madison Scott-Clary is a full-time software developer and part-time writer. She lives with her two dogs and her husband, who is also a dog. A list of her publications is available <a href="{{site.baseurl}}/publications">here</a>.</p>
+        </section>
+        <section class="about-body">
+            <p>If you're interested in supporting my writing work (and development work, if that's your bag!), I will be eternally grateful! I have a few mechanisms for support:</p>
+            <ul>
+                <li><a href="https://patreon.com/makyo"><strong>Patreon</strong> - Patreon is a site that allows a patronage model for funding creators. In this incarnation, I have a few tiers: $1 patrons get access to posts; $5 patrons get early content; and $10 patrons get drafts, previews, and so on. Any level of support is appreciated!
+                <li><a href="https://liberapay.com/makyo/"><strong>LiberaPay</strong></a> — LiberaPay is a recurrent donations platform that allows supporting me and my writing on a monthly basis.</li>
+                <li><a href="https://ko-fi.com/drabmakyo"><strong>Ko-fi</strong></a> — Ko-fi is a tipping site, and is nicely integrated with PayPal.</li>
+            </ul>
+            <hr />
+            <ul class="contact-list">
+                <li class="email"><a href="mailto:makyo@drab-makyo.com"><i class="fa fa-envelope-o"></i></a></li>
+
+                <li class="website"><a href="http://drab-makyo.com" target="_blank"><i class="fa fa-globe"></i></a></li>
+
+                <li class="github"><a href="http://github.com/makyo" target="_blank"><i class="fa fa-github"></i></a></li>
+
+                <li class="twitter"><a href="https://twitter.com/makyo_writes" target="_blank"><i class="fa fa-twitter"></i></a></li>
+            </ul>
+        </section> <!-- End About Body-->
+    </div> <!-- End About Container -->
+</div> <!-- End Small Wrapper -->

content/post/acts-of-intent.md

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+---
+author: Madison Scott-Clary
+categories:
+- Vignette
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-12-16
+description: A coyote burns meaning into the world around him.
+img: flag.svg
+type: post
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Magic
+title: 'Vignette: Acts of Intent'
+---
+
+> *Lines and curves, lines and curves. Beginning now.*
+
+Seven o'clock, and the 13th Street crowd was headed to dinner, or focusing on a postprandial stroll.
+
+Jacob was focused on lines. On arcs and straight edges. On corners and angles.
+
+> *The cans of spray-lubricant had clanked onto the counter, earlier that afternoon. Three of them, some of the cheap kind.  The poor stoat behind the till scanned them numbly, seemingly on autopilot.*
+>
+> *To see someone with such dead eyes had led down some strange alley and into what felt like second-hand embarrassment for Jacob. Second-hand to what, he couldn't tell. Either way, the transaction had itched, and he had shifted his weight from paw to paw until it was done.*
+>
+> *Finally able to tap in the pin for his card, that itch had been scratched. The digits of the number across the pad always traced a pleasant, angular rune, and then the coyote was done, hurrying out of the store. The bag of cans had been dumped unceremoniously into one of the panniers of his bike, his tail clipped quickly to his thigh, and he had been off.*
+
+His breathing slowed and the jittery, speedy vibrations in his mind smoothed out.
+
+The heat along those lines grew, dull black iron turning first into a burgundy red, then glowing, picking up more towards cherry.
+
+> *Spring turning to summer had the days warm, but not uncomfortably so. The air still held enough spring in it that the light long-sleeved shirt Jacob wore never got too warm, even with the exertion of the brisk ride home.*
+
+Eyes focused on surroundings briefly, hunting for a patch he knew had to be somewhere here. Wander north, magnetic attraction.
+
+> *Ducking into the apartment had taken only seconds, enough for him to toss two of the purchased cans on a counter and another into a backpack, then back out into the evening air. Back onto his bike. Back on the road.*
+
+Cherry red and up to yellow, starting to put off enough glow that it crept into his vision, a light-leak in the camera of his eyes.
+
+> *Making it to the 13th Street Plaza had taken longer than expected, but perhaps that was for the best. The flames would shine brighter in twilight.*
+
+North, north along Linden. North to cross the plaza. North to pass the fountain.
+
+> *Jacob had parked his bike at a rack in front of one of the 12th street shops, locking it with care. Of his two prized possessions, the bike was the most practical, and the thought of losing it was something he would barely allow to register. He would be more than just upset, he'd be fucked. The commute to work would go from twenty minutes to more than an hour on the bus system, a fact he knew well from when it was too cold to ride. He'd saved up for three months to get this bike, a fantastic upgrade from what he'd had in college.*
+
+He could barely see now. Yellow brightened, headed more towards white. A sun made of lines, graceful arcs and definitive straightedges.
+
+> *The other prized possession was less immediately practical, yet even more dear than the bike. The small sketchbook, barely more than a few inches on each side, was truly irreplaceable. That sat snugly in his pocket; the backpack was too risky, even his apartment wasn't safe enough.*
+
+Toward the courthouse.
+
+Jacob was panting now. Cool as the evening was getting, it was no match for the searing symbol locked in his thoughts. Burning, some part of him reddening, blistering, flaking and charring.
+
+> *His Sigillarium sat distinct from his notes. Those were ash now, long gone. Their pages had held letters, all unique, warped and twisted through repeated passes of his pen, slipping and sliding together into some place between joy and fear, a place of too much meaning.*
+
+Past the courthouse now. And there, along the brick wall that surrounded the guarded parking lot. A place for moving the guilty to prison, maybe? There was the icy patch, freezing in the still-warm evening.
+
+> *Once the meaning grew overwhelming --- he'd know the moment when it came --- the Sigillarium was brought out, opened reverently to the next blank page, and impressed with the new sigil. He used a dip pen with India ink into which he'd stirred several drops of blood. As the ink dried, Jacob did his best to start the process of forgetting.*
+
+Strange place, strange place. Empty, yet meaningful. Locked up. Guilty and innocent. Shackled, manacled, clanking and clinking in chains. The patch on the wall likely wasn't actually cold to the touch, yet he knew if he touched it, frostbite would follow.
+
+> *Forgetting took days, weeks, months. It began with closing the Sigillarium, locking away intent and meaning while Jacob forgot the words themselves. He wouldn't look at the sigil again until the night before.*
+
+Obscured though his vision was, Jacob turned around, using his peripheral vision as best he could to check for others around.
+
+Empty street.
+
+> *Doubtless there were cameras who had seen him, but intent never left a visible mark, so no one had ever come after him. Intent was psychological. Magical graffiti for no one to see and everyone to feel. He would begin internalizing the symbol the night before, and hold it in his mind until the moment of, when it once more became unbearable.*
+
+Smooth movements. Smooth and sure. He took the can, focused on the frigid patch, and began spraying. He couldn't do it too quickly, even if he did need to hurry. There needed to be enough penetrating oil left to burn.
+
+> *Then he would bike and hunt for the cold he knew peppered the town.*
+
+The sigil was one unbroken line. One line that contained all those arcs and curves and straightaways and angles and corners. All sprayed dead scenter in the midst of that patch layering intent over what meaning was already there.
+
+Quickly, before he even capped the can, he fished his lighter out of his pocket and gave the wheel a rasp just at the final endpoint of the line.
+
+Blue flames, tinged yellow at the tips, spread fast, curling along the sigil, branching and curving whenever it came across a point where lines crossed.
+
+All that fire in his mind wound up on stone.
+
+All that patch of ice began to thaw.
+
+The coyote was already on his way back to the plaza, can of lubricant on back in his bag and all that unbearable meaning seeping from him as he slipped back into the evening crowd.

content/post/again.md

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+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Rum and Coke
+ratings: X
+date: 2015-09-03
+description: Exes and transition make for a lot of change all at once.
+img: rum-and-coke.png
+type: post
+pdf: rum-and-coke.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- About furry
+- Convention
+- Gender
+- Kink
+- Sexuality
+title: Again
+---
+
+Michael woke blearily to the sounds of muffled giggling, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and lifting his head off the pillow.  He couldn't quite make out what was going on in the bed next to his own, but it appeared to be quite fun, or at least funny.
+
+Rooming with his friends came with its benefits, but also its drawbacks. No one had been particularly shy about the fact that part of the reason they had come to the convention in the first place was to play around and get laid, and that was just sort of part of the bargain when it came to rooming with others.  He smiled slightly that it was those two who had started messing around before he and his own bed-mate had; he knew Bomber had quite the crush on him.
+
+On that note, he rolled over in bed, putting the giggling behind him, and slipped his arm around the still sleeping Bomber.  He fit snuggly behind the slightly smaller form, doing his best not to rouse his friend, content for the moment just to enjoy the shared warmth of laying close to someone.  Bomber, for his part, simply mumbled something incomprehensible and appeared to go right back to sleep, comfortable against Michael's front.
+
+He apparently dozed off, because the next time he woke up, the giggles had been replaced with muffled panting and the quiet, rhythmic rustle of...it couldn't be much more than a blow job, given that only the blankets seemed to be rustling, rather than the entire bed.
+
+"Morn'," mumbled Bomber.
+
+"Shh, quiet," Michael whispered, confirming his hunch with a look over his shoulder.  "Very important things happening over there."
+
+There came a laugh from the other bed, along with a muffled giggle. "Very important, verrrry warm," Alexis replied, voice slurring with the effort of enunciation while receiving oral sex.
+
+Michael rolled slowly onto his back and canted his head to watch the goings on, while Bomber sleepily rolled over next to him and rested his head on Mike's shoulder.
+
+They couldn't see Corrin, and with as skillful as he seemed to be, could barely hear the fox moving rhythmically beneath the covers, except for the rustle of blankets on hair.
+
+Skillful indeed.  Before too much longer had passed, Alexis' eyes shot open and his jaw dropped, breath catching in his throat only to be let out in a hasty, "Oh fuck."  Alexis shuddered, Corrin drastically slowed his movements, and Michael and Bomber looked on in appreciation.
+
+"Mmm, well done, you two," Michael offered, getting a breathy giggle from Alexis and a grin from Bomber, whose own hand was inching its way down over his front, seemingly casually but obviously aiming for the crotch.
+
+Both Michael and Bomber had slept only in their underwear, and watching the little show did have Michael somewhat worked up, so he tolerated the touches -- tentative at first, then a little more exploratory over the tented boxer-briefs that he wore -- though it felt a little awkward with Bomber.  He knew how much he meant to his friend, but considering him only a friend, felt he had little he could offer that would satisfy him. He tended towards women, usually, but wasn't above the friendly touch.
+
+Corrin slunk from under the covers with a sheepish grin on his face, muttering, "Hi, guys."  He kissed Alexis on the cheek, took the other's hand in his own, and guided him out of bed.  "C'mon, let's grab the shower first."
+
+Alexis nodded and managed to slip out of bed behind his friend, tugging his discarded boxers along after him and using them to cover his crotch, walking quickly behind Corrin, who was doing his best to hide his own erection.
+
+"Have fun," Bomber offered.
+
+"Yeah, and save some hot water for the rest of us."
+
+Michael and Bomber settled comfortably back into bed, Bomber nestled in against Mike's side as he continued to pet gently along his friend's flagging arousal, his own pressed firmly to Michael's hip.  After a silence, he asked, "This okay, Roo?"
+
+Michael nodded, eyes closed.
+
+Another long silence, then, "Can...can I do any more?"
+
+Michael hesitated a bit.  There was no denying that the touches felt good, but that lingering sense of awkwardness remained.  "Um...no.  Not this time, maybe soon?" he offered.
+
+Bomber nodded, abashed, and settled himself back against Michael's side.  The touches slowed, but continued, more carefully than before, lest they cross a boundary.  Eventually, they settled to a stop, and Bomber simply slipped his arm around Michael to hug himself closer, murmuring, "This is good, too."
+
+Michael nodded in agreement to that, brushing his hand up along Bomber's back to hug around his shoulders, helping to keep his friend warm against him while they waited on their own turns at the shower.  It would be a bit, yet.
+
+-----
+
+Saturday morning -- nearing afternoon by the time Michael, Bomber, Alexis, and Corrin drew the curtains and made it out of the room -- was a pleasant affair.  The four made their way to a nearby coffee shop, managing to pick up two more along the way: a lion and his intensely shy friend who looked to be some sort of blue fox or wolf, if the tail was anything to go by.
+
+They shared coffee and gossip, laughter at the expense of Alexis and Corrin, and the Shy Blue Fox produced a clipboard with paper from his messenger bag and polled everyone for their species and began sketching.
+
+Michael, from his position next to the Shy Blue Fox, watched the sketch take shape.  He wasn't much of an artist, himself, but always found it fascinating to watch artists work, turning what looked like the simplest of shapes into something that carried meaning.
+
+"Is that you, Roo?" he heard a husky voice from behind him, feeling crossed arms settle onto the back of his chair.
+
+Michael turned quickly.  Something about the voice tickled his memory in strange, not altogether unpleasant ways.  A short man with a well-kept goatee stood back upright behind his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling down to Michael.
+
+"So it is."
+
+"Do I know..." Michael began, half rising out of his chair.
+
+It was the height that tipped him off, more than anything.  The skin was rougher, the hair cut from waist-length to a sort of unisex pixie cut, the facial hair, the masculine, well-built chest.  There was something about how this person was exactly the same height as...
+
+"Glade!  Holy shit, is that you, Glade?"
+
+The other man nodded, then bust into a wide grin, uncrossing his arms and holding them open in an invitation to a hug.  Michael stood fully from his chair and moved cautiously into to the hug, wrapping his arms firmly around Glade for a good long moment before stepping back once again to look over him.  The hug felt familiar, and yet incredibly different at the same time.
+
+"You look...ah...very different," was all he could manage.
+
+Glade laughed easily, tossing his head to clear the hair from in front of his eyes.  "That's an understatement.  What do you think?" he asked, standing a little taller.
+
+Michael couldn't quite keep his mouth from hanging open, much less form any words.  "I...you...well you look good!  You'd always talked about...but I didn't think..."
+
+Glade kept grinning, reaching forward to pat Michael gently on the cheek, "Don't worry, don't need to think too hard.  I'm doing things that make me happy.  I won't pester you too much, I just wanted to say hi.  It's been, what, five years?"
+
+Michael struggled to define what he was feeling, the violent mix of old emotions combined with the surprise of seeing Glade after so long.  All he could do is nod.
+
+The two stood in silence for a moment longer before Glade reached to give Michael's bicep a squeeze, "Well, it's good seeing you.  I'll let you get back to it, maybe see you around?"
+
+Michael nodded and croaked, "See...see you."
+
+When Glade sauntered off and he turned back to the table, he found everyone staring up at him silently. Alexis was the only one who had known Michael long enough to know of the stormy end to his relationship with Glade.  It had been kept behind closed doors for the most part, except for one notable exception, to which Alexis had been witness and help Michael clean up the blood from his broken nose.
+
+"Sorry," he mumbled awkwardly.  "Old friend.  Ex."
+
+The corners of Alexis' mouth twitched up slightly into a smile.
+
+Bomber, sitting on the other side of Michael from the Shy Blue Fox, rested a hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze beneath the table.  "You okay?  Look kinda shocked."
+
+Michael nodded and scooted the last few bites of his breakfast burrito around on his plate before giving up and wrapping his hands around his coffee cup and leaning back in his chair.
+
+"Yeah, it's just a bit of a shock.  We were only together for a year and a half or so, but she...uh, he now, I suppose, cut contact after a bit of a messy breakup. It's just a surprise."
+
+"Been a long time then?"
+
+Michael nodded once more, "Yeah, about five years or so, I think.  Sh- he, I mean, had always talked about gender and stuff, didn't really think they'd...change."
+
+Rubbing his hand on Michael's thigh comfortingly, Bomber nodded.  "That'd be a big shock, I guess."
+
+Michael relinquished his coffee mug to rub his hands over his face before patting at Bomber's own on his leg.  "Jesus.  Yeah.  It's...not bad, of course, I'm happy for...him, but I think I just need to think about it for a bit."
+
+Michael kept quiet through the rest of the brunch with his friends.  Bomber lost interest before long and went back to talking with Corrin and Alexis.  The lion had been edging closer to the Shy Blue Fox, and eventually seemed to cave and just rest his head down on the other's shoulder. watching the lazy sketch session.  The Shy Blue Fox hadn't said more than a handful of words through the whole morning, but the lion didn't seem to mind.  Con love, Michael thought.
+
+It took them longer than Michael would've liked to make it out of the coffee shop.  He hadn't successfully worked through the mess of thoughts and emotions surrounding seeing Glade, and so different now, at least not enough to make it back into the conversation.  However, the hard wood of the seat hadn't let him relax at all, and so he'd been antsy as he alternated between wandering through old memories of his mistress (master?) and watching the Shy Blue Fox finish up his sketch with firmer strokes of his mechanical pencil.  It was a little cartoonish for Michael's taste, but he'd muttered his appreciation and thanks as the Shy Blue Fox tugged the sheet of paper from the clipboard and skimmed it to the middle of the table.
+
+Eventually, a critical moment seemed to be reached when enough people decided that they were done and started clearing up paper cups and clinking plates to bring to the trash and dish drop.  Michael looked cautiously around himself before breathing a sigh of relief when Glade was no where to be found.  He scraped the uneaten bites of his burrito into the garbage and set his place along the growing stack above the trashcan before following his friends out into the sun and warmth.
+
+They trundled back to the convention hotel before all seeming to split and go their separate ways. Alexis made his way to the art show to bid on a piece he'd heard would be in it.  Corrin followed for a few yards before getting intercepted by a friend of his and dragged into a growing conversation circle.  Bomber gave Michael a questioning look before heading off to the Dealer's Den to see if, luck of all luck, they had a mouse tail for him.  The lion and the Shy Blue Fox drifted down the hallway, away from the hubbub of the central lobby to, presumably, make out some more.
+
+Michael stood for a few moments, finally free of the burden of conversation so that he could think about what had just happened.  Glade had always been...
+
+He shook his head to pull himself out of his reverie.  He was staring into space like some lunatic.  He forced his feet to move, carrying him toward the bank of elevators that would take him back to his room.  He did need to think, but he certainly didn't need to do so in the lobby.
+
+He wound up sharing the ride up with a gryphon in suit (which took up most of the back of the elevator, and a skittish, stocky fellow who pressed the button for two, then spent the entire short ride with his palms pressed firmly over his eyes.  When the door opened and he didn't move, Michael gently guided him out of the elevator and received a mumbled, "thanks."
+
+Michael shrugged to the gryphon and hit the door closed button.  The gryphon shrugged back, exaggerated in suit.
+
+Three floors up, Michael made his way out of the elevator, giving the silent fursuiter a wave before trodding off to his room.
+
+Housekeeping had obviously been through the place, replacing glasses, cleaning the bathroom.  He poured himself a rum and coke on a whim -- it was a con, after all -- then flopped down onto one of the freshly made beds and clasped his hands over his front, staring up the ceiling.
+
+There hadn't been a huge, prolonged break-up; just a rough month of small spats and then the crushing argument wherein they had realized that they knew each other less well than they had originally thought.  That was when Glade had spilled her -- no, his -- heart out about the ways in which gender intersected with his life, their relationship, and his sexuality.  Michael had been dismissive, and it hadn't gone over well.
+
+"You get only what you deserve, roo," Glade had growled, punched him in the face, and, minus a few curt emails, that had been the last either had seen of each other.
+
+-----
+
+Michael felt the warmth of the rum-and-cokes he'd had up in the room starting to fill him by the time afternoon slid into evening and he made his way down to the bar. There was something cathartic, in a way, drinking to old memories.  It didn't necessarily resolve anything, but the alcohol could let you pretend that it had.  At least now he felt more able to take in the fact that he would be, in a way, sharing this convention with Glade.  After all, not all of the memories were unpleasant.
+
+The elevators ejected him into a lobby more packed with people than it had been before, filled with hundreds of missed connections.  He made his way languidly through the crowd, scanning faces, scanning badges, handing out smiles.  It felt good.
+
+"Oh hey, it's you guys!"
+
+The lion and the Shy Blue Fox looked up from where they were trying to share a seat in one of the lobby's chairs, one earbud in each of their ears leading to a phone held by the Shy Blue Fox.  They looked up to him slowly, smiled with recognition and reached hands out to grab him in for an awkward hug.  Not sober, but maybe not necessarily drunk, the two seemed more alive and active than they had earlier in the day.
+
+The three of them decided on the hotel restaurant as a good source of dinner.  Expensive, but fitting for three innebriated furries to chill and at least get food in the system before the evening's dances began.  They settled into a booth and ordered a round of drinks, beers and a gin and tonic.
+
+"So," Michael began, putting what he had hoped was a conspiratorial tone in his voice.  "Good day for you two?"
+
+The Shy Blue Fox buried his face in his hands and giggled, while the lion looked serene.  "Mmm, yeah, very good.  Bit of molly, lots and lots and lots of hugs."
+
+Michael laughed out loud.  Colorado wasn't exactly the heart of Ecstacy, but it showed up every now and then.  More common now was marijuana -- legalization had played a roll in a good number of the attendees showing up here, he was sure.
+
+"Good, glad you guys are having a good time."
+
+The lion looked almost beatific as the Shy Blue Fox rubbed himself almost sinuously up against him, reveling in the touch.
+
+"How about you, man?" the lion asked.  "Been a good con so far?"
+
+Michael nodded distractedly and sipped at his water, "Good enough, yeah."
+
+"Saw your...your ex?  Saw your ex showed up, earlier."
+
+"Yeah, I was surprised to see...them here.  I wasn't expecting that."
+
+The lion cocked his head, "Been a long time?"
+
+"Yeah, definitely.  Five years or so."
+
+"Not a pleasant break up?"
+
+"Yeah she...she at the time, broke my nose and we vowed to never see one another again."
+
+"But you hugged-" the Shy Blue Fox began.
+
+Michael brushed it off with a wave of his hand.  "Yeah.  There's a lot there," he stammered, searching for the words.  "Plenty of good memories, along with the bad.  It's good to see her.  Him.  It's good to see him."
+
+Ecstasy, in his own experience, added quite a bit to the level of empathy one normally had, and often led to picking up on cues that were embedded in day to day speech, bits of meaning that exposed more despite all attempts to hide.  It was no different with these two.
+
+"He's not what you were expecting.  Quite the change, huh?"
+
+Michael felt his face flush, and looked down toward the table, nodding.
+
+There was a silence that stretched until their drinks arrived, thankfully not too long.
+
+Finally, the Shy Blue Fox asked, "Do you think you'll see him again, during the con?  Like...actively?"
+
+Michael hid his face in his beer, sipping slowly to buy himself time.  "Maybe."  He set his beer down and twisted the glass between his fingers.  "Maybe."
+
+-----
+
+By the time Michael made it to the dance, he was decidedly buzzy, full of rum and coke, beer, and mediocre pizza from the hotel kitchens.  It was fuel enough for fucking around in the dance, he figured.  Not like anyone was likely to notice his un-fursuited form stomping away on the ballroom floor to deep house or yacht punk or whatever the hell kids were spinning these days.
+
+The dance was a just good way to let loose.  For him and so many others.
+
+He prowled down the long hallway from the hotel restaurant to the ballroom, weaving skillfully between clumsy fursuiters and those moving much slower than he.
+
+He felt good.  Real good.  This had been a good day overall, from watching his friends have their fun in the morning, all the way down to dinner.  Even, he admitted to himself, seeing Glade again, in all his newfound confidence.
+
+The dance was packed, even for as early as it was.  Saturday was one of the two big nights, with a line-up of two-hour DJ sets that lasted nearly until dawn, and programming had stopped hours ago.  So it was to be expected that there would be a ton of people there, Michael thought, showing his badge to the guard at the door and bouncing in time with the thumping music even as he made his way into the ballroom, quickly picking up the time as he moved.
+
+The music washed over him, thick as honey, as he moved out onto the floor.  It pushed at him, tugged at him, guided his movements between the furries out on the floor, both in and out of suit.  He knew he wasn't a graceful dancer, or even a good one, but he couldn't deny how good it felt to move along with the beat.
+
+It was some uncounted number of songs later before he noticed the form moving closer to him, hips swaying in the rhythm of the music through the crowd.  He was sweating, and he could feel dinner's two drinks coursing through his veins, that was about the only indicator he had that it was later on in the evening.
+
+Glade.
+
+He slowed his movements, settled down into a relatively quiet sway where he stood on the dance floor, watching as Glade moved up to him through the crowds.  The presumed hormone therapy had changed the shape of his previous mistress, shifting the bulk of his weight up toward his middle and away from his hips, and what had been a generous bosom had been drastically reduced -- how, he couldn't say.  The walk had changed too, though not in any way he could pinpoint.  More movement to the shoulders, perhaps.
+
+What he saw, stalking toward him rhythmically through the crowd of dancing furries, was a well-built, clean young man, dressed in jeans, a skin-tight shirt, and a leather jacket, who somehow still retained so many recognizable features of his old partner.
+
+Glade reached out and took his hand, drawing him dancingly from the floor and away from the speakers to the back of the room.  Michael followed helplessly, half in awe and half in shock at his former mistress' directness.
+
+They both moved subconsciously to the beat, shifting their hips and their weight in time with the music, then nearly pausing as the beat built up to the drop.
+
+Glade brought him to an unoccupied section of the wall at the back of the ballroom and turned him firmly so that his back was to the wall, then pressed him up to it.  He seemed deliberate in his actions, making sure that Michael's back was flat against the wall before planting his hands surely beneath each of his arms, leaning in close to him.  He had to stretch up a little in order to make himself heard as he spoke quietly.
+
+"Lets have some closure here, roo."
+
+Michael swallowed roughly at the sure signs of dominance that remained in his ex's actions.  "What," he began, and swallowed once more.  "What sort of closure do you want?"
+
+"One more night," Glade murmured.  "Tonight, you're mine, we take what we had at the best of times, and have that be the end, and we go back to being comfortable friends, rather than what we had before."
+
+"But you're-"
+
+"I'm me, and all you need to be is my little pet roo, just once more."
+
+Michael swallowed hard once more, keeping his hands flat against the fabric of the dividing wall behind him.  The alcohol, the dominance, the familiarity all worked in Glade's favor, and he couldn't do much to suppress the excitement that had lingered since that violent outburst that had ended their relationship in the first place.
+
+All he had to do was reconcile that it was really over, and on agreeable terms.
+
+He felt dizzy, looked up to find no relief in the swirling lasers and lights that projected from the stage, a glowing arachnid of greens, blues, and purples.
+
+"T-tonight," he stammered, "I'll be your little pet roo."
+
+The grin that creased Glade's face was knowing, pleased, with maybe a touch of evil.  The music began to rise once more in a crescendo.
+
+"You're already a little buzzed, I can smell the beer."  Glade held up a slender tube which tapered to a small mouthpiece and glowed with a blue LED, "Will you still be my good little pet if I get you a little more buzzed?"
+
+It took Michael a moment to understand what was being offered.  Once he figured out the vape pen, he nodded shakily.  Glade knew him through and through, knew how much he liked placing himself into someone else's hands.  Glade took the nod as assent and tilted the mouthpiece of the vape to his lips, not yet pressing the button that activated the heating coil.
+
+"You'll be my pet?"
+
+Michael nodded.
+
+"You'll please your dom?"
+
+Michael took in the new term, nodded.
+
+"I've got my crop."
+
+Michael flushed in the dark, nodded.
+
+"Do you have your paws with you?"
+
+Another nod.
+
+"Same safeword.  'Rouge'?"
+
+Michael squirmed between Glade and the wall, nodded once more.
+
+Glade pressed down on the stud that activated the vape and pressed the tip of it between Michael's lips, quietly instructing, "Breathe in.  Slow."
+
+Michael knew the theory behind the devices, and so he breathed in slowly and carefully, tasting the not-quite-smoke flavor of pot on his tongue and down his throat, flowing liquidly within him and filling him with both a sense of fullness-of-being and hunger that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
+
+The devices were frowned upon by the hotel, no matter what they contained, so Glade kept the LEDs covered by his finger and palm, letting Michael have a good long inhale before swiftly pocketing the vape once more.
+
+Michael held the warm vapor for a few seconds, then let it out with a few gentle coughs, muffling the sound as best he could.
+
+"Come on," Glade said, with a sudden, earnest smile.  "Let's finish this set, at least."
+
+The two moved back out onto the dance floor.
+
+Michael felt the pot take him over in a matter of minutes, rolling in from his extremities until he felt as though he was dissipating into a cloud.  The music moved through him with such ease, and he felt like some luminous being, moving against and with the other luminous being of Glade, enjoying both the space and tension between themselves, as well as the friction of cloth on cloth or leather as they brushed up against one another.
+
+Some unknown amount of time later, the set drew to a close amid the cheers of their fellow dancers, and Michael and Glade drifted from the dance floor, hand in hand, out past the guard and into the hallway.
+
+Michael found it difficult to stop dancing, swaying gently from side to side and rocking his weight back and forth even as they made their way over to the bank of elevators.  Glade laughing at him was all he needed in terms of encouragement.  He got the impression that Glade himself wasn't entirely sober, and he felt in good company -- comfortable, like how he used to feel when they smoked together.
+
+They made their way to the elevators and stood with a tired looking canine suiter and a few other up-late furries, waiting.
+
+Glade leaned in against his arm and tugged him down a little closer, murmuring, "Your room okay?"
+
+Michael nodded.  The whole room had agreed to let private liaisons be allowed, and so anyone who was there and not already in the middle of something should agree to clear out if Michael needed.
+
+The ride up was uneventful, and likewise opening the door into an empty room.  Alexis was probably still dancing with Corrin, and Bomber was probably hovering around the edges of the dance, unsure of where he belonged.
+
+Michael slipped into the room with Glade, then bent down to offer a kiss, falling back into old habits with the drink and pot filling him with warmth.  Glade leaned up to meet the kiss, but quickly took Michael's lower lip between his own and bit down on it.  He tugged carefully downward until Michael's face was level with his own before letting up on the bite.  "You going to be a good pet tonight?"
+
+Michael sucked his lower lip into his mouth and searched briefly for the taste of blood before nodding bashfully, "I'm going to be a good pet."
+
+"Strip, then," Glade ordered imperiously.  "And get your paws on."
+
+Michael hesitated, swaying a little on his feet.  Glade reached behind his back and extracted a small riding crop from his back pocket, simply holding it at his side.
+
+Michael got the hint, and slipped over to where his bag lay next to the bed, fishing out his paws: gloves of dark brown faux fur.  He moved back to where Glade stood and carefully slipped out of his shirt and tugged his jeans and underwear off, standing exposed and erect in front of Glade. He shivered slightly in the air-conditioned room, though at least half of that was due to his excitement.
+
+"Now me," Glade ordered quietly, holding his arms out.
+
+"Yes mistr-" Michael began, before realizing his mistake.  He winced as Glade raised the crop, then braced himself and held still.  There was a quick crack and an almost satisfying sting against the left cheek of his buttocks.
+
+"You will call me Dom Glade, little pet," he purred.  "No more slip-ups."
+
+"Yes...Dom Glade," Michael whispered.  The strike had hurt initially, but with his body buzzing in its high, the sting was quickly turning into the familiar pleasant sensation they had experimented with so long ago.
+
+Glade held his arms out and let the naked Michael slip the leather jacket off, then lifted his arms for Michael to lift his shirt.  There was something intimate about undressing his former partner, even having been ordered to do so, and he took his time, being mindful of the crop.
+
+Beneath his shirt, Glade was bare, no binder or anything.  There were just two well-healed scars, each curving gently beneath his nipples, where the mastectomy had taken place.  Michael brushed his hands, fuzzy in their paws, softly down over his ex's chest, wonderingly.  There was so much more body hair than he had remembered, more than some of his roommates here at the con, come to think of it.
+
+"There you go, little roo," Glade murmured, sounding pleased.  "You're halfway there.  Kneel to do the rest."
+
+Michael nodded and obediently lowered himself to his knees, reaching up with his paws to work on unfastening the button of Glade's jeans, fumbling partly because of the fake fur and partly out of nerves and excitement.  Glade wore boxers -- though he always had -- which slipped part way off his hips as his jeans were carefully tugged lower.
+
+Michael reached his fur covered hands up to rest just above the wasteband of Glade's pants and underwear, uncertainty growing within him.  He finally smoothly slid his hands down, taking the garments along with them to free his ex from his pants.  He hadn't been sure what to expect, seeing that Glade had opted for top surgery, but found himself confronted with the neatly trimmed crotch that still felt familiar to after all these years.
+
+Glade chuckled quietly above him, drawing the tongue of his crop up along Michael's back to tease gently across his shoulders.  "Expecting something different, little pet?"
+
+Michael flushed and drew his hands lightly up over Glade's legs once more, the fur of the gloves brushing through the hair of his ex's body.  "I...don't know what I was expecting."
+
+Glade tapped the leather tongue of the crop gently against the back of Michael's head, "I'm comfortable how I am.  I can present how I like, and little pets can still worship me."
+
+His cheeks still red, Michael nodded and swallowed, carefully rehearsing in his arousal- and drug-addled mind what he was going to say next.  "May I worship you, Dom Glade?"
+
+Glade walked slowly around Michael as he sat, kneeling and aroused on the floor.  He seemed intent on drawing the moment out and letting Michael stew.  The tongue of the crop kept tapping and prodding, as though it were inspecting all the ways in which his body had changed over the years.  The process of waiting had that flavor of delightful agony that Michael knew Glade was keen on.
+
+Finally, Glade relented and sat back on the edge of the bed behind Michael, tapping him gently on the shoulder with the crop before leaning back onto one of his hands.  "There's a dam in one of the pockets of my coat.  Get that, and you may worship me."
+
+Michael tried not to appear too eager as he crawled over to the crumpled jacket and tugged out the plastic-wrapped dental dam.  Aside from a few instances of almost fooling around, like that morning, he had been mostly abstinent throughout the last five years, and he lept at the chance to service his old owner as he used to (with that bit of latex in between, this time -- they weren't fluid-bonded anymore).  It might be the alcohol and pot buzzing through him, but he felt right, in his place.
+
+Glade kept his noises primarily to purrs and growls, huskier than Michael remembered.  Even so, the act maintained its familiarity to him: the long teasing licks, the shorter feathery ones, lazily spelling his name out in cursive against the latex of the dam before delving a little more adventurously between the labia of his former -- and once more -- lover.  His hands, still stuffed in their paws, alternated between gentle brushings and firmer pets along Glade's legs, showing his adoration as he worshipped the best way he knew how.
+
+He read his partner's body as best he could, finding all the spots that led to the reactions he craved.  He would focus there, then drift his attention elsewhere, not letting any one spot get played out.  Despite the years intervening, he still felt as though he knew Glade's body thoroughly.
+
+"H-huff," Glade breathed with a stiff shudder.  "Mmn, such a good little pet."
+
+Michael relaxed back onto his heels, peering up along Glade's more masculine body, eager to receive the praise.
+
+"You did well, roo," Glade growled, hefting himself up further onto the bed.  "Come up here by me, there's one more thing I want you to do, and I know you deserve it."
+
+Michael nodded shyly and stood to his feet, feeling the blood flow freely through his cramped legs.  He moved around to the side of the bed before climbing in, stretching out alongside his ex.
+
+Glade leaned in closer and bit gently at the lobe of his ear, whispering quietly while he was there, "I want you to paw, just one more time for me. I want to see you get off."
+
+Michael blushed and nodded, still shivering at the bite to his ear.  "Yes...yes, Dom Glade."
+
+He moved to slip one of his hands out of the paw mitts, only to feel the sharp crack of the crop against his thigh.
+
+"But leave those on."
+
+Michael swallowed.  He knew he'd make a mess of the paws, that was inevitable.  He also knew how to clean them, though, and so after a moment, he nodded and rolled onto his back.
+
+His erection hadn't let up since Glade had first gotten his attention with the questions on the dance floor, and by now, he felt an aching need for release.  The fur of the paws was dry and coarse against his stiff shaft, and though he usually required lube for masturbation, it seemed to feel just right to curl the clumsy fingers loosely around his cock and stroke along it gently.
+
+It didn't take much, really.  The tickling of the fur and the occasional squeeze around the base of his cock as he stroked was enough to get him closer and closer to his orgasm.  What finally did it, though, was that last bit of mental stimulation when Glade leaned in close against him and nuzzled up to his ear, murmuring, "You are just such. A good. Boy."
+
+His heavy breaths were cut short with a quiet whimper and he gripped tightly around the base of his shaft with his fur-covered hand and felt the rush of pleasure wash over him, felt the first few spurts of seed land on his front, and the rest dribble down over the brown fur of his paw.
+
+"God, I missed that," Glade cooed as Michael settled back down onto the bed.
+
+"Nnnf."
+
+Glade grinned and gave a gentle kiss to Michael's cheek before levering himself up out of bed.  "Thank you, little pet.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some other parties to go to."
+
+"Huh?  But..." Michael began.
+
+"Hush, you did good."
+
+Michael leaned up onto one elbow, watching Glade tug his boxers and pants back on, then hunt for his shirt.  "What...what was that?  For us, I mean."
+
+Glade tugged his t-shirt back over his head and stood, regarding Michael for a moment.  "Closure," he said simply.
+
+"And where do we go from here?"
+
+"I don't know, roo, I really don't.  I just feel like we're in a better place from where we left off before."
+
+Michael nodded.
+
+His head still spun.
+
+-----
+
+There was an electric-mechanical click as the lock on the door activated, and Michael jolted upright in bed, rushing to cover himself with his hands as he sat up.  He must've drifted off once Glade had slipped out of the room to head to his party.  He was still wearing the paws, even.
+
+Bomber slipped quietly into the room, saw Michael in his messy and furry state, and smiled bashfully, turning away to face the wall.  "Need a moment?"
+
+Michael shook the paws off of his hands quickly and ducked over the edge of the bed to snag his underwear, slipping them on quickly, "Just...ah, just woke up.  You're fine."
+
+Bomber laughed and slid further into the room, slipping out of his canvas jacket and sitting down on the bed.  "Hope I didnt interrupt, thought you were just sleeping."
+
+"I probably was, at that," Michael mumbled, rubbing his hands over his face, before reaching for his shirt to wipe up his spilled cum.
+
+The two sat in awkward silence for a minute or so before Bomber asked, "Good evening, then?"
+
+Michael let out a breath, more forcefully than he had intended.  "Yeah.  Glade came over.  Bit of...bit of the old days, I guess."
+
+Bomber nodded and fiddled with one of his fingernails.
+
+"Sorry," Michael offered.  "Maybe a bit much information."
+
+"It's okay," Bomber responded.  "Just wondering what he means to you."
+
+Sensing the undercurrent of meaning, Michael reached a hand over to rest on Bomber's knee.  "We broke up, a long time ago. I don't think that's going to change."  He took a deep breath before continuing, "I know you like me, Bomber, and I know I've been distant, but I just don't really know where my head is anymore.  Glade meant enough to me that I don't know what to do after that ended."
+
+"I can't really say I know how you feel," the mouse replied hesitantly.  "I've never been in a situation like that.  I don't want to push you or anything, I just like you, I guess."
+
+Michael nodded, silent.
+
+The two sat for a while longer, touching and keeping contact.
+
+Finally, Bomber asked, "Think you guys will hook up again?"
+
+Michael thought for a moment, then shrugged, "Probably not.  Not in the same way we did before, certainly, but it's good to have contact open again."
+
+Bomber looked down and nodded.
+
+Michael laughed and leaned over to hug both arms around his friend, "Hey, don't worry, whatever happens happens, not leaving my friends behind at all."

content/post/all-of-time-at-once.md

@@ -0,0 +1,119 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+ratings: G
+date: 2004-04-21
+type: post
+tags:
+- Science fiction
+- Time travel
+title: All of Time at Once
+---
+
+"A driver after my own heart," I muttered to myself. I'd taken to talking to myself while driving to help keep the more drastic emotions to a minimum. I've been working on reducing the negative comments in favor of more positive ones --- make your drivers happy drivers! --- and with this utterance, I was praising a slightly battered Jeep that was driving at my usual, comfortable two miles above the speed limit: I was neither gaining on him, nor was I lagging behind, so I forgot about him and set about losing myself in the music. I have a love-hate relationship with Prokofiev.
+
+My happy driving, however, was soon interrupted by an emergency signal from the truck in front of me. Looking to its rear window for an explanation, I was rewarded with the shadowy figure of the driver inside gesturing repeatedly for me to pull over. Fearful that the Jeep might be some sort of undercover cop, I complied quickly, and was soon stopped behind the Jeep on the soft shoulder of a fairly empty Highway 93. Admittedly creepy, but I was supposed to be kind, wasn't I? I was supposed to help.
+
+The guy who was in the truck clambered out slowly and walked towards my Pathfinder, his hands facing palms up at his sides in a disarming gesture.
+
+"Hello, friend!" I heard him say as I rolled down the window. "I wasn't as smart as I usually pretend to be, and I'm nearly out of gas. Think you could lend me some? If you follow me to the gas station, I'll fill your tank, too."
+
+I blinked --- there was an interesting request. I looked closely at the man, who introduced himself as Nicholas --- "But you can call me Nick" --- in hopes of finding something of his intentions. His honest face and, I thought, striking resemblance to me assuaged any fears, and I nodded to the request. Boulderites were supposed to be nice. Anyway, I'd just that morning put an extra can of gas in the back of my truck, promising myself never to let my tank get as low as it had the last time.
+
+We set about getting him ready to go. Through polite chatter, I learned that he was just moving back to Boulder after a leave of absence and he learned that my name was Joseph. I mentioned earlier that people from Boulder tend to be friendly (and liberal, and new-age...), but the way Nick was opening up, he must've lived there quite a long time. I didn't exactly mind, but I wasn't quite yet on the same level as him.
+
+By the time we finished emptying my can of gas into his dusty truck, I'd agreed to let Nick pay me for the gas and the quarter tank's worth needed to fill my truck (mostly because I was broke), and, addicts that we both were, we agreed to stop by at a nearby coffee shop afterwards, since neither of us had anything to do afterwards.
+
+Our discussion moved onto current events over two mochas, mine with a shot of peppermint in it (trendy, but tasty). We'd tried talking about ourselves, to be friendly, but we mostly ended up just skirting interesting details and pretending to reveal our secrets. By silent agreement, we decided that neither of us knew each other well enough to continue on such a subject, so we moved onto something more neutral.
+
+"They say that, since he plead insanity, even though he plead guilty to rape, they're going to charge her with prostitution." Nick was saying. "It's like they're taking the 'asking for it' argument to a new extreme: having insane people rape you is your fault or something."
+
+"That's...stupid," I say slowly, feeling fairly stupid myself. "You'd think they'd have some common sense about these things." My mind was moving slow, like it does when you've not had any sleep the night before. I wasn't tired, I was just thinking with all the speed of a bottle of molasses. Of course, that didn't stop my elitist emotions from riling up against the stupidity of a nation.
+
+The conversation continued much along the same lines, through the two mochas we each had, until we decided to go our separate ways. I was thinking that I'd have to stop and give people gas more often, if it would always lead to meeting someone, when Nick called across the top of his car over at me, "See you next week?"
+
+I agreed.
+
+-----
+
+Nick and I have been meeting about once or twice a week for a solid year now. Not much has really changed. Well, sure, many things have changed --- I'm a sophomore in college now, and he found a good job working at a local ISP --- just that between us, not a whole lot has evolved. We've grown more comfortable about sharing more personal things with each other, but current events are still the number one topic at our meetings. He's a good, consistent friend.
+
+Another thing that hasn't changed is the slow feeling I get while around him. It's progressed a bit, perhaps, and it feels a bit like déjà vu now. I've been pondering seeing someone about it, but I'm not sure whom I would see. It's a physical feeling, but the cause, being around Nick, is so specific that it sounds psychological. Nicks says just to ignore it, and that he's felt the same thing about others, and that things turned out fine. He then proceeded to joke that it may be love.
+
+No, things haven't really changed for us, but the world around us has. Our recent conversations have spanned across topics from the news ranging from the sudden resurgence of *a cappella* pop music among college students to recent NASA disasters, from more absurd crimes to new follies of the *res publica*.
+
+One current scandal was over the growth of interest in magic. The physicists said no, the metaphysicists said maybe, and the media happily embraced it while conservative groups around the world denounced it angrily before going on to practice their own brand of mysticism.
+
+Most notable in this movement was a group calling themselves 'The Mentats,' capital M on Misnomer. Seems a guy named Clarke, one of those Doctors that makes you wonder if some university really do just hand out degrees, had a good couple hundred people convinced that the type of magic he professed to be able to really 'do' was real, and that they too could practice it before long. He had been quietly disappeared after a while, though, and had left behind his group to do as they would.
+
+Unfortunately for the world, the Mentats weren't just a cult, and, however subtle, their 'magic' was real (real being a slippery, subjective term in itself; I just use it to mean with visible results, never mind the process). Unfortunate, as I said, because the world just wasn't quite ready for this --- the understatement of the universe --- and soon the Mentats had been laughed down, beaten down, and had willingly gone down into the underground of society, spreading ties as any normal cult would.
+
+On to the important thing, though: sushi. A once-every-few-months type of deal, Nick and I went to a nice, modern sushi restaurant. The chairs were uncomfortable, the place was noisy and poorly lit, but the sushi was excellent and, as an added bonus, there was a small, flowing stream of water running in a shallow-cut trench in the bar. No fish, though.
+
+"So, what do you think of this whole Mentat thing?" Nick asked. He had caught me right as I had neatly fit a piece of a tempura roll in my mouth. He was an expert at that.
+
+I finished the tasty morsel and leaned back, trying to think of a tactful reply. "I think it was poorly done. I mean, that Clarke guy had the right idea, train a few in case something got him, but distributing the documents on the internet just made the governmentals more edgy. They don't like stuff done for free like that, they're capitalists. Besides, it would've been awful if they'd decided to do the oppression thing," ever ready to expound my opinion as truth, was I.
+
+Nick nodded sagely, but I hazarded a random question, anyway. "Why? Are you a Mentat?"
+
+This got a chuckle out of him, and he said before he went back to eating, "I don't look for signs, they don't prove anything." Great, a non-answer.
+
+Eating seemed like a pretty good idea, so I shrugged and left the subject alone. I'd remember to ask him later that night. In actuality, I asked him the next week, as I'd forgotten. This is what convinced me of the reality of what the Mentats were doing. Never mind what actually happened, the process isn't what's important, only the result, and the result was that I was convinced, for better or for worse.
+
+-----
+
+This time, thins have changed. A whole lot has happened in a year. It's now been about two since the faithful day I stopped to lend a stranger some gas, and that stranger and I have grown closer. I've promised myself not to say the 'R' word, but perhaps I must: I'm beginning to think of Nick as a romantic interest. Eugh. Romance; it makes me feel like I'm high school again, and that's not a good feeling. That dreaded word has haunted me throughout my life. Whenever I had a 'romantic interest' with a girl, it never lasted more than a few months as said girl learned more about me (or I learned more about her), and whenever I had such an 'interest' in a boy, I ended up either having to hide it from people I knew, or he did, making things rather difficult.
+
+I have better things to talk about than my love life, though, and I'm straying from them, so I'll do as Nick and I do, and shift my rambles to current events. The Mentats were in the news again, this time with more surprises. There had been a minor but successful revolution wherein the Mentats, who had grown by a surprising amount had basically just come out as a church and declared themselves that legally. There had been a few short squabbles about it, but, since it became a matter of religion, it was soon left alone except for the standard name-throwing engaged in by other religious groups.
+
+The press had taken this fairly well, and it just got an objective column on the front page, at least in the local paper. A good half of them were Mentats , anyway; they had spread further than some might like to think. Once again, the process wasn't nearly as interesting as the results. Small, subtle acts of the Mentats' magic only made the news for the first few weeks, but after their 'repertoire' was shown to be rather limited, the papers stopped reporting on them. It wasn't so much of a sensation anymore.
+
+I, personally, didn't care all that much. From what I'd seen, the Mentats had taken fairly understandable things and wrapped them in a mythos and collection of ceremonies to make it more palatable. It seemed cheap to me, no matter what they could do.
+
+Perhaps part of the reason for my complacency is that, since I've moved in with Nick (I forgot to mention; I'm a junior now, and was getting tired of living in the student housing), the slowness and déjà vu have gotten progressively worse. Yet I still hold off on seeing anyone, lest I become the object of scrutiny; not everyone has taken to complacency like I was. I'm still doing fine with school and everything, as when I'm working, the feeling pretty much gets pushed to the back of my mind. I'm thinking it'll go away when it's ready.
+
+Anyway, I was studying for midterms and Nick was lounging on the patio when our collective life was change. The knock on the door startled me from my notes, and it was with a disgruntled attitude that I answered the door to a tall man, sharply dressed, who looked like he was prematurely balding. Some sort of high level type Mentat, most likely.
+
+"Hello," said he. "You are Joseph Stringer." It wasn't a question as much as it was a statement of truth (an annoying habit of the more advanced Mentats), so he kept on talking. "Nicholas Jospeh Stroud is out on the porch. I wish to talk with you both."
+
+The man was frightening, so I nodded, swallowed dryly, and led him out to the porch where we took a seat next to Nick. Nick himself hardly acknowledged our presence, he just kept staring out from the porch over into the park next door. It was an eternity before anyone spoke: I was too confused to, and the Mentat was content to sit five years in that one spot if need be, and Nick was clearly reflecting on something. Nevertheless, he was the first one to break the silence, "Hello, Doctor Clarke." I blinked and looked stolidly at the large, balding man. I had a headache. "I've been feeling worse. It's about time, isn't it?"
+
+Then, in the most emotion I think I've ever seen an advanced Mentat exude, Clarke sighed. "You know what will happen. I just wished to let you know how soon, so that you may prepare yourself." If Nick became an advance Mentat, I probably would go insane, having to live with him. "Do you mind if I leave from here." Another statement. He left. I suppose the brevity comes with the lack of emotion.
+
+I don't remember much for a while after that. I think I went to lie down, because that's what I was doing when I started remembering again. Nick crept into my darkened room quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Once more, there was an eternity of silence, which, once again, Nick broke.
+
+"Do you know what is happening?"
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"Well, while the Mentats were finding out what they could do, one of them hypothesized time travel. They never tried it until a few days ago, when they sent a mouse back a few minutes. They're going to send something else back soon..." he trailed off.
+
+With my mind moving as slow as cold honey, it took me about five minutes before I figured out what Nick was talking about. When I did finally understand, I could barely speak, and the first few times I tried came out as croaks. Eventually, I eked out, "Me?"
+
+Nick nodded, "You. Are you seeing what's happened? They sent you back, and then you became me..."
+
+I felt my mind clearing slightly as I had this problem to think about. I sat up in bed and eyed myself: Nick. Always a fan of science fiction, I had to ask, "But wouldn't that be a paradox?"
+
+"Not necessarily," said  Nick. "You'll see it clearly when they send you back, but I'll try to explain. Time wouldn't let anything bad come of it; if you go back in time, it's as I met you. You've changed because your time flowed forward at a different time as mine, and your experiences have changed you. That bull about the same atoms occupying the same space at the same time has the same possibility of happening as you finding the gaps between the atoms in a wall and walking right through it."
+
+I laughed as I pictured someone sliding back and forth along a wall to find the gaps. I lay back down and stared up at the ceiling as the laughter faded. My perception of reality was falling apart. I closed my eyes and remembered the past two years. My brain had tricked me. It had seen the truth behind Nick from the beginning, but it refused to acknowledge that such a thing was true until it was confirmed. Now that it had been confirmed, I felt like I was merging with myself --- Nick --- who stretched out beside me. I thought of how I felt about him/me, and blurted out that I loved him/myself, even if he/I already knew.
+
+"I know." He laughed, which made me blush, and continued, "It's the ultimate in narcissism, isn't it? When the Mentats ran through their records in search of someone to send back, they were searching for someone who was just a bit naïve and had good self-esteem. If they hadn't done that, there would've been a good chance that, even though the two had met up, they might hate each others' guts."
+
+I nodded and gave me a hug, since it seemed like I needed it. I'm going to let me have my pen now so I can finish writing my story, as I don't think I can keep going. I'm rather tired, even if I'm not, and I think I should let me sleep, as I have a big event ahead of me. I think I'll have myself sleep with me tonight, though, as I need to be alone with my thoughts.
+
+-----
+
+Joseph gave me his pen, turned over, and fell asleep immediately. Reading what he'd written brought back many, many memories, several of which he'd recorded. I won't add any more, he covered enough.
+
+I don't think he'll want to write any more in the morning than he did just now, so I'll explain what will happen to him.
+
+His slowness and déjà vu feelings will increase right up until they send him back, when he'll feel that his head is about to explode. Then, when he's being sent, the feelings will abruptly stop.
+
+Beinng sent is the most relaxing thing that you could ever have happened to you after those feelings. Like Steven King's *The Jaunt*, "It's forever in there," but the end result isn't nearly the same (i.e: you don't go insane, nor do you grow any older). You have an eternity to spend examining time laid out before you.
+
+All of time at once is a beautiful thing. Words can't describe it, because none of the five senses experience it. You can sense your own track, your own destiny through time, and everyone else's independently. You're spread out across all of eternity as you fall toward the infinitely small point of your destination in time.
+
+As he takes forever to instantaneously snap back into reality, he will understand who Time is: Time is kind, but strict. Time will bend the rules to let him back in, but Time will give him the headaches. I still have mine. I suspect they will go away when Joseph does. I also suspect that Time will pretend Joseph never was, but that Time will let my memories of the past two years stay; it's not the process that matters, so much as the result.
+
+As for what happens to Joseph after, you already know that. Me, I think I'll become a writer; the Mentats will take care of me for my 'service to humanity,' and I suspect Time will be kind enough to let me live quite a bit longer. I've always wanted to be a writer. I'll use a pseudonym, though. I'm rather fond of Nicholas.

content/post/apres-un-reve.md

@@ -0,0 +1,200 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Post-Self
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-02-04
+description: A young woman reluctantly goes through with the uploading procedure, risky though it is, to reconnect with her lover.
+img: post-self.png
+type: post
+pdf: apres-un-reve.pdf
+tags:
+- Death
+- Science fiction
+- Uploading
+title: "Apr\xE8s un r\xEAve"
+---
+
+> *Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image  
+> Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage,  
+> Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,  
+> Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore;*
+
+Echoes of Grace singing, memories and emotions, clashed with the doctor's words. "I know you've signed the waivers, but I need a verbal confirmation. Do you understand this?"
+
+Sylvie nodded. It was strange not to feel her hair, always so frizzy and buoyant, not following the motion a scant second too late.
+
+"The uploading process will be fatal and irreversible. There is some risk, about one and a half percent, that it won't work." The doctor paused and picked up a pen. She added, "Won't work after the point where your body will have died, that is. Do you understand?"
+
+A swallow, dry, and another nod. "What will happen in that case?"
+
+"Your family will receive a payout of ten million francs CFA. Your body will not be available for a burial, unfortunately." The doctor looked abashed. "The results of the process are --- ah, not pretty."
+
+"I understand."
+
+"One last bit, then. After the uploading process, successful or not, your blood, organs and tissue will be donated --- or, well, sold --- to a tissue bank in central Africa. Your family will receive ten percent of this, and the Centre the other ninety. This is to help defray the cost of the process."
+
+Sylvie thought for a moment, rubbed her hand over her smooth-shaven head. "About how much will that be?"
+
+"The cut to your family?" The doctor fiddled with her pen, twirling it across delicate dark fingers. "Lately, we've been getting about a hundred million francs, so again, about ten million. Not a bad payout, hmm?"
+
+Not bad indeed. Sylvie had little love for her family, minus her brother, so the payout wasn't a huge incentive, as it was for others. She just hoped Moussa wound up with a chunk of it.
+
+Unlikely, given her mother.
+
+She nodded her assent.
+
+"So then. Your surgery is scheduled in one hour. You have fifteen minutes before prep, which means fifteen more minutes to back out if you should choose. I'm going to head back to the team and leave you be to think this over." The doctor gestured to her right, "Dial zero on the phone on the desk if you wish to cancel."
+
+The doctor stood and leaned forward, offering her hand. Sylvie lifted herself out of her chair and accepted the handshake, feeling as though she needed to be careful of those delicate fingers. The grip was strong, though.
+
+As the doctor slipped out of the room, Sylvie settled back into the chair. She closed her eyes against the sight of all the posters advertising the procedure. "Upload today!" they said. "Experience a life beyond need!" they promised. "Work without pressure! Fork at will!" they hollered. Everything was so loud, so loud.
+
+She had them all memorized, anyway. Right now, she just wanted quiet. She just wanted to think of Grace.
+
+Grace with her silvering hair.
+
+Grace with her fair and smooth skin.
+
+Grace with her liquid laughter and lovely singing.
+
+They’d fallen in love within months, and shared only a scant few years together before being separated again. An impenetrable boundary of distance, of emulated sensorium and embodied flesh.
+
+Grace's decision hadn't been Sylvie's. Uploading, the thought of uploading, made Sylvie's skin itch and eyes ache. To be removed from this world and sent to another, to the System, didn't appeal to her.
+
+It did appeal to Grace.
+
+Grace with her failing voice.
+
+Grace with her deteriorating coordination.
+
+Grace with her pain, her depression.
+
+For Grace, it was a way to escape her body. That body that Sylvie loved so much, and was a prison to Grace. A voluntary procedure --- "Help combat overpopulation!" the posters howled --- but  also a way to neatly sidestep the MS slowly claiming her body and mind.
+
+After the upload, Grace had communicated with Sylvie through text, through mails sent to her terminal which she'd pour over at work. She begged Sylvie. *Come join, come upload,* she said. *The posters, they're all true, they're all right.*
+
+The thought *still* made her skin itch and her eyes ache, but all the same, she kept dreaming of Grace. Dreaming of softer eyes, of a voice more sonorous. Her Grace shining like the dawn.
+
+So she'd relented.
+
+> *Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre  
+> Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,  
+> Les cieux pour nous entr'ouvraient leurs nues,  
+> Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues,*
+
+Sylvie's mind was filled with Fauré, with that rolling, lilting theme. With Grace's voice.
+
+"We're going to keep you awake, okay? We need to, in order to tell when the upload is complete, but you'll under local anesthesia. It'll make you feel a little dreamy, may have visual disturbances." The doctor's smile was kind. "Some report it to be enjoyable."
+
+"Okay. How long will the upload take?"
+
+"The procedure will be about forty five minutes to prep you for upload, and then the upload will happen in two stages," the doctor said. "You'll be uploaded to a local node at our center, which will give you access to a waiting room of sorts for the System proper. The upload to the System will take several hours --- it's a lot of data, you understand --- so the waiting room will usually have you fork and the copy will be uploaded."
+
+"Create a copy of myself and let that be uploaded while I watch," she murmured. Sylvie thought for a moment, "What about the copy that remains?"
+
+"It's free to quit, like a program on your terminal quitting. But they --- the, ah, sysadmins --- usually request that it stay around in case the upload to the System gets interrupted for some reason."
+
+"And what will I feel if things go wrong?"
+
+The doctor hesitated, looked to her team. It was another team member, a man with a thick French accent, who responded. "We don't really know. The local node will pick up on it and alert us. Death just looks like death to us."
+
+Sylvie nodded. Tried to nod, at least. She was firmly strapped down. "Alright."
+
+There was a pinprick at the crook of her elbow. A feeling of coolness spread up her arm, into her chest. A tightness, there, and then a tightness along her neck. A brief moment of panic as she tried to flex her fingers.
+
+"Starting the neuromuscular blocker. This will paralyze your voluntary muscles, so don't panic about the feeling," the anesthesiologist mumbled, distracted. He tapped her forearm, sending a pins-and-needles flash through the right half of her body. "But it doesn't numb you. That will be the next one, the anesthetic."
+
+Sylvie attempted to speak, but only managed a grunt of assent.
+
+The anesthesiologist nodded, "Good. Here it comes, then."
+
+The coolness was replaced with a comfortable warmth.
+
+Not warmth, she realized. Nothingness. Floatingness. Leaving-the-earth-ness. Gone-ness.
+
+"Sylvie, can you hear me? You won't be able to speak or blink or nod, but can you try and take two quick breaths? It may be difficult. We'll intubate if necessary."
+
+Sylvie obeyed. Or thought she did, at least. She couldn't tell if the breaths were actually happening. It seemed to be enough for the anesthesiologist, whose shadow across her vision bowed and stepped out of sight.
+
+Time wandered.
+
+Voices rang with the tenor of bells, though she could still understand them. Surgeons talking to technicians.
+
+A dull, basso organ note of something grinding, her vision vibrating, blurring the sight of the light above the bed.
+
+The light took the form of Grace, and Sylvie more readily gave in to the effects of the drug.
+
+Grace with her angelic smile. Grace lifting her up, away from the earth. Grace running, running into the ring of that surgeon's lamp. Clouds, clouds parting.
+
+The organ note screamed up through several octaves.
+
+Calm, ringing voices.
+
+That yearning song tinkling through her mind. She was unable to tell whether it came from herself, or from one of the techs. Or maybe from Grace. *Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image...* Tinkling and flowing. Rocking. Drunken. Drunken on dreams.
+
+Minutes fled by. Hours. Days, perhaps. Always, in front of her, her angel. Pure white skin that contrasted beautifully against her own, cream spilled in coffee. Always lifting her up. How far did they have to go?
+
+Grace was drifting away from her, receding.
+
+The light flared in intensity. Somehow became black. A shining blackness amid a field of more blackness.
+
+Tugging, pulling.
+
+Prying.
+
+A snap.
+
+A sense of wrongness, of gravity.
+
+Falling away. Layers of self peeling back, each successive shedding revealing something more raw, more primal. Molting. The boundary between her Self and the blackness complicating, fraying, fading.
+
+Grace was gone, too, faded to nothing.
+
+*Come back!* Sylvie shouted into the nothingness. Her fists, raw and exposed to their very core, to the concept of Fist sans physical representation, pounded at the blackness. Pounded at herself.
+
+*Come back! Come back! Grace!* She wailed. Screamed. Sobbed.
+
+*Grace...*
+
+A whisper against building chords, Grace's sweet voice.
+
+> *Hélas! Hélas! triste réveil des songes  
+> Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends moi tes mensonges,  
+> Reviens, reviens radieuse,  
+> Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse!*
+
+The team stood still. There was no written protocol as to what one should do while the local node processed the upload, but they always remained silent. The doctor held her breath every time.
+
+A small pinging noise. The local readout flashed red.
+
+Shoulders sagged around the room.
+
+"Error in processing upload." The tinny speaker sounded impersonal. Perhaps it was designed that way to play down the loss. "Irrecoverable data corruption. Please check all contacts before continuing or contact System support for a technician for a full rig inspection."
+
+"Well." The anesthesiologist's voice, so human,  contrasted with the words from the speaker. "That's that, then."
+
+"That's that," the doctor echoed. She sighed and backed away from Sylvie's body. It was empty, now. A husk. "I'll start the paperwork and call her family and the insurance company. Get the payout processed as soon as possible."
+
+The other team members nodded. None of them looked happy.
+
+"Go on, get her cleaned up and sent to the handlers." She trudged out of the room slowly, her feet dragging. Pulling off her gloves, one by one, she added, "At least someone will get something out of this. Alas."
+
+Prayers began around the corpse.
+
+<!--
+In a sleep which held your charmed image
+I dreamed of happiness, passion-filled mirage,
+Your eyes were softer, your voice pure and sonorous,
+You shone like a sky lit by the dawn;
+
+You called me and I left the earth
+To flee with you to the light,
+The heavens for us were opening their clouds,
+Splendors unknown, glimmering glimpses of the divine
+
+Alas! Alas! Sad awakening of dreams
+I call you, O night, bring back your lies,
+Come back, come back radiant,
+Come back, O mysterious night!
+-->

content/post/assignment.md

@@ -0,0 +1,130 @@
+---
+author: Madison Scott-Clary
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Post-Self
+ratings: G
+date: 2016-12-26
+description: Ioan Balan is a historian and blogger assigned to research a flash-cult. Things go sideways, and he's left with more story than expected.
+img: post-self.png
+type: post
+pdf: assignment.pdf
+tags:
+- Science fiction
+- Uploading
+- Mystery
+- Cult
+title: Assignment
+---
+
+The feeling of an instance merging state back with the tracker would never NOT make Ioan Balan#tracker uneasy. It wasn't the differences in experiences, those could be anticipated, so much as the tiny changes in identity that resulted. Having to internalize a slightly different version of yourself was too close to experiencing a doppelgänger. Or perhaps hanging with a sib, fresh home from a semester abroad.
+
+Ioan#tracker had never been abroad, had no siblings. Just new memories.
+
+Ey set aside eir work --- a simple bit of nothing for a blogging organization that really didn't matter but nonetheless offered some reputation --- and sat back to deal with the squirming, greasy feeling of the merger.
+
+-----
+
+Ioan Balan#{{ page.instance }} was forked on suggestion of one of Ioan#tracker's friends as a way to inspect and experience life among a flashcult. Although the lifespan of the group was likely to be measured in months, or even weeks, Ioan figured it was a worthwhile investigation. Ey had an investigative journalism gig that could use a story like this.
+
+The forking had gone quite according to plan. Ioan#tracker had no reason to expect otherwise, of course, and when the instance was rendered in front of em, the two shared a perfunctory handshake and went over notes one last time before the instance headed out to catch transit to as close to the flashcult as ey could get.
+
+\#{{ page.instance }} took little time to settle into life among the cultists. Ioan was affable, likable. It was part of why ey had found the work of an investigative journalist easy, and why ey had quickly gone from low to high reputation in the field. The problem ey kept running into was boredom, rather than burning out.
+
+-----
+
+Ioan#tracker was left feeling let down, as ey perused what ey had been left of #{{ page.instance }}'s state. Ey used a fairly standard, off-the-shelf algorithm to cut down on the sheer amount of state ey would have to sift through to gain something from the instance's brief --- ey checked the date --- three weeks, two days of existance. It was enough to gain most of the knowledge and a good portion of the emotional and intellectual slices from the state, which was all ey needed for eir work. A full merge would've taken too long, and may have even been counterproductive: ey needed an amanuensis, not a recording device, for eir reporting.
+
+The 'assignment', such as it was, had been fairly straightforward, and Ioan#tracker had expected little of interest from the state dump. The flashcult was strange, but not too out of the ordinary, so ey sped up eir perusal, skimming.
+
+A sharp jolt of fear.
+
+A pain that stretched from physical to existential.
+
+EOF.
+
+Ioan#tracker sat up straighter, brow furrowed. Ey skipped back through a few chunks of state to where ey had started to get bored.
+
+-----
+
+The flashcult was strange, but not too out of the ordinary. Ioan#{{ page.instance }}, with no journalistic duties, found eirself getting into the swing of things with ease.
+
+It was a sort of weird vacation, performing weird rituals that slowly began to make a weird sort of sense, knowing that at some weird moment, ey would either get too bored and quit or receive a SIGTERM. When ey caught the signal, ey would either have have to acquiesce and quit right then, find a place to step aside and quit, or risk crashing. But mostly lots of loafing around.
+
+As work, being an amanuensis was merely inoffensive. Not super interesting, kind of relaxing, and maybe something interesting would happen that eir tracker could turn into a story.
+
+It was during one of the rituals --- a call-and-response prayer wherein the members seemed to be working on memorizing progressively longer digits of numbers --- when the co-cultist beside em let out a soft sigh that turned into a quiet giggle.
+
+Then she turned to em, grinned beatifically, and winked.  Winked!
+
+Ioan#{{ page.instance }} watched her raise her hand and call the ceremony to a halt, saying almost dreamily, "I found them."
+
+Faced turned toward em, all smiling that same, kind, peaceful smile.  Ey sat dumbly, looking from face to face.  "I...yes?" ey managed.
+
+"You're the one," a voice chimed in.
+
+Another added, "The reporter. You're the reporter."
+
+There was a thrill of fear that ran up #{{ page.instance }}'s spine. It had never been a strictly undercover operation, but neither had ey been forthcoming about why ey were there in the first place.
+
+Ioan#{{ page.instance }} lifted eir hands from eir lap, palms up in a placating fashion. "Well," ey began. "I am a reporter, no denying, but I'm not here on offic-*urk!*"
+
+There was a sharp blow to the back of eir neck, knocking em flat to the ground, then a weight settling solidly onto eir back. One of the other members had sat on em.
+
+"Congrats, Ana," said the cultist on eir back.
+
+"Three weeks and a day, getting better," another grinned, and others soon chimed in, reaching in to shake hands with the young woman who had originally pointed em out.
+
+Ioan#{{ page.instance }} picked out the face of the lector in the crowd, an older person of indeterminate sex who had always struck em as rather vacuous. It was a difficult task, from eir viewpoint on the ground, and since all the adherents wore identical clothing, there were few clues.
+
+"This is the tenth iteration. As we discussed before you arrived, we'll tell you, now."
+
+The fear continued to well within #{{ page.instance }}, growing in intensity.
+
+-----
+
+Ioan#tracker set eir usual algorithm aside for the merger, requesting that the entirety of the instance's state, from that last ritual on, be merged with em. It wasn't the first time ey had done such a thing, but it was still rare enough for em to do so that ey had to look up how. Despite eir career depending on it, ey had never been all that good at the whole dissolution thing. Ey never even figured out how to name eir instances, relying instead on the random string of digits that the system generated for em.
+
+Once that had been organized, ey moved out onto the wrap-around deck and settled into one of the Adirondack chairs out there. Such things, ey suspected, were built primarily for thinking.
+
+Ey closed eir eyes, and let memories wash over em.
+
+-----
+
+The fear continued to well within #{{ page.instance }}, growing in intensity.
+
+"We're practicing, you see." The lector paced a slow circle around Ioan#{{ page.instance }} as they went on. "We start something interesting, wait for a reporter, and find them out. That's what we're practicing. Finding out who's watching, who's the reporter."
+
+Ana giggled once more, "It's a class, get it? An experiment, a dissection. You're the subject."
+
+The lector nodded and, having completed their circuit, leaned down to meet #{{ page.instance }}'s wide-eyed gaze. "And now we've got it reliably under a month. Time to make it known. What's your branch name?"
+
+"Ioan Balan#{{ page.instance }}," ey stuttered. "Bu-but why are you...what are...why are you doing this?"
+
+"We're looking for reliable ways to find out the reporters because," they paused, withdrawing a syringe from the billowy sleeve of their tunic. "Because some day we may not want to be seen."
+
+That wellspring of fear turned to a geyser.
+
+In the system, there was no real need for an actual syringe, so they had taken on a new, codified meaning of something that would modify an instance in some core fashion. Intent was thick in the air, so Ioan#{{ page.instance }} had no doubt that this was some sort of destructive virus.
+
+"Wait," ey gasped, finding eir breath coming in ragged, erratic bursts.
+
+There was no time to continue with mere words, only a hoarse shout. Eir fear spiked beyond what it felt ey were capable of containing as ey watched the hand bearing the syringe slide calmly toward them to efficiently slip the needle behind eir ear.
+
+Eir final thought before eir instance crashed was surprise at just how much it hurt to die. It was a pain that spread from eir head through eir body, from the physical reality of the sim to some existential plane.
+
+-----
+
+Ioan#tracker found eirself clutching at the arms of the deck chair, eir own breathing shallow and fast. Ey felt some of the same fear that eir instance had felt.
+
+What should ey do?
+
+A quick search showed ey couldn't turn over the instance. Little was actually 'recorded' in a useful fashion that any sort of authorities (such as there were) could use. The instances were eirs and eirs only. Ey certainly didn't want to confront the cultists, either as emself or through an instance. Ey didn't know how to change eir instances like some others did, so ey would just look like Ioan#{{ page.instance }} back from the dead.
+
+Ey realized that all ey could really do was what ey knew how to do best.
+
+Be a reporter.
+
+It was what the cult wanted, but ey felt the words and experiences stirring within em already. Hell, it's what *ey* wanted, too.
+
+Finally, an interesting assignment.

content/post/at-his-whim.md

@@ -0,0 +1,194 @@
+---
+author: Madison Scott-Clary
+categories:
+- Short Story
+ratings: X
+description: A date turns into much, much more as a wolf takes everything from a cat, from words to memories.
+date: 2018-01-22
+type: post
+pdf: at-his-whim.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Sexuality
+- Kink
+- Dubious consent
+title: At His Whim
+---
+
+<div class="cw">Hypnosis; dubious consent</div>
+
+Oh god.
+
+Oh god oh god oh god.
+
+How the fuck did I wind up here?
+
+Okay, cat, come on, you can do this. Mind's all sorts of hazy, but just need to keep track of things, try and remember back to where things got started.
+
+Oh god, so full...how does...oh god...
+
+-----
+
+I reasoned that a date was probably a good excuse to get all prettied up. After all, this was one of those first impressions things, right? You get to meet someone, and they'll always have this picture of you in their head from when they first met you.
+
+Hell, I could still picture so many people in the outfits I first met them in. "Oh, yeah, they were in a white button-up shirt," or "yeah, he was definitely wearing a silly shirt grabbed off some site online".
+
+So, okay. Yeah. Lets do this.
+
+This date's unspoken theme --- at least on my end --- was Business Goth: I had a satiny black blouse with barest hint of silky shimmer; long fingerless gloves that reach up to the elbows, also in black; a black box-pleated skirt, just above the knees, with the only concession to color being navy blue piping along the waist and hem. Oh, and underthings of course: black panties and...well, actually a light gray bra, since I didn't have a black one. Padded out slightly because why not.
+
+Dang, see? You can dress up nice! I looked halfway like I was gonna go take over a company, halfway like I was going to some industrial show.
+
+Business Goth.
+
+That was enough to get us started. There's this wolf I'd been dying to meet, and now that was *actually happening*. After the date had been arranged, we sent a few goofy texts back and forth deciding on what we would each wear. Not to specifics, of course, otherwise I wouldn't have had the chance to explore much. We just agreed on smart, snappy dressing, and that I would be in the darker clothes.
+
+Ought to be fun, right?
+
+-----
+
+I'm stuck bracing myself against the wall, claws digging at the paint and finding little purchase. Nothing seems able to give me any respite. I'm so full, so full...he just keeps cumming and cumming, and so do I, and how the fuck did I even get here?
+
+Those headphones are still in, but it's all I can do to keep myself propped up against the wall, with the way he's leaning into me like that. If I move my paws, I'm pretty sure I'd just slam into it nose first.
+
+Those headphones...
+
+Think, cat, come on.
+
+Oh god.
+
+Oh god oh god oh god so full...I can feel the way my lower belly is starting to bulge, feel the fur bristling beneath the newly-taut skin.
+
+How can one cum so much?
+
+Those headphones...that beat, that off-rhythm beat that's different in each ear...and his murmuring words beneath it, tangled coils of repetition hidden beneath sibilant esses and susurrating syllables that tug at me this way and that with tangled coils of repetition beneath murmured words and commands and half sentences that double back on each other in tangled coils of repetition reinforcing small instructions that have me letting go and...
+
+Oh god...
+
+How...
+
+-----
+
+Thus gussied, the both of us settled in at the painfully pomo 'bistro' he'd picked out. It was something more than a bar and less than a restaurant, which I supposed was what a bistro is supposed to be. Still, it had few concessions to the French (or was it Italian?) style that I'd associated with that word. All black wood and brushed aluminum and chopsticks. We ordered "tapas" of "Asian bruschetta" - a rice cracker bearing a sheet of nori, a few paper-thin slices of mozzarella, and half a cherry tomato, drizzled with a reduction of black vinegar and soy---
+
+I lost track halfway through the description. The food was good. *Very* good. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how good this is," I joked, and the wolf laughed.
+
+Handsome guy. Very handsome. He had dressed just as smart as I, his dark fur set off by a linen jacket and trousers, and a pressed shirt. No tie, and lemme tell you, ties are for chumps. Jacket and shirt without a tie is top notch.
+
+The food was good, the company was good, the wine was good. Plum wine, natch, which went weirdly well with the temaki made of a curled, fried Parmesan crisp, stuffed with arborio and lightly seared ahi dredged through a balsamic---
+
+Anyway, it was all too good.
+
+He paid over my strident protests, and laughed when I pouted at him. He admitted that, yes, it was expensive, that yes, I'm getting the next one, and that yes, if we go out for dessert --- "which we totally should" --- then I can get that one, too.
+
+Luckily, I knew this area of town, and I could guide us to a good dessert place. There's this dinky hole-in-the-wall place that does crepes on one end of the counter and scraped ice cream on the other. You could get a few of those rolls of ice cream tucked neatly into a crepe with sauce and such, but if you're me (or the owner, who told me about the trick), you can have them fill the crepe and then press it down on the ice cream surface, then roll it up into a cone with alternating layers of crepe and ice cream and, once again, I couldn't hear him over how good the food was.
+
+Judging by his expression, he liked it enough to have given himself an ice cream headache.
+
+From dessert, we went for a walk around town. We talked about...I can't remember now. So much of that is fading away... We talked about this and that. We talked about music, I remember that much.
+
+We talked about music, and his voice kept getting quieter, and yet no less distinct. And I...but that's fading, too... We started wandering away from the park area and toward an apartment building.
+
+-----
+
+Knot's...too big. I have to brace myself against the wall, but my hips are canted at such an angle that I don't really have any leverage to make myself comfortable, to deal with that far-too-full feeling.
+
+I'm a mess, I can tell. I can feel the way the lube and cum stick to my fur, cooling in the air of the room, despite it being so warm. So warm. So warm I'm panting, I can feel the cooler air drawn raggedly over my tongue and teeth, but nothing seems to help cool me down.
+
+Too full, too full, can't think straight...
+
+Oh god, how...
+
+How does he keep going? How do we both keep going?
+
+All I can hear is the soft beats from the headphones and the soft words and commands, and I'm struggling to think of anything else but that knot, keeping everything in place, locking him to me...that knot and the stretching of my belly, so much cum I can feel the way my lower belly is distending, feel so much of his cum sloshing inside with my every twitch and shudder...
+
+Oh god oh god.
+
+Think. Words...
+
+-----
+
+I remember him saying, "I'm really into binaural beats." For some reason that really stuck out to me at the time, because the only time I'd heard of them being used was during a course in school to explain stereo perception or something.
+
+We'd made it to the door of his apartment complex and he'd invited me up for music, but --- and I mostly remember this --- right there, in the lobby, he perked up and told me to wait as he fished in his jacket for some headphones, clicked them into his phone, and then handed them to me.
+
+He was sweet and kind about the whole thing, and even if he wasn't, he was totally my type, so I just kinda went along with it. It was fun, right?
+
+The music was a sort of house beat, but with a third rhythm knocking around inside my head. My paws darted up to tug one of the headphones free, and the beat disappeared. My face must've shown something, because he laughed and tugged me over to the elevator by my free paw, letting me tuck the other earbud back in place.
+
+There's something about that...that binaural beat, that third drum line kicking inside me that was almost hypnotic. Was hypnotic. It was --- is --- hard to concentrate on anything but it, following it around in some internal space.
+
+-----
+
+It's still there, too. It's getting louder, and his words are rising with it, and I can't do anything but moan and hold on and try to remember.
+
+But I can't. Words are failing, and memories are slipping away, and I'm unable to quite pull up how...
+
+How this...
+
+How this happened...
+
+How this is happening...
+
+-----
+
+I think I made it to his apartment still of my own volition, but I can't be sure. I had that music going, and he was tugging me along and talking to me smoothly. I could see his lips moving when the music was loud, and hear his soft, murmured words when it wasn't. He was encouraging me and telling me I was pretty and enticing me and telling me I was good, and it was all so comforting, and so easy to not think about anything else.
+
+I think I made it out of my clothes all by myself, and I know I helped him out of his, or maybe just pawed and fawned ineffectually at him as he undressed himself. I can't be sure, though. Through the whole process, he never ceased his soft explanations of how good I was and how good I was going to be, and he made sure those headphones stayed in my ears the whole time.
+
+I remember him being big. Like real big. That bit I remember. I can't forget that, not with where I am now, not with how full I am.
+
+And...words and memories are sifting away through some as yet unseen grate, and I can barely pick up after that. Words...
+
+He was big, bigger than I thought.
+
+He seemed to keep getting bigger.
+
+He was hard and seemed to keep getting harder.
+
+He was gentle, and I don't quite know why, but that was surprising to me.
+
+He was steady. He moved sensually, but never sped up nor slowed down.
+
+He kept talking, kept cajoling and convincing and enticing and praising and the songs trailed from one to another and all I could think about for a while was that beat. That beat and how good I felt. That beat and how pretty I was. That beat and how nice I was. That beat and how I was his. I...his words...remember...
+
+And when he tied with me, I started to lose it.
+
+And when I came, and so did I, I started to unravel.
+
+And when I started to unravel, I was lifted up and pressed to the wall.
+
+And when I was only able to hold myself up and not move otherwise, he tucked his muzzle over my shoulder.
+
+And as his murmuring grew more and more insistent
+
+I became less and less
+
+And less real
+
+I don't know
+
+How this is happening. I don't know
+
+I don't know how
+
+I can't
+
+I can barely
+
+Keep up
+
+And it
+
+It all feels
+
+So good
+
+So full
+
+So good
+
+So good
+
+So good

content/post/beneath-her-coat.md

@@ -0,0 +1,35 @@
+---
+category:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2018-01-31
+type: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+- Furry
+title: Beneath her coat was a whole identity
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+Beneath her coat was a whole identity:
+A subtle form of ideas under soft fur,
+A constantly shifting mass of meaning...
+And somehow, she pulled it off.
+
+She would go for days without shedding a thing,
+And then, as if a bottle rolling off a counter,
+She would shatter, sending shards of self flying,
+And then we'd all see.
+
+Then we'd all see the terror, the joy,
+Then we'd all see the grief at nothing,
+Then we'd all hear her say,
+"I'm not built for a life with death in it."
+
+And slowly, she'd pick herself back up
+And find a brand new way to piece herself together
+And build herself a brand new smile
+And brush out her coat once more.
+</div>
+
+*First-place winner of the [Typewriter Emergencies Poetry Contest](https://www.typewriteremergencies.com/single-post/2018/02/13/Beneath-her-coat-was-a-whole-identity---1st-Place-Winner).*

content/post/bruise-vision.html

@@ -0,0 +1,203 @@
+---
+date: 2017-06-03
+type: post
+title: Bruise Vision
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+tags:
+- Poetry
+- Mental Health
+---
+
+<style>
+.row {
+    display: block;
+    vertical-align: top;
+}
+.col-md-4 {
+    width: 30%;
+    display: inline-block;
+    vertical-align: top;
+    padding: 0.5rem;
+}
+.text-right {
+    text-align: right;
+}
+.col-md-8 {
+    width: 60%;
+    display: inline-block;
+    vertical-align: top;
+    padding: 0.5rem;
+}
+@media only screen and (max-width: 500px) {
+    .col-md-4, .col-md-8 {
+        width: 100%;
+        display: block;
+    }
+}
+</style>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>I</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Unnerving</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    Anxiety</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+A hundred geese overhead —
+    A thousand —
+        A million —
+
+Heady scent of premonition.
+Acrid tang of ill omens.
+Portents.
+Too much meaning
+    In too small a space.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>II</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Noise-Cancelling Headphones</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    auditory aberrations</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+Geese are a byproduct of laminar shear stress
+    Of two layers of phantasmagorical
+        Newtonian fluids,
+    Which is why they’re often seen on a plane.
+A thin, sort-of Truth
+    From a sort of thin layer
+        geese chromatography.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>III</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Eldrich</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    red tint to vision; hot flashes</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+As the dove bears the olive branch,
+    so to the goose bears the wand
+        that withers all it touches.
+A wand of nightshade,
+    Core of tainted silver.
+A wand of obscure origin,
+    The goose surely stole it.
+Malice begets malice.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>IV</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Beyond Comprehension</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    confusion; nausea; sweating; racing pulse</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+We know not the transgression,
+    the origin -
+We know not the punishment,
+    only the terror.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>V</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Excruciating</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    pounding heart; tunnel vision; racing thoughts; black outs;
+blood pouring from ears</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+Geas
+    Wing
+        Dark
+            Horizon
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>VI</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Terrifying</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    tinnitus; piloerection; shortness of breath; uneven gait</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+I’d rather owls.
+Owls, as though geese were turned inside out,
+    made less evil.
+Still portentous,
+    Still momentous,
+    Just less terrifying.
+Owls are okay.
+I can think about owls.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>VII</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Uncomfortable</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    subdermal itching; formication</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+Life within a comfortable grid.
+Parallel lines
+    Interrupting narrowing circles
+    Of birds in flight.
+Travel in straight lines.
+Turn at right angles.
+Trace the roof of your mouth
+    With wet tongue.
+
+I’m not afraid of geese anymore
+    Because I can step on them now.
+I’m big enough.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="row">
+    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
+    <h3>VIII</h3>
+    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
+    Birds</p>
+    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
+    birds</p>
+    </div>
+    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
+Ritual thinking
+    Driven by geese —
+    By lines, by grids, by food —
+    By numbers and neat delineation.
+And I’m left with questions:
+    Why are they so portentous?
+    Why the anxiety?
+Or maybe:
+    Did I take my meds this morning?
+
+Failing that,
+    Can I just have the comfort of prayer
+    Or the ecstasy of signs
+        Without the bleak paranoia
+        Over circling birds?
+    </div>
+</div>

content/post/centerpiece.md

@@ -0,0 +1,254 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: X
+date: 2016-12-17
+img: flag.svg
+type: post
+pdf: centerpiece.pdf
+rating: X
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Romance
+- Sexuality
+- Kink
+title: Centerpiece
+---
+
+
+"Hey E," Aaron mumbled, the cat nudging the turn signal lever up to make his way toward the right lane.
+
+"Mmm?" Erin peeked up from her book to see how far they'd made it into their journey. Still about twenty minutes. She lowered her gaze once again.
+
+"Put any more thought into the idea of a donor?"
+
+Slinking lower into the passenger seat, Erin gave a half-hearted shrug. "Not really any more than before. Just want someone we know already and who we trust. Don't want to go to a bank."
+
+Aaron nodded and settled back into his seat as they made their way onto the highway. "Anyone you can think of, minkypie?"
+
+Erin caught herself about to shrug again and shook her head instead, "Only really know a few other minks out there --- the Redstones from work, and there's that Matthew guy from your office...Matthew Lederer, was it? --- and I don't know if they swing or not. Come on, though," she laughed. "Figure out something sexier to talk about. We're supposed to be getting psyched for a night of debauchery, not figuring out sperm donor paperwork."
+
+Erin and Aaron had been one of those couples that had been insufferably cute when dating. When they'd been friends, they'd been teased about it enough, but when it turned to romance, it all seemed a bit much.
+
+It was the names that got most people, of course. They'd react in a few very predictable ways when they found out that the couple had homophonic names. Most folks would gush over how adorable it was, asking how they referred to each other when alone, what they'd name their children if they could have any, and so on, The rest seemed to fall into two camps: those that would ask, "doesn't that get confusing or weird in conversations?" and those that would make some lewd comment about sex, whether referring to threesomes or whether they'd ever played with another Aaron or Erin or something like that
+
+The answers were all fairly straight forward, too, especially after several years of being asked the same questions. They would say that they called each other by their names like regular folks; they'd joke that if they had kids, they'd name them Erin and Aaron; they'd say that conversations were made easier when eye contact signaled which individual was being talked to; they'd say their sex life was private but give a wink.
+
+Below the surface, though, were the more intimate truths. In private, they really only used each other's first initials, going by E and A respectively. They'd done the threesome thing quite a bit, actually, and even once with another Erin, it had been really rather nice, and they were looking forward to seeing her again tonight. And perhaps the most intimate truth was just how sore a subject parenthood was for the two of them, how much being an interspecies couple got in the way.
+
+Aaron laughed and nodded. "Alright, alright," he said. "You looking forward to being a useful mink tonight, then?"
+
+Despite all the planning and negotiation that had gone into tonight, despite all the times she'd heard it before, being called a 'useful mink' right before the first night in far too long where she really would be useful had Erin squirming in her seat, ears pinned back against her head.
+
+The cat in the the driver's seat laughed, "I'll take that as a yes, then. Tell me what you're looking forward to most, then."
+
+"Being...being useful."
+
+"Mmm, so it's more the serving others than the bondage?"
+
+Erin felt her tail start to frizz out, something she could never seem to help when agitated. A fact that Aaron was always keen to exploit. "Mmhm...mink wants to be useful more than anything."
+
+"More than anything?" Aaron asked, risking a glance away from the road to grin at his wife. "More than the pleasure of the act, you just want others to use you to feel good?"
+
+If his goal had been to make her flustered, Aaron was succeeding. If it had been to get her more worked up, it was also very, very much succeeding. "Yeah," she began, voice thick with embarrassment. "Yeah, I want...I want people to come away feeling fulfilled, I want to be a tool to help them feel that way." The mink thought for a moment longer before adding, "The sex is good too, you know I'll enjoy that, but being useful is what I want."
+
+Aaron nodded. "Not to drag us back to where we were, but is that part of why you want to be a mother so badly?"
+
+"Mmhm, at least a little part of it. It feels like the strongest, highest, and, well, purest form of being useful."
+
+"Well, that makes sense," Aaron said with a chuckle. "So..."
+
+"'So...' what?" Erin sat up within her seat. "What are you planning?"
+
+"Nothing, nothing!" Unable to lift his paws from the steering wheel, the cat did his best to imply a disarming gesture with his shoulders. "Only, I was wondering, what if you got to be useful at a party like this one, and that led to a child?"
+
+The mink in the passenger seat sat, mouth open, for a moment before finding the words to respond, "You...you're sure you're not planning anything?"
+
+"Promise. No plans, or we'd be negotiating a hell of a lot harder."
+
+"Well, I...I don't know." Erin realized that she was fiddling too much with her book, bending the pages, so she set her bookmark in place and slipped the paperback into her bag. "It would be a lot to process. But I'm pretty sure all of it would be good."
+
+Aaron grinned toward the road, making his way over to the rightmost lane once more --- they were just about to the end of the freeway stint of the trip, Erin guessed, so probably just a few minutes left. "Well, alright then. So if we wind up at a party like this and there just happens to be another mink there-"
+
+Erin cut him off with a quiet whine, her tail bristled from base to tip and swishing against the back of the seat. "A! Come *on*!"
+
+The cat's grin turned to a laugh. "What do you mean, 'come on'? You'd love it, you said so. You'd love to be a Centerpiece and come away with motherhood, I know you would! And you know I'm game, too."
+
+Brushing furiously at her tail in an attempt to soothe her nerves, Erin let a stony silence fall, fighting to sort out a turbulent mixture of embarrassment, arousal, and that longing she'd always associated with her drive towards motherhood, biological imperative and otherwise.
+
+Erin's silence and Aaron's grin lasted the next few minutes until they parked at the curb before a squat, suburban ranch house.
+
+Aaron turned off the car and tugged up the parking break, leaning over to kiss his wife on the cheek, "Sorry if that was too far, E."
+
+When Erin didn't respond, he reached for her paw, twining fingers with her. Looking back up to her face, he was surprised to see a bashful smile there.
+
+"No, was just thinking," she murmured. "I *would* love that."
+
+The cat's grin snapped back into place almost immediately, along with the start of a quiet purr. He leaned over to give another quick kiss before slipping his paw away and swinging wide the driver's side door. "Come on, then, grab the bin and let's get inside, catch up with folks."
+
+-----
+
+Those who travel among the play parties, orgies, and swing groups often think of themselves as being sexually liberated.
+
+However, they'll all be the first to admit that the time before the play party begins can be the most awkward part. Milling around with a plastic cup of too-sweet spiked punch in one paw and a little plate of store-bought cookies in the other sometimes made it feel a little too much like a social function put on by a group of employees.
+
+The hosts of this party, another couple that Erin and Aaron had known for a few years now, two ferrets named Elise and Joan, had set up a few things to help alleviate that feeling, though there's not much that could make it go away entirely. For every bowl of chips or plate of cookies, there was a bowl of condoms (with several different sizes present) or lube packets (silicone or water based). The cooler of drinks, normally holding just beers and sodas, also contained a few drinks made from stronger things. Small, printed signs listed the rules (play safe, wear clothes outside, and so on) near every doorway. The plans for segueing from "party" to "play" involved strip poker.
+
+Despite all of the effort, there was still some difficulty in loosening up. This was due in no small part, Erin suspected, to anticipation for later. Even the most sexually liberated could be in the time leading up to sex.
+
+Thankfully, as Centerpiece, she had little to worry about, in that sense. For her, the start and end to the night were clearly delineated. No strip poker for her. It would start when she was bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and it would end when she tapped out or was set loose, whichever came first. That would come soon, and the gear was all in the bin that Aaron had dragged in and set in the living room next to the neatly decked mattress that would be her spot for the night.
+
+"First things first," Aaron said, once Erin had gotten a drink. "Lift your chin."
+
+Erin did as she was told, letting her husband deftly swing a collar up around her neck and fasten it in front. Although she couldn't see the collar, she knew what it looked like --- black nylon webbing with some yellow nylon woven into it to spell 'TOY' along the back and a tag saying the same in front. Feeling the weight of it around her neck, the slight constriction of her fur beneath it, Erin tensed up and swished about, her short, rounded ears canted back.
+
+"Finish your drink, minkytoy," Aaron continued, waiting for the mink to down the rest of her soda before clipping a leash to the D-ring at her throat.
+
+When the cat gave an experimental tug, Erin felt herself jerked forward an inch or two by the collar at back of her neck. Beyond that, though, she felt that latent arousal that had been dwelling within her the last few days finally begin to assert its presence, felt sub-space start to surround her like a warm blanket.
+
+Her husband grinned at the obvious change and leaned in close enough to whisper to her, "Mmm, cozy there, pet?"
+
+Ears pinned back, Erin gave a bashful nod.
+
+"Going to be a good pet tonight?"
+
+Nod.
+
+"Still comfortable with this?"
+
+Another nod, more vigorous this time.
+
+"Going to be useful for everyone tonight, no matter what?"
+
+Erin let out a low mewl, tucking her muzzle down toward her chest and hunching her shoulders as though she could hide her embarrassment that way. "Yes owner," she murmured, tail lashing this way and that. "Will be useful."
+
+Aaron grinned haughtily and wound the leash around one of his paws a few times, giving another little tug to help reinforce his position over her. "Good mink. Let's go see who you're going to be useful for, then."
+
+Erin felt like they into a feedback loop of power dynamics. The more dominant that Aaron got in showing her off to the party's other attendees, the more submissive she felt. The more submissive she acted, the more that seemed to egg Aaron on. Before long, he was encouraging her to spin and show off, to curtsey, to make small confessions to the other attendees.
+
+This was one of the other things that Elise and Joan did to loosen up their guests. Each party --- and there were several a year --- included one guest who would be the Centerpiece. The Centerpiece had become a coveted role in the circles that attended this party, one that had to be applied for ahead of time.
+
+And it was indeed a role to play. The Centerpiece was the one who had to start moving the atmosphere from party to play while the two ferrets tended to more mundane things such as maintaining snack levels and ensuring that the rules were followed. Once the atmosphere had shifted, the Centerpiece (almost always a known sub, but once or twice, a more dominant figure had surprised the group by serving) was to become literally that: a fixture at the center of the party, immobile. A figure to be discussed or a toy to be used in a public fashion.
+
+Although this was Erin's first time being the Centerpiece, the role fit her naturally. Elise had leapt at the chance to feature the mink for the party. To have a willing critter who was already a well-known sub (and already quite knowledgeable in bondage) made the hostesses' jobs easier and the party more fun.
+
+By the time they had made the rounds of the patio, Erin knew that she had done well. The timbre of the party had shifted according to plan, the curtains had been drawn, and the game of strip poker had already begun in the den. The mink was buzzing with a mixture of arousal and pleasurable embarrassment, along with a base note of that nearly primal need to please.
+
+Which is precisely when her smirking owner and husband tugged on her leash to get her to look up, saying, "And this is Matthew. Matthew Lederer. I believe you've met."
+
+Erin found her gaze sliding up along the slinky form before her, hidden by a half-unbuttoned dress shirt, to the soft features of the other mink. He was sleek and well groomed, whiskers bristled as if caught in the middle of searching for an intriguing scent. As everything from the earlier conversations clicked into place, she found herself tense at the end of the leash.
+
+Another mink.
+
+And here she was, smelling of arousal and desire: the Centerpiece, the offering to the party.
+
+Matthew's mind seemed to be going through some similar calculation, as his gaze shifted from shock through bemusement to hunger, grinning at the slender mink-toy being presented to him by the cat, giving an appraising glance over the rims of his glasses.
+
+Erin watched him turn to face her husband, "Good to see you here, buddy! And yeah, I believe we have." That grin widened, showing the mink's pointed teeth. "Wasn't expecting to be so lucky in my choice of toys for tonight."
+
+Looking positively smug, Aaron tapped the tip of his wife's nose with the end of the leash, nodding. "Mmhm. Was my turn to bring the Centerpiece. Just about to go get her all trussed up. But here, stand up straighter, minkytoy."
+
+Able only to muster a soft mewl, Erin nodded and stood up straighter, her tail flitting about erratically.
+
+"The Centerpiece should greet all her guests while she still can. Go on."
+
+Erin nodded and leaned in to give the other mink an embrace and a whiskery, bashful kiss to the side of his muzzle. "W-welcome..."
+
+Matthew returned the kiss with a grin, seeming to pick up on some of Aaron's bravado. "Thank you, ah..." he reached a paw up to lift the tag on the smaller mink's collar to read it. "Thank you, toy. I'm sure I'll be most welcome indeed."
+
+-----
+
+"I thought you said you didn't have anything planned," Erin said, still shivering from the mix of humiliation and arousal as she tugged her shirt off.
+
+Aaron, already nude, looked up from where he had been rooting in the bin of bondage gear, "I didn't, E, I promise. I didn't even know he was coming until he showed up just then."
+
+Erin nodded, anxious. She slipped shyly out of the last of her clothes and knelt, nude, on the mattress.
+
+"Do you want me to call in Elise? We can tap out, if it's uncomfortable, or Elise can ask him to not interact with you as the Centerpiece."
+
+The mink felt herself flush beneath her fur, whiskers bristling. "Mmnf..." she managed, then, "N-no. I mean, now I'm all curious. I've...never been with another mink before, after all."
+
+Aaron grinned and sat down on the edge of the mattress, holding a pair of soft, locking bondage cuffs and a snap hook connector --- two lobster clasps joined by a strip of nylon with a D-ring situated in the middle --- for binding them together. "Oh, so you're eager, then, toy?"
+
+Erin squirmed at the pet name. She hadn't quite left sub-space, hadn't wanted to, and so the words played readily into that. "I...maybe," she admitted, squirming tensely.
+
+The cat's grin widened as he turned and crawled over the mattress to her, muzzle tucking in against her cheek, his paws working to fasten one of the locking cuffs around her wrist. "Toy sure *smells* eager," he breathed.
+
+Tilting her cheek to her owner's muzzle and lifting both of her paws to offer her wrists to him, Erin whined quietly in return. "Can't help it," she mumbled, her breathing picking up.
+
+"I imagine not." Aaron continued slipping the other cuff onto the mink's other wrist, making a show of checking the locked status of each before attaching the connector to the exposed D-rings of the cuffs, effectively locking Erin's paws together. Although cuffs were a common accessory for her, she always got a thrill out of having them put on by someone else.
+
+"Hopefully not too obvious?" she asked.
+
+"This is a play party, E, it's kind of expected," Aaron said. The cat's laugh made Erin lay her ears all the way back. He tugged on the strap connecting her cuffs together pulling her up onto her knees and then onto all fours, his paw pinning the snap connector to the mattress. The laugh turned into a low growl as Aaron murmured, "And besides, toy, everyone noticed." With a soft nip to her ear, he lowered his voice further to a soft purr, adding, "Everyone."
+
+Any distance Erin had managed to gain from the sexual dynamic to ask about plans was quickly obliterated with the firm treatment and teasing words. She quickly found herself back in that cozy submissive space, her paws clutching at the sheets of the mattress, held only as far apart as the cuffs would let them. "Was toy useful?"
+
+Dragging the tote of gear closer, Aaron nodded, his voice muffled slightly by the fact that he couldn't hold back a purr. "Very useful. You got everyone up and moving. Lots of needy looks when we left to get ready." The cat brought up another snap connector and with an insistent push, nudged Erin's shoulders down until her chin nearly touched her paws, clipping this connector between the D-ring on her collar and the one on the first snap connector, leaving the mink with her backside hiked up and exposed. "But you're only just getting started, minkytoy. You're going to be very, very useful by night's end, aren't you?"
+
+Erin nodded, her breathing quick and shallow in anticipation. She could smell her own arousal quite strongly, now, as well as that of Aaron, a scent she was well accustomed to. "Yes owner," she panted, breaths tinged with a whine.
+
+There was a bit more fumbling in the bin before Aaron lay a few more items out in front of her, close enough to see but not touch. A ring-gag. A blindfold. A small remote control type device. A bowl of condoms. Two laminated signs --- one with rules, the other with a space for tallying just how the mink had been useful. A marker to go with the signs.
+
+Kneeling before her, Aaron took the blindfold in one paw and the gag in the other and leaned in closer. The familiar scent of the cat's arousal was filling Erin's nostrils, his stiff shaft dead center in her gaze, but, again, just out of reach. The scent of him was overpowering the scent of herself, but she could feel that burning arousal in her belly, feel the cool air against her groin, caressing warm and slick flesh.
+
+"Even that mink? Matthew?" the cat asked. It was hard for Erin to pick apart whether her owner was purring or growling, or perhaps a little bit of both. "Are you going to be a useful toy for him, too?"
+
+Erin felt her fur bristle, that perennial reaction to humiliation no longer restricted to just her tail, but creeping up her spine to her neck and ears, heckles raising. "I will," she whimpered. "I'll be usef-*nngh!*"
+
+She was cut off quickly. She'd been so focused on Aaron's words and the sight of her arousal in the center of her tunnel-vision that she hadn't noticed the paw with the ring gag.
+
+With one deft movement, the cat had taken advantage of her open muzzle to slip the gag in place, wedging her muzzle open with the ring of stiff rubber. His fingers quickly traced the straps of the gag to their ends, velcro straps that looped around her collar to hold the gag in place.
+
+"I know you will, toy," the cat growled --- and it definitely was a growl this time. A commanding, possessive, domineering growl that ensured she knew her place.
+
+Erin could only whine and pant, huff and whimper. She nodded shakily, as much as the straps restraining her neck to her wrists would allow.
+
+Those teasing growls continued as Aaron set up, clearly leaving the blindfold in his paw until last so that she would be forced to watch. "I wonder if toy will be able to tell it's him," he said. "By shape or by noise. Or maybe he'll lean forward and whisper to you how he's taking you. Maybe he'll just scruff the toy. I bet his teeth are sharp."
+
+Whimper, pant, squirm. Erin couldn't manage a whole lot more, as she watched her owner set up the signs. "Please use condoms; no damage; Centerpiece will use buzzer to tap out" read one. "Cum count: In sex --- In muzzle --- In fur" read the other, the pen laid neatly at its base.
+
+"Maybe it'll trigger something in you," Aaron said. He picked up the remote control and gave its single button a quick press, the small box emitting a surprisingly loud buzzing noise, annoying by design. Slipping the buzzer into Erin's paw, he leaned in closer to continue, "Maybe your body will know him by his species. Maybe you'll know what it is that you're missing out by him using a condom with you, by being that close to having his kits."
+
+A more drawn-out whine this time, low and needy, as her owner sought out and tickled each and every one of her kinks in turn.
+
+She was gone. Totally lost in sub-space. And he was driving her deeper and deeper.
+
+"Press the button, toy."
+
+Shaking, Erin fumbled with the remote, getting the button aligned under her thumb before pressing it. She got a loud buzz in response.
+
+"Good. Don't forget that, toy." Aaron grinned and reached once more into the tote of gear. "I'll watch when I can, but I have my own fun planned tonight."
+
+With that, Erin watched as the cat stood, making as if to open the door for everyone, letting the play of the Centerpiece begin, still murmuring, "Maybe toy will find herself needing him, hmm? Craving that mink within her, fitting so nicely like only another mink can. Maybe some day you *will* wind up with his kits."
+
+The cat paused and turned back, looking as if he'd just remembered something. Erin noticed the blindfold left in his paw and squirmed against the bed, knowing that the sensory deprivation would only serve to drive her deeper into Useful Mink territory.
+
+Aaron knelt before her once more and lifted the blindfold, then set it to the side and instead lifted his other paw. In it was a safety pin, something from the emergency sewing kit in the gear tote. Holding his paws deliberately within her gaze, Aaron opened the safety pin, exposing the sharp point. With his free paw, he reached down to grab one of the wrapped condoms from the bowl.
+
+"And who knows," he said, grinning widely as he drove the point of the pin through the package, the condom inside, and clear through out the other side of the package. "Maybe he'll get this one."
+
+The condom dangled briefly from the safety pin directly before Erin's eyes. She watched, unable to speak even if she hadn't been gagged, as the cat slid the needle-thin pin from the condom and massaged it with his fingerpads, leaving it looking intact and unmolested. He then tossed it almost casually into the bowl of condoms, mixing them up lazily with his paw. Aaron closed the safety pin and dropped it back into the tote with a small rattle.
+
+Realizing that she had been holding her breath, Erin let out a gasp and a shaky moan before swallowing dryly, making a soft *glk* noise with the gag in the way. She could feel Aaron hesitating, watching her for any sign that she would need to back out.
+
+Her mind was reeling, her breath coming in ragged pants, her arousal out of control, her body coursing with what felt like electricity. But she gave a slight nod of consent.
+
+Her last sight was of Aaron grinning as he reached down to fasten the blindfold over her eyes, clipping that, too, to the collar so that it couldn't easily be removed. Sight gone, she could only rely on touch, scent, taste, sound.
+
+The rustle of Aaron standing, the feel of the mattress shifting beneath her.
+
+"Remember your buzzer, toy."
+
+Footsteps.
+
+The scent of her owner's arousal fading, the scent of her own taking over.
+
+The sound of the door.
+
+Traces of other scents, other people, other species, other arousals.
+
+Voices, soft applause.
+
+And Aaron's voice, "The Centerpiece is ready."

content/post/disappearance.md

@@ -0,0 +1,849 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: R
+description: A weasel attempts to escape from her life in Sawtooth to Oregon, but finds her old life still tied to home.
+date: 2018-08-14
+draft: true
+img: alley-cat.jpg
+type: post
+pdf: disappearance.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Romance
+- Sexuality
+title: Disappearance
+---
+
+"This is going to sting."
+
+I nod.
+
+"No, this is going to sting a lot."
+
+That warrants a dry swallow and a second nod, more nervous this time.
+
+The first thing they'd done at the mod parlor was shave my fur. A smooth line back from my muzzle toward my ears. They'd gotten all of both of my cheeks, down to the jawline and up toward my ears, though not quite all the way.
+
+It's not a good look for a weasel, this awful grooming.
+
+I'll have to live. I suppose it'll take a few months to go from stubbly to bristly and back toward soft, and then another few after that until I'm back to normal.
+
+Well, not normal. New. Different.
+
+"Alright, first bit," the rat begins, tugging over the lower part of a milk jug that's been cut in half. "Gonna get the bars super cold. You sure you want the straight lines?"
+
+"Yes." I don't sound sure, even to myself.
+
+The rat does that thing where he just sits still and silent, waiting on me. His ears have been tattooed black up along the backs, and the fluorescent lights shining through them cast blurred shadows, crenelated ideas of shapes.
+
+I sit up straight in my chair and give a firm nod. "Yes. Straight lines. Three on each cheek, spreading out toward the back of my head."
+
+The rat waits a little longer, then cracks a goofy grin. "Good. Good choice. I'm gonna start the middle one a little further back. And I'll use tapered ones rather than rectangular. It'll make you look speedy."
+
+We laugh at that, and I use the it to hide the terror. Not at the pain, mind, but at the sheer enormity of what I'm about to do.
+
+"Alright, lady." The rat stands, pads across the room with claws clicking on linoleum. There's a hissing, gurgling sound, a sound of something more complex than water being poured, and then a soft curse. A single curse is more a matter of form, though, and the lack of follow-up keeps me from panicking outright.
+
+The rat hurries back toward me, the half-jug in oven-mitt-clad paws billowing a sinking fog in his wake. This gets quickly set down on the steel table so he can shake the mitts off. The nitrogen fog continues its cascade, flowing over the table and onto the floor. From then, everything happens in quick succession.
+
+I'm laid out on my side.
+
+A thick petroleum jelly is smeared into the fur around my eyes, and a piece of aluminum foil massaged into that to create at least an attempt at a seal.
+
+Footsteps.
+
+A paw holds the foil in place. Another holds my muzzle down against a pillow in a sanitized paper pillowcase. A third, more spindly than the others, presses down on the side of my neck. Someone presses a rolled-up towel into my paws.
+
+Murmuring.
+
+A rush, a clatter, and then pain as something presses against my cheek. I grit my teeth, clench the terrycloth in my paws, and let out a sort of gurgled moan. Someone's counting down.
+
+The pain leads with cold, then turns searing, and then is lost in a labyrinthine landscape. Sere, white, a sun too bright to look at, and the smell of snow.
+
+The countdown reaches zero, and the pressure against my face relaxes. That 'something' that was pressed against my cheek is lifted away, and someone murmurs dryly, "One down, five to go."
+
+I spend the next half hour alternating between gasping for breath between each countdown and exploring that landscape: a tangled mess of chalk-white rocks, angular, thorny bushes with no leaves, lingering snow-scent, and a flute playing whistle-tones above it all.
+
+I'd never known how intricate pain could be.
+
+After the last countdown is finished and I am allowed to sit up once more, I finally allow myself a simple, "Fuck."
+
+There's laughter as the foil is pried away from my gummed-up fur and I blink my eyes back into focus. There's the rat along with his accomplice, a weasel far taller than I, sitting on a stool with a kerchief keeping unkempt headfur out of his eyes. On the table by him, a short copper bar clamped into a stainless steel handle is still oozing tendrils of too-heavy fog.
+
+"*Fuck,*" I say again.
+
+"Stings, huh?" The weasel grins, and I recognize his voice from the countdown.
+
+"Uh...I guess." I try to smile, feeling cold-burnt skin pull at my cheeks, and the smile turns into a wince. "Bit of an understatement. What does it look like?"
+
+The rat reaches to snag a mirror and hold it up to my face. Shaved cheeks---that much I'd seen---cutting fine brown fur almost down to the skin, and three bars on each cheek, radiating away from my whiskers toward the back of my head. The bars show up as patches of matted, crispy, burnt fur.
+
+"It'll turn white soon enough," the weasel says. He stretches out his arm and bunches up his sleeve, revealing simple coiling patterns of white fur amidst the brown of his fur. I'd seen it before in pictures (that being the reason I'd chosen this parlor), but seeing it in person made me all the more eager for the fur on my cheeks to grow back.
+
+"Now you just need some piercings." The rat laughs as I shake my head.
+
+I pay in cash. They accept cards, but I had more than enough on hand.
+
+-----
+
+From the mod parlor, I head home to take care of the apartment. All the stuff I need is already in the car, packed into a backpack and a suitcase. Nothing from inside, of course. This all has to stay. Still, it's good to make sure.
+
+Everything's neat. Not too neat, of course, as I can't keep up with Jarred's standards, and he can't keep up with the rate I make things messy. Stuff's on shelves, dust free. Clothes are put away, but the hamper's overflowing. The kitchen's wiped clean, but there's a stack of plates and glasses in the dirty half of the sink.
+
+Poor Jarred. Ah well.
+
+Once my account of the house is done, I begin to dismantle the life I'd built up for myself. I unwind it in slow, circular passes of the apartment, starting from the ground up. I carefully destroy what I was.
+
+I slowly untick a checklist, item by item, of the things that got me where I am, made me who I am.
+
+Drawers are tugged open and clothing strewn haphazardly about the floor. The bed sheets are pulled free of the mattress and shredded with my claws to look as though it was all done in haste.
+
+It's not. It's all careful. I have to be quiet for the neighbors, and I have to be deliberate for myself, even if it does feel like watching someone else work.
+
+The mattress is thrown askew as though someone had been digging for cash beneath it. The bathroom is mostly left alone, but pill bottles are dumped in the sink, looking like someone was hunting for something more interesting than aspirin. The top shelf of the closet is ransacked, with shoes tossed on the floor and the contents of my jewelry box tucked away in a backpack, along with Jarred's nice watch. I didn't care for the stuff, but I knew a burglar would.
+
+The living room is more difficult. We have a TV, which a burglar would latch onto immediately. I'd planned for this, though, and the TV is set neatly by my door while I see to the rest of the room.
+
+I tip over the speakers on their poles and scratch carefully crazed claw marks around their bases, a show of trying to detach them. They stay on the floor.
+
+The bookshelf is dismembered as quietly as I can manage. Books are pulled off in armloads and scattered around on the floor. One from every armful is bent and torn, my heart aching to do so. A yearbook tweaks memories and is discarded. Paintings are removed from their hooks and tossed on top of the books.
+
+The couch is shredded and exposed just as the bed had been. Nothing there, beneath those torn cushions.
+
+The kitchen is next. I step quietly over the pile of books and head on in. There's a cursory pass of the fridge and cabinets: pushing glasses and food to the sides to expose the backs of them. My concession to looking hasty is to put a glass in a plastic bag and crush it under my foot, then scatter the shards over the counter and onto the floor. A very careful “whoops.”
+
+The garage had been my space, and is the last to get torn down. We'd rented half a duplex and paid extra for the side with the attached garage, which I'd claimed for all of my painting stuff, but which was under constant threat of being slowly consumed by junk.
+
+I eviscerate my old camping gear. I trusted Jarred to never pull himself away from his computer long enough to even consider camping. So much time at the keyboard, so little to spend elsewhere; so much time spent on him, so little on anyone else.
+
+My easel is easy to deal with: I just tip it over. The rickety thing clatters to pieces just shy of the front bumper of the car. A sketch of a painting, burgundy on black, tumbles askew. Boxes containing old clothes are turned out. A clock is broken most carefully.
+
+Jarred and I, we'd never hidden anything together, but I have to look thorough.
+
+On my own, though, I'd hidden cash. Just shy of twenty grand in a locking cash box disguised as a two-quart thermos tucked firmly into my old backpacking gear in the mess of our garage.
+
+Or it had been. Now it was tucked into the car, just behind the driver's seat.
+
+My life isn't completely unwound. Not yet. But I'm getting there.
+
+I reach in the car and grab a bag of odds-and-ends fur sweepings. Little bits snagged here and there from shedding coworkers. Some from a grooming place. Even a bit from the mod shop's bin before I was shaved. I make a quick circle around the apartment, scattering fur on the most torn up bits
+
+I grab the TV on the way back to the garage---a flat screen thing that we only ever used for movies------and lay it down its back by the car. I give it a kick until it's squarely behind one of the front wheels.
+
+*Here we go.*
+
+I climb in the car and hit the button to open the garage.
+
+When I reverse over the TV, there's a delightful crunch. I can't smile without my newly branded cheeks burning, so I breathe satisfaction out on a sigh.
+
+-----
+
+My paws ache all the way to Oregon. I had thought it would be pretty easy to slash up the inside of my car before I abandoned it, but they were tougher than I had imagined. I'd managed to come out of the experience without breaking any claws, at least.
+
+Once the seats had been shredded, I carefully cut my finger along the side and smeared blood along the clawmarks. The car was trashed as I rolled it into a ditch. There was a tiny forest there, with crumpled cans and paper wrappers mixed in with the fallen leaves. After thinking for a moment, I squeezed out a few more drops of blood onto that garbage.
+
+The bus driver had greeted me with the tired acknowledgement of a fox who had seen much worse than a sloppily dressed weasel with newly branded cheeks.
+
+I'd never been on a long-distance bus trip. Jarred and I had never been wealthy, never higher than lower-middle class, and this wasn't helped by me having pretended to make fifteen-hundred less than I actually did a month at work, all that extra cash making its way into my thermos. A cross-country bus trip is unthinkable when you can fly, when you have a car.
+
+But you can buy bus tickets with cash.
+
+The seat is cramped. About what I'd expected, to be honest, but I wasn't prepared for this quite as much as I thought. No one sits next to me, but I still felt hemmed in on every side. I tell myself to just enjoy myself, enjoy this new life. This non-life. This life without history.
+
+Hard to do when you are bumping down the road at sixty-five and no faster.
+
+I use the toilet as little as possible.
+
+-----
+
+I have made a huge mistake.
+
+If I were a smarter lady, I would've spent more energy figuring out what to do once I got here than what I spent on that hour of unwinding my previous life.
+
+I can stay here, of course. There's a long-stay hotel that doesn't side-eye my cash too much, and there's a little kitchenette in the room with a two-burner stove that's plenty for cooking for myself. Getting groceries with cash is as easy as expected.
+
+But I can't get a job.
+
+If I were a smarter lady, I'd've changed my name before leaving, keeping it a secret from Jarred as best as possible...but even that isn't smart. That would've tipped off investigators immediately. "Weasel changes name, weasels out of debt." I can only imagine the headlines once I was caught.
+
+But I can't get a job.
+
+I'm educated and all. I was a fantastic accountant, and it felt awesome to be one of the few who actually uses her college degree for what she does for a living and *enjoys it*. I worked for a few CPA offices and was on the short track to moving up at the last one. I'm fantastic with numbers, which is why I thought I had this all set.
+
+But I just *can't get a job.*
+
+No one is going to hire an accountant with no name. With no history, no verified skills, no bank account, no credit, no social security number. No one is going to hire even the smartest weasel to run numbers if that weasel doesn't legally exist---or is at least trying not to.
+
+Fuck.
+
+I can't get a job, I can't rent a place, I can't open another bank account. I can't even change my name, since that would mean engaging with my old identity, the one I'd tried to kill.
+
+*Fuck.*
+
+I can live here for a while. I ran the math on my recently-purchased calculator (cell phone was back in the car, of course---no more net for me, much as I can help it), and I can live here for maybe a year and a half. Longer, if I find a cheaper long-stay. At least I have time to try and fix this.
+
+-----
+
+The proprietor, Adam, and I have been getting on surprisingly well.
+
+He's a good guy, which I hadn't picked up on at first. I'd taken his silence while handing over my key as standoffishness. There was certainly an element of caution to it, but he's also just a quiet guy.
+
+We exchanged nods daily for the first two weeks I lived here, then simple pleasantries for the next two. He came off as soft-spoken and content with where he was in life, and as far as I could tell, he was.
+
+A week or so into my second month staying in that little studio, and he's invited me over to the patio behind the office (which I suppose is also his home) to discuss arrangements for the future.
+
+"Discussing arrangements," however, has turned into sharing half a bottle of rum while sitting in deck chairs. The rum's fantastic, but comes out of a vodka bottle. The glasses are half-pint canning jars.
+
+I can't decide if it's hipster or hippie, but the more I drink, the less it seems to matter.
+
+"So." A pause to toss another cube of ice in his jar along with another inch of rum. "Why you out here?"
+
+I hesitate and swirl my own glass around, letting the melting ice water down the rum. It's definitely overproof, and almost certainly homemade. "Needed out of where I was, I guess."
+
+He does that thing---the thing that rat at the mod shop had done------where he simply waits in silence. There's no shared glances, and the silence is comfortable, but also expectant. Maybe that's a thing that people who are happy can do.
+
+"I needed out of that life. I packed my stuff and left without a word."
+
+"You seem like you ain't hurting for cash," he says.
+
+"Well, no. I brought along enough to live out here for a while."
+
+"Mm." He looks at me over the rim of his glass as he sips at his rum. Otter expressions, I'm discovering, are close to weasel ones, but use the whiskers more. The look isn't exactly crafty, but getting close, as he continues, "Problem with cash is no collateral. S'why I charge you up front."
+
+I nod. It tallies.
+
+"But you seem straight."
+
+"Straight?" A smile tugs at the healing brands on my cheeks. They're starting to come in white.
+
+He laughs, "I ain't making a pass at you, don't worry. Sex ain't a thing 'round here. Not for me, at least. Hell, maybe you like girls too. Not my business." He copies my swirl and we both enjoy the pleasant clinking of ice against glass. "No, I mean straight. You're a good lady. You're out here to get away, you say, and I trust that's all you're doing. No thieving, no running, you ain't in trouble."
+
+I settle back into the deck chair and attempt to use that 'silence' technique I keep running into. He just grins.
+
+"So what I'm asking is this. That number I said before?" He gestures behind himself, as though that's where the past is. "I'll cut it in half if you can do some work 'round here."
+
+"Work?" I tilt my head, turning over ideas of what that'd entail.
+
+"Sure. Work. What can you do to cut down your rent?"
+
+"Uh, I can...I mean, I was an accountant. I can run your books, file taxes, that stuff."
+
+The minute I say “taxes,” Adam perks up and his whiskers bristle outward with his grin. "Deal. Sight unseen. I'm good at what I do, but that ain't taxes."
+
+I laugh, I can't help it. "Half rent? For taxes?"
+
+"Sure," he says, sounding content. "Run the books and handle taxes, and I'll halve your rent. You can take the desk some days if you want a bit more off."
+
+I rub my paw over the short, bristly fur of my cheeks, a habit I picked up as it grew back in. The crisped, branded patches had largely been replaced by normal, soft fur, now growing in white. All the shaved spots were taking a while to grow in.
+
+"A secretary, hmm?"
+
+"Well, sure. It ain't grand. Accountant like you ain't gonna find anything grand without being legit."
+
+At that I fall silent.
+
+He continues, "Jobs these days, you need to be legit. You couldn't offer me anything but cash, not even an ID to hold. You needed out of life so bad, you left behind your legitimacy."
+
+My silence becomes darker, seems to close in around me. Ears pinned back, eyes burning, muscles tensed, I try not to visibly panic in front of Adam.
+
+"It's okay, though." He settles back into the Adirondack chair with a sigh. "You can get by without that. You're just gonna have to let go of the idea that you'll ever be a part of that world again. You might, but it's best to expect you won't."
+
+From then on, it's silence. I cry as quietly as I can. Adam pours me another inch of rum and leans across the table between us to tip another ice cube into my jar.
+
+-----
+
+Adam is *set.*
+
+He owns his property outright, and is up-to-date on all his licenses. Business is good. “Half rent,” for me, covers twice the cost of maintaining my studio---utilities, that share of property tax, everything.
+
+And he's happy.
+
+-----
+
+With my stay here nearly doubled, I've started exploring further into town.
+
+We're a ways out from Portland: I could take the regional bus there in about an hour and a half, but I never do. Instead, I stick to this little town I wound up in, a town picked because I got too anxious about Portland and got off the bus at the stop before. Probably my best idea yet.
+
+I'd just gone to the dinky supermarket before, but now I started taking walks. Originally, it had just been a "stretch the legs before shopping" exercise, but now I was even heading into town just to wander. There's a neat little café with huge single-pane windows and a rocket stove that I've taken a liking to. Something about the impracticality of the windows combined with that adobe stove behind the bar tickles me. And as long as I stick to drip coffee, it's not too much out of my budget.
+
+I even ventured to the lone grooming stop in town to get my cheeks checked up on. I had been worried that they'd be weirded out by them, but I was greeted by a punky opossum with a bright pink streak of fur from the tip of her snout down to the nape of her neck. She said my cheeks were looking good, then talked me into buying a tube of dye. She suggested pink, but I went for the blue instead.
+
+I don't know why I did that. Being an accountant wasn't just an occupation for me. It was a whole identity. I bought into the smart pantsuits and that sensible jewelry, the latter of which was still in my suitcase, to mark my position hard-core. The tight grooming and the calm speed of numbers, that's *who I was*.
+
+Now, I don't know. I have three pairs of jeans, a frowsy canvas skirt, and a bunch of long- and short-sleeved button up shirts and tees---only some of which fit well---I grabbed from a thrift store before this whole excursion began.
+
+Maybe I just figured I'd own it. I got the cheek brands, after all; might as well get the dye, too.
+
+Tonight, I'm dyeing a diamond shape into the white down my front. It'll sit just above my breasts, with a tendril curling down beneath them, and another tendril curling up over my front to my neck. I can hide it with a scarf if I need, but otherwise, it'll peek up from above my shirt. Just a little tease. One that could go “sexy” when I want, or just “artsy” otherwise.
+
+The thought's actually quite embarrassing, but it's been a long time since sex. Jarred and I were pretty into it at first, but then it became routine, and then scarce. We hadn't fucked for a month before I took off, and since then I'd been too busy hiding to worry about it.
+
+With this new arrangement with Adam, though, I don't know.
+
+Maybe being a little sexy will be okay.
+
+-----
+
+Holy shit, I may actually be able to pull this off. It'll be crazy, but maybe I can do it.
+
+I guess Adam did some talking after I'd asked about more possibilities, and now I've got the owner of Starry Night, the town's little café, as a "client" of sorts. He's having me do the taxes and help run the books. He even offered to let me run the till if things get busy. They haven't yet, but he's promised me it's still the off-season. Not cold enough to be winter, but not yet warm enough for holidays. He's not paying me anything close to livable, but with the deal I'm getting on rent, I might just be able to do this.
+
+It's such a small town. It looks bigger than it is, since so many of these kitschy stores and homes have so much space around them. The market has a parking lot twice the size it needs.
+
+There are folks living around the town in seclusion, I guess, but those who live in the town itself, who *are* the town, probably number in the low hundreds. Other than that, it's just a waypoint. Folks heading up to the mountains stop through and keep all the businesses going, but they never stay long. They're always on their way to more romantic locations or heading back through on their way back to the coast. The town itself holds together through the need to provide for all those who would only pass through. All those people on any one day, and it's still a small town.
+
+I've started painting again, too. Starry Night has a drop ceiling and each tile is painted a different color. After I mentioned having been a painter in my "past life," Stefan, the owner, perked up and sent me home with a blank tile, along with a few crusty tubes of acrylic and a brush that hadn't been used in a while.
+
+"Go nuts," he said, and so I did. Background of green and a symmetrical tree in black, limbs splitting into branches that became whisker-thin toward the edges of the tile. The leaves were vague suggestions of white that broke the symmetry. An idea of a tree. Just the type of stuff I painted up until four months ago.
+
+Stefan loved it, and here I am working on my second tile.
+
+This---working jobs all but off the grid, body mods, looking like a hippie---isn't what I'd pictured when I unwound my previous life. Now, when I look back on it, on all my planning and scheming, I don't think I had pictured anything.
+
+-----
+
+I've taken to working mornings at Starry Night and heading back to Adam's after lunch to run the desk there. If it's needed, I can even head back to Starry Night after to help out a bit more. We're well into the busy season, so both the long-stay and the café are happy for whatever help they can get. An accountant running the till is a weird fit, but at least I'm fast at it.
+
+It's interesting to watch the ebb and flow of traffic through the town.
+
+Starting about six in the morning, folks start trickling into town, but within an hour, it becomes busy, then frenetic. From there, it climbs steadily until about nine-thirty, dips for an hour, then picks up for lunch.
+
+I head out by one thirty or two to dash back to Adam's and start getting folks checked in and out while Adam does property stuff. Usually, he's out repairing the drive to the units (and the little one-room cabins in back, one of which I now inhabit). He's intensely focused on that drive; he's talked with me about the upkeep and maintenance of a dirt road for an hour or more on multiple occasions. I don't drive anymore, so I just have to trust him.
+
+Things clear up by five, and sometimes I head back to Starry Night. At that point, it's mostly a social thing. If I'm not chilling out back of the office with Adam, I'm here at the café. If not either, I'm painting. I've gotten about a third of the ceiling tiles done.
+
+The movement of people is fascinating up close, following the ways in which people move and change throughout the day. The before-coffees and the nine-AM-bounces and the post-lunch-siesta. The perking of ears and the bristling of whiskers. The droop of tails and stifled yawns.
+
+When you zoom out, though, it's grains of sand just below high tide. The tide rolls in, and there's a chaotic dance of spiraling movement. Each wave brings cars cycling around parking lots, small collisions of bodies, crimped tails, tantrums weighing down parents.
+
+And then tide rolls out, and the town settles back down into its ground state. Grains of sand compact nicely when left to dry, a comfortable stasis until the next high tide.
+
+In the midst of it all, the regulars provide a sense of weight, anchoring high and low tide to provide a sense of continuity. There's Adam, of course, and Stefan. I suppose I'm slipping into that role too. We are the wave-polished stones.
+
+And then there's Aurora.
+
+We've only talked once or twice in earnest, her voice familiar and quiet, but I watch her every day. She has a table all but reserved in the corner of Starry Night, farthest from the door but right in the elbow of two of those ridiculous single-pane windows. To her left, one window looks out over the parking lot and, across the street, the parking lot of the market. In front of her, three trees that have been planted too close to each other, forming a tiny grove between Starry Night and the back fence.
+
+She wafts in around six thirty and orders a latte, a soda water, and a pot of hot water for her and one of the teabags riding shotgun in her jacket pocket. If her table isn't free, she'll sip her latte at the bar until it is, and then set up camp.
+
+She drinks the latte first, then the soda water, then the tea.
+
+Once she's finished the soda water, she pulls out a pen and either a book or a stack of printouts and a clipboard. I've never figured out what she does for work, but she's always either taking notes or marking up printouts. A teacher, perhaps? An author? Editor?
+
+At noon, she orders another soda water and another pot of hot water for the second teabag. Some days she'll pull out a sack lunch, some days she'll order something from me---we serve a few simple sandwiches---in her comfortable contralto.
+
+She eats the lunch first, then drinks the soda water, then the tea.
+
+Once she's finished the soda water, she settles back into the chair and stares out the windows. Mostly, she just looks at the trees, but sometimes she'll rest a cheek on her fist and look out toward the market, her long canine ears canted cozily back. Something about the sight always has me watching her in turn. Something familiar, cozy.
+
+Then the coyote gets back to work, and, before long, I duck out to help Adam. On the few occasions I've stayed, Aurora will close out the shop with us, saying little but saying it kindly. Her silences, I expect, are a matter of course. They are absolute, and absolutely part of her. A stillness I can only dream of.
+
+I've never seen her out of the shop, but I think about her every time I walk or bus back home. I'll have inevitably forgotten by the time I get inside, though, as she's context-shifted around a corner of my mind.
+
+-----
+
+I'd imagined I'd done such a good job of cleansing my life of who I used to be when I left, that each time I’m confronted by something I'd accidentally brought along, it’s jarring, or even frightening.
+
+Undergarments had been the first such instance. I hadn't thought to grab any new panties before leaving town. This was probably fine, I reasoned, because anything missing would have been noticed. Unfortunately, this left me with only one pair---the ones I left in---and I'd had to visit the "essentials" aisle of the supermarket early on to grab a pack of bland panties. They fit so poorly, I'd largely stopped wearing any.
+
+What had me jittery, though, was seeing that old pair every time I did laundry. One last reminder that I'm no longer who I was.
+
+I threw them out soon after.
+
+Each time I come across some remnant, it reminds me of what I've done, in a very tangible way, even if not necessarily why. The "why" had already begun to blur on the bus ride, and I've never been able to make it gel again.
+
+It's not always negative, this process, but it's never positive. Other than a few useful items---the jewelry, for instance , kept for something pawnable in an emergency---I throw everything I find away almost as soon as I find it, stopping only to destroy it for the catharsis. It’s all too much risk to keep around.
+
+Thus me, crouched on my haunches behind Starry Night, hyperventilating as I try to destroy my old driver's license.
+
+How this had escaped me before was something of a mystery. An actual legal document bearing my actual legal name, tucked within my old wallet in the back of my suitcase, was not something I should have missed.
+
+This caromed straight into fear. Into terror. Into that agonizing sickness that settles into one's gut and closes off one's throat. I'd stopped crying as much, recently, and started smiling more, but I'm on the verge of panicked tears now.
+
+I can't say what made me tuck the wallet into a pocket at the start of the day. It was an interesting artifact, perhaps, nothing big or important, that I decided to keep on some whim. The credit cards that had once filled it lay scattered by my abandoned car back home, after all, so I figured it must be safe.
+
+The license won't tear. That was my first instinct, but my pads had slip off the slick plastic too easily, and my claw tips only scrabble ineffectually at its surface.
+
+I can bend it, at least, and I crease it this way and that in an attempt to fatigue the plastic enough that maybe I can snap it. ID cards are, apparently, designed to last, and despite repeated folds, I can't get enough of a grip to tear the card, much less snap it, though the ink along the crease fades and warps into whiteness. I don't have the leverage necessary to crease along my name, however.
+
+This isn't working.
+
+I stuff my wallet back into my pocket and dash over to the dumpster, flipping up the lid. I had intended to tear up the license and toss it in with the coffee grounds and banana peels, but the thought of it slipping out of the dumpster or falling out of the trash truck feels inescapable. With all the people going through the café during the day, though, there has to be...
+
+I tear through two of the shop's thin garbage bags before I find what I'm looking for: a cheap plastic lighter, yellow and scuffed.
+
+The rasp of the wheel against the flint sends my whole paw to buzzing, the snap of the spark too loud for my frazzled nerves.
+
+I flick at the lighter a few more times. It’s almost certainly dead, thrown away for a reason, so I just have to hope there's enough fluid in there.
+
+The flame finally catches, only barely peeking above the rim of the lighter.
+
+*It'll have to do.*
+
+Holding my breath and struggling to still my shaking paws, I carefully bring my driver’s license above the tiny flame, letting the diffuse glow settle beneath the photo of my face, the weasel there looking startled, backlit by flame. The plastic browns, sags, then starts to char and bubble. By the time the smoke, reeking of burning plastic, starts to make me cough, the image of my face and much the identifying details have melted away, the ink burnt off by the low flame of the lighter.
+
+Motion in the shadows cast against the dumpster catches my eye and I whirl around, Aurora startling back a half-step at my sudden movement. We stare, uncomprehending, at each other for a moment.
+
+"I---" I croak. "Hey."
+
+"Hey, uh...you okay back here?"
+
+I look around, down to my mangled license and the shitty yellow lighter in my paw, back to the coyote, struggling to come up with an explanation. A half-truth is the best I can manage. "Needed to, uh...expired credit card and all. Melting it, I mean."
+
+The quotidian mundanity of such an activity seems to click things into place for the coyote. She perks up and smiles, "I'd never thought of melting them before, I always just cut them into little pieces."
+
+The lighter is finally starting to cool down in my paw after it's extended use, which is good, given how much I keep fiddling with it. "Couldn't find my scissors once I got out here, figured this would work."
+
+She nods, squints toward my paws, then back up to me. "You from Idaho?"
+
+I gape, crumpling the license as best I can within my hand.
+
+"Just looked like my old card, I mean."
+
+I do my best to keep my ears from flattening and tail bristling, only to catch myself panting. So much for acting cool. "I...yeah,” I gasp. “Moved a while back."
+
+"Hey, no stress. I won't pry," Aurora laughs, holding up her paws disarmingly.
+
+I manage a smile, hoping it's convincingly embarrassed. "Sorry," I say, stuffing the lighter and warped card back into the garbage bag, before hauling the whole thing back into the dumpster. "I guess it's just a weird thing to get caught doing."
+
+Head tilted, Aurora grins at me a moment longer, then shrugs. "I guess, yeah. See you inside?"
+
+I nod, struggling to calm my breathing as I watch her round the corner to the front of the shop with a flick of her tail.
+
+When I make it back inside to prep her usual latte, Aurora smiles at me. I beam back to her.
+
+Something about the encounter by the dumpster has left me feeling giddy. Perhaps it was the thrill of nearly being caught, or maybe the relief of being rid of the thing. It's one fewer identifying thing about me that I need to worry about, after all; and beyond that, it got Aurora laughing.
+
+Why that makes me so happy in turn is beyond me.
+
+-----
+
+My brush-strokes are confident, each one is a smooth arc describing edges and boundaries, or perhaps reinforcing color.
+
+The tile had been given to me burgundy, and I'd chosen to leave it that way, painting within that dark red surface rather than covering it up. I painted in black, and I painted only shadows, not details, as though the scene were blown out towards white and the contrast turned to a hundred percent.
+
+It had started as an abstract gesture of a face, angular and canine, but had slowly headed toward something more concrete. Not realistic, but perhaps something from a comic. Hard-edged lines, but true to form with no liberties taken.
+
+Aurora at her table as seen from the espresso machine, cheek on fist, staring out of frame. The shape of her muzzle, the tilt of her ears, both familiar and new.
+
+My brush-strokes are confident. Black and red, no need for another color.
+
+"Season's winding down."
+
+"Mmm."
+
+Adam laughs and shakes his head, plopping down, then melting further into the deck chair.
+
+"S'good to see you painting, you know."
+
+"Mmm." I perk up as my mind parses meaning out of those sounds, and then flatten my ears. "Sorry. I got kinda into it. What'd you say before?"
+
+"Said season's winding down."
+
+"Yeah, seems like," I offer as I carefully shift the painting off the table to lay it flat on the ground next to me, replacing the bucket of ice in its spot. My poor-weasel's easel of the table between us returns to its former state as drinking space. I pour us both a drink.
+
+The otter has moved on from rum and is now trying his paw at whiskey. We've been cycling through batches over the last few weeks. The taste is far sweeter than I would've expected, but Adam says he doesn't have the cuts quite right yet.
+
+In my mouth, ice machine ice and homemade whiskey jockey for space with words. "Wha's li' in off 'easong?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+I crunch down on the ice and brave the brain freeze to say more clearly, "What's it like in the off season?"
+
+"Same but slower," Adam says, chuckling down to his glass. "Way slower, some days. You got here before season started, but weren't really here in the middle of off-season. I'll probably beg your help deep-cleaning some of the units."
+
+"Sure thing, boss." I laugh as that gets me an ice-cube to the face. "Fine. Sure thing, master."
+
+Adam makes as though he'll throw the whole bucket of ice at me, before we both settle back into our chairs with jars of whiskey and ice, grinning. In the silence, I paint my claws idly with the black acrylic left on the brush from my work on the ceiling tile. The condensation off the glass thins the paint and it starts to seep into my fur. My paws are covered with the stuff anyway.
+
+The silence goes from comfortable to expectant, and when I look up, Adam's adopted a vaguely confused look with whiskers smoothed back, which he's directed toward his all-important drive. Just as I'm about to brush it off, he asks, "How'd you leave?"
+
+Anxiety brushes up against me, breaking through the veneer of calmness. It takes me a bit to respond, and I try to fill that space by nervously stirring the ice into my white whiskey. "If I just say 'very carefully', will that be enough?"
+
+The otter's expression softens and he shrugs against the back of his chair. "I s'pose. Doesn't mean I don't still want to know."
+
+"I just...I don't know. I spent a lot of time thinking about all the different parts there were of my life and thinking about what I'd be without them." I brush my paws over my cheeks, heedless of the paint. My fur has almost grown back completely, and the freeze-brand has indeed come in white. Still, it's become a habit. "And then I just set a date and went around to all those parts one by one, turning them off or throwing them away."
+
+"No going back, then?"
+
+"Not if I want to stay out of jail." I don't think this is true, but it sounds good.
+
+"So you turned off or trashed all these parts of who you were," Adam mumbles, pouring himself another inch of whiskey. "What's left?"
+
+I don't answer.
+
+I don't *have* an answer.
+
+When I think about it, there's just nothing there. It's like trying to see the inside of my eyelids. Just nothing there. I tore down what I was without any thought of what would be left. Even my license, that last proof of me-that-was, had long since burned. There was nothing after that. It was more a form of suicide than I'd wanted to admit.
+
+Finally, I shrug. "Just me, I guess."
+
+Adam laughs at this and stretches his legs out, splaying webbed toes. "Fair enough. You do a good job around here, though. It feels like you belong now. I don't know what you were like before, but you were scared out of your whiskers when you got here. Now you're just you."
+
+"A punky weasel living off the grid in a hippie town?"
+
+"That too, yeah. Took you a while to grow into the punky bit, but you're getting there."
+
+My turn to laugh. "Just missing the get-up, I guess. Second-hand shirts and jeans miss the mark a little."
+
+"Mmhm. And you ought to get a piercing." Adam slides out of the chair and stands, using his thick tail to give the leg of the table a thwack. "And it's good to see you painting.”
+
+-----
+
+For the first few months I was here, I'd get a little twitch in my paw when someone mentioned something off the Internet. A twitch in my paw and a little shift inside me at a sudden-yet-averted context-shift. *I could look that up,* I'd think. *I could answer their question, or laugh at their picture.*
+
+For a while, I'd countered it with lies. An "Oh yeah, ha ha" here and a "Yeah, I saw that" there. The anxiety that I'd mess up and be called out got to be too much for me, though, and I switched from that to nervous silence.
+
+I replaced that twitch early on with the gesture of brushing back over my cheeks. At first, it was obvious why: when I got to town, my face was still freshly shaved, and for the first few weeks, the freezer-burnt marks of the brand were plain. Soon, though, it became more of a habit than a coping mechanism. I'd brush my pads over the fur and feel the edges of the shaving, and once they became imperceptible, I'd trace my claws through fur, trying to sense where the brown fur ended and the white, branded fur started.
+
+Anything---*anything*---to keep from touching the Internet. It would be too easy for me to just log back on. The temptation to peer into a life that no longer existed was too great. My very existence here in this town depends on that life no longer existing. I’d destroyed it, and destroyed all that tied me to its remains.
+
+And yet here I am, panicking in the bathroom at Starry Night.
+
+There's a soft tap at the door, and I rush to straighten my skirt and apron, peeking in the mirror to make sure I haven't visibly cried.
+
+Aurora's there when I open the door, standing a scant few inches taller than I.
+
+"Sorry, I'm..." I shake my head. "I'm all done."
+
+The coyote tilts her head quizzically, a movement that brushes against old memories. "You okay?"
+
+"Yeah, I am." I stand up straighter and smile apologetically to her. "I will be."
+
+We slide past each other and I make my way behind the bar again, busying myself with wiping down the already-clean espresso machine, just to give my paws something to do. Not many people ordering coffee at six at night. This late in the season, the sun sets early too.
+
+Stefan hikes himself up onto the bar, the wolf's tail flagging off to the side. "You alright there, kiddo?"
+
+"Yeah." I nod eagerly, then decide eagerness isn't what I should be going for, and turn it into a shrug. "Just stomach stuff. Nerves, maybe." I laugh, and it sounds too loud.
+
+"You bolted right off, yep. Anything bring it on?"
+
+I look around, checking on the occupants. We're down to me and Stefan, a young fox couple, and Aurora of course. "Just...just something a customer...something that bear said. Or saw. I don't know."
+
+Stefan's brow furrows, and I watch as the his tailtip tap arhythmically against the wall where it joins the bar. "Saw? How do you mean?"
+
+"He had a tablet, and I guess I caught a glimpse. He was talking about it to someone. Someone on the phone."
+
+"Mm, yeah, I remember. What'd you see?"
+
+"I saw my---" My words catch in my throat. *I saw my husband. I saw my name. I saw the picture from my ID.* "I saw my hometown."
+
+The wolf grins and leans back on his paws. "Home, eh? You don't seem like the girl who’s eager to go back."
+
+At this, I laugh in earnest. "No. Not at all."
+
+"What about it piqued your interest, then?"
+
+I hide my racing thoughts with a shrug, and come up with a half-truth: "The headline had the word 'police' in it."
+
+Nodding, Stefan slips down from his perch on the bar. "Fair enough. Weird day in here, anyway. I'mma close down after this---" he gestures vaguely toward the customers, "So feel free to head out whenever you want."
+
+I think of the bus back to Adam's and being alone with my thoughts. I could walk, but that'd just mean more time turning that glimpse of an article---something about “police” and my old name, something about how long it had been---over and over in my head. "I'll stick around, help clean up and stuff."
+
+Stefan shrugs, "Sure thing. Maybe I'll take off early, then. You okay closing up?"
+
+"Mmhm," I nod, tamping down anxiety with a jokey grin. "Wipe everything down, put all the food away, put the chairs up, steal all the money from the drawer..."
+
+The wolf laughs. "No more than ten percent, please. And girlie," he reaches out and pinches my ear between his claws. "Get your ears pierced with all sorts of crap or something so you can turn into a real punk. You're too wholesome-looking to be thieving."
+
+"Adam suggested the same thing. This town must be in sore need of a punk."
+
+"Yeah, all we've got is Aurora."
+
+The coyote flips him off without even looking away from her book. He laughs.
+
+-----
+
+Stefan's really good at disappearing when he's not needed at work anymore. If he doesn't have to be there for closing, he'll be nowhere to be found.
+
+Oh well, that's fine. I don't imagine I'll be here much longer anyhow.
+
+I start by cleaning down the bar and arranging all those bottles of flavored syrup for the drinks. Next comes flipping over the “open” sign and wiping down the empty tables, stacking chairs upside-down atop them.
+
+The fox couple picks up on the hint quickly and we settle their tab.
+
+I make a quick pass of the bathroom, but it's clean enough as is, so I mostly just wipe down the sink.
+
+Back out in the café, I turn off the soft indie pop on the house speakers, and then something clicks within me.
+
+I clutch at the edge of the bar as all of those emotions, eight or nine months of them, crash into me. All those months of living in at least some state of fear, all those days of holding back on feeling anything else, they all add up to time past-me only borrowed. All those past-due feelings make themselves felt *now*.
+
+My grip on the bar tightens as I gasp out a stifled cry, and then I'm crumpling to the floor, wedged between the milk fridge and the end of the bar where Stefan had been sitting only a half hour ago. Anxiety crescendos into panic, and then far, far beyond that. My muscles are tensing, and my perception of the world, my entire awareness, is shrinking to something the size of a coin, chalk-white pain smelling of snow.
+
+I come to on my side, gasping for air and choking on sobs. I'd been sobbing the whole time, apparently, as my cheeks and the sleeve of my shirt are soaked. Drooling too, from the looks of it.
+
+My body hasn't figured out how to move, yet, but I can see a dark, angular shape above me. I try to push away, but all I can manage is to tense up further.
+
+"Hey, hey, chill. It's okay." Aurora. It has to be.
+
+"Mmnglh."
+
+"Let's get you upright, at least a little. See if you can stand." She helps lever me up until I'm leaning back against the bar. "Come on, legs out. You uh...you fell over. Let’s at least get your legs in front of you."
+
+I can't figure out how to work my voice, so I just continue to moan and sob as the coyote helps get my skirt untangled and my limbs out from under me. She slips her paws up under my arms and starts to lift.
+
+"N-nnn," I manage and clutch at her arms---far too tightly, if her wince is anything to go by. Too filled with terror, too struck by a sense of impending death to control myself.
+
+She relents and settles back down, then gives into my tugging and slips her arms around my shoulders instead. There's a little uneven rocking motion as she slides her legs out from under her, and then she's drawing me in against her.
+
+I don't really know how long I stay like that. The only thing describing the passage of time is my sobbing. Aurora is a warm bulk against me, something to wrap my arms around, some bit of stability. She doesn't coo or shush, just rests her head against mine in silence. A kind, patient silence. A silence with no expectations.
+
+Eventually, I run out of sobs, and settle into a gentle, almost calm sort of crying. Aurora gives me a bit more time before carefully leaning back. Letting our arms slip from the embrace at least enough so that she can look at me. Her smile's kind, rather than pitying. "Come on, let's get you up, okay?"
+
+My joints are loose hinges, too well oiled. Finding a way to be upright without wobbling onto the floor again proves difficult. It takes a few tries, but I wind up with my butt parked against the edge of the bar, tail crimped behind me. I leave my shoulders leaning forward to maintain my grip on Aurora. I'm loath to let go of her, so it takes another fumbling second for me to find a way to do so.
+
+"Sorry," I croak.
+
+She shakes her head and rests her paws on my shoulders. Once she's sure I'm steady, she steps away and grabs a plastic to-go cup from beneath the bar and fills it at the sink. She takes one of my paws in hers and guides my fingers around the cup, making sure I'm holding on before she lets go. "Drink. You cried yourself empty."
+
+I nod and sip at the water. It feels too full in my mouth. Too thick. It slides around like oil. When I swallow, I realize how thirsty I truly am, and finish the rest of the cup in one go.
+
+Aurora, meanwhile, finishes closing up; all that was left was her table, so there's just two chairs to put up.
+
+I refill my cup from the tap and straighten up, trying to dispel the wobbliness in my hips and knees, to shake off the dark sense of panic. "Thanks Aurora, you didn't have to---"
+
+"But you're in no shape to," the coyote cuts me off, laughing. She tucks her book and papers back in her bag and slips back behind the bar again. Shrugging her bag's strap up further, she snakes an arm around my back. "Let's get you home, though, okay? You good to walk?"
+
+"Mmhm. I can take the bus, though. Don't need to walk."
+
+"I meant to my car. I'll get you home."
+
+If I open my mouth, I'll start crying, so I just nod.
+
+-----
+
+Aurora's car is very...*her.*
+
+I don't really know how to put it otherwise. It's sensible, as she is; it's filled with books and stacks of paper, as her bag is; it's not messy, but it's got a lot going on beneath its simple exterior, like her.
+
+Still sniffling, I wait as she moves a sheaf of papers held together with a binder clip from the passenger seat to the back. Then I swipe my tail and skirt out of the way and slouch into the seat, clumsily clicking the seatbelt in place with one paw, the other still holding the half-full cup of water.
+
+The car smells of her too. My nose is doing about as well as anyone's would after so much crying, but I can tell that much. It smells like when she held me. It smells familiar, like something from years ago. Years and years. I have to swallow down a rising wave of guilt and terror.
+
+The coyote settles into the driver's seat and gets all buckled in before giving my thigh a squeeze in her paw. "Adam's, right?" she asks, smiling. "One of the cabins?"
+
+I nod. "Thanks again for driving me."
+
+Aurora waits until she's reversed out of her spot and turned onto the road before answering. "No way I'm letting you walk, and goodness knows I know how awful crying alone on a bus is."
+
+"Yeah, probably not a good look," I say. I can't quite laugh yet, but I do manage a sort of “heh.”
+
+"You are a bit of a mess."
+
+I look down over my shirt and skirt. They're both rumpled. My shirt's still damp from my tears, and my skirt has picked up a stain from the floor behind the bar---probably old coffee. I can only imagine how my face looks. I grin. "Fair."
+
+I let Aurora drive as I focus on rehydrating. I want to just gulp down the water, but I've made enough of a mess of myself tonight. No sense risking a spill. Probably better for me that way, anyway.
+
+It's about a forty-five minute walk from Adam's to Starry Night, and about twenty-five on the bus. I never realized how long the bus took, though, as it takes us less than ten minutes to get back to the long-stay. I laugh at the thought.
+
+"What's up?" Aurora says, pulling into the dirt-road drive, heading around the back of the suites toward the cabins.
+
+"Just thinking. First time I've been in a car here. Only ever ridden the bus or walked."
+
+Aurora grins and pulls into a space in front of the cabin I point out. "Bit faster, yeah. Still, it's a pretty enough walk."
+
+The car turning off leaves us in relative silence, my ears buzzing in my stuffed-up head from the lack of noise. My thoughts seem to be surrounding a blank space. Circling and swirling around it, around nothing. A black pit containing all the things I could think about my old life, of being discovered, of having to go back.
+
+"Hey." Aurora. She's smiling. That's a good thing to think about instead, that smile. "Let's get you inside."
+
+I fumble for my buckle and start to protest, but stop before I say anything. The coyote, the scent of her, it's all so comforting; might as well let her help. A few more moments together, at least.
+
+Aurora levers herself out of her seat and strides quickly around the front of the car. I've got the door open by then, but there she is, ready to help me out of the bucket seat. I grin, feeling bashful, and take her offered paw.
+
+She's got a bit of a wag going on, too, but I try not to read too much into that.
+
+I lean on her as we walk the handful of steps to the door of the cabin. Once there, I fish in my apron pocket for my keys---I'd taken to wearing my work apron with the skirt for the utility of pockets---and let myself in.
+
+Let *us* in. No discussion about whether she's coming in, too. She just is.
+
+I flip on the lights and cringe, both at the sudden brightness against the dusk outside and the mess. I've been using my suitcase as my clean clothes drawer since I moved in. It's just got a day's worth of clothes in it, though. Next to it on one side is a pile of dirty clothes, and on the other, a folding drying rack holding a pair of jeans, a shirt, and two pairs of panties hanging off the corners.
+
+Fuck.
+
+I turn to apologize to the coyote, but she hasn't noticed the laundry at all. Doesn't even seem to notice me.
+
+I follow her gaze, then cringe in earnest.
+
+*Fuck.*
+
+"Holy shit. Those paintings are yours?"
+
+"Yes," I say, trying not to sound *too* humiliated.
+
+"The coyote?"
+
+I can't come up with a reply. We stand in expectant silence: Aurora's eyes locked on the paints and ceiling tile, burgundy, with her silhouette in black; and me, with my eyes locked on the floor and my tail tucked in against my leg.
+
+She turns, mouth open to ask again, when I grab at her paw and rush to cut her off.
+
+"Yes, I mean. Yes. You're just...you're just always there." My eyes well up with tears---I'm surprised I have any left---as words keep coming, and I keep holding onto her paw. "You're just always there and so familiar and I don't know--- They let me paint the ceiling, and I don't know--- I should've asked, I'm sorry--- I don't know, you're just one of the only constants in my stupid fucking life and I didn't even talk to you until I---"
+
+"Whoa, hey!" she says, raising her voice to cut off my stream of babbling. She looks startled, but not angry. "It's totally okay but---hey..."
+
+I've started crying in earnest again. *Looking a fool, standing there holding a girl's paw, tears pouring down your cheeks.* I manage a strangled laugh, though it's caught up in a sob. *Looking fucking crazy.*
+
+Perhaps as an echo from the café, Aurora takes charge. She guides me over to my bed and sits me down on it before settling in next to me and just holding me, arms around my shoulders.
+
+It doesn't last long, and doesn't get a tenth as bad as the crush of panic at Starry Night, but it still takes me a few minutes to get to the point where I can speak again. "Sorry, Aurora." I pace myself, so I don't just start babbling again. "Didn't mean to do that. Just such a mess today. My life's a mess, and it all hit at once."
+
+"Tell me a bit about your life, then," she asks, low voice kind. "I want to hear."
+
+I feel my face tighten in an ugly rictus, teeth bared and whiskers bristled. It's been months, but the freeze-brand scars over my cheeks give a twinge of protest. "There's nothing." As the sobs pick up again, dry now, I have to eke out words between. "There's nothing there. I'm just...paper. Paper thin with no substance. No substance at all." I trail off and take a few gulping breaths to calm myself, forcing my expression into mere hopelessness, rather than that grimace of self-loathing.
+
+Aurora watches me, and, after I've gotten my crying under control, opens her mouth as though to say something, then seems to think better of it and leans in to kiss me instead.
+
+I jolt and tense up. I hold my breath. My mind goes blank. That sensation of being about to cry fills my chest, never mind the fact that I'd already crying.
+
+Then I just lean into the kiss. Return it. No discussion about it; it feels familiar, fulfilling. I'm calm. Still at last.
+
+Aurora seems comfortable taking the lead, using her paws and subtle shifts of her weight to guide me to lay back on the bed. Once I'm there, she leans up from the kiss and grins down to me with just a hint of silliness. "You feel substantive to me."
+
+I'm wrong-footed by this and it takes a moment to parse. Once it clicks, though, I giggle. "Thanks." I feel stupid just leaving it at that, though, and add, "That was nice."
+
+"Mmhm." Still grinning, she leans into give me another quick kiss, then moves to kneel on the edge of the bed, tugging me by the paw. "Come on. Scoot."
+
+I laugh and swipe at my face with the sleeve of my shirt---I must look a mess after all of this. Still, I scoot further up onto the bed at the coyote's bidding. "Alright, alright. How come?"
+
+Aurora shrugs, her grin softening into a kind smile. "I got you thinking less about whatever's up with your life, right? I hope so, at least." I nod, and she continues, "The least I could do is also let you be comfortable on your bed instead of half hanging off of it."
+
+"Good point," I laugh and haul myself up onto the bed, flopping back against the pile of pillows. I'd bought more once it was clear I was staying here a while, and I'm thankful for it now.
+
+Aurora moves too; as I make room, she moves up onto the bed to kneel next to me. "Doing better?"
+
+"Yeah, thank you." After a moment's thought, I ask, "Why'd you do that?"
+
+The coyote frowns down to me, ears splayed in embarrassment. "I wanted to. It felt like it would work, and like it would be okay. I should have asked, though. I'm sorry."
+
+"No!" I realize how loud that was and smile sheepishly up to her. "No, it was nice. Real nice."
+
+That slightly silly grin comes back, tugging on buried memories. Memories of a latrans smile. "Good," she says, leaning in to press another kiss to my muzzle. I return this one more readily than the last, sliding my arms up around her shoulders.
+
+This goes over quite well. Aurora seems to have taken it as a sign, and leans down over me more assertively, paws planted to either side of my shoulders. After a moment's hesitation, she leans up a little further onto her knees and shifts one up over me until she's straddling my waist. She's bigger than me, weighs more than I do. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, but her weight is more comforting than heavy.
+
+"Wait," I murmur, twisting my head slightly to pull away from the kiss.
+
+Aurora immediately tenses up, ears canting back. "Uh, sorry, I don't---"
+
+"No, no. You're fine," I mumble, searching for words. "Don't know why...why this is...doing what it is. Working. Stopping me from crying and all. Taking my mind off stuff."
+
+She stays silent above me. An expectant silence she waits for me to fill.
+
+I hunt for words as best I can. "Maybe I just...I don't know. I haven't touched---or been touched by---anyone since I made it out here. Before that, even. It feels dumb to say, I guess."
+
+Aurora gives a short bark of a laugh at that, then lays her ears back again apologetically. "Sorry. You mean not at all?"
+
+"Well, sure, I mean. I shook paws with Adam and Stefan, whatever. I've *touched*, yeah, but just nothing like this."
+
+At that her expression softens and she nods. "Been a while, huh?"
+
+I nod.
+
+"And this is okay?"
+
+I nod again and lean up to give her a quick kiss. "Yeah, very."
+
+She nods, muzzle dipping to turn that motion into something of a nuzzle, and I can feel her nose tracing along one of those white bands of fur on my cheek, then under my chin, dipping down to tease at the coil of blue fur---faded now to a pale aqua---peeking up above the scoop-neck of my shirt. Her soft, low voice is muffled by my fur. "This is okay, too?"
+
+Without tucking my muzzle uncomfortably low, all I can really see are her ears, so I lean forward to place a kiss between them, fur and familiar scent tickling at my nose. "Mmhm." I've given up saying more.
+
+Aurora responds with a kiss of her own against my sternum. It's a ticklish sort of feeling, and my squirming gets a giggle, muffled as before against my chest. She settles down from her crouch above me, bringing her paws from by my shoulders to brush along my sides as she rests more fully against my front. I slip my own arms from around her until it's just my paws on her shoulders.
+
+The sheer exhilaration of physical contact seems to be filling my mind---or at least that empty void within that I've only been able to tiptoe around---with something new. Something *else.* Something other than low-level anxiety. I can close my eyes and not wind up in some horrible hopelessness. I don't have to think, I can just be here. Goodness knows why, but I can just be here.
+
+I jolt to awareness from my wandering thoughts and tense up, and Aurora's paws pause halfway up my sides. Her fingers and claws are buried in my fur with t-shirt cloth bunched around her wrists. We both hold still in that silence, a few long seconds of just our breaths. For once I don't rush to fill it with words, and simply settle back down, relaxing into her grasp.
+
+The coyote hesitates a moment longer before edging her paws upward further, inching shirt up over fur. Keeping my paws on her shoulders as best as possible, I arch my back enough to let her slide my shirt up.
+
+The exploration continues in fits and starts from there. Kisses along the blue diamond and down over my chest. Aurora shifting her weight. Me tugging my shirt off to keep it out of the way. Soft coyote nose tracing spirals in my fur. One lasting sensation, a singular point of focus.
+
+The skirt, though, requires coordination. Aurora and I have to exchange a few glances, one or two half-words, and some soft giggles before the garment winds up bunched around my waist, spilling in pools of cotton to either side of me. And then there we are: me, with shirt off but for one arm still stuck through a sleeve, skirt bunched around her waist; and Aurora, looking nervous but excited, wagging as she looks up at me along my front over a pile of rumpled skirt.
+
+"So uh..." I begin.
+
+"Mm?"
+
+"Mm."
+
+Soft noises. Gestures of paws. The warmth of a tongue, slender and attentive. Finely-tapered coyote muzzle. Lithe, arched weasel back. Quiet moans and subtle shifts to express what works and what doesn't. Paws finding places to rest, to touch, to brush and stroke.
+
+And then something new, something different clicks within me. A rising swell of pleasure, and a sudden, uneven tumble of memories. A shuddering gasp and an attachment of name to place to time. A contraction, then relaxation of muscles and a line drawn between two points. A connection.
+
+Panting to catch my breath, and glimpses of high school, of nervous first times. Memories of a muzzle and an attentive tongue. That same muzzle, that same tongue
+
+A warm glow, and a name surfacing to memory.
+
+I collapse back onto the bed, slack, and stare down over my front. Aurora stares back just as intently shifting her weight forward once more, retracing her route of kisses in double time.
+
+"Wait, you're---"
+
+"Aurora. I'm Aurora."
+
+I start to speak, but she cuts me off.
+
+"I'm Aurora. You're you."
+
+I swallow compulsively, feel fear caving in my insides, terror at having been recognized, caught. "But you were...we---"
+
+"I know who you *were*, and you know who I *was*, but I'm Aurora. You're you."
+
+I fall silent, paws clutching at the duvet in search of something solid. Aurora leans up for the final kiss, more tender than heated, more earnest than fumbling. I smell her, and taste myself.
+
+-----
+
+"We all have reasons to disappear," Aurora murmurs.
+
+We've settled back onto that stack of pillows I've collected. My skirt's still bunched up between us, but I've managed to toss my shirt to the side. She's gotten her arms around me once more and her cool nosetip is teasing along those brands again from where she lays beside me.
+
+"I suppose," I begin, then shake my head as if to throw away a bit of the non-speech. "So you came out west and transitioned out here."
+
+A faint nod, nose exploring a line perpendicular to the stripes of my brands. "I tried back home, a bit after high school and, uh...us. My heart was half out here by then anyway, though, and no one wants a mopey, trans coyote, least of all my parents."
+
+I nod. There's still that hint of a name---I can think it, but would have a hard time saying it---and that memory of a tapered muzzle between my thighs.
+
+Memories from nigh on twenty years ago.
+
+A high school fling. Two dates, a night together, and drifting apart. She had seemed so uncomfortable with herself. We'd... Well, tonight had more than made up for that.
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Mm?"
+
+"Why'd you disappear?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Aurora lifts her head a little, a hint of a grin turning the corner of her mouth. "You don't know?"
+
+"I don't." I tilt my head to press my nose to hers. "I think that's what got me today. I saw that thing on the news. About Jarred, about myself. About home."
+
+She nods, nose against nose and stifling a yawn.
+
+"And I just don't know why," I murmur. "I unwound all of that life and came here, and I think, when I saw it, I realized I don't know why I did it."
+
+"Were you happy, back home?"
+
+"No."
+
+Aurora tucks her muzzle up under my jaw and hugs her arm around me a little tighter. "Neither was I."
+
+I brush my fingers across her arm, plowing a furrow in gray-tan fur, then smoothing it back down. I push down memories of that gawky and shy coyote, and revel instead in the comfort of Aurora.
+
+So many months of panic following so many years of discontent. So much time alone. And now, comfort and peace.
+
+Muzzle tucked over hers, I ask, "What about me did you remember?"
+
+"Your paintings."
+
+"Have I changed that much?"
+
+"I mean, you looked like someone who could've been, uh, who you were. But it was your paintings." She yawns in earnest. "The lines. The shapes."
+
+The burgundy-and-black ceiling tile is behind me. I think of looking, of disentangling myself from the coyote's arms, but there's something much better here in front of me.
+
+"And you?" Aurora sounds sleepy. "What tipped you off about me?"
+
+I think of all the things I could say---the warmth of her breath, the trail of kisses, the way her nose drew lines through my fur. The way she rested her cheek on her paw, staring out the window. The softness of her form. Her very scent.
+
+We lay together in silence. A comfortable silence. The first in a long time.

content/post/every-time-i-fall.md

@@ -0,0 +1,45 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: Rated G
+date: 2017-08-14
+type: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+title: Every time I fall
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+Every time I fall,
+    The ground tells me I'm in love.
+"'Cause love is
+    All low," it says.
+"And loves is
+    Places."
+
+And I always argue,
+    That love is all people.
+That love is dogs,
+    And cats.
+And love is
+    Emotions.
+
+But every time I fall,
+    The ground tells me I'm in love.
+That gravity is
+    Some awkward embrace,
+And love is
+    Permanence.
+
+And I always argue,
+    That love is temporary.
+That that's
+    The beauty,
+And permanence
+    Misses the point.
+
+And every time I fall,
+    The ground tells me I'm in love.
+And every single time,
+    I keep coming back.
+</div>

content/post/fair-and-square.md

@@ -0,0 +1,39 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: Rated G
+date: 2018-07-08
+type: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+- Gender
+title: Fair and Square
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+I bought my name fair and square;
+Bespoke, built from whole cloth.
+I wrote it again and again,
+Savoring every J,
+Skipping every fifth tittle,
+Until it felt right,
+Like sitting inside and watching the snow fall
+    Through the window
+Or finding the perfect way that branches in two trees
+    Line up with each other
+Or when the windshield wipers move
+    In time with your music.
+
+I built myself fair and square
+With hands raw from coarse identity.
+I kneaded and pressed and squeezed,
+Savoring every curve,
+Skipping every tenth day,
+Until it all felt right,
+Like the sweet smell of pine bark
+    Rubbed between fingers
+Or the whisper of maple leaves
+    Under hurrying paws
+Or the perfect overlap of new buds
+    Already sticky with sap.
+</div>

content/post/gallery-exhibition.md

@@ -0,0 +1,26 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+- Interactive
+series: Post-Self
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-01-03
+description: null
+img: gallery-exhibition.svg
+type: post
+tags:
+- Romance
+- Science fiction
+- Uploading
+title: 'Gallery Exhibition: A Love Story'
+---
+
+This gallery exhibition serves as the capstone for Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled, of the Ode Clade in its role as fellow. The fellowship in instance art was created specifically for Dear in recognition of the excellence it brings to the field.
+
+The Simien Fang school of Art and Design is proud to invite you to the opening of the exhibition. Location, time, and your ticket are attached to this message. We kindly request that you fork and send a non-#core/non-#tracker instance. We look forward to sharing this experience with you.
+
+RSVP<!--more-->
+
+## [Play the game](/assets/posts/gallery-exhibition.html)
+
+This entry takes the form of a Twine game. There are choices to be made, and random chance at play. Twine is a form of interactive fiction that you can play in your browser. It requires a modern browser with JavaScript enabled.

content/post/gender-furry.md

@@ -0,0 +1,592 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Non-fiction
+ratings: G
+date: 2016-12-04
+type: post
+pdf: gender-furry.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- About furry
+- Gender
+title: 'Gender: Furry - An investigation into the interplay of gender and fandom'
+---
+
+_**Gender: Furry** was originally commissioned for and published in **Furries Among Us II**, released by Thurston Howl Publications_
+
+-----
+
+Many people, I suspect, use the idiom, "hindsight is twenty-twenty," in
+a way that is better served by other, more appropriate words or phrases.
+The sense in which I hear it most commonly used is perhaps more
+adequately covered by the beautiful portmanteau, "regretrospect". That
+is, now that things are said and done, I regret a lot of what happened
+during this adventure.
+
+Also, it's my second favorite portmanteau after "congratudolences" and
+really ought to see wider use.
+
+No, I think "hindsight is twenty-twenty" is better reserved for cases
+when seemingly unrelated occurrences come together to form an outcome
+that seems to be greater than the sum of the parts. It fits best when
+you look back at your life and see disparate, unconnected events come
+together to make the situation you find yourself in now.
+
+I came out to myself and my (at the time) fiancé as transgender over a
+process of several months. It began sometime in 2010 or so, when I
+started to feel like I was able to put words to the things that were
+making me feel bad. I began by identifying as genderqueer, and although
+that label still fits very well, I adopted 'transgender' in 2015 as the
+one that I use in day-to-day life to describe myself, as it leaves the
+fewest questions as to why I'm a six-foot-two rectangular man-shape in
+feminine clothing and makeup.
+
+But we're talking about hindsight, so it's worth bringing up that one of
+the only things I ever stole was the book "The Boy Who Thought He Was A
+Girl", back in second grade. I'm guessing at the title here, as I can
+find no record of it through casual Googling, however, I remember that
+it was a trashy, essentialist book about a boy who wanted to learn how
+to kiss, which somehow made him girly and, thus, confused about whether
+he should actually be a girl. Of course, in the end, his understanding
+of his gender role as a boy were firmly straightened out by
+strict-yet-loving family.
+
+Or perhaps another step in this path of hindsight was sneaking into my
+step-mom's spare room when I was about twelve and trying on one of her
+old dresses. At that point, I had yet to become the lummox that would be
+my post-pubertal destiny, and so the dress fit, albeit poorly.
+
+Or, hey, skip ahead to 2006, when I had just turned twenty and realized
+that it felt just as good to role-play online as a vixen as it did as a
+tod, though I told myself at the time that it was because I wanted to
+experience more relationship configurations than the male homosexual
+relationships I'd had to that point.
+
+Each of these things, and so many more, felt like an independent,
+unconnected occurrence to me. It's only in hindsight that I can see that
+there were aspects of me straining towards some way to feel happy and
+comfortable. When I was growing up, they were simple oddities, but now
+just another way to see the present more clearly.
+
+I think that it's fairly common that one comes to terms with a portion
+of one's identity in this fashion. Before I came out as trans and made
+the question of sexual orientation at least twice as complicated, I went
+through the process of figuring out that, despite being born male, I was
+also attracted to other boys as well as girls. Those 'crushes' in
+elementary school make more sense, and so on.
+
+There had to be some lever that pushed each of those instances from a
+collection of loosely related occurrences into the formation of a strong
+facet of my own identity. With orientation, it was obviously the rush of
+hormones that came with puberty: all of the sudden, 'liking boys' took
+on a new tenor.
+
+With gender, it was almost entirely the furry subculture's fault.
+
+I found furry at the age of fourteen or so through the website Yerf!,
+and later through a FurCode generator. At the time, though gender was
+quite confusing for me when viewed in hindsight, I identified as a cis
+gay male. Furry, then, was a welcome haven from home life, where it was
+cool to be a teenage fox boy thinking about dating other teenage fox
+boys.
+
+As I grew up and continued in my development as a person, filling in
+bits of my concept of self as one fills in gaps in a puzzle when the
+pieces are found, furry helped yet again in providing a framework in
+exploration and comfort.
+
+<svg id="commission_sex_chart" width="600" height="400">
+    <defs>
+        <pattern id="diagonal-stripe-1" patternUnits="userSpaceOnUse" width="10" height="10">
+            <image xlink:href="data:image/svg+xml;base64,PHN2ZyB4bWxucz0naHR0cDovL3d3dy53My5vcmcvMjAwMC9zdmcnIHdpZHRoPScxMCcgaGVpZ2h0PScxMCc+CiAgPHJlY3Qgd2lkdGg9JzEwJyBoZWlnaHQ9JzEwJyBmaWxsPSd3aGl0ZScvPgogIDxwYXRoIGQ9J00tMSwxIGwyLC0yCiAgICAgICAgICAgTTAsMTAgbDEwLC0xMAogICAgICAgICAgIE05LDExIGwyLC0yJyBzdHJva2U9J2JsYWNrJyBzdHJva2Utd2lkdGg9JzEnLz4KPC9zdmc+Cg==" x="0" y="0" width="10" height="10"> </image>
+        </pattern>
+    </defs>
+</svg>
+
+*Gender expression of the author's character as portrayed in visual
+commissions over the
+years.*
+
+The figure above shows the ways in which the sex of my
+characters in art that I commissioned changed over time. On the Y axis,
+you can see the genders expressed in the commissions, and on the x, the
+date of the commission. There's a very clear trend from male to
+genderless, then from genderless to female over time, then from female
+(as an idealized form of myself) to a specifically trans fox (as I
+started to get comfortable with my identity as a transgender person).
+I'm not alone in this progression, either, as many have found the
+utility in having a mostly safe space in which role-play is common and
+accepted behavior in which to explore various aspects of their identity.
+
+There's a very good reason for this, too, but first, lets hear from
+other critters using furry as a lens to help in the explorations of
+their gender.
+
+-----
+
+When I think of Indi, I think of the colorful coyote/otter (read
+'coyotter', or simply 'yotter') that I've gotten to know fairly well
+over the past few years. When I met ver for the first real time, it was
+at a room party at a convention, where we were tasting various types of
+mead. I can't remember if ve had made vis way to the room party from my
+invitation or at the behest of our mutual friend, Tealfox. Either way, I
+was glad to have the chance to meet up.
+
+Over the years, I would find myself catching up with ver again and
+again. At cons, sure, but also at vis house with vis owner Elanna, where
+I stayed for a few days in order to experience the delight that is
+Bandaza, a yearly celebration occurring near the end of November, which
+involves what must been the greatest concentration of postfurries I've
+ever seen.
+
+As is perhaps evident from vis pronouns, Indi's identity falls somewhere
+outside the realm of 'male' or 'female'. Ve describes verself as
+neutrois transgender, as having a sense of gender that's neither
+masculine nor feminine nor a combination of the two. This carries over
+into vis online representation; ve isn't simply a coyotter, but a
+synthetic one, often plush. After all, while plush toys and other
+synthetic beings may have a semblance of sexual characteristics, it's
+easy to imagine them not having an internal sense of identity along
+binary gender lines.
+
+Ve describes verself as having medically transitioned in order to deal
+with the body dysphoria (unhappiness with one's form or self) that is
+part and parcel of being transgender. This helps ver, along with finding
+modes of presentation to avoid social dysphoria, to exist in a
+concordant way with the world around ver.
+
+In Indi's words, "Furry helped a lot by being a place where the answers
+to basic questions of identity (species, gender) are almost always
+fill-in-the-blank." Some of the best things that furry has to offer is
+that these things which mean the most to someone working on their own
+identity are taken at their word. For example, from the point of view of
+an FtM person --- someone transitioning from female to male --- to say,
+"This is what I am, and that's all that you need to know," is huge. The
+validation that one gains for being taken as and interacted with as what
+they say they are is no small thing.
+
+Indi writes, "At its best, furry treats identity as consensual and
+fluid; you are what you say you are, and what you say you are may change
+and evolve in the future, temporarily or permanently."
+
+Although there are many ways in which this can take place, the act of
+creating one's own character, the means by which they interact with the
+rest of the subculture, is something that furry excels at.
+"Anthropomorphic forms also provide a rich toolkit of options for bodily
+self-expression," writes Indi, "With countless species, real and
+imaginary, and a mix-and-match approach to species signifiers and
+primary/secondary sexual characteristics. All this allowed me to keep
+tweaking, trying different ways of being me until I found the one that
+felt the most comfortable and accurate."
+
+That said, furry isn't the haven it might seem to be for someone
+exploring something as complex as gender.
+
+Indi explains: "In furry chat venues, a common expectation is that sex
+will happen or at least be discussed, which means many choices about
+presentation and identity are interpreted in sexual terms." It's easy to
+see the ways in which this could interact with gender, given the complex
+interactions between sexuality and gender. "The "what do you have in
+your pants" question, the archetypal inappropriate question for trans
+folks, is almost always on the table."
+
+This goes doubly so for non-binary genders. For those who present in a
+way way that lands somewhere between male and female, or outside that
+spectrum entirely, the issue of attraction and sex can become troubled,
+as Indi notes, "Further, presentations that seem difficult to interact
+with sexually, like those that de-emphasize both masculinity and
+femininity, will generally be given the side-eye or pointedly ignored."
+
+I met Lumi, on the other hand, shortly before writing this piece when
+someone retweeted one of her posts. She had lined up drawings of her
+character over the years, with short explanations, and it was easy to
+see a similar trend as outlined in my own graph above: her character
+started male, then began to shift more feminine through a process of
+experimentation towards the female character she is drawn as to this
+day, in alignment with her female identity.
+
+"Prior to coming out as female, I talked to some friends about it," she
+says. "I struggled a lot with the identity, even after coming out to
+friends, and then to everyone online. I considered myself non-binary for
+a while and went by they/them pronouns. This is because I don't
+experience much gender dysphoria so I didn't feel "Trans Enough" to
+consider myself female."
+
+This is a sentiment echoed by many as they work their way through
+figuring out their identity. Non-binary identities are, of course, just
+as valid as binary identities, and for many, the 'end goal' is neither
+masculine nor feminine, as evidenced by Indi's journey, while for
+others, they're a step on the path. No states of identity can be said to
+be purely transitional, and none can be said to be purely final.
+
+For Lumi, the non-binary portion of her journey happened to be
+transitional. "Finally, I settled on female but it still took me a while
+to "settle in" to being this gender. Since I can remember, people online
+have always assumed I was a girl anyways. Most people don't even know
+I'm trans, since I hardly ever mention it. They just assume I'm a rad
+cis girl."
+
+"I feel like a fursona is a reflection of yourself. I don't believe that
+my fursona is me, but rather she is like someone I aspire to be," Lumi
+writes, referring to the ways in which furry helped in solidifying
+identity. "Since she's a fictional character, it's always been easy to
+experiment with her and my gender identity was part of that
+experimentation. She has always had the ability to shape-shift and I
+always found myself drawing her as a girl even when she wasn't."
+
+-----
+
+On a hunch that these sentiments go far beyond just that small sector of
+furry, I started a small, informal poll on twitter, and got inundated
+with responses. The poll itself was simple:
+
+> Hi.
+>
+> Tell me about how furry helped you with figuring out your gender
+> identity!
+>
+> Thanks.
+>
+> *--- Tweet from @drab\_makyo on July 6, 2016*
+
+The responses were overwhelmingly positive, though some had a few
+caveats. Many said that the opportunity to create a character as an
+ideal form of themself offered them the possibility to find a way to be
+more true to more aspects of their identity than they might have had in
+the first place. Furry, it seems, provides a constructive and creative
+place in order to explore.
+
+You'll note, however, that I didn't say 'safe place' above. Many of the
+caveats to furry being a good place to explore gender surround the fact
+that, in a lot of ways, many furries who identify as trans or non-binary
+(as well as intersex folks) feel fetishized more often than not. Gender,
+as we well know, goes far beyond just the interactions of genitalia.
+
+Another caveat that I heard was that, although the subculture provided a
+healthy means to *begin* exploring gender, many felt that the thing that
+helped them mature in their identity was seeing representation *outside*
+of the fandom, as well. This was especially true for some of the
+non-binary folks that I got the chance to talk with. Some mentioned that
+their exploration ceased at the point where they created a character for
+themselves to match their perceived identity and went no further without
+some external representation.
+
+There's much more that I can say on the matter of why furry might be
+good for exploration, and I will shortly, but first, there is far more
+data available than just a single twitter poll! After all, as Executive
+Data Vix for \[adjective\]\[species\], it's my job to administer the
+Furry Poll, the fandom's largest market survey, and then to go for deep
+dives into that giant pool of data.
+
+To that end, I started pulling some numbers from the 2016 Furry Poll.
+There were 3194 total responses to look at which were relevant to our
+topic at hand. Here are the questions that we asked:
+
+1.  What is your age in years?
+2.  What best describes your gender identity?
+    -   Masculine or mostly masculine
+    -   Feminine or mostly feminine
+    -   Other *(NB: there were a series of options, including a write-in
+        option, which, for our purposes, have been boiled down to an
+        'other' category.)*
+3.  Does your gender identity now align with your sex as assigned at
+    birth?
+    -   Yes (I am cisgender)
+    -   No (I am not cisgender)
+    -   It's complicated (exactly what it says on the tin)
+
+What all did we get? Well, nothing too surprising, and let me explain
+why.
+
+The ideas that we hold to be true without proof comprise our *doxa*.
+That is, the things we assume to be true, or to be the case without
+needing to have anything backing those assumptions up. When one looks
+around the furry fandom at time of writing, one is likely to find a
+subculture made up mostly of those presenting masculine.
+
+<svg id="alignments_chart_sexes" width="600" height="400"></svg>
+
+*Gender identity of respondents in the 2016 Furry
+Poll.*
+
+To that, the survey offers only confirmation. A
+bit more than 75% of the respondents --- certainly a supermajority ---
+responded that their gender identity was masculine or mostly masculine.
+Although one's expression or presentation used as a predictor has its
+flaws, a glance around the average convention space bears truth to this
+claim: we can mark that down as one point for our doxa reading things
+correctly.
+
+<svg id="alignments_chart_alignments" width="600" height="400"></svg>
+
+*Gender alignment of respondents in the 2016 Furry*
+
+Now, how about we look at gender alignment;
+that is, let's take a look at the breakdown of how folks' gender
+identity aligns with their sex as assigned at birth. For example, a
+trans man who was assigned female at birth but identifies as a man now,
+would be someone who would fall under the umbrella term of
+'transgender', while a man who was assigned male at birth would fall
+under the term 'cisgender'. Additionally, for the sake of completeness,
+the survey also offered the choice for the respondent to answer that the
+answer was more complicated than these two choices would allow (we did
+not ask for further details, and had we, we would not, of course, be
+able to share them while preserving anonymity).
+
+The most noticeable part of this, on the surface, is that one sees a
+great deal more trans-feminine (those who identify as feminine and yet
+whose sex as assigned at birth does not match with their identity, in
+this instance) than trans-masculine folks. It's understandable that the
+"other" category, small as it is, contain a more even distribution, but
+given the uneven distribution in reported gender identities, it makes it
+all the more striking that there are so many trans-feminine respondents.
+
+This is, perhaps, a shadow cast by society at large, making it more
+enticing for a trans-feminine person to seek refuge in a welcome
+subculture. For someone assigned feminine at birth to be into
+stereotypical masculine behavior is not a big deal. We even have a word
+for that: tomboy. It's value-neutral in many circles, and downright
+positive in some. But for someone assigned masculine at birth to behave
+feminine, well, there's a word for that, too: sissy. A welcoming
+environment for someone to explore along those lines --- from masculine to
+feminine --- is, therefore, not so difficult to foresee. It's also why the
+demographics of those interviewed for this piece fall more along these
+lines. It has little to do with minimizing the transmasculine
+experience, and quite a bit to do with the demographics involved.
+
+-----
+
+There is a certain peril to dating not one, but two wordy, genderful
+critters, and being married to a cisgender gay man who has stayed with
+me through my own transition (who, for his part, mentioned that the
+benefit of furry was that it exposed transgender identities to him as
+something more than what you'd hear from the news, adding to the
+personhood involved). When I began this project, not only did I have
+plenty of story to tell, for myself, but both partners leapt at the
+chance to help, whether it be through interviewing or through beta
+reading the final piece.
+
+Forneus and I met over Twitter back in 2011 through a mutual
+acquaintance, and bonded during an impromptu metal concert in one of the
+elevators at Further Confusion in 2012. It was loud, there were cats, I
+stuffed my fursuit paw in someone's mouth by accident. Good times.
+
+Forneus has been with me through most of the time I've been consciously
+exploring gender. They sat and listened to me complain about the lack of
+non-binary representation, the problems inherent in getting the
+requisites met for starting hormone replacement therapy, and the whole
+process of coming out at work.
+
+At the same time, I was there much of their own journey. While I've
+landed somewhere on the feminine side of neutral, they have been
+experiencing things differently: "I'd say I'm somewhere in genderqueer
+land, leaning feminine. What that means for me: I'm mostly fine with the
+body I was born with, but my presentation is a lot more
+"stereotypically" feminine based on modern American stereotypes."
+
+I had the chance to ask them if they felt comfortable expressing their
+identity both within and outside of furry. "Yeah, for a few reasons,"
+they said. "The consequences that directly impact me are a lot less
+likely to be problems. I'm not going to lose my job or an opportunity at
+a job, I'm not going to have to work with the random troll every day, et
+cetera. It's a lot easier to disengage, I guess, as long as I keep
+myself honest on it."
+
+"Everyone's already primed to the concept of an ideal self," they
+continued. "Even straight cis\[gender\] furries, so "my ideal self is
+me, but with different bits" feels really easy to explain most of the
+time. \[Even\] from within the broader trans community, there's
+definitely a tendency to feel like I'm not "trans enough""
+
+Outside of furry, though, things were less comfortable. ""If I show up
+to this interview in a dress, it'll raise questions" is something I had
+to deal with a lot during my last job search, for example." The world at
+large rarely cares about our ideal selves, and often makes sweeping
+judgements based on presentation. "I'm not convinced that HRT would be
+right, so I'm not doing it," they mention. "The "next step" is coming
+out at work. I don't currently feel capable of doing that."
+
+Lexy, my other partner, expressed similar thoughts. While furry, "helped
+by having open and kind people to talk with, and to explore gender
+identity with," life outside of furry offered much more in the way of
+obstacles. She hasn't been able to take many steps yet largely due to
+family issues, and has described her path as, "Working towards finding a
+safe environment to transition. I currently feel fairly uncomfortable
+due to not being able to transition, but overall I feel like furry has
+helped a lot in feeling more comfortable with myself."
+
+So is furry a net win, over all, for furries? "Yeah, for sure," says
+Forneus. "It's definitely helped me figure out my own sexuality, if
+nothing else, and I know a lot of cool trans furries. So that's pretty
+helpful too, having good friends with both a shared interest and a
+nominally-similar life history."
+
+Lumi agrees: "I'm very comfortable with my identity, and I feel it fits
+me very well. I almost fell game to the idea of "Well you have to be
+really girly to be a girl," but now I'm more like a tomboy girl. Yeah,
+sometimes I might be rude and I'm not into dresses and makeup, but at
+the end of the day, I am one cool chick."
+
+Indi sums things up nicely, saying, "Even three years ago I never would
+have believed I would be able to go this far, to feel like I've almost
+entirely managed to express myself as the human-AU version of a glowy
+swishy neutral-gendered rave critter. It hasn't always been easy, and
+there's still a lot that could be done to make it smoother, but I think
+I'm in a good place. There's always ways to improve, always new things I
+think I can try, but each move seems to be smaller than the last, and
+I'm far more comfortable with myself than I ever could have imagined I'd
+be when I started trying."
+
+-----
+
+Given the stories of those exploring and expressing gender and identity
+through the framework of furry, the obvious next question that needs to
+be asked is "why?"
+
+Naturally, these sorts of things are not answered by any simple quip,
+nor even a single article like this. That said, there are some things
+that we can point to that might help explain just why the furry
+subculture plays as big a role as it does in the formation of its
+members' identities, gender and otherwise.
+
+There are a pair of twinned concepts within the realm of psychology that
+have been applied to this topic in particular. Aaron Devor, a
+sociologist and dean of graduate studies at the University of Victoria
+in Canada, described them most succinctly in their paper, "Witnessing
+and Mirroring: A Fourteen Stage Model of Transsexual Identity
+Formation."
+
+The stages themselves are interesting, of course. They describe the path
+that a trans person might take as they work through the process of
+coming out, transitioning, and so on. I'm not going to list them here,
+to save on ink --- the paper is free, easy to find legally online, and
+worth a read on its own. However, I'd like to talk about the twinned
+concepts mentioned in the title, as they play a much more integral role
+when it comes to figuring out why furry might be a good place for so
+many to explore identity.
+
+Witnessing is the idea that we gain something in the way of validation
+by having others see us as we see ourselves. For someone who is
+solidifying the image of themselves as they feel others ought to see it,
+to have someone outside themselves perceive them along those lines is
+incredibly validating. For trans women to called ma'am, or trans men to
+be able to use the men's room, or for non-binary folks to be referred to
+by their proper pronouns…all of these things are a form of witnessing,
+and help to reinforce the individual's sense that they are doing what is
+best for their life.
+
+To go along with that, mirroring is the idea that we gain validation by
+way of seeing others who are like us. For folks in the early stages of
+transitioning, this comes both in the form of seeing other folks in the
+early stages --- the "I can do it too" effect --- as well as folks later on
+in the process --- the "See, it can be done" effect. When we see something
+of ourselves reflected in others, it adds a bit of realism to something
+that might have once only been a fantasy.
+
+Within my circle of friends, we talk of the 'gender cascade'. Someone in
+our lives will come out and start exploring their own gender more
+openly, and we'll think to ourselves, "Oh, hm. If they can do it, so can
+I!" or perhaps, "Goodness, now that I'm confronted with this, I'm
+starting to question my own identity". For me, although there were
+several such people, the one I think of most immediately is Indi;
+watching vis explorations within the realm of gender is what got me to
+think seriously about all of my own internal struggle about gender
+identity. Ve, in turn, had vis own influences, stretching all the way
+back into the distant past, each of whom influenced others, creating a
+cascading flowchart of gender.
+
+This goes far beyond just our little in-group. Folks have often talked about the cascade, perhaps using terms such as
+'transplosion', or one news source's amusing choice of 'transgender
+mania'. In both cases --- either constrained by the constituents of a
+subculture or relatively unrestricted and part of society at large ---
+those who are questioning their gender, or even those who are certain
+but unsure of beginning transition, can gain validation through
+witnessing and mirroring. That is, they can allow themselves to be seen
+as they are in safe contexts and see others who are like themselves in
+order to gain the confidence to move forward.
+
+Furry provides fertile soil for this sort of thing due in large part to
+the fact that we explicitly design the image that others think of when
+they think of us, through the formation of our personal characters,
+avatars, or fursonas, however you want to think of it.
+
+If you flip back to the graph of the sex of my characters that were
+represented in commissioned furry art, you can see a very definite shift
+away from male. At first, I shifted from masculine to explicitly
+genderless, because my assigned identity had become so painful to me
+that my instinct was to escape. From there, as I gained confidence and
+with validation from others, I started to incorporate more and more
+feminine aspects into my characters.
+
+Your character is an unspoken-yet-explicit way for a fur to say, "This
+is how I ought to be seen." For trans folk, it provides a useful tool in
+terms of exploring gender identity: although mirroring becomes mudding
+in many circumstances (for those role-playing as a different gender,
+being outed as such isn't exactly desirable), it sure as hell makes
+witnessing easier. I became a fox girl on the internet long before I got
+the letter that allowed me to start hormone replacement therapy.
+
+There's a conclusion that I draw from all of this, though it took me
+some time to connect the dots, pull it up, draw it all together, and
+many other metaphors.
+
+When I started associating with animal people on the internet, I did so
+as a fragile teen who could barely admit that sex was a thing that
+existed, much less as a being with a sexual orientation, never mind one
+that might not be straight, or even sexually active. Meeting and
+interacting with sexual, non-straight, and happy folk helped change that
+over the process of a few years, and a few halting relationships.
+
+Fast-forward a few years, and there I was: a mid-twenties person in the
+middle of an identity crisis. What was I? Was I nothing? Sex was a
+panic-riddled minefield of unmet expectations and awkward feelings of
+being built wrong. Was a I woman, with my my dreams of
+motherhood-but-not-fatherhood? Was I something in between, with the fact
+that womanhood discomfited me in a different way than manhood?
+
+Here, unlike with my orientation, I had enough experience to both look
+around me and see those going through something similar, as well as to
+take a step to be seen as who I felt that I might be. I started out
+haltingly, and went down a few wrong paths (looking at you, plush phase;
+love me some plushies, but it's not *me*), but I found myself a niche.
+It came in the form of a description and a few megabytes of graphical
+data culled from the minds and tablets of some artistically minded and
+decidedly amazing friends. It led to me confronting my therapist one day
+and saying, "Hey, can you write me a hormone letter?"
+
+Fast forward another year or two, and where am I?
+
+I'm putting together the pieces of the fact that this isn't a uniquely
+trans thing, though this is an article on the intersection between
+gender and furry. Neither is it a uniquely sexual thing, though the
+intersection between sex and furry is worth an article of its own. It's
+something one layer up. It's membership in a community that provides a
+mechanism and a place for these discoveries to take place.
+
+Is it a uniquely furry thing? Almost certainly not. There are many
+different subcultures out there that follow the same pattern. The My
+Little Pony fandom is a wonderful example, providing a similar outlet to
+those who claim membership. However, there's no doubt that furry played
+a rather large role in identity for me, just as it did for so many other
+folks. There's just so much to be said for the fact that we build the
+avatars that we use to interact with others here, beyond even what many
+other subcultures do.
+
+Without furry, I might just as well have come out as gay, then neutrois,
+then genderqueer, then trans, then all of those other wonderful labels.
+But would I have felt safe doing so? Would I have gotten all of the
+validation that I needed to feel healthy doing so? Would I have come
+away with countless other brothers, sisters, and non-binary siblings in
+whom I could confide, admire, and rejoice?
+
+I don't know. There's a lot to account for. My life has treated me well,
+in all, and I feel privileged to have lived it. That said, I'm not
+convinced that there would be an outlet that would have provided such
+for me.
+
+Would there be one, outside of furry? I rather think not.
+
+
+<script type="text/javascript" src="/assets/posts/gf/d3.min.js"></script>
+<script type="text/javascript" src="/assets/posts/gf/nv.d3.min.js"></script>
+<script type="text/javascript" src="/assets/posts/gf/figures.js"></script>

content/post/growth.md

@@ -0,0 +1,173 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+description: A longer piece to go with this lovely painting by Julian Norwood (https://www.patreon.com/Cadmiumtea), which I commissioned for the end of an era. The image of transformation is from a recurring dream.
+img: growth-header.jpg
+type: post
+date: 2018-07-01
+tags:
+- Poetry
+- Gender
+- Transition
+- About furry
+title: Growth
+---
+
+![Growth](/assets/img/growth.jpg)
+
+<small>"Growth" by <a href="https://www.patreon.com/Cadmiumtea">Julian Norwood</a></small>
+
+-----
+
+<div class="verse">
+Used to be you and I daily would walk
+through the fields out back of the house and talk
+for hours, spilling words and emotions.
+These walks were our daily devotions
+to each other over the years.
+
+The fields, dotted with ponds, were our space.
+We tramped those trails strung like lace
+along shores and through tall grass,
+murmuring now like winds, chattering now like brass
+in some changeful duet.
+
+You'd tell me about the geese in the sky,
+would watch me stand still and not ask why
+the birds scared me to pieces,
+even as we dodged around their feces
+littering the trails.
+
+You'd put up with my fickle interests,
+running with me, or stopping to see what arrests
+my attention. You'd follow all of my changes
+and change along with me through all the ranges
+of our shared experience.
+
+You'd tell me of your meditation,
+I'd talk of my fears of stagnation.
+You'd always smile so kindly to me,
+and I'd always feel so free
+in our companionship.
+
+And over time, those walks got slower,
+shorter, less frequent, or over
+far too soon, though no less meaningful
+as we spent our time together in cheerful
+conversation or kind quiet.
+
+We each seemed to be going our separate ways,
+with me branching out, exploring different lays
+of different lands, and you turning inwards,
+exploring lines of thought you never put in words,
+at least not that you told me.
+
+And then one day, we once more went out walking
+and though it took a while, you got to talking.
+You told me of how  you sat, quiet and alone,
+waiting for the time you might turn to stone
+and be completely still at last.
+
+You told me how as you sat, the room lengthened,
+curved around, turned on you --- strengthened,
+it seemed, by your very presence ---
+and amid all of that gathered pleasance,
+bit you in half.
+
+You told me how, as part of you died
+in that moment, the rest of you spied,
+it seemed, on this very ending.
+You told me you thought that this rending
+was the end of something big.
+
+I listened in silence. What could I say?
+The things you were telling me, walking that day
+were strangely shaped and didn't make sense.
+Or if they did, they did so around corners as pretense,
+perhaps, subtext, allusion, metaphor.
+
+You were right, though, I could hear it in your voice.
+There was finality, there, which spoke of a choice
+already made. Endings were writ on your face,
+your hands, and your steps --- your very pace
+spoke of completion.
+
+I replied to that sense rather than your words.
+"While you look up to the geese and see only birds,
+I see omens and my doom spelled in vees.
+You speak of rooms and cleaving, but please,
+tell me, are you leaving?"
+
+We'd long since stopped, there by the pond,
+and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond
+as you settled down wordlessly to your knees,
+took a slow breath, looked out to the trees,
+and closed your eyes.
+
+Beginnings are such delicate times
+and I very nearly missed it, no chimes
+to announce the hour of your leaving.
+As it was, there was no time for believing
+or not in the next moments.
+
+Your fingers crawled beneath the soil
+and sprouted roots, flesh starting to roil.
+Coarse bark spiraled up your wrists and arms,
+Spelling subtle incantations and charms
+to the chaos of growth.
+
+You bowed your head and from your crown
+sprouted a tender shoot covered in fine down,
+soon followed by crenelated leaves and fine stems.
+The pace was fast, implacable, and leaves like gems
+soon arched skyward.
+
+You sprouted and grew, taking root
+in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
+Your clothing fell away, rotting in fast-time.
+Naked now, you sat still, committing one last crime
+of indecency.
+
+Your face, your face! In your face was such peace
+as I'd never seen, even as you gave up this lease
+on life, echoed also in my heart of hearts.
+I did not cry out, nor even speak, witnessing such arts
+as your final display showed.
+
+Soon, you were consumed, transformed as a whole.
+Your head a crown of leaves, your heart a bole
+bored in rough bark and sturdy wood,
+your fingers, knees, and toes stood
+as thirsty roots.
+
+I stood a while by the tree that was you,
+then sat at your roots and thought of all I knew
+about time, transformation, death and change.
+I thought about you, your life, your emotional range,
+your gentle apotheosis.
+
+Then I walked home, quiet and numb.
+No, not numb, per se, but perhaps dumb.
+Dumb of words, dumb of emotions. Quiet.
+I expected turmoil, some internal riot,
+I got nullity.
+
+Who, after all, if I cried out,
+would hear my wordless shout
+among the still trees and rustling leaves?
+Who hears? Who cares? Who perceives
+this non-grief?
+
+You, my friend, are still there.
+I walk the fields every day, passing where
+you changed into something new.
+I marvel at you, at how you grew
+into something wholly different.
+
+Used to be you and I daily would walk
+through the fields out back of the house and talk.
+Now, it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking
+of you by the shore, forever drinking
+of sweet water.
+</div>

content/post/heligoland.md

@@ -0,0 +1,30 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-02-20
+type: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+title: Heligoland
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+Too many wine-dark seas need daily traversal,
+And here the shipping forecast calls for rain.
+
+The shipping forecast! What a load of bollocks.
+You can listen from start to finish
+And not hear a single word about how a day will feel.
+
+Or maybe it's a pale, tired, steganography:
+Moderate, becoming poor, violent storm 11.
+
+Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I can manage
+is to tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
+
+I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying,
+And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
+</div>
+
+*Thanks to P.R.*

content/post/how-many.md

@@ -0,0 +1,511 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Rum and Coke
+ratings: X
+date: 2015-09-02
+description: 'Navigating poly is an ongoing process demarcated. Chief among them: first meetings.'
+img: rum-and-coke.png
+type: post
+pdf: rum-and-coke.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- About furry
+- Convention
+- Mental health
+- Anxiety
+- Sexuality
+title: How Many?
+---
+
+"Oh for pete's sake, quit fretting," Andrew chided, bumping his elbow against Ian's as they crowded into the too-narrow seats. Neither of them were all that skinny anymore, and Andrew was bordering on fat, to Ian's stocky.
+
+Ian closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, focusing on wedging himself in between the window and his boyfriend, counting up slowly through the numbers as he absentmindedly slipped the buckle around his waist.
+
+"Sorry, Ian. I know it's probably harder for you than for me. Like...twice as hard, or was it three times..." Andrew continued, a slight smile twisting the corners of his mouth.
+
+Ian had to smile as well, caving to his partner's wiles and leaning over to place a kiss on his cheek. "I'm just happy you're coming with, really. I can't promise I won't be freaking the whole time, but at least there will be wolves to come back to in the evenings."
+
+Andrew grinned, "Damn right there will! No gallivanting off with weasels for me. Just sitting in the room, twiddling my thumbs, waitin-"
+
+Ian kicked Andrew's foot under the airline seats before settling down against the side of the wall of the plane. "You get plenty of fox time, don't you worry. Rei's there with his whole group of friends. I'm not going to leave you hanging or anything."
+
+"I know, I know. You've told me a few times. I swear you have all your bases covered, just relax and promise me you'll have a good time."
+
+"I'll...I'll try. I promise I'll try."
+
+Ian jumped as there came a steady, barking sound beneath their feet, clutching earnestly at the arm rests as though he might actually leap to his feet, though the plane was taxiing steadily to the runway.
+
+"Hey, hush," Andrew soothed. "Don't worry, it's a normal sound. Just...just make sure you count, and you'll be fine, promise."
+
+Ian nodded. He edged his hands from where they were grabbing at the seat to mock stretch, feeling the sweat coating his palms. Dragging his palms along his jeans from knees to waist, he did his best to calm down and simply let his hands rest, adopting the attitude of someone who wasn't terrified of what was to come, as if that would keep him calm.
+
+It didn't.
+
+Once the engines started to spin up, Ian went rigid, his whole body tensing from head to foot. He deliberately edged his hands back to the armrests, only to find his right hand intercepted by Andrews. Holding gratefully onto both his boyfriend and the plane, he closed his eyes and began counting.
+
+"One, two, three," he mouthed silently, tracing the outline of each number in his mind as he counted up. "Four, five..." The plane began to shake, his eyes went from merely closed to clenched shut. "Six, seven, eight, nine," he continued, feeling himself sink back into his seat with the acceleration, feeling Andrew's hand getting coated with the sweat from his own. "Ten...eleven..."
+
+"Keep counting," Andrew urged quietly, leaning his bulk toward Ian so that the other could feel the comforting touch all the way from fingertips up to shoulder.
+
+Ian's lips stopped moving, but he kept up the ritual in his head, tracing the numbers, drawing them with a saturated brush on imaginary paper in his mind, from eleven on up. By the time he reached seventy, the plane had gone airborne and made its first little dip after takeoff. By the time he reached one hundred, they were climbing steadily out of Portland International, and he felt more settled than he had during take-off. Just to be sure, however, he began counting once again, starting over at one. It was one of the rules: never count above one hundred.
+
+Andrew, well accustomed to the ritual, relaxed his grip on Ian's hand when he felt him settle down next to him. He knew how much internal strife the anxiety caused, and he knew that it had a half life, decaying exponentially into the ground state, something just slightly more anxious than what he supposed he would consider his own 'normal'. Being a hand to grab as needed was one of the roles he played.
+
+-----
+
+It took seventeen counts of one-hundred to make it through the flight. The nice part about flying, Ian knew, is that by the time one was at cruising altitude, the plane seemed to morph from a trap into simply a cramped, tube-shaped room. The view out the window turned from horrifying evidence of their speed to something like a tapestry being drawn slowly beneath him. At that point, height seemed to matter less because it was outside his brain's ability to grasp.
+
+The counting came up primarily during take-off, landing, and any turbulence -- twice there -- as well as the stolid progress of the flight attendants down the aisle-way. They were seated just aft of the wings on this flight, which afforded Ian plenty of time to watch the cart of drinks make its way row by row down the aisle, and he found himself counting -- twice again -- out of habit as he fretted about what to order to drink, knowing that he'd fail to be understood when the time came.
+
+"Rum-and-coke," he answered, well rehearsed, when the attendant finally made it to him. There was no fall, no muttering or mumbling, nothing exploded, just a quiet response.
+
+The flight attendant accepted his card as he reached past Andrew, knowing that the alcohol would likely calm him in the short term at the expense of the long term.
+
+Andrew knew this too, and murmured to him as his plastic tumbler of ice was prepped, "You sure, hon? I suppose we land late enough we can take it easy..."
+
+"Or stop and get another drink before dinner," Ian joked, accepting the cup, can, and tiny bottle of rum.
+
+Andrew thought for a minute, then shrugged, "We probably could, at that. Vacation Rules."
+
+Vacation Rules meant different things to Andrew than it did to Ian. For Andrew, it meant a relaxation of the stringent ways in which he kept himself, letting the excess that had led to his belly creep into other areas of his life. For Ian, it was another ritual in and of itself, a way to follow up ever action one took with "but we're on vacation" as a means of alleviating the inner tension that went along with his anxiety.
+
+This particular vacation had come with all sorts of extra rules for both of them. Andrew and Ian had made it to plenty of different conventions in the past, both together and separate, but this was the first time both would be going to the same convention with Rei also there. They'd talked through the procedures involved in visiting a shared third partner plenty of times in the past, but only in the last few months had it involved a third partner involved only with one of the two.
+
+It's not that Rei and Andrew didn't get along. They got along fine. They just never seemed to connect on the same level that Rei and Ian had, and they both had seemed happy with that.
+
+Even as Ian counted his way through the plane's choppy descent into Colorado, he felt giddy, as well as nervous. Going through the process of getting close with Andrew, going through the outings-with-friends that slowly turned into dates, had felt natural, but this was something wholly different.
+
+He was going to a Convention! To go on a Date! With someone he *Liked*!
+
+It was all so explicit.
+
+He had only made it up to about thirty-eight or so by the time the plane touched down once more, and was still gripping Andrew's hand in his own. He couldn't stop now, though, so even though Andrew turned to face him, he held up a hand to signal the wait as he made his way through the rest of the numbers before finally settling back into his seat, turning to smile sheepishly at his boyfriend.
+
+"So, um...about that second drink?"
+
+-----
+
+The couple managed to make it all the way to the hotel without stopping, despite the rising panic on Ian's part, checking his pockets repeatedly to make sure that he hadn't misplaced his phone, wallet, or keys -- the all-important keys with their little vial of emergency pills. No matter how thoroughly he convinced himself that he had everything that he needed, the results would slowly fade into is-it-a-dream-land, and he'd begin questioning his judgement again.
+
+He kept his mouth shut, though, and mostly just clutched at Andrew's hand, letting himself be led to the shuttle, to the hotel, to the front desk, to their room, before finally letting his guard down.
+
+"Hey," Andrew said quietly, resting his hands on Ian's slumped shoulders and guiding him into a hug. "We made it. We don't have to do anything else tonight, except maybe get that drink. That sound good?"
+
+Ian leaned tiredly into the hug, slipping his arms around his boyfriend's waist and holding himself close for a moment, just nodding.
+
+"Need a shower or anything?" Ian asked after a moment.
+
+Andrew shook his head.
+
+Ian nodded and pulled out his phone, quelling the feeling of being sweaty, being caked with sweat, being coated with grime, dirt and grease, grease so thick it showed through his clothes, enveloped them, darkened and then made them translucent, coating him in-
+
+"Ready hon?"
+
+Ian nodded, relaxing his grip on his phone long enough to text Rei to tell him where they would be before stuffing the phone into his pocket. "Yep, let's go," he chirped, striding to the door before another cycle had the chance to start up.
+
+They made their way down the hallway to the stairs, thankful for the low floor as the elevators were already starting to back up with fur-clad congoers. Elevators were usually okay for Ian, except late at night, and except for glass elevators. Since there would doubtless be late nights at the con and since this hotel had glass-walled elevators overlooking an atrium, they'd specifically requested a lower floor when booking, and had been pleasantly surprised by a room on the second floor.
+
+As they trooped tiredly down the stairs, Ian thought for a moment before pulling out his keys and unscrewing the vial containing his medications.
+
+"Think you'll need that?" Andrew asked.
+
+"Think I already do."
+
+Andrew nodded a little and continued on to the landing before pausing to let Ian catch up.
+
+He carefully split one of the small tablets in half and placed one of the halves beneath his tongue, the learned reaction to the taste bringing an almost immediate sense of calm, however superficial.
+
+"Gonna be okay taking that with a drink?"
+
+"I should be, yeah," Ian responded. "If anything, it'll just make me sleepy, and sleepy is an okay way to be."
+
+Andrew brushed his hand down over Ian's back and nodded, "Well, just keep an eye on yourself. Yap if you need anything."
+
+"Yap!" Ian grinned.  "Like that?"
+
+He followed Andrew down the rest of the steps, yapping as he planted his foot on each one. The meds hadn't even started to kick in yet, but he knew they would, and knowing that was enough to lift his spirits to the point where he was actually looking forward to the bar, to seeing Rei.
+
+Rei was shockingly easy to spot at the bar. He wasn't remarkable in his build, but having bleach-blond hair made him stick out in a sea of dark.
+
+"There he is. There he is!" Ian exclaimed and bounded ahead of Andrew. He took the steps up to the bar -- a group of two and a group of three separated by a small landing (five was a perfectly acceptable number) -- and called out, "Rei!"
+
+The man with the blond hair shot upright and pocketed his phone quickly. "Ast! Is that you?" he asked, meeting Ian -- or Ast, as he knew him -- in a quick, firm hug. "Jeez, it's good to see you!"
+
+The two regrouped into a more comfortable, less hasty hug, leaning in against each other and simply spending a moment holding tight. The sound of a shutter clicking brought Ian back to attention and he turned his head quickly to see Andrew grinning from behind his phone, holding it up to take another picture.
+
+"H-hey!" Ian stammered.
+
+Rei laughed and grinned, "You must be Andrew. Gonna have to send me those pictures."
+
+Ian felt himself flush, biting back a stinging retort and simply tucking his head back over Rei's shoulder, thankful that they were about the same height. He focused instead on counting. He didn't need a hundred, but he made sure to hold the hug until fifteen. Three and five were particularly auspicious.
+
+Slipping away from Rei, Ian gestured to Andrew, "Um, let me formally introduce you two. Andrew, Rei. Rei, this is Andrew."
+
+They shook hands, then seemed to think better of it and hugged before settling into stools around the bar table, Andrew picking up where Ian left off. "Ast's told me a lot about you, too. Good to finally put a face behind the name.  And hey, I like your hair."
+
+"Hah, thanks. Yeah, it feels like I already kind of know you." Rei said, rubbing at the back of his neck.  "I uh...I hope it isn't too weird meeting up with your boyfriend's partner. I don't want to...like, impose or anything."
+
+Andrew shook his head and put his hands up disarmingly. "No, trust me, it's fine. We've had this talk so many times just between the two of us, it's good to put it into practice."
+
+The tinkling of glasses breaking behind the group drew their attention, and they turned to see a young woman in paws and a tail rush to clean up a small flood of drink from the table. Ian saw her cut herself on a piece of broken glass, feeling the glass slice into his own flesh within his mind, and winced, swiveling back to face his own table, clasping his hands together in front of himself to keep himself from forcing both Andrew and Rei to turn away, second-hand embarrassment running deep.
+
+Ian had realized how close he was to panicking and had taken the brief, calm interaction between his two partners to clutch at the edge of the table for dear life and work on calming himself. Breathe, slow, calm, chill, breathe. Simple one-syllable words said in order to restore a sense of balance within himself. Finally, he stood, paced in a quick circle behind his chair and shook his hands to dry the sweat from his palms, before settling back onto the stool and grinning sheepishly at Andrew and Rei.
+
+"Sorry," he said breathlessly. "I'm really excited. Um...hi!"
+
+Rei looked a touch taken aback, but Andrew laughed. "Long flight, we're both a little on edge. Seen the waitress around here? I think a drink might do all of us good."
+
+Rei smiled warily, but nodded to someone behind Andrew, catching the eye of the server.
+
+"Help you gents?" the man asked, whisking a cocktail napkin down in front of each of them with practiced ease.
+
+"What beers do you have?" Andrew asked.
+
+The server rattled off a list. The only one that seemed to ring a bell outside of the standard macrobrews was some craft beer, so Andrew ordered that.
+
+Ian tore his gaze off of the table and managed to order a rum and coke. He focused on not fiddling with his napkin too much as Rei ordered a mojito.
+
+Once the server went back over to his station to put in the order, Ian rested a hand on both Andrew's and Rei's knees. Forcing himself into a calmer composure, he smiled between the two of them, "Really glad we could make it, and really good to finally see you, Rei."
+
+Andrew simply smiled back, but Rei leaned in to kiss Ian on the cheek, "You okay there, fox? You seem pretty on edge. Rough flight?"
+
+Ian swallowed hard and quelled the sense of unbalance of only being kissed on one cheek. He focused on the swelling warmth inside his chest, the first sign that the anxiolytics were kicking in. "Uh, well, yeah. I'm just really anxious. Like, most of the time. I'm sorry, it sometimes comes out in strange ways."
+
+Rei reached a hand over and brushed it down Ian's back before resting it on the chair behind him, "No, it's okay! I just wasn't sure what was up, is all."
+
+"I type better than I talk," Ian admitted. "And I talk better if I'm pacing."
+
+Andrew leaned over and knowingly placed a kiss on Ian's other cheek, helping to restore balance, "Hey, don't worry about it, hon. We're all just animals here, no need to worry about how you talk."
+
+Ian was sure that he was blushing red. Bright red, cherry red, fire-engine red, beet red, turning purple, lips blueing, struggling for air, hypoxic. No, none of those. Just blushing, he smiled and gave the knee under each of his hands a gentle squeeze, murmuring, "Just really glad."
+
+Once the drinks arrived, Ian felt that he could relax. The warmth within his chest swelled slowly and was augmented by the addition of the rum in his drink. Conversation eased for him, and he felt himself opening up both to Rei and Andrew. His two lovers shared an occupation as software developers and had plenty to talk about when Ian's stories of online goings-on flagged. He felt comfortable sitting between them, watching someone dressed as a cat flirt with someone who was dressed for something other than the convention, who may not actually have been a part of the convention, but was willing to humor the cat.
+
+Balance became less of a pressing concern as the meds took firmer hold, but even so, as Andrew and Rei chatted about computers, Ian revelled in the feeling of love flowing out from himself and into himself evenly from both sides.
+
+-----
+
+As the night wore on, through at least two more rounds, Ian settled into a very comfortable spot between Andrew and Rei. The medication he'd taken had filled his head with the softness of cotton and soothed the jagged edges of his anxiety, leaving him feeling almost languid in combination with the alcohol. He contented himself with touching each of his partners, sometimes evenly, sometimes not, enjoying the slight thrill of the lack of symmetry.
+
+By the time he started to feel as though he was nodding, he had his hands entwined with Andrew's and Rei's both.
+
+"Hey, I'm fading, guys," Andrew murmured. He'd always been something of a lightweight when it came to drinking. "Mind if I call it? You two can totally keep up or do whatever."
+
+Rei nodded, "Sure, I've had about my fill of these stools, anyway. Do you...um, do you mind if I steal Ast for a little while?"
+
+Ian felt the blush begin to return as his partners talked about him so plainly.
+
+Andrew laughed, "Sure, go ahead, as long as that's okay with you, hon. You guys should spend some time together."
+
+The blush deepened, but Ian nodded and said, "Yeah, I'd like that. I'll be back tonight, okay?"
+
+Nodding and leaning in to give him a light kiss, Andrew smiled, "You, sir, need to have a good evening, don't fret any. You know where I'll be and how to get in touch. Have fun, you two."
+
+Andrew sauntered off and left Ian with Rei, the both of them sitting in silence for a moment longer.
+
+Finally, Rei offered shyly, "Would you like to head up to the room? Not, like, for anything, just some place quieter? Roommates should be out still."
+
+Ian squeezed Rei's hand in both of his own. "Yeah, let's do that. I'm a little buzzy, and it's a little loud down here."
+
+Rei nodded and moved to settle the tab, covering all three's drinks over Ian's protests, before standing. The two smiled at each other and, before his sleep-, medication-, and alcohol-addled mind had the chance to talk him out of it, Ian stood quickly and leaned to give Rei a soft kiss, more of a smooch than anything.
+
+Rei looked a little startled, but smiled all the wider, slipping his arm around Ian's back and gently guiding him out of the bar, the two talking softly about how good it was to finally have the chance to meet.
+
+"So," Rei said as the door to the room shut behind them. "How'd you and Andrew meet, anyway? I mean, I know how we met..."
+
+Ian laughed and settled onto the bed that Rei led him too, leaning back onto his hands. "We actually met outside of furry, at school. Our campus had a GLBT Student Services office, and we both met there, though I think it only took us a couple of days to figure out that we were both into the furry thing. He's been in it a lot longer than I have."
+
+Rei slipped his messenger bag off of his shoulder and set it down atop a hard-shell suitcase as Ian talked, chatting about how he and Andrew had started dating by default, but found themselves more than compatible.
+
+Rei slipped up onto the bed behind Ian, carefully settling himself on the bed with his legs to either side of his partner's waist. He leaned back onto one of his own hands before carefully drawing Ian toward his front, letting him rest half in his lap, half against his slender front.
+
+Ian fretted for a moment about letting his weight rest against Rei before remembering Andrew's admonition. He had fallen silent when his partner had drawn him close like that, and eventually he managed to relax, murmuring affectionately, "Weasels are slinky."
+
+Rei chuckled and placed a kiss atop Ian's head, replying, "It's in the job description. We can't help it."
+
+Sighing quietly at the kiss, Ian settled both of his hands on Rei's arm around his front and made himself cozy. Everything felt warm, comfortable. There wasn't the same safe feeling he felt with Andrew, but he figured that would come in time.  For now, he was content to rest against his lover, asking quietly, "How do you feel about tonight? I hope it wasn't too, you know...awkward."
+
+Rei appeared to think for a moment, then shrugged. "It was good. I mean, I've talked with Andrew some, too, it's not like we don't have anything to talk about or anything."
+
+"But it wasn't weird with me being affectionate with both of you?" Ian fidgeted, "Wasn't weird when I kissed him?"
+
+Rei shook his head. "No. I'm happy to have the time with you now, but I still really enjoyed the evening." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Did the evening make you anxious?"
+
+Ian shook his head drowsily, hiking himself up a little further onto the bed so that he could rest more comfortably against Rei, "Not really, no, just wanted to make sure. I took meds before meeting you in the bar."
+
+Squeezing him a little tighter against his front, Rei nodded silently.
+
+Ian lay for a little bit longer, but eventually sat up, turned to face his partner, and leaned in to kiss him once more, more thoroughly this time. Rei carefully brought both arms up around Ian's shoulders and guided him down to the bed as he lay flat on his back.
+
+Ian shifted up along Rei's front, careful to match movements and stay close. He made sure to set his elbows down to either side of Rei, resting most of his weight on them. The kiss lingered a little longer before parting with the two looking quietly at each other.
+
+"I'm not crushing you, am I?" Ian asked quietly.
+
+"Hush, fox," Rei laughed, taking a cue from Andrew. "Don't fret."
+
+-----
+
+Ian edged his way as quietly as he could into his room, finding it totally dark.
+
+"Mmm, good evening, hon?" he heard from the blackness, letting the door shut quietly behind him.
+
+Ian nodded before realizing that Andrew wouldn't be able to see him, even if he had his eyes open. "Mmhm, just some cuddling, was nice," he murmured, kicking his shoes off and tugging his shirt up over his head.
+
+"Yeah, you weren't gone all that long."
+
+He blushed at the implication. Had he been gone longer...but no, that was anxiety talking. Anxiety that was growing sharper edged as time went by -- the medication was starting to wear thin.
+
+"C'mere, hon," Andrew murmured from the bed. "I'm up now."
+
+Ian slipped out of his pants and down to his briefs, sitting for a moment on the edge of the bed. He could still feel Rei's warmth in his arms by its absence, still catch the faint scent of him in his hair. And yet, here was his boyfriend of the last six years.
+
+Shaking his head to clear the confused tangle of thoughts, he tugged the covers up and slid beneath them alongside Andrew. He leaned in to kiss his partner three times, softly on the lips, before turning his back to him and nestling snug against his front. This is where he belonged. There was belonging with Rei, too, but this is where he was meant to be.
+
+Andrew's arms slipped comfortably around his chest in the dark, pulling Ian warmly against his front, the soft breaths against the back of his neck raising small bumps from there all the way down his arms. "Shh, just relax," came the whispered words against his neck.
+
+Ian did his best to follow his boyfriend's suggestion, settling and relaxing within his grip by conscious effort. Andrew was warm behind him, belly pressed to the small of his back and hips pressed to his backside. He'd apparently been woken during quite the dream as the firm ridge within his boxer-briefs nudging along Ian's rear attested.
+
+He stayed quiet, stayed still, stayed relaxed. This is where he belonged. His own erection strained at the front of his underwear, pent up after an evening of closeness with his other partner and still no release.
+
+One of Andrew's hands wandered sleepily down over his front, brushing over freshly-shaved skin to trace a delicate fingertip along that tented fabric, "Mmm, definitely didn't get up to much, did you, fox?"
+
+Ian melted into his boyfriend's arms and let out a quiet moan. For all his anxiety and all the obsession over being in control, letting Andrew control things completely during sex was one of the only times he could truly let go.
+
+With a deft hand, Andrew hooked both his underwear and Ian's down past their hips in one smooth motion, exposing his own arousal to slip stiffly along his partner's backside. "Wolf wants inside his fox," he growled quietly. "And fox needs his wolf."
+
+The sex was not gentle, though it was quiet, both of them aware of being in a strange room, in a strange bed, and not wanting to make too much noise. After a minute or two of firm grinding, underwear found its way to the floor and the lube had been snagged from the nightstand, and Ian felt himself spread wide by his partner.
+
+The two moved in time, working from a few cautious initial thrusts to a steady rhythm with Andrew holding Ian to his front with one arm while the other hand clutched at his hip, tugging him back to meet his eager thrusts. The feeling was both familiar and titillating. Ian quelled a pang of regret as he felt himself leave streaks of slick precum along the underside of the sheets, the feeling of his erection being dragged across them almost enough to get him off as it was.
+
+Finally, he felt those familiar fingers curl around his shaft and squeeze, stroking shakily as the thrusts became more urgent, less rhythmic. Ian began counting his breaths as they started to catch in his throat. He only made it to twenty-seven before he felt Andrew grind firmly against him from behind and let out a gasp, and only to thirty-three before he felt his own cock pulsing in his boyfriend's hand, waves of pleasure pushing through him and washing any thoughts of numbers out of his mind.
+
+Once his climax had petered down to a dribble within Andrew's hand, Ian let out a long moan and relaxed back against his lover. Andrew had cupped his hand in front of Ian's shaft to catch most of the mess that he'd made, and before Ian could object, he wiped the slick mess up along Ian's clean-shaven front, leaving a smear of seed in a vertical swatch up to his neck. Hands clutched him close, and Andrew growled in his ear, "Marked my fox. You smell of sex, and wolf"
+
+Ian let out a sound, almost a whimper and tensed rigidly against Andrew's front, hands balling up into fists at the combination of erotic teasing and the feeling of being dirty.
+
+"Mine now," Andrew murmured, then leaned in to kiss three times at the back of Ian's neck. "Go, shower. I know you need to, love."
+
+The rush of relief at being given explicit permission to clean came through as a shudder when Ian relaxed against Andrew's front, pausing for a moment before carefully slipping free of the embrace and turning to kiss him firmly. "Love you," he sighed, very nearly a moan, and slipped out of bed to go clean up.
+
+-----
+
+Saturday morning started out slowly. Andrew and Ian had spent the hour or so after Ian's shower talking about the night past and hadn't gotten to sleep until late. By the time they made it out of bed, Andrew needed a shower, and Ian felt as though he did too, so they wound up showering together. That ate another hour of time, though Ian felt it was time well spent.
+
+They didn't even really make it out of their room until late in the morning, partly because Andrew kept teasing Ian about the night before, brushing fingertips down over his front right where he'd smeared that slick mess the night before and making Ian squirm at the touch.
+
+This playful attitude kept up all the way down the stairs and out of the hotel before Ian remembered about Rei. There hadn't been any plans around breakfast, though, and he sheepishly left his phone in his pocket. They had all weekend to spend together, and doing something as simple as going and getting coffee with Andrew shouldn't be that big of a deal.
+
+They strolled leisurely through the crowds of begoggled and betailed folks in the lobby, making their way out through the doors and down the street to the coffee shop, also visibly filled with the furry crowd. They could spy no less than three tails in the line of five waiting for drinks, and several others who might be congoers as well throughout the seating area.
+
+The settled in a corner table next to a window, Ian keeping his back to the wall so that he could see both out the window and into the room.
+
+"I know I got a little wound up last night, but how was your evening?" Andrew asked, splitting his breakfast burrito in half to let it cool.
+
+Ian blushed and polished his silverware on his napkin, "Not much more than I said, really. Got all cuddly, kissed a little, talked about you and I. It was a good evening."
+
+Andrew laughed and forked bite of burrito into his mouth, nodding and chewing, huffing slightly to cool the bite. "That's good, though. I'm really happy for you," he said, once he could speak again.
+
+Focusing on cutting his burrito into sixteen bite-sized pieces (four was important, but square numbers more so), Ian nodded and took the time to formulate a response. "Yeah. I mean, I feel good about the way things went...er, are going well. I feel really safe with you, and I think I'm learning to feel that way with Rei as well."
+
+Ian tried not to notice as Andrew haphazardly cut off another bite of burrito, "Can you unpack that a little?" he asked. "I mean, I'm glad you feel safe and all, but I...well, I guess I want to make sure you keep feeling that way."
+
+Ian shrugged and nodded, taking the first bite of his burrito and chewing thoughtfully, counting as he went. "I guess, like, it's a two way thing. I feel like I can be myself around you and you accept and work with that, and vice versa. We each have our idiosyncrasies and the other knows how to make...that...work. Sorry."
+
+"For what?"
+
+"I ran out of words." Ian frowned, fumbling over his own thoughts for a moment. "We work with each other, rather than against each other. We don't focus on the thing the other might like, we focus on just being happy, and it works out. I don't honestly know if Rei and I are there yet, but I want to see if we can be,"
+
+Andrew nodded thoughtfully as he chewed on his burrito, washing it down with a coffee drink as he stared out the window. "I think I get it, yeah. It's safe because it doesn't have much friction, and you're finding the way to um....interact with Rei, cold as it sounds, without that friction?"
+
+Ian nodded and worked his way through the first half of his burrito before polishing off a quarter of his coffee. He thought for a moment before adding, "I wish he were here. Rei, I mean. I wish we could all have this conversation together."
+
+"Why didn't you invite him?" Andrew asked, concerned. "He's more than welcome, you know that."
+
+Ian flushed, then rubbed his hands over his cheeks, then his eyes. "I thought about it, I just didn't know if he was awake." The excuse sounded lame, even to his own ears.
+
+"I think it's good stuff, though, have you talked about this with him?"
+
+Ian shook his head and focused on finishing his own burrito in eight smooth motions.
+
+-----
+
+> Rei: Hey, what's up foxy?
+>
+> Ast: Hi weasel. Sorry I was out most of the morning. At the dealer's den, wanna join?
+>
+> Rei: In friend's panels. Join later? Dinner?
+>
+> Ast: Erf, forgot about panels, sorry. Dinner sounds good. Hotel or out?
+
+The lack of reply vexed Ian as he made his way through the Dealer's Den, mentally noting the artists he liked and their positions within the ballroom, planning a future route. He did want to keep up with Rei, this was their time together, but he felt unable to assert himself even enough to ask which panels he was in. He could guess, maybe, by looking at the schedule, but the thought of showing up unannounced presented itself as a jagged corner of anxiety in an otherwise smooth mood.
+
+These corners had been getting out of control, today. It was like some square -- or no, some pointed star rotating within him with the points of the corners catching on his soul as though at the hem of a fraying cloth, tugging and pulling at loose threads as he wound his way through the crowds. There wasn't any way for him to keep moving without invoking some ritual or another, whether it was counting to some unattainable number or holding still long enough for his subconscious to catch up.
+
+Ian loathed the fact that there was some sort of medication he needed in order to function within the world around him, and he avoided it at all costs. Cons, or any open, public space, however, seemed to demand such things of him, and there was little he could do to escape it.
+
+"I won't need it," he sub-vocalized. "I can take it later when I can lay down. I won't need it. I can make it through this."
+
+The affirmations had little impact on the part of his brain that kept repeating, "You're visible, you're known, they know you, they can see you, they know how guilty you are, they know what you've done to Rei, how you've betrayed Andrew, they've seen the filth, they know, you're visible..."
+
+He shook his head, trying to clear his mind.  It was just the inner critic, he thought, shouting down all the other parts of his personality.  He just needed to calm that part of himself, bring the meeting back to order.
+
+Ian found himself standing outside the dealer's den, facing out the windows of the hallway with his hands over his ears.
+
+"I gotta stop," he told the glass. "It needs to stop. I need to stop it."
+
+How he found himself by the elevators, or why, he never knew. Ditto the trip up to the second floor: there was simply no memory of what had happened, beyond the feeling of hands on his shoulders, guiding him out of the tiny box into an empty hallway, limitless placards, hungry doorways.
+
+His mind was filled with numbers.  One, two three, four, five six, six...did he get three already?  One, two...
+
+"Two...one eight," he repeated to himself. "Two...two nines...two one eight."
+
+The simple math problem calmed him enough to allow him to recognize the placards next to each door before him, and he found himself counting up by twos until he reached the door that proclaimed itself. Two. One. Eight.
+
+Retrieving his wallet was easy, but managing to get the key-card into the slot required to open the door less so. He found himself confronted with a monumental task, weighted down with years of emotion, the actions of his own history, and the incredible importance of what it would mean if he were to open the door.  Would they all come tumbling out?  It wouldn't mean anything to open the door.  It would mean everything if he opened the door.
+
+"Open it," he mumbled, pressing his forehead to the door, eyes angled sharply down to the lock. "Open it."
+
+He slipped the card in. The simple electronic shuffle of the lock cycling was almost a let down. Rei? No. Andrew?
+
+Ian collapsed into the room, the door having provided less resistance than he was expecting. As the door clicked shut, he found himself on all fours, then knees and elbows in front of it. Two. Two nines. Two one eight. Two three four, one two, two times four. Two one eight.
+
+Bed?
+
+The thought was distant, but it seemed to resonate with his elbows and knees. Something something lay down something. The words didn't really line up in his head. Andrew. Rei. The things that made him feel safe. If he could only lay down with Andrew and Rei...
+
+-----
+
+"Oh jeez, I'm sorry, hon," came the voice from at least a mile away.
+
+"Mmnuh?" Ian asked.
+
+Andrew climbed into bed with his partner, laying on top of the covers before him His hands fumbled down along Ian's sides in search of that key ring with its all-important vial.
+
+"Hot," Ian mumbled. Andrew laughed.
+
+With the key-ring in hand, Andrew unscrewed the vial and fished out a whole tablet of the blessed benzo and, with minimal effort, slipped it into Ian's mouth. "Hey, just relax," he mumbled, leaning up to kiss on Ian's forehead. "Everything's fine, fox, Just relax."
+
+Ian wasn't sure when the blur of torrid panic gave way to simple rest, nor even when his boyfriend's voice really faded in and out, and when it was simple hallucination. He welcomed that cool sensation, though, and sunk down into it.
+
+-----
+
+Ian woke later that evening to find himself laying down between two sets of hips, the thicker of the two he recognized almost immediately as Andrew's, and on further investigation, he realized Rei was on the other side of him. The TV was playing softly in the background.
+
+"Hey, um," he mumbled, licking his lips to clear the dry mouth that seemed to occupy all of his attention. "Hi."
+
+Both Rei and Andrew smiled down to Ian, and he basked briefly in the glow of their attention.
+
+"Hey," Andrew said. "We got pizza. Just pepperoni. Want some?"
+
+Sitting up in bed made Ian feel the cottony softness that the medications brought to him still filling his mind. He nodded sleepily and accepted a paper plate with a slice of admittedly pretty good-looking pizza from Andrew. He leaned first to the right to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek, then to the left to kiss Rei in the same spot on the other cheek, "Thanks. Um, sorry about all that."
+
+"It's fine!" Andrew promised.
+
+"And sorry I didn't get to see you much until tonight, Rei," Ian offered. "I kinda panicked."
+
+Rei grinned and hugged his arm around Ian's shoulders, "It's okay, really. We've got tonight and the rest of this weekend."
+
+Ian relaxed into his partner's side and focused on eating. Pizza was less than ideal, but it sated the hunger that had cropped up as he slept, though sleep wasn't quite the right word for the fugue of deep anxiety.  It was tasty, but simply difficult to decide how best to eat it. He could make it about halfway through with single, even bites, but then had to proceed boustrophedon along the thicker portion of the slice until he got to the crust, which he could break up into four pieces and eat one at a time.
+
+Knowing that he wasn't up for leaving the room again that night, Ian settled into bed between his two partners. Watching TV at a convention wasn't really what anyone wanted, but being able to spend time with loved ones was certainly worth it. They managed to find some movie to leave on quietly in the background and settled in to talking, then into cuddling, with Ian feeling safe between Andrew and Rei.
+
+As the night went on, the trio slipped further down into bed until they were lying flat, Rei spooning up behind Ian with his arms wrapped around him, Ian hugging those arms to his front as he nuzzled and kissed with Andrew.
+
+As the cuddling grew in intensity and sensuality, Rei bit gently down on Ian's shoulder, right where it met with his neck, getting a quiet moan out of his partner.
+
+"Uh-oh," Andrew grinned. "You found one of his buttons. Keep it up, and make sure to get the other side, too."
+
+Rei held his grip a little longer before kissing at that spot, then along the back of Ian's neck, to bite gently on the other shoulder.
+
+The fact that both of his partners were taking control of him in such a way had Ian blushing bright red, not least of which because he was also intensely aware of his arousal, as well as that of Rei pressed firmly to his backside. The gentle biting continued along his shoulders and neck as Rei pressed firmly to him with a gentle rocking motion.
+
+Andrew shifted some in front of Ian, slipping one hand down to cup over his boyfriend's tented jeans as he reached back with the other to snag the plastic bag that held the condoms and bottle of lube they had brought along to the con. The biting on his neck stopped as Rei looked up, curious.
+
+Ian's eyes widened, "H-hey..."
+
+"Shh, it's okay, just relax, fox," Andrew murmured, passing the bag over Ian to Rei, who took it cautiously. "You two should have some fun, it feels like you're already on your way."
+
+Ian chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then nodded. "Can you...can you stay? Is it alright if he stays, Rei?"
+
+Andrew thought for a moment, then nodded, "I'll stay if you want, if it's okay with Rei."
+
+Rei had been quiet throughout the exchange, holding himself still against his partner and clutching the plastic bag in one hand. "Um...If you'd like, sure. I'll admit I've never done anything in front of someone else, much less my partner's partner."
+
+Ian felt flustered, but clutched one hand on either of his partners, unable to meet either of their gaze. His blush seemed to be consuming his face with its heat, but he could feel his shaft pulsing stiffly against Andrew's hand still lingering on his crotch.
+
+After a few more moments of stillness and silence, Ian worked up the courage to stammer, "T-take your fox?"
+
+Rei let out something akin to a quiet growl and gave another firm grind of his hips to Ian's, biting down on his shoulder once more, more firmly this time, before rolling free to extract a condom and the lube from the bag. Andrew did his part in helping by unfastening the button to Ian's pants, slipping the zipper down and helping his boyfriend scoot both pants and briefs down to his knees, freeing his erection from the confines.
+
+Leaving himself mostly clothed as well, Rei managed to unroll the condom down along his own shaft and coat it thoroughly with the slick lube. That accomplished, he rolled himself back to face Ian, leaning away from him enough to peer down his front as he worked the tip of his cock up against, then very carefully into his lover.
+
+Ian, for his part, clutched tightly to Andrew, burying his face against his boyfriend's shoulder and letting out a soft moan as he felt Rei slide into him. Rei felt thinner inside of him than Andrew did, but longer as well, and the whole experience was almost jarring, in a pleasant sense. He felt connected, emotionally and physically, to both of the people he treasured most.
+
+Edging himself forward until his hips were pressed firmly to Ian's bare backside, Rei let out a shaky breath. He slid his hands up under Ian's shirt and inched the fabric up until he could help his partner out of the garment, breaking his grip on Andrew only momentarily.
+
+Thus exposed, he dragged his fingernails down over the skin of Ian's back, grinning as the back arched to the touch.
+
+As they relaxed, the two settled into a slow and comfortable rhythm. Ian rocked gently with each of Rei's thrusts into him as he held his upper body close to Andrew. Rei, confident in the red scratch-marks along Ian's back, settled his hands on his partner's hips to hold them still as he moved within him. Andrew contented himself with kissing gently along Ian's forehead while his hands busied themselves with his boyfriend's own stiff arousal, caressing along it in time with the thrusts.
+
+Ian focused on counting along with his breaths. He made it a point during sex to breathe steadily and evenly. Four counts in, hold for one count, four counts out, hold for one count. He knew that the definition of a 'count' changed as he got more worked up, but it was important that he remain consistent.
+
+They didn't speak much, and the TV was too low to make make out, and so the only sounds were the gentle sounds of sex: quiet affirmations, gentle rustling, and the occasional sound of Rei's hips meeting up with Ian's rear after a particularly hard thrust. Andrew coaxed Ian on with gentle cooing, while Rei murmured, "My fox," under his breath.
+
+The feeling of belonging, of being taken by both his partners in a way, touched Ian both emotionally and physically. Usually, it took him longer to get off than Andrew, but tonight, his body seemed to rush toward climax. He didn't even have a chance to count his breaths before he felt the familiar surge of pleasure, spurt after spurt of his cum coating Andrew's hand, wrist, and front.
+
+"Mmm, goodness," Andrew murmured into his ear. "There you go, good fox..."
+
+Ian whimpered and shivered through his orgasm, tilting his head up to kiss Andrew firmly on the lips, something he couldn't easily do during climax in their usual set of positions.
+
+Rei, sensing his partner's climax, redoubled his efforts, picking up the pace of his thrusts and clutching all the more firmly at Ian's hips. It didn't take too much longer -- only twelve more shaky breaths by Ian's count -- before Rei pressed himself firmly forward one last time, leaning forward to bite down on Ian's shoulder as pleasure overtook him.
+
+Spent, the partly clothed couple simply held themselves still and worked on catching their breath. Ian could feel Rei's chest heaving against his back beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt, reveling in the comfort of being held twice over as he rested his head back down against Andrew's chest.
+
+"Mmm, two good animals," Andrew hummed softly, holding himself still as his boyfriend relaxed into calmer breathing and relaxation.
+
+Ian held himself still as long as he was able. The corners of his anxiety were starting to make themselves felt once more, spurred on primarily by the sensation of his semen starting to cool in the room's air, making him feel coated and dirty. Even so, it was nice to be held by both partners and share in the moment while he could.
+
+Finally, the need to be clean overrode the coziness, and he murmured quietly, "I need to go get cleaned up, can I get up real quick?"
+
+Rei peeked questioningly over Ian's shoulder to Andrew who nodded his assent. Both of them disentangled from their lover and let him slip carefully out of bed and shuck his pants the rest of the way before making his way off to the bathroom.
+
+"...just needs to be clean, nothing wrong..." Ian overheard Andrew explain before he shut the door, keeping his embarrassment to himself as he started the water running for the shower.
+
+A scant minute or so later, he heard the door to the bathroom open. Someone washed their hands thoroughly followed by a bulk settling onto the closed lid of the toilet. Peeking out from behind the shower curtain, he saw Andrew sitting there, rubbing his face in his hands.
+
+"You okay, wolf?" Ian asked quietly, soaping his hands up for another round of trying to clean himself of the slick lube.
+
+"Yeah. I'm okay. I don't know if that was really what I needed, but I'm happy for you."
+
+Ian stood in silence for a moment until he was done soaping and rinsing. Finally, he replied, "I'm sorry, I just...I just wanted you both there, I guess. It was very nice to feel."
+
+"Yeah, no, I get that." Andrew sighed, "You're just my fox, you know? I could accept you and Rei as an intellectual thing before now, but that just kind of made me internalize it...a little more forcefully than I was expecting."
+
+Ian nodded and ran his hands down over his body, checking for any hint of slickness from lingering spots of lube before realizing that Andrew couldn't actually see him. Rather than replying right away, he shut the water off and grabbed a towel, drying himself in the tub. Once he was mostly dry, he folded the towel neatly in quarters and slid the shower curtain back, laying the folded towel on the floor in front of the toilet before daintily stepping out.
+
+"I'm your fox, wolf, and nothing's ever going to change that," he murmured, settling himself down onto his knees and resting his hands on his partner's knees. "You and Rei play different roles in my life, and nothing is supplanting anything that was there before."
+
+Andrew nodded and took one of Ian's damp hands in his own and smiled tiredly. "Promise?"
+
+"Promise," Ian murmred, leaning up to kiss his partner on one cheek, then the other. He stood to dry the rest of the way with a smaller towel.
+
+"Hey Ian?"
+
+"Yes, wolf?"
+
+Andrew paused for a moment. "How many? How many roles do you think you need filled?"
+
+Ian draped the smaller towel around his shoulders and thought for a second. "I don't have an answer for that, hon. I just know you're the first, and will always be."
+
+Andrew stood again, level with Ian so that he could kiss him gently on the lips. "And you'll always be my fox?"
+
+Ian nodded, smiled.
+
+"Come on, then," Andrew rumbled. "I left Rei out there to clean up. Thanks for yapping, though."
+
+"Yap!"
+
+Andrew smiled, more earnestly this time.
+
+Ian let Andrew precede him out of the bathroom. He thought for a moment, smiled, and hung up his towel. Anxiety quelled, he headed back out into the room, to both his partners.

content/post/meaning-and-self.md

@@ -0,0 +1,48 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-02-12
+type: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+- Family
+title: Meaning & Self
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+There's some duality between sources of meaning,
+    Between the types of stories we use to back identity.
+It's not quite good &amp; bad or light &amp; dark,
+    Though I'm not yet sure just how to define it.
+
+Dad used to punish the dogs
+    by locking then in the basement.
+If he was really mad,
+    he'd toss then down there by the scruff.
+
+Mom moved me &amp; her dogs to a new house &mdash;
+    moved us three days early during the divorce.
+Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the crotch the night before,
+    the nut-shot to end all nut-shots, &amp; our time there.
+
+Few things make me feel as deeply about life as parenthood,
+    even if it's just me caring for my dogs.
+Some reminders of that are intense enough to be raw, painful,
+    salt in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
+
+The meaning behind the story of me &amp; my dogs
+    comes with a story of its own, or maybe several.
+It's bound up in stories to come,
+    &amp; these stories nest infinitely deep.
+
+Remembering that &amp; shaping that,
+    It's a part of making the meaning in my life.
+This isn't better against worse,
+    it's not mom against dad.
+
+It's not a dichotomy at all, really,
+    now that I think about it.
+It's something subtler, comfortably complex, a topic of its own.
+    I guess it's just meaning &amp; self.
+</div>

content/post/mind-your-manners.md

@@ -0,0 +1,37 @@
+---
+author: Madison Scott-Clary
+categories:
+- Flash fiction
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-11-29
+description: '[one big awful Canadian joke]'
+img: flag.svg
+type: post
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Humor
+title: 'Flash: Mind Your Manners'
+---
+
+"I'm sure that we can find something for you here, sir. We have the largest selection of mattresses anywhere in Sawtooth."
+
+An angry opossum, Jake decided, looked basically like an angry rat. They all looked about the same, when they were angry. they get their teeth out. They make a show of balling their fists as if to say *my claws may be manicured, but that doesn't mean they aren't still sharp.* "I can't see how you can live with yourself mister--" The opossum peered at Jake's badge. "Mister Jabbs. You stand there, calm as can be, when you're peddling...peddling...when you're selling filth!"
+
+The wolverine tilted his head to the side and offered his best apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, sir, I really am. We stock several different kinds of mattresses --- we're one of the largest retailers in Idaho, you see --- and we understand that you've received one that isn't a good fit for you. If you would be so kind as to come with me, my manager would be more than willing to get you set up with a mattress you would be happy to take home with you tonight."
+
+Alissa popped her gum with a grin once Jake made his way back to the sales island they shared. "Another champ, huh?"
+
+"Mm, they do seem to come in waves."
+
+"I heard that bit, the *I don't know how you live with yourself*. I've gotten two this week." The coyote rolled her eyes dramatically, and added, "Sometimes, I don't know how I live with myself either."
+
+Jake shrugged and shuffled his sales materials into a stack, racking them against the counter before loading up his clipboard once more. "Oh, it's not so bad. They come in, they yell, they go home. They buy something, they return it, they think they've won. We all go home."
+
+Alissa frowned, "That easy, huh?"
+
+The wolverine gave a lopsided grin, "That easy."
+
+"Okay, no, I'm with them. How *do* you live with yourself? If you were any more laid back, you'd be asleep."
+
+"Well," Jake said, straightening his tie and strolling back onto the floor. "I am from Canada."

content/post/missives.md

@@ -0,0 +1,226 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+- Epistolary
+ratings: G
+date: 2016-08-30
+type: post
+pdf: missives.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Romance
+- Poetry
+- Flower language
+title: Missives
+---
+
+Sir,
+
+If it please you, I write concerning our last meeting one week and six days ago at Mister G-'s manor, wherein we spent a happy hour discussing the finer points of his garden.  You requested that I write back upon returning home and I find myself with unanswered questions.<!--more-->
+
+You asked about the maiden's hair and I replied, out of haste, that I found it beautiful, but perhaps too much to occupy the entirety of one's garden.  On further consideration, I have decided that there is a thing of beauty involved in the simple maiden's hair fern.  The stem, I have decided, traces a most delicate arc, and the leaves describe a softness that I find lacking in many other such plants.
+
+In addition, you asked about the gardenias, and I found them to be quite splendid, though I was initially taken aback by their appearance.  I found them to be strikingly vivid, and I was taken aback by its hue and intensity.  I know you've an eye for the bright, but I worry a touch that it was out of place.
+
+May I instead draw your attention to the gloxinia? I found it to be decidedly beautiful, though it be crouched lower than the rest.  Knowing the keenness of your gaze, I trust that you saw it as well, though I hadn't the chance to point it out at the time.
+
+Please do write me back with your thoughts, I remain curious.
+
+Yours,
+
+*V. V., Jr.*
+
+-----
+
+My dear fox,
+
+I was surprised and delighted to be greeted with your letter today, for I had feared that I was too forward in asking to continue our conversation in such a setting.  The hour had grown late, however, by the time we were free of our duties, and I had much travel before me, and my hasty parting was in no way a reflection on you.
+
+I find your observations astute and in line with my estimation of you as a person.  Knowing that, I say:
+
+> Tho' the flow'r may bloom ere long  
+> and night recede unto the dawn,  
+> so yet may love's embrace grow fond  
+> and yet be spoilt upon the wan.
+
+For, as I'm sure you well know, too much water on the gardenia flower causes the soft white of the blossom to turn brown and discolor.  Even such a perfection of God's creation as the flower be spoiled by too much of what is good for it!
+
+Thus it was that I had to depart in haste, though I found our time together so enjoyable.  For that, a thousand apologies are in order.
+
+Though you declined to quote any of your favorite verse during our stroll through the garden, I hope that you do not mind the wandering mind of your companion.  A coyote finds much on his mind, surrounded by by books.  Books!  And yet there I was, enjoying a walk above all else.
+
+I've distracted myself, though.  You mention the gloxinia, and I too think that such are quite the sight to behold.  I don't believe that it was the type of blossom to be seen by any who had passed by, so a fox's gaze must be singularly acute.  I will not hesitate to say that I think such flowers beautiful.
+
+How telling it is the things that we find pleasing to the eye!
+
+Alas, I must draw the line across the page here, but I do hope that you write back.
+
+> Although our words be brief, so too will they sustain us.
+
+Yours in confidence,
+
+*A coyote.*
+
+-----
+
+Coyote,
+
+You speak of confidence, and although I cannot guarantee the security of my own words, I shall write to you in the same spirit.
+
+To walk with you in the garden that day was a rare joy.  Though I spend my life in a comfortable home, I do indeed spend it.  I feel the coinage of my Self slipping away by the hour, entertained only by my father's attendants and the scant few visitors who pay us note.  I could scarcely hope to escape the stifling manner of it all by a stroll through G-'s lovely garden.
+
+And yet there I was greeted by a most curious sight: a coyote had laid down his affected cane and knelt to inspect the flowers.  I approached slowly and noisily to make my presence known, then squatted most ungracefully beside him to see the blossom at hand.  I had no idea that the time that I would nearly cause my father embarrassment by dallying so long in the garden rather than being at hand.
+
+That coyote -- that delightful companion -- rescued me from the drudgery for not one, I'm told, but nearly two and a half hours!  Oh, the way my father's tail bristled when he confronted me.  Chastened, I could not laugh, though I do now.
+
+I think that we had both wound up there in that garden for similar reason.  Neither of us wanted to be at that party.  I was bored of the routine, while you were repulsed.  There were, I think, not enough books there to keep your mind active, no pens to keep your paws busy.
+
+And yet we talked.  We talked of flowers, we talked of the day, we talked of the news.  This all provided a pleasant afternoon, my friend, but do not think that I did not pick up on your words at the time.  Your talk of maiden's hair, that flowing fern, the plant of a secret bond.  Your words of gardenias with their hints of secret affections and attractions.  For I, too, know the language of flowers.
+
+I know also of the language of motion and of movement, for do not imagine that one of my station not be schooled in such.  Our steps steadily began to move in time with each other, and those casual brushes of elbow to elbow, paw to paw, fingers to fur were not missed.  I must admit that I didn't so much as "catch you out" as gleefully reciprocate in this newfound closeness.
+
+Ah, it makes my ears light up to admit it, but I miss that, dear coyote!
+
+It has been two weeks, and I've been taught that this is an appropriate amount of time to have passed before requesting the presence of a visitor once more.  Would you, dear coyote, be so kind as to bless us with your presence four days hence, on Friday the fifth?
+
+Sincerely,
+
+*Fox*
+
+-----
+
+Fox,
+
+My goodness!  Who knew that the fox had so many words within him!  A pen and paper and a promise of confidence is all it took!
+
+You know, of course, that I jest.  Walking with you in the garden that day was truly a delight, but I could tell that your tongue would be a long time in loosening.  Don't think that I am unschooled in the language of interaction simply because of my low station.
+
+Your words shall always stay safe with me, dear fox, the confidence is absolute.
+
+Let us speak further on the garden walk of some weeks past, then.  You divine my intentions correctly when I bring up the maiden's hair and gardenias, of course.  I find it fascinating that one might such as yourself might even know to pick up on such allusions, never mind be able to bandy them back in turn.  Gloxinia indeed!  Could it be that you do truly feel this love at first sight that so many talk about?  I'm sure I do not know.
+
+However, I must admit myself flattered, all the same, that a pious and gentle critter such as yourself would stoop to spend a carefree afternoon with a poor poet and flower fancier such as myself!   What is it, then, that you saw in me that was worth your time?
+
+It is only fair that I tease out your answer by providing something in return:
+
+> Though ev'ry climax approach a denouement  
+> And ev'ry dawn a night,  
+> Ev'ry moment worth sharing  
+> May be worth stealing.  
+> Were it with you,  
+> Delay, then, the morn.
+
+In you, I saw that last cold breath of night before the morning, the promise of something spectacular.  I catch myself wondering if it was something that is integral and permanent for you -- will you always provide a glimpse of a bright day to come, or will you forever hover on the edge of darkness?
+
+There is no small part of me which is eager to see, but the most of me would enjoy the wait.  Will there be some day to break within you, or will our affections be strictly something of dreams?  Longings and pining that will never cease and yet cause the fire in the hearth to flag and yet keep the room all the warmer?
+
+Do tell.
+
+*C-*
+
+-----
+
+Dear coyote,
+
+What say you to my invitation?  Your words are more than pretty, they make a poor fox's very being yearn for a time when he may once again hear them with his own ears.  However, they certainly do not address the issue at hand!  Will you bless us with your presence?  It is too late for the fifth, I fear, but perhaps you may join us for dinner on the twelfth?
+
+On that day that we spent together in the garden, I cannot help but remember most clearly as we were called away to our places for the evening's festivities, when you laid your hand atop mine and said simply, "Come".  Perhaps it is something weak within my heart, but it is that touch, that smile, and that simple word after so many that touched me so deeply.  That is what I long for again.
+
+So once more, "come".  It is I who am asking this time, and do not dodge the question again!
+
+*Fox*
+
+-----
+
+My delightful fox,
+
+Ahhh, is that then the dawn I spy approaching?  Perhaps our dear fox does has some day within him yet!
+
+I find it singularly amazing that a book so quiet as this may lay itself open wide and be read by those with even the poorest eyes.  If it were open the wider, if it were more plain, I do not think that I would be so pleased. And were it shut, were it hidden away, I think I should feel left out of the whole experience.
+
+As with the dawn, however, you approach slowly, carefully at first, and then with a surprising suddenness you breach the darkness and begin casting shadows.  There is no hiding from a dawn such as this.
+
+> Tho' the heart may quicken --  
+> Tho' the tongue may lap --  
+> I shall sup no greater meal  
+> Than thy gift entrancing
+
+You know as well as I that touch is not casual, but calculated.  And that word, lonesome after so many had been spilled in that garden, was naught to be ignored.  I say this not out of boast, though I know that I did well in making my intentions clear, but out of the fact that I, too, am left without a paw in mine.  Desire is a tumultuous thing, and many an hour of sleep was lost to the remembered closeness.  Ah, would that there had been more...
+
+You've answered my question, then.  Now to yours.  A dinner, you say?  I humbly accept, and shall "come" at your bidding.  The twelfth it is, please do expect me before tea, that we may spend some time recounting the virtues of flowers together.
+
+With the utmost fondness,
+
+*C-*
+
+-----
+
+My dearest coyote,
+
+I write hastily, as you have just left and I am to be going to bed and not up writing letters to you, if I am to keep from arousing suspicions.  This must
+take the guise of a thank-you note, and it is -- I want nothing more than to thank you right now.  Thank you, thank you, and again thank you!
+
+To spend such an evening -- to consider spending many such more -- I do not hesitate to call myself smitten!  I trust that you found the food palatable, for you certainly ate more than me or my father, and I fear the servants may even feel shorted tonight.  I am happy to see someone enjoying with such gusto, however, and to walk the grounds with you both before and after the meal was a singular delight.
+
+You have such an eye for softness.  Things that might miss the normal gaze, a hidden globe of clover here, the shy peeking of a late blossom of witch hazel there.  It was such a delight to share both your company and your mind, to share a touch of paws or a kiss upon the whiskers.
+
+The kiss!  You were so shy to move, so bashful after, I felt my heart breaking in two!  And so was I: my stammering response must've given a poor showing, and no bravery in my heart let me return the gesture.  The next we see each other, I shall make it up to you double and treble over!  Tens of kisses, hundreds!
+
+I do hope that we will have the chance to spend further time with each other. As the primrose, I cannot truly live without you.  As motherwort says, perhaps one fox's love for a coyote ought best be concealed.  I care not.
+
+*A fox who would consider himself yours.*
+
+-----
+
+To a fox whose beauty is surpassed by none,
+
+You have done such an eloquent job of thanking me for the evening together that I, for once, find myself nearly at a loss for words.  The food was indeed wonderful, but paled in comparison to the delightful company.  I found you and your father both well read, and keen with words.  The walk within your own garden, around your splendid grounds, was not a thing that I will soon forget.
+
+> You find me at a disadvantage --  
+> Panting and aswish --  
+> Would that distance be traversed as easily  
+> As hearts t'wards yearning hearts
+
+I must address that kiss.  I confess myself a shyer person than I perhaps present, and I found myself self-flagellating within my mind after the act, worried that I had perhaps misread, that I might have overstepped my bounds.  To know that we could both blush so much...ah, well that is what will stick most firmly in my memory.  To know that one such as yourself may dream of kisses to come, that is what will sustain me for the future.
+
+I shall scarcely be able to write a line of verse for the longing that night engendered in me.  Or, perhaps I shall be overrun with a graphomania, unable to cease scribbling my poor lines for the desire of yet another small kiss.  I fear it shall be the latter, that I am doomed to be forgotten among the countless smitten poets littering the streets with their oversweet verse.
+
+In evidence of my restraint, I leave you with only one more word: "again".
+
+*A coyote who would call you his own.*
+
+-----
+
+Dear sir,
+
+I write at the behest of my father.  It has come to my attention that a discussion of plants in a garden and a subsequent dinner has led to impropriety.  The boundaries that are firmly in place by society and God's law have been overstepped, and we toy with the sin put in place on this earth by Satan himself.  It would be best if we were not to be seen together again.
+
+May this final gift of both motherwort and primrose cuttings from our own garden sate your desires, and may that be the last we be seen together as my family wills it.
+
+*V. V., Jr.*
+
+-----
+
+Reply to the esteemed fox of the household,
+
+I must offer my immediate and unconditional apology for any slight or dissatisfaction.  It was my intent only to build a relationship of trust and kindness between equals, lovers of the word and of life.  That my actions have caused pain and discomfort by encroaching too closely on your person causes me great pain in turn and is chief among my regrets.
+
+I will expect no reply in return, but let my poor words stand in place of any further deed that I may do to you and your family.  But by your request, you shall not hear from this repentant soul again.
+
+> A rose, single, now blooming
+>     may indeed bless the stem,
+> yet are not roses clipp'd and shown?
+>     Undoubted 'tis a blessing to them
+> who receive such a gift!
+>     Yet now unmade is the flow'r
+> which adorns thy mantle with its grace,
+>     and withers, however slowly, by the hour
+>         until 'tis faded to nothing and dust,
+>         though some scent remain forever amidst the must.
+> {: class="verse" }
+
+I take well the meaning of your letter and the final gift of flowers within.
+
+With the sincerest apologies,
+
+*C. L.*

content/post/new-american-absinthe.md

@@ -0,0 +1,442 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Non-fiction
+ratings: PG
+date: 2016-04-01
+img: naa-all.jpg
+type: post
+pdf: new-american-absinthe.pdf
+tags:
+- Alcohol
+title: New American Absinthe
+---
+
+![The lineup, in no particular order.](/assets/posts/naa/naa-all.jpg)
+<small>*The lineup, in no particular order.*</small>
+
+The weather is finally starting to turn.
+
+Well, I say finally like this winter hasn't been a rollercoaster, when it comes to weather.  We'd get a foot and a half of snow, then be back up in the 50s and 60s later in the week.  It makes it difficult to pick drinks, really.
+
+Over the winter, I tend toward darker, warmer drinks, such as heavy red wines, scotches, and heady mixed drinks without carbonation; if I'm going to have something carbonated, it's more likely to be a sweet ale than anything.  When it's hot outside during the summer, that's when I bust out the bubbles -- bubbly and Collinses and mojitos and gin-and-tonics -- and cold-as-hell mixed drinks (The Aviation is a perennial favorite).  Autumn is reserved for brandy, lighter reds, and creamy mixed drinks.
+
+Spring?  Spring is for Absinthe.
+
+There's something about the tumult of flavors and scents involved in absinthe that fit the tumultuous weather so well.  When it's snowing out, you can feel the strength of the drink warming you from within, and when it's bright and sunny, you can revel in the refreshing rhythm of anise-fennel-wormwood-hyssop that goes with each sip.
+
+There's been a resurgence of good absinthe on the market over the last decade, and it's been fascinating to watch and taste.  It's hardly surprising, watching the trajectory of craft brewing and distilling over the last two decades.  At my old house, I was a bike ride from six breweries (Equinox, Coopersmith's, New Belgium, Fort Collins,  Odell's, Funkwerks) all in a row, leading to the pastime of brew tours that take up all Saturday.
+
+With the opening of Dancing Pines, Overland, and The Copper Muse local distilleries in the last few years, the distilling industry has clearly followed suit.
+
+And, always surrounded by so much mystique, it's easy to see why so many have picked up absinthe as an offering.
+
+-----
+
+### An Introduction to Absinthe
+
+I spent a lot of time online when I was younger.  I still do, of course, but not nearly to the extent that I used to.  I spent my whole life online or waiting until the point when I could get back online.  I dated online, surrounded myself with online friends, and read and read and read.
+
+What I would read and get obsessed over would vary greatly.  For a while, I was into martial arts, then it was cooking, then it was constructed languages.  These would come into my life from those around me and wind their way around my every waking moment, occupying all of my thoughts.  None of them go away completely, though they might fade.
+
+During a few months in about 2005 and into 2006, that fascination was absinthe.  The roots of it come from several friends online who were desperately seeking new highs and better ways to get fucked up.  Absinthe, they had decided, would do nicely, because it would make you see shit.  It was all kind of muddy, they didn't really have their own reasoning nailed down.
+
+All they were worried about, really, was thujone.  They wanted something to really fuck them up, so they bought the strongest Czech absinthe (often spelled without the 'e', absinth) that they could find.  These were usually uniquely shaped bottles filled a quarter of the way full with wormwood leaves, the primary source of thujone, and industrial grade alcohol.
+
+I shrugged a bought a relatively cheap bottle.  Absinth, King of Spirits, it declared itself.
+
+It was vile.
+
+Okay, it was worse than vile.  It was undrinkable, which is good because it was likely poisonous to boot.
+
+A few years prior, I had picked up the first in a trio of books by Dale Pendell, the *Pharmako* trilogy.  The books themselves were investigations and musing on plants of power -- that is, plants that were able to exert power over human lives, whether that meant individually through an interesting biological reaction, or on a grander scale such that they shaped whole societies.
+
+I had leafed through the chapter on *Artemisia absinthum* without too much interest countless times before, but now I reread it with greater interest.  *Artemisia absinthum*, wormwood, plays only a small part in absinthe itself, the history of which is long and colorful.  The more I read, the less it seemed like what I had tried had been absinthe at all, but was simply dreck created to get a few bucks out of kids looking for a thrill.
+
+![Sweetening absinthe with sugar.](/assets/posts/naa/naa-sugar.jpg)
+<small>*Sweetening absinthe with sugar.*</small>
+
+Real absinthe is much more complex, and much more beautiful, than simply wormwood and ethanol.  There was in fact an entire world hidden beneath the surface of this topic.  This also helps to explain my interest in tea of late, as well.  Finding out that the more one looks into some topic, the more there is to find about it, is very appealing to me.  I love finding all of the ways in which things can be explored.
+
+So I moved on from my cheap Czech absinthes to researching absinthes more worthy of the name.
+
+I wound up finding my way to another site, one more focused on the types of absinthes that I had spent so much time reading about.  I came away with a few purchases -- a few less expensive 750ml bottles and a few sample bottles of some pricier, but more highly rated absinthes -- and waited impatiently for the shipment to arrive.  I was not without some trepidation, as I was only nineteen or twenty at the time, and if I had to sign for the bottles, I would be quite out of luck.  Alas, I was lucky, and DHL simply dropped the well-packed bottles on our stoop.
+
+The first two absinthes I tried were both from Distillerie Paul Devoille.  I got both the Verte de Fougerolles and Blanche de Fougerolles absinthes.
+
+Absinthe can be divided up into two general categories, of verte and blanche.  Both follow the same production steps, which I'll outline a little later on, but the verte style has an additional coloring step, where some select herbs are macerated in the clear product to add a bit of additional flavor and the green color that everyone associates with absinthe.
+
+Both of these were wonderful introductions to the world of absinthes, which I was quickly diving into.  They were complex, leading with anise, then delving into wonderful worlds of various different herbal flavors.  The verte was a little more peppery, I remember, than the blanche, and had a bit more of a fennel flavor to it.  I was hooked.
+
+After that, I got to try the samples from Jade, produced at the Combier Distillery in Saumur, France.  These went above and beyond even the Fougerolles absinthes in a big way.  Of note was the VS 1901 absinthe, which is one of the highest rated among new-production absinthes out there.  There was simply the perfect balance of sweet and herbal, anise and fennel and coriander.  To this day, it remains my absolute favorite absinthe, and I have a full bottle kept on the rack for a special occasion.  I won't wax too rhapsodic about it, however, as this is a story about new American absinthes.
+
+The first truly American absinthe that I had was produced by Leopold Bros., based out of my hometown of Denver, Colorado.
+
+-----
+
+### Leopold Bros. Absinthe Verte
+
+<img src="/assets/posts/naa/naa-leopold.jpg" style="width: 40%; margin: 0 1em 1em 0;" align="left" />
+
+Leopold Bros. absinthe is an interesting one.  [The Leopold Bros. Distillery](http://www.leopoldbros.com/) first came to my attention through their blackberry flavored whiskey, an unoaked whiskey flavored with blackberry syrup.  It's a delightful combination that wound up in a drink at my local bar, Elliot's.  I ran to the store to pick some up after learning about the ingredients of the drink, and right there next to it on the shelf was the Leopold Bros. absinthe.
+
+I hadn't been drinking absinthe in quite a while -- I'd run out of my initial order of french absinthes, and didn't really want to pick up any more for the outrageous international shipping costs.  I grabbed a bottle of this on a whim and took it home.
+
+I was greeted by a very strange absinthe.  It turns out that Leopold Bros. had been more experimental with their first batches, and it wasn't until batch 15 that they settled on their current formula.  In fact, the batches differ so much, that they are rated as separate products in the Wormwood Society reviews: [batches 1-14](http://www.wormwoodsociety.org/index.php/component/content/article/20-absinthe-brand-reviews/traditional-absinthe/577-leopold-brothers-absinthe-verte-batches-1-14) and [batches 15+](http://www.wormwoodsociety.org/index.php/component/content/article/20-absinthe-brand-reviews/traditional-absinthe/439-leopold-brothers-absinthe-verte-batches-15).
+
+I'm reviewing batch 89 here, but it's worth noting some of the characteristics of that first bottle, from batch 4.  The color was more of a drab color, closer to the color that shows up in the St. George absinthe mentioned later.  The taste was intriguing.  It lead with anise and fennel, but there was a definite note of oregano that I found rather enjoyable.  It was a good drink, though perhaps not a very accurate absinthe.
+
+On to this batch, though!
+
+The color of this batch is fairer, cleaner looking than the olive of the earlier batches.  As far as absinthes go, it is still on the lighter side and little yellow.  It's reminiscent of dried herbs, rather than fresh, though this is hardly a fault.  I'll explain more about where the color in verte absinthes comes from in a bit.
+
+Straight, the spirit smells primarily of fennel (a sort of green, licorice scent) and anise (a more pure anise scent), but that is soon overwhelmed with hot alcohol.  The grape spirit base of this drink is evident, in a calming warmth -- the cuts on the base spirit are fine, with no odd notes of solvents or fusel oils.  The emptied nosing glass, allowed to evaporate for a minute or so, starts to show more complexity, with fresh hyssop and perhaps angelica showing through.
+
+One doesn't drink absinthe straight, however.  This one clocks in at 68% alcohol by volume (174 proof), which would make for quite the intense drink.  Instead, one dilutes the alcohol with water, one part absinthe to anywhere from three to five parts water.  In the process, the absinthe louches.
+
+Some of the herbs used in production of absinthe contain alcohol soluble compounds which have one hydrophobic (water-hating) end and one hydrophilic (water-loving) end which may be a separate surfactant.  When water is added, these compounds clump together with their hydrophobic ends facing in and their hydrophilic ends facing outward, leading to the cloudiness that one sees in the final drink.  The same can be seen with ouzo and raki.  These terpenes come primarily from anise and star anise, as well as from fennel and coriander, and form an emulsion with the water.
+
+The Leopold Bros. absinthe louches quick and thick at 3:1 water to absinthe, despite it's pale color.  And, despite the yellow tinge to the undiluted absinthe, the louche is creamy and green, like the center of an Andes mint.  It's a very fresh color, to counter the dried-herb appearance.
+
+Although it's not to my tastes, absinthe is often drunk with sugar.  This is done by placing a slotted absinthe spoon across the opening of the glass, placing a sugar cube on the spoon, and slowly dripping water over the sugar cube to dissolve it into the drink.  This is done because sugar is not readily soluble in alcohol of this strength.
+
+Without sugar, the absinthe is bracing, refreshing, and herbal.  At the fore is a sweet anise note that fades into delightful herbal flavors, leading with hyssop, then fading to a wonderful bitter wormwood.  The sweetness of the anise soon coats the mouth and fades into a fresher fennel taste.  After swallowing, the hyssop herbal flavors and the wormwood bitterness combine to leave your mouth feeling cool, and the body refreshed.
+
+When prepared with sugar, the absinthe differs in that the fresh, astringent hyssop flavor turns almost to mintiness, bringing that cooling feeling to the tongue and lips sooner than without sugar.  Additionally, the bitterness of the wormwood is covered up as the sugar blends with the anise and fennel to make for a more candy-like experience, rather like those sugar-coated fennel seeds one sees at Indian restaurants, though less earthy than that implies.<br clear="all" />
+
+-----
+
+### A Short History of Absinthe
+
+![From France, new takes on vintage absinthes from Jade.](/assets/posts/naa/naa-french-absinthes.jpg)
+<small>*From France, new takes on vintage absinthes from Jade Liquors.*</small>
+
+As is perhaps obvious, absinthe has a storied history.  Although much of this can be attributed to folklore, absinthe was originally created in Switzerland by one Dr. Ordinaire, who first sold the concoction as a healthful tonic.  From Ordinaire, the recipe passed to his housekeeper, and from his housekeeper to her two daughters, who continued to sell the supposed cure-all.
+
+Although impressed by the curative powers of absinthe, one Major Dubied was more taken by it's aphrodisiacal qualities, and he purchased the recipe from the two women.  From there, Dubied passed the recipe on to his son-in-law as a wedding gift, and Henri-Louis Pernod began manufacturing absinthe on a larger scale in 1805.
+
+For a long time, absinthe remained a health tonic of sorts, used by French soldiers in Algeria to help prevent malaria (a claim not without merit), as well as for all of the benefits of wormwood itself.  Wormwood, along with many in the Artemisia genus, does wonders at repelling insects, as a vermifuge, and as a febrifuge, and had been taken with wine for thousands of years prior to the invention of absinthe for its medicinal properties.
+
+When the soldiers, who had been drinking absinthe for years, brought the liquor back to Paris, it took off, notably among those involved with art and literature:
+
+> Manet painted absinthe themes, and his friend Charles Baudelaire drank absinthe[...].  Verlaine and Rimbaud seem to have drunk absinthe more or less continuously.  Van Gogh drank it.  Poe drank it.  Degas drank absinthe in the cafes and then painted absinthe, stirring up a scandal in London.  There was something about light seen through an absinthe intoxication that seemed to feed the impressionists.  Henri Toulouse-Lautrec drank absinthe and painted it frequently.  Paul Gaugin liked absinthe and was somehow able to continue drinking it even in Tahiti.  Alfred Jarry called absinthe "Holy Water", and his friend Pablo Picasso painted pictures of absinthe a number of times.  Jack London liked absinthe.
+>
+> What other psychotropic concoction, excepting perhaps wine, has produced as large a body of laudatory poems in the last two thousand years as has absinthe?
+>
+> -- Dale Pendell, in *Pharmako/Poeia*
+
+So when did the tide turn against absinthe?
+
+There were two events that worked against absinthe as time went on.  The first was the defense of a man named Lanfrey in 1906, used in his trial for the murder of his wife and family.  He drank a bottle of wine, a bottle of brandy, and several glasses of absinthe every day, but claimed that it was absinthe which made him crazy enough to kill his family.  Unlike the famed "Twinkie defense" used in the murders of Harvey Milk and George Moscone, the jury didn't buy it, and Lanfrey was convicted.  However, this served as fuel for the growing temperance movement.
+
+The second event was World War I.  As though confused as to why the troops were failing, charging head on against machine guns, absinthe was banned in France by the military.  The officers were confused as to why the troops didn't have enough "vital spirit", so absinthe took the blame.  Its downfall had been coming, however, as the French soldiers picked up a taste for cocktails and mixed drinks -- rather than absinthe -- from their American counterparts.
+
+Absinthe was later made legal again, and has, in fact, never been made wholly illegal in the USA, where I'm writing this article.  What *was* up for debate, though, was the effects of thujone on the body.  Coming primarily from wormwood, lawmakers and regulators latched onto thujone as the so-called active ingredient in absinthe.
+
+The effects of thujone in large doses are primarily cognodysleptic, closer to that of marijuana than any supposed hallucinogenic activity (though, curiously, dogs injected with wormwood extract have been seen to bark at blank walls, as though indeed hallucinating -- yet how many of us are going to inject absinthe?).
+
+This is curious, however, given the dangers of thujone.  On average, wormwood contains about 1.5% essential oils by weight, and only 0.15% thujone by weight.  In a common older recipe of, say, thirty grams of wormwood per liter and 100% extraction, one might expect about 45mg of thujone in that one liter, or less than 2mg in one glass of absinthe.
+
+The lethal dose of thujone for 50% of subjects (the LD50) is 134mg per kilogram of weight, meaning that an average adult would have to drink approximately fifty bottles of absinthe to have a 50% chance of overdosing on thujone.  That's 1200 times the 'normal' dose of one glass of absinthe (thujone's therapeutic index is 1/1200).  For an item to be "Generally Recognized As Safe" by the FDA, it's therapeutic index must be at least 1/100 -- that is, the LD50 may not be less than one hundred times a nominal dose -- and so thujone is GRAS by a factor of twelve.
+
+Alcohol?  Alcohol's therapeutic index is around 1/10.
+
+All that aside, thujone is regulated, depending on where you live, to 10-15mg per liter.  And so we have the absinthes of today.  Different, but still delicious.  Due to confusion around the thujone regulation in the US, put in place in the '60s, many considered it illegal to buy, sell, or make absinthe in the states.  However, a clarifying brief in 2007 lifted the effective ban.
+
+-----
+
+### Overland Distillery Trinity Absinthe Superieure
+
+<img src="/assets/posts/naa/naa-trinity.jpg" style="width: 40%; margin: 0 0 1em 1em;" align="right" />
+
+Overland Distillery is another local company, much closer to me than Leopold Bros.  As a company, they focus solely on absinthe, and aim to be as green as possible.  They source the herbs that they use for production of their absinthe from local organic farms, and proudly explain their process on their [site](http://www.overlanddistillery.com/home/4577963004).
+
+The color of the straight spirit is a greenish yellow, almost tan.  They defend the color of the product on their website as being totally natural (as any good absinthe should be).  It's not unpleasant, to be sure, but hardly the peridot one might be expecting when pouring from the dark bottle.
+
+When smelled straight, one is a little surprised by the relative lack of anise.  The nose is greeted with a vaguely savory smell as oregano and coriander dominate, along with plenty of angelica and wormwood.  There is a very faint odor of what I thought was heads at first -- heads are the first part of the distillation that contains a greater concentration of methanol and other solvents -- but over time that relaxes away.  I almost wonder if this was made with a grain alcohol rather than a grape alcohol.  As the empty nosing glass begins to evaporate, one can smell the anise more clearly.  It's still lighter than expected, but pleasant all the same.
+
+The downplayed anise and fennel is evident in the very mild louche, even at the relatively "strong" ratio of 3:1.  When water begins to drip into the absinthe, one can see the mixtures swirling rather like heat waves, as one might with any absinthe, but this never develops into the opalescence that I expect from more anise-heavy absinthes.  The faint louche picks up on the green notes from the straight spirit a little at least, and the color is appealing, if light, but the louche is too light for my tastes.
+
+When water is added and the absinthe smelled, I was struck almost immediately by the same savory notes from the straight spirit, joined by a smell of chlorine, as though I'd poolside.  This was so confusing that I dumped the first glass of absinthe out, rewashed my glass, and tried again.  The unpleasant odor was there again, making me mark that as a point against this absinthe.
+
+The flavor is as light as the color and the nose.  One is struck immediately with hot alcohol fighting against cooling anise.  The fennel becomes evident in the mid, with a bit of astringency from the more bitter herbs.  The anise and wormwood linger on the tail, along with an unpleasant whiff of chlorine from the back of the throat.  The body of the absinthe was similarly light, the mouthfeel coming across more like a vodka or gin than the fullness of many other absinthes.
+
+I tried once more with sugar, and was greeted by a more pleasant mouthfeel, much thicker, but more of the same in terms of flavors; I wasn't able to finish the sweetened glass.
+
+This was an intriguing absinthe.  It has flaws keeping it from being a wonderful drink on its own -- the note of chlorine being prime among them -- but I got the impression that this absinthe would work well when incorporated into a cocktail, such as the Absinthe cocktail or Sazerac listed below.<br clear="all" />
+
+-----
+
+### Absinthe and Pop Culture
+
+![Tasting absinthe.](/assets/posts/naa/naa-tasting.jpg)
+<small>*Note-taking while tasting.*</small>
+
+The combination of its popularity in the past, followed by its legal status in the 20th century left absinthe with something of an air of mystery.  Legends and myths surround the drink and wormwood specifically (many producers made pastis, an herbal drink featuring all of the ingredients of absinthe minus the wormwood, which only served to highlight the plant).  It was described as a hallucinogen, as poison, said that it would make you crazy and cut off your ear like van Gogh, that it would make you fall in love.
+
+Absinthe was, is, and will likely always be a relatively simple drug, however: alcohol.  That does nothing to stop the associations from forming in people's minds, nor indeed from corporations playing up those myths for the sake of sales.
+
+One of the pervasive perceptions around absinthe is that it is, to some extent, magical.  *La F&eacute;e Verte*, people call it, the green fairy or the green muse.  It transports them on a magical ride from here to somewhere else; deep realms of the mind, perhaps, or strange planes of existence.  I certainly understand the roots of this: there is doubtless something unique and wonderful about absinthe, but something simple.  It's a drink that "smell[s] like bottled summer", it's calm, relaxing, something to sip slowly, something to ponder and enjoy.
+
+However, I think that one ought to be wary of fluff and marketing.  One must approach with a beginner's mind, at ground state. After all, this is what has led to that influx of awful Czech "absinths", and the hilarious (and dangerous) "Czech ritual" of pouring the "absinth" over the sugar cube and then lighting it on fire to let it drip down into the drink.  Needless to say, *any* alcohol and fire is an awful idea, but one ought never do that with proper absinthe, unless one is keen only on destroying it.
+
+I repeat: No fire.
+
+Fire bad.
+
+You know, I think the impressionists, as mentioned above by Dale Pendell, had it right.  It wasn't some wacky trip to the moon, nor was it your mind being flooded by the unending truths of geometric shapes, nor even that it's simply alcohol.  It's light viewed through a delicate liquor that makes the world seem a little more full, a little more complete by its mere presence.
+
+Even I'm waxing poetic.
+
+-----
+
+### Vilya Spirits Absinthe Blanche
+
+<img src="/assets/posts/naa/naa-vilya-blanche.jpg" style="width: 40%; margin: 0 1em 1em 0;" align="left" />
+
+Not all absinthes are green, not by a long shot.  I'll go into some more details about that later, green absinthes are simply the most popular.  Needless to say, here is the only blanche absinthe on the list that I'm tasting.
+
+Vilya Spirits, which used to be named Ridge Distillery, is a distillery in Montana that focuses on herbal liquors and liqueurs, producing two absinthes, a gin, and a huckleberry liqueur, of which I've only tasted the absinthes.  I sought them about because they are some of the highest rated American absinthes on the Wormwood Society's reviews pages, and for good reason.
+
+The color of the undiluted spirit is bright and clear, a little finer than water or even vodka.  It smells delightfully of anise cookies, actually, as though someone were taking care in baking absinthe into a pastry.  There's a warmth, a sweetness that comes across with a little touch of vanilla.  As the nosing glass dries, the scent shifts over into a classic wormwood, fennel, and anise mix with a hint of coriander and angelica, really complex and delightful.
+
+The louche is quick and thick.  It starts out with a hint of blue as it begins to opalesce, then moves past opaline and into milky, cottony white, with just a hint of fading around the meniscus near the edges of the glass.  Watching the louche happen as the water drips into the glass is stunning.
+
+The baked goods come through a little in the diluted spirit as well, though in all, it's still definitely an absinthe.  There's plenty of anise and a bit of hyssop up front, fading to fennel and wormwood in the mid, then trailing off to cool anise and a touch of vanilla.  The mouthfeel is just about perfect on this, too, not too full, but certainly not flat.  It leaves the mouth just a touch dry, despite the sensation that the tongue and cheeks are coated in clean, licorice-y goodness, with a pleasant touch of numbing.
+
+When sugar is added, the cookie sense increases even further.  The added sugar batters down the hyssop, leaving primarily anise and fennel, with just a touch of vanilla.  I'm unsure of where that vanilla actually comes from, perhaps the angelica or maybe an addition of something else. Genepy, perhaps?  The resulting drink is almost perfect for dessert: it's not quite a candy, not quite a cookie, but the perfect end to a meal all the same.  Even fifteen minutes after drinking, I can still feel the slight coating of the mouth from the anise and the vague numbing effect, which is pleasant and comfortable.<br clear="all" />
+
+-----
+
+### Absinthe Preparation
+
+![Glassware and spoon.](/assets/posts/naa/naa-glassware.jpg)
+<small>*Proper glassware, including a dripper glass and Pontarlier glass, and a "La Feuille" style absinthe spoon.*</small>
+
+The proper preparation of absinthe is very important and ought not to be ignored.
+
+One should use a proper Pontarlier glass.  This is a conical glass standing about as tall as a pint glass, with a rim similar in diameter.  However it's a stemmed piece of glassware, usually showing up as cut or molded glass.  There is a slight rim near the base of the bowl, showing the location to which one ought to fill with absinthe, leading to it's other name of a "reservoir glass".
+
+One should use at least cold, fresh tap water, if not spring water.  However, distilled water shouldn't be used.  It's important that the water be aerated, to have its oxygen content bulked up, otherwise the absinthe will taste flat and one dimensional.  The ratio of absinthe to water should start at 1:3, and then go up from there, to a max of 1:5 or 1:6, according to taste.
+
+The water should be iced prior to being added to the absinthe.  Although one may add ice to the final drink itself, it's not recommended, as the melting ice will change the dilution ratio and lead to a weaker drink at the end than at the beginning.
+
+Water should be added slowly to absinthe so as not to "bruise" the liquor.  This occurs when the droplets of terpenes held in suspension get knocked apart through overzealous addition of water, leading to a poor louche and poor flavor retention.
+
+Instead, you should introduce water to absinthe at a slow drizzle, either through the use of a dripper glass (my preferred method) or through an absinthe fountain.  Failing that, you can use a small measuring cup and pour the water gently and slowly down the side of the glass so as not to break up the absinthe too much.  The benefits of the fountain and the dripper glass is that you can fill them with ice before adding the water so that the water you use is as cold as it gets
+
+When it comes to sugar, I'm an advocate of at least trying the absinthe without sugar first, before trying it with sugar.  If you do decide that you prefer sugar, place a single sugar cube on the spoon and rest it atop the glass so that the water from the fountain drips over it.  If you are using a dripper glass, you can put the sugar cube in the conical section of the dripper glass before adding water.  I rather enjoy my absinthe with brown or Demerara sugar cubes, as they add a good deal of body and complexity, but even just white sugar will work.
+
+Despite all of this, absinthe is versatile, and can be used in many mixed drinks.  Here are a few of my favorites:
+
+#### The Absinthe Cocktail
+
+* 1 part absinthe
+* 1 part gin
+* 1 part water
+* 1 dash bitters
+* Optional dash simple syrup
+
+Shake or stir and serve in an absinthe glass.  The louche will be light, and tinged pink or orange from the cocktail bitters.  Garnish with a slice of orange.
+
+#### The Sazerac
+
+* 1 sugar cube
+* 2 1/2 ounces rye whisky
+* 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters
+* 1 dash Angostura bitters
+* absinthe
+* lemon peel
+
+In the bottom of an Old Fashioned glass, muddle the sugar cube with a few drops of water.  Add ice, the whiskey, and the bitters and stir.  Take a second Old Fashioned glass and swirl some absinthe around in it before pouring out (or back into the bottle, if you're positive your glass was clean).  Strain the cocktail into the absinthe-coated glass and serve with a twist of lemon.
+
+#### The Absinthe Suissesse
+
+* 1&frac12; oz absinthe
+* &frac12; oz orgeat syrup
+* 1 egg white
+* &frac12; oz single cream
+* shaved or crushed ice
+
+Blend all ingredients in a blender for a few seconds and serve in a chilled cocktail glass.  Perfect for brunch.
+
+-----
+
+### St George Spirits Absinthe Verte
+
+<img src="/assets/posts/naa/naa-st-george.jpg" style="width: 40%; margin: 0 0 1em 1em;" align="right" />
+
+When I saw that [St. George](http://www.stgeorgespirits.com/) was making an absinthe, I had to jump on it.
+
+I was lucky enough to visit this distillery, famous for being located in an old hangar in Alameda, CA (and thus for making Hangar One vodka there, though that's a different label) with my partner and a few friends.  The building is enormous, the tour guides well informed and funny, and all of their spirits delightful.  They're notable for their vodka, of course -- for them, I break my  "no flavored vodkas" rule; the blueberry and citron are heavenly -- but also for their gin with a focus on terroir and their eau de vie.
+
+The absinthe itself is green, but hued towards olive, which may be in part due to the clear bottle: both Leopold Bros. and St. George absinthes tend closer to yellow, which can be due to being light-struck.  Hardly a huge flaw, though.
+
+The smell of the straight spirit is hot alcohol in the lead, followed by anise, fennel, and a surprising honey note, as if someone had blended in some tupelo honey.  There's not really any wormwood or any of the fuller herbs present in the nose, but once the glass dries a bit, you can pick up a bit of hyssop.
+
+The absinthe louches right in the middle of the road.  It's green and opaline without the olive tinge, neither thick nor thin, neither fast nor slow.  It reminds me rather a lot of the Jade absinthes, which leads me to want to call it "typical", though I may be off.
+
+The flavor of the diluted spirit explodes with sweetness, and really doesn't need sugar at all.  It leads with honey, then plenty of anise and star anise.  That flows into a bit of wormwood and fennel in the mid, followed by more cooling anise.  There's a gentle pinch of hyssop in the throat after, and the mouth is left with sweetness.  The smell is almost like someone blended honey with absinthe herbs.
+
+Adding sugar just seems to complete the transformation to honey.  Although the mouthfeel was fine for the drink without sugar, it gets even fuller with sugar, which may be adding to the sense of honey.  In fact, it reminds me of getting licorice-flavored honey sticks, right down to the slight tickle in the throat that eating plain honey can create.  That said, it's too sweet for me, with sugar.  It's wonderful without!<br clear="all" />
+
+-----
+
+### Absinthe Production
+
+![Blending distillates from Liqueurs de France.](/assets/posts/naa/naa-blends.jpg)
+<small>*Although most absinthes are produced through distillation and maceration as outlined below, the individual herbs can be macerated and distilled, and the resulting distillates blended into absinthes.  I've used them below to provide notes on the individual herbal ingredients.*</small>
+
+Absinthe is a distilled spirit.  That is, after fermentation, the alcohol (or "wash") is heated very slowly in a mostly enclosed container called a still.  As the wash heats up, the alcohol evaporates first, leaving behind the water and other components that boil at a higher temperature.  The alcohol vapors travel up a column.  Once they get to the top, the building pressure pushes them down a pipe which is cooled somehow ("lyne arm" and "condenser"), usually with a cold water bath.  When the vapor cools down, it condenses on the inside of the pipe and drips out the end, much stronger than when it went in.
+
+This produces the base spirit.  With absinthes, this is often, though not always, grape spirit, which is the same sort of thing that might one day go to become brandy.  However, rather than aging it in oak for years, the grape spirit is collected, and a special selection of herbs are soaked ("macerated") in it.  The alcohol leaches out all of the alcohol soluble compounds and flavors.  This mix is distilled once more.  If the absinthe is to be a *verte* or green absinthe, there is one last step of maceration with select plants.  For *blanche* or white absinthe, no last step is taken, and it's ready to bottle.
+
+This describes the primary means of producing absinthe, but another, simpler way to come up with different flavors and products is to go through the above process only for *individual* herbs.  This way, you wind up with a distillate of just, say, anise or wormwood.  You can then blend these distillates together until you get a flavor that you like, then produce that at scale, either through blending or the maceration process.  If a second maceration step is not used but a green absinthe is desired, one may add *esprit verte*, or green spirit, to color the absinthe.  This is an absinthe-like liqueur with mild flavor that will not affect the flavor of the blend much.
+
+What follows are some of the herbs and spices used in the creation of absinthe, their compounds of note, their effects on louche, and the smell and taste of the distillates of the single herbs.
+
+#### The "Holy Trinity"
+
+Absinthe simply isn't absinthe without these three.  They combine to form most of the aspects of the drink, from the smell and flavor to the louche and mouthfeel.
+
+<dl>
+    <dt>Grand wormwood (<em>Artemisia absinthum</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: herbal and fresh, reminiscent of bay or sage.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: cooling and herbal, touch of bitterness, and some lingering sweetness, with just a touch of mint.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: none.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: &alpha;-thujone, &beta;-thujone, sabinene, myrcene, tras-sabinol, trans-sabinyl acetate, linalyl acetate, geranyl propionate.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Fennel (<em>Foeniculum vulgare</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: sweet aniseed with vegetal celeriac notes.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: sweet and spicy with a bit of bitterness, some licorice flavors showing through toward the end through the vegetal aspects with mild numbing.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: medium.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: &alpha;-pinene, myrcene, fenchone, trans-anethole, methyl chavicol, limonine, 1,8-cineole, anasic aldehyde.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Anise (<em>Pimpinella anisum</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: sweet and spicy, rather like licorice but less earthy and full, and more fresh.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: very sweet, numbing, coating the mouth with a spicy, licorice-like sweetness without being cloying.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: strong.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: &alpha;-pinene, &beta;-pinene, camphene, linalool, cis-anethole, trans-anethole, safrole, anisaldehyde, acetoanisole
+    </dd>
+</dl>
+
+#### Other ingredients
+
+Absinthe can be made solely with the "Holy Trinity" ingredients, but it often lacks depth.  This can be achieved through the addition of various other herbs and ingredients to create a more unique experience.
+
+<dl>
+    <dt>Genepy (<em>Artemisia genipi</em>, <em>Artemisia umbelliformis</em>, or <em>Artemisia rupestris</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: vegetal and herbal, a touch of cinnamon and radish.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: bitter and fresh like a radish, with only just a hint of sweetness, the cinnamon only showing through at the very end.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: none.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: &alpha;-thujone, &beta;-thujone, cineole, borneol, &beta;-pinene
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Angelica (<em>Angelica archangelica</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: bittersweet and vegetal, with notes of celeriac or celery leaves.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: bittersweet and antiseptic, with a touch of astringency, the celery notes mostly in the fore.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: none.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: &alpha;-pinene, &beta-pinene, camphene, sabinene, &alpha;-phellandrene, &beta;-phellandrene, myrcene, limonene, cis-ocimene, trans-ocimene, p-cymene, terpinolene, copaene, bornyl acetate, terpinen-4-ol.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Star anise (<em>Illicium verum</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: strong aniseed flavor similar to anise, but a little more vegetal and sweet.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: intensely sweet and numbing, with a fresh aniseed flavor.  The vegetal note doesn't come through, but is almost overwhelmed by the spicy, cloying sweetness.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: very strong, often used to help with thicker louche.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: anethole, &alpha;-pinene, philandrene, p-cynene, 1,4-cineol, limonene, d-turpenol.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Hyssop (<em>Hyssopus officianalis</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: astringent, bitter, and fresh, with notes of green tea.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: astringent and bitter, a hint of spice coming through at points before fading into sweet and spicy vegetal and antiseptic notes.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: none.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: &alpha;-pinene, &beta;-pinene, camphene, sabinene, myrcene, limonene, pinocamphone, isopinocamphene, y-terpinol, 1,8-cineol, thujone.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Coriander (<em>Coriandrum sativum</em>)</dt>
+    <dd>
+        <em>Smell</em>: spicy and savory, a lingering pleasant sweetness, reminiscent of carrots or jicama.<br />
+        <em>Taste</em>: spicy and cooling, a touch astringent, very herbal and fresh.<br />
+        <em>Effect on louche</em>: medium.<br />
+        <em>Compounds</em>: Borneol, linalool, cineole, cymene, terpineol, dipentene, phellandrene, pinene, terpinolene.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Calamus (<em>Acorus calamus</em>), melissa (<em>Melissa officianalis</em>), mint (<em>Mentha spp.</em>), citron (<em>Citrus medica</em>), licorice (<em>Glycyrrhiza glabra</em>), and other less-common additions</dt>
+    <dd>Every absinthe recipe is different, and the herbs used are the primary ways of changing things up.  If one wants to aim for more sweetness, or more bitterness, or more freshness, one can add just about any herb or spice that one can think up.  These are just a few.  Of note, although absinthe is usually described as having a licorice flavor, actually using licorice isn't very common, with the flavor coming from anise or star anise.</dd>
+</dl>
+
+Evaluating the ingredients based on their distillates is of the utmost importance, as ought to be shown by the Czech "Absinth" macerations.  Both wormwood and hyssop are shockingly bitter on their own.  In fact, wormwood contains absinthin, the second most bitter compound known.  Making a tea from wormwood, one would be hard pressed to enjoy it, or even stomach it.  However, when distilled, wormwood bursts forth with freshness, cooling sensations, and touches of mint.
+
+This is why really good absinthes go through all those steps of maceration and redistillation: the flavors that the producer is aiming for aren't contained in the maceration.  This is also why one must be very careful with the herbs used in the coloring step with verte absinthes, lest one introduce bitterness that one doesn't want.
+
+-----
+
+### Vilya Spirits Absinthe Verte
+
+<img src="/assets/posts/naa/naa-vilya-verte.jpg" style="width: 40%; margin: 0 1em 1em 0;" align="left" />
+
+Alright, I'm going to come clean up front, here.  This is my favorite absinthe of the lot (though the St. George comes in a close second).
+
+We already tried the blanche absinthe, and talked about the difference between blanche and verte absinthes.  The difference between this absinthe and the blanche is clear from the start.  The color is a perfect peridot green, typifying the beautiful absinthes I tried from Jade.  It looks spectacular in the nosing glass.
+
+The smell is anise, fennel, and stone fruit to start.  Eventually, a bit of the base spirit -- grain spirits in this case -- shows through, with fantastic attention paid to the cuts.  This fades to a clean finish with what smells like a bit of coriander and melissa.
+
+The louche is another "typical" one, with medium speed and intensity: it's not as cottony as the blanche, but neither is it thin by any stretch.
+
+When water is added, the smell is relatively light, with bits of anise and angelica.  The taste is a perfect balance of bitter and sweet, without any astringency to speak of.  This leads with fresher herbs, rather like hyssop (though that isn't listed as an ingredient), coriander, and a judicious amount of anise.  It's not punchy at all.  The mid is warm wormwood and fennel, with some angelica peeking through, while the tail is a splash of bright, pleasant bitterness.  The coating that the sip leaves in your mouth is just as balanced as the drink: complex, rather than one-note anise.
+
+When sugar is added, the wormwood and coriander are mulled almost totally, but not completely gone.  The absinthe remains wonderfully complex, though some of the admirable (to me) qualities are lost to the sugar.  Even so, this absinthe does well with the addition of sugar, not turning into simple anise candy.
+
+Of all of the absinthes that I tasted for this article, this was the clear winner, far and away.  Everything about it screamed "absinthe".  The color was spot on, the louche was simply the type for the class, and the flavor started by taking me back to those first sips of French absinthe, and then went so far above and beyond them, perfect with or without sugar.  It's my favorite, I'm not ashamed to say, and I can't recommend it highly enough.<br clear="all" />
+
+-----
+
+### Absinthe and Craft Spirits
+
+![Brut d'Alembic Assays (cask-strength tests) used for perfecting a recipe; the final recipe will go into mass production, but these assays are sold in limited quantities.](/assets/posts/naa/naa-essai.jpg)
+<small>*Brut d'Alembic Assays (cask-strength tests) used for perfecting a recipe; the final recipe will go into mass production, but these assays are sold in limited quantities.*</small>
+
+In the years of World War I and prohibition, all but the strongest of breweries were shut down, with their tuns and kettles repurposed for the war effort.  Even the strongest breweries, no longer allowed to make beer, had to retool and repurpose their equipment or else be shuttered.
+
+In 1933, when prohibition was repealed, many celebrated the reopening of the breweries.  However, the law had taken its toll: the number of American breweries had declined nearly into the single digits.  There was Anheuser-Busch, Schlitz, Miller, and not a whole lot else.  None of the smaller breweries had been able to weather the dry (well, "dry") years.
+
+Without competition, the remaining breweries flourished and prospered.  There was no reason to compete on flavor or inventiveness.  The only real competition was over price.  To reduce costs, the big breweries began to find ways to make beer cheaper to manufacture.  The introduction of rice and corn were a big step in that direction.
+
+After the 21st amendment was passed, homebrewing was still illegal.  It wouldn't be until 1978 when a dedicated core group of folks brewing at home finally got homebrewing legalized on a federal level, though some states kept laws on their books about brewing one's own beer.
+
+The widespread result of this legislation wouldn't be felt for some time.  It would take time for equipment and materials to become useable by the amateur.  It would take time for the amateur to learn the craft.  It would take time for the amateur to work to becoming a professional.
+
+After some years, though, one began to see more and more brew pubs, and more and more of a new kind of brewery: the microbrewery.
+
+The microbrewery was seen as the extension of homebrewing into a market.  Microbreweries, seen as premium, could charge a premium for their product, and thus had more freedom to experiment with styles.  Ales started becoming popular again.  We started seeing the creation of an American beer aesthetic: somewhere in the land of India pale ales, yet focusing on citrusy American hops and darker malts.
+
+By the turn of the century, one started to see these microbreweries growing to the size where they could hardly be called micro anymore.  They had interstate distribution, recognizable brand names, and many different branch breweries.  However, the premium remained, as did the experimentation to some extent.  One started to hear about "flagship beers", such as Sam Adams' Boston Lager, or New Belgium's Fat Tire.
+
+There needed to be a new term for these breweries that were larger than microbreweries but held to their micro roots.  The term that was settled on was craft breweries.
+
+Now, the craft distillery movement did not follow this trajectory.  Distilling at home is still decidedly illegal, unless one gets a fuel ethanol permit.  Setting up a distillery is much harder than a brewery, too.  One needs most of the equipment needed for a brewery -- a mash tun, a fermentation vessel, storage tanks, aging vessels and so on -- plus the still.  If one is aiming to produce cask-aged spirits, then one also needs casks and space to age.  Plus, if one is aiming to make anything other than neutral spirits such as vodka or white rum, one needs time.  Lots and lots of time.  The minimum age for a bourbon is two years; that's two years where you can't sell it and make back the money that you invested into it.
+
+What the craft distilling industry appears to have done is taken inspiration from the microbrewery industry and run with it.  Many followed the same pattern of creating a vodka or light rum at first, and then broadening their selection by creating liqueurs, sometimes rotating different flavors in and out, while their liquors aged in barrels.  Later on, they could add whiskeys and brandies to their lineups.  
+
+Herbal liqueurs began to crop up here and there, and as soon as the regulations on absinthe were clarified in 2007, absinthes immediately began to show up as well.
+
+One thing that we're starting to see with breweries, now, is market saturation.  The selection at any given liquor store is overwhelming, to the point where many offer "mix-and-match six-packs", allowing customers to try six individual beers for a set price.  Another side effect of this is that we are starting to see regional, local, and hyperlocal breweries producing beers, leaning back on the brewpub model, or even getting close to the independent pub model that one sees in other countries: a place that serves beer that it makes, perhaps a cheese plate, and not a whole lot else (this is called a tavern license in Colorado, and may be similar elsewhere).
+
+Will we start to see the same thing, in general with craft spirits, or specifically with absinthe?  I don't know, I can't honestly say.  However, I do think that it's important to think critically about the things that we enjoy this way, because this feels like a very American problem to be facing.  That entrepreneurship would lead to a flooded market is certainly a global problem, but the way in which it has happened in craft alcohols, the very speed by which it has turned into an industry watched by venture capitalists feels uniquely us.  We take something exciting and jump on it and do all sorts of crazy things, sometimes bad, sometimes good.  Absinthe over here is one of those things.
+
+I don't think it's bad, per se, though getting started into drinking *any* particular tipple is tough, when the selection is so wide.  I think back to my introduction to scotches and wines.  About how I felt the need to really go all out and explore *everything*.  I burned out pretty quickly, however, and burning out is an expensive proposition.
+
+In the end, however, I fell back on what my good friend and bartender, Raffi Jergerian, taught me.  Raffi studied forestry and ecology, traveled to Italy to study wine, and eventually came home to become a sommelier.  After a while, though, he left to become head bartender at a small, upscale bar, then moved on to help open a bar to call his own in Fort Collins.
+
+Why the move to spirits and mixed drinks?  "Explore a little, sure," he said. "Then find what you like to drink and drink that."
+
+Wise words.  Drink well.
+
+-----
+
+If, after all of this, you're still keen on absinthe and want to learn more, there are quite a few resources available for you out there.  First and foremost, I'd recommend checking out the [Wormwood Society](wormwoodsociety.org), a group who is dedicated to promoting and expanding the world of absinthe.  Their reviews are notable for being extensive and well thought out.  They make a wonderful resource.
+
+Much of my technical information came from the book *Pharmako/Poeia*, by Dale Pendell.  The *Pharmako Trilogy* are three wonderful books about the way we perceive plants of power, as well as the way that they shape society.  From coffee and tea to alcohol and marijuana, the author weaves a poetic and informative journey through interesting and sometimes scary plants and substances.
+
+The herbal distillates that I used for describing the component herbs used in making absinthe came from [Liqueurs de France](http://www.absintheonline.com/acatalog/Absinthe_Blending_kit.html), which is also where I got my Jade absinthes.  Most of the distillates come as a set in a lovely wooden box, with three additional bottles being offered for assaying.  They are nominally used for blending one's own absinthe to taste, but I think they're wonderful for ascertaining what all goes into an absinthe.

content/post/poems-from-missives.md

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+---
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-02-12
+type: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+- Romanticism
+- Flower language
+title: Completed poems from "Missives"
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+Though the flow'r may bloom ere long
+    and night recede unto the dawn,
+so yet may love's embrace grow fond
+    and still be spoilt upon the wan.
+Brave are you and wield your smile:
+    A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
+You are not wan, love is not spoilt;
+    thus I be slain and love not fade.
+Have I any need for flow'rs?
+    For nights, for dawns, for words or breath?
+With so keen and fond a blade,
+    There's naught to fear in life or death.
+        So slay, then slay! For now, I care not how,
+        I need for naught but that which love allow.
+</div>
+
+-----
+
+<div class="verse">
+Though every climax approach a denouement
+And every dawn a night,
+Every moment worth sharing
+May be worth stealing.
+    Were it with you,
+    Delay, then, the morn.
+
+When every touch lingers as if forever
+And yet seems to pass too soon,
+Hearts reach out to hearts,
+To seek, to aim, to keep.
+    Were it with you,
+    Delay, then, the morn.
+
+Surely it's cruelty that need begets need begets need,
+And yet need may bring pleasure.
+Pleasure may hurt, ache, burn,
+May steal hours of night.
+    Were it with you,
+    Delay, then, the morn.
+</div>
+
+-----
+
+<div class="verse">
+I reach for the ewer of water,
+I hope to quench the heat.
+I beg for yet another serving,
+I hope to fill my need.
+
+The water -- cool -- cools not
+Without thy merry presence.
+The food fills, passes, is gone --
+Yet leaves me empty, yearning.
+
+Though the heart may quicken --
+Though the tongue may lap --
+I shall sup no greater meal
+Than thy gift entrancing.
+</div>
+
+-----
+
+<div class="verse">
+On reading letters late received,
+I felt within: the fox --
+Yelping, yowling now, crying needfully --
+Myself, a craving beast.
+
+You find me at a disadvantage --
+Panting and aswish --
+Would that distance be traversed as easily
+As hearts t'wards yearning hearts!
+</div>
+
+-----
+
+<div class="verse">
+A rose, single, now blooming
+    may indeed bless the stem,
+yet are not roses clipp'd and shown?
+    Undoubted 'tis a blessing to them
+who receive such a gift!
+    Yet now unmade is the flow'r
+which adorns thy mantle with its grace
+    and withers, however slowly, by the hour,
+        until 'tis faded to nothing and dust,
+        though some scent remain forever amidst the must.
+
+A rose, single, now blooming
+    is perhaps best left on the stem,
+its beauty to be admired amidst the growth.
+    Surely 'tis better to long for that gem,
+than witness beauty wilt and dry!
+    Yet now one must long indeed, must burn,
+Must yearn forever for that grace.
+    To watch that growth, to explore stem's turn,
+        day by day would destroy, weakening one by the hour,
+        A rose, single, now blooming, forever holds all pow'r.

content/post/post-op-images.md

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+---
+category:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2018-05-20
+post: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+- Gender
+- Surgery
+title: Post-op images
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+
+Saturday is for mechanics.
+Sunday is for terror.
+Monday is for acceptance.
+Tuesday is for purging.
+Wednesday is for anxiety.
+Thursday is for sleep.
+
+<hr />
+
+When I am asleep
+The world changes around me.
+In spring, I am changed.
+
+<hr />
+
+I'm no good at images, only words,
+and yet for days after surgery,
+as anesthesia and countless
+    milligrams, milliliters, millions of
+drugs leave my system,
+I'm lousy with visions,
+each lousy with meaning.
+
+I lay in bed, unable to move,
+struggling to keep my eyes open;
+I know that if I close them,
+    I'll be lost, I'll be lost, I'll be
+mired in waking dreams,
+coherent visions with all the logic
+of that paler side of consciousness.
+
+Perhaps the veil here
+is still too thin and vague,
+the pool too clear, the monsters too scary
+    too lean, too mean, too hungry, or
+perhaps I was too close to death
+to come away totally unscathed,
+too close to completely survive.
+
+    It's as though, laying here,
+    stinking of hospital,
+    I'm seeing emotions play out,
+        Scene after scene, scene after scene,
+    anxiety shown in heaps of discarded entrails,
+    hope in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears,
+    determination in the marching of feet.
+
+If I were an artist, perhaps
+I could hope to touch these images,
+but as it is, every word falls short,
+    too vague, too inexact, too tight to
+hope to explain something so vast
+by the very act of attempting to reproduce;
+I can only hint from the margins.
+
+That poetry can accomplish what prose cannot
+in its economy of motion
+is attractive to me, here in recovery -
+    so tired, so tired, so tired - so
+maybe I can hope to express the dire import
+of these visions dancing behind closed lids,
+or at least remind myself on rereading.
+
+Even now, a week out,
+I'm starting to lose touch with the visions,
+I can almost touch them if I squint,
+    lie real still, don't move now, but
+even then, a shadow of the substance...
+I'm starting to consign to memory
+that which was probably memory to begin with.
+
+<hr />
+
+It is two hundred miles between what I expect and what I want.
+Two hundred long strides that seem impassible from one direction,
+    and from the other a day's short drive.
+
+It is nine and a half hours between question and answer.
+A half hour of jazz, nine hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective,
+    and I can only traverse in one direction
+
+It is eleven inches between who I was and who I am.
+Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb,
+    There's pleasure to be had in there, I'm promised.
+
+It is twelve years between what I want and what I get:
+Ten years of remembering who I will become, two years running,
+    Eight days dreaming.
+
+<hr />
+
+What have you changed?
+    <em>My mind</em>
+What changed you?
+    <em>Nothing</em>
+What became of it?
+    <em>I am not who I was</em>
+
+What have you changed?
+    <em>My name</em>
+What changed you?
+    <em>The word</em>
+What became of it?
+    <em>I am called who I am</em>
+
+What have you changed?
+    <em>My looks</em>
+What changed you?
+    <em>The light</em>
+What became of it?
+    <em>I am seen as I am</em>
+
+What have you changed?
+    <em>My chemistry</em>
+What changed you?
+    <em>The substance</em>
+What became of it?
+    <em>My form is my own</em>
+
+What have you changed?
+    <em>My body</em>
+What changed you?
+    <em>The knife</em>
+What became of it?
+    <em>I am shaped how I am</em>
+
+What have you changed?
+    <em>Nothing</em>
+What changed you?
+    <em>I was accepted</em>
+What became of it?
+    <em>I accepted myself</em>
+
+What have you changed?
+    <em>Everything</em>
+What changed you?
+    <em>Everything</em>
+What became of it?
+    <em>I became who I am</em>
+</div>

content/post/somehow-shes-me.md

@@ -0,0 +1,58 @@
+---
+category:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2018-04-01
+type: post
+tags:
+- Gender
+- Poetry
+title: Somehow, she's me
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+Her hair is tied with a ribbon
+    Saying "This is not for you."
+She wears a pendant of stamped brass
+    Saying "Non sum qualis eram."
+"I have been a hero since birth,"
+    She tells herself,
+        As though that will somehow
+            Explain her scars.
+
+She pierced her own ears,
+    But did a shit job of it.
+Her tattoos tease around
+    the edges of her identity.
+Her bones are ley-lines,
+    She tells herself,
+        Strung with symbols
+            Heady with meaning.
+
+She has a certain "fuck you" inflected
+    "Je ne sais quoi" about her.
+Her clothes bespeak
+    carefully constructed laziness.
+"I've got my own style,"
+    She tells herself,
+        While doing all she can
+            To not be seen.
+
+She studied order through science
+    and found it chaotic.
+She studied chaos through music
+    and found it inviable.
+"I'll work with words."
+    She tells herself
+        She'll write a book,
+            Or publish stories.
+
+She wanted to be a bus driver
+    when she grew up.
+Then a linguist, then a biologist,
+    Then a composer, a conductor.
+She never wanted to be
+    What she became;
+        The irony of which
+            Is not lost on her.
+</div>

content/post/sorting-laundry.md

@@ -0,0 +1,32 @@
+---
+author: Madison Scott-Clary
+categories:
+- Flash fiction
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-02-11
+description: You always have to sort your laundry.
+type: post
+tags:
+- Gender
+- Family
+title: 'Flash: Sorting Laundry'
+---
+
+"You always have to sort your laundry," her mother always said. "Separate the lights from the darks, at the very least. Try to get all the bright colors in one load, at least for the first few washes, than you can mix them with the dark."
+
+*Yes, ma.*
+
+"Remember how daddy got his pink shirt?"
+
+*Yes, ma.*
+
+"Just remember to sort, and you'll be fine. And don't use fabric softener on your towels, they'll stay softer that way."
+
+*Yes ma, yes ma.*
+
+She grinned, stuffing towels, light and dark together, into the machine. A bra clung to one of the towels by the hooks. She chuckled. She slid the bra up, hoping to get it off the towel without problem. She laughed. A thread tugged lose from the towel, insisting on clinging to the bra strap. She laughed harder. Laughed and laughed.
+
+Laughter turned to sobs. Shaking sobs. Great, gasping sobs that left her clutching at the edge of the washing machine for balance. *Yes ma, yes ma. You haven't talked to me since I needed a bra, ma.* She plucked the thread from the bra and dropped both into the machine. *Your son had died, ma, and you never wanted a daughter.* She admonished herself through tears about not sorting laundry.
+
+*Yes ma, sorry ma.*

content/post/the-dogs-assure-me.md

@@ -0,0 +1,33 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2015-03-06
+type: post
+tags:
+- Animals
+- Poetry
+title: The Dogs Assure Me
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+The dogs assure me:
+There are volumes of meaning &mdash;
+Life and death &mdash;
+And time;
+Past, present, future &mdash;
+In the scent of a rotting fish left after the flood,
+Or a trace of scat,
+Or the coyote, long passed,
+But not everyone reads poetry.
+
+I'm not so lucky, all told:
+The rich scent of meaning &mdash;
+Heady, intoxicating &mdash;
+Rises only from words
+And the way you rest your hands on the table.
+</div>
+
+-----
+
+*Published in Civilized Beasts 2016*

content/post/the-fool.md

@@ -0,0 +1,352 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-05-08
+description: A student and a motherly badger explore questions of identity through a tarot reading.
+img: the-fool.png
+type: post
+pdf: the-fool.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Tarot
+- Gender
+title: The Fool
+---
+
+The badger looms over a small table, the short sleeve of her smock tugged down toward the table by a glass candy thermometer. A deck of colorful cards rest neatly stacked on its surface.
+
+Contrary to expectations, the room is bright and spacious. No hint of incense or dark velour drapes, just a simple living room in a simple home, a simple badger and some simple cards. She can't be older than fifty, and she's of a more motherly bent than a mystical one.
+
+*More motherly than my mother, at least*, I think. *More earthy and far less mystical.*
+
+"Tell me about your day, Avery," she begins, and as I speak, she shuffles a worn deck of cards, nodding along with me. She draws cards yan tan tethera, and lays them face up on the table with a casual slowness that does little to distract from my words. Still, my language is stilted, and I find myself tracing the edges of the table with my gaze or watching her paws rather than making eye contact.
+
+"Now," she says when I trail off to an uneasy silence. The badger, the table and cards, a bright room with motes in afternoon sunbeams; an image more meaningful than I anticipated. And me --- dingy clothes draped over a broad frame I never wanted --- out of place. "Here are three cards. Look, and tell me the first thing you notice."
+
+"Notice?" I ask. I sound dubious even to myself.
+
+"Notice," she confirms. "What do you see? When you look at the cards, what jumps out at you? Colors, motions, angles and lines. What do you see?"
+
+I stare at the badger. She stares back, then lets out a kindly laugh and gestures down at the cards.
+
+Three cards, laid out in a line. I move my stare to those, more bewildered than anything, trying to pick out singular things. "From each of them? One at a time?"
+
+She shrugs, smiling not unkindly.
+
+*Odd,* I think. *How such a small task could feel overwhelming.*
+
+I puff out a breath of air, whiskers bristling, and tap at the first card. "Well, this one's upside down, for starters. The, uh...Page of Wands." Digging through memories, I try, "A page is like a squire or something, right? Someone who helps a knight?"
+
+"Yes, a young person, someone in training." She grins and nods down to the remaining stack of cards. "There are knights in the deck, too, but that's for another time."
+
+Whiskers still canted forward, I nod and hesitate for a moment. "So, what does it being upside down mean?"
+
+"You tell me."
+
+I roll my eyes. Still, she sounds kind rather than petulant or snide, so I think about upside-down cards. Upside-down figures, upside-down and tipped over, upset in the literal sense of the word. Upside-down meanings. Meanings inverted, reversed, turned over.
+
+"I think I see." I intend it as the beginning of a sentence, but seeing the badger's smile widen, I leave it at that. I shut out the other cards, focus on the Page. "In training, hmm? They looks like they're investigating or contemplating. The, uh...I guess the wand. The wand is the only thing growing, the only thing with green in the entire scene."
+
+"Learning about life. Investigating growth." The badger nods, but neither confirming nor sage. Simply agreeing. "But reversed."
+
+"Not learning?" At this, I sense her expression close down. It's not a visible thing; it's a sensation of her movement of thought being put on hold. "Not...not doing anything with learning, perhaps?"
+
+The badger nods. I can see the clip on her thermometer holding it to the over-washed fabric, see beads of sugar still clinging to glass, bobbing with her movements. "Wands are for beginnings, for doing. Or perhaps activating is better." She sets a paw next to the card. "This Page --- a bear, maybe? I've never figured that out --- is learning, but not moving, not beginning. There is knowledge, but no decision."
+
+"Activation energy!" I blurt, and, seeing questions in her eyes, continue. "Like in chemistry. It's dorky, but there has to be enough energy for an electron to jump from one sphere to the next; it just sits there otherwise. It needs the proper amount of activation energy to get going."
+
+Questions turn to understanding, but her gaze stays locked on mine, waiting.
+
+"I don't have the energy."
+
+"Perhaps not. Or perhaps you do, but you're --- you or something within you --- is not letting it reach the activation. The energy may be there, but blocked."
+
+I have to restrain myself from a snide smile. A reaction to my mom's mysticism, maybe. To crystals and blocked energy. In the badger, though, I sense only earnestness. "Energy as in will? Purpose?"
+
+She shrugs. My choice, apparently.
+
+"Everything's yellow in the card--"
+
+"Energetic color, yellow."
+
+"--yellow except for the black of the salamanders on their coat-thing."
+
+She nods, murmurs down to the card, "His creations, perhaps. How many full ones do you see?"
+
+I lean closer, nudging glasses further up my blunt snout. "Two, maybe three out of a dozen or so."
+
+"If the card were upright, those other ones would be creations yet to happen." Her voice carries knowledge, and more authority than she's shown yet. "Reversed, that becomes flipped around. It could be creations abandoned, or it could be things you're afraid to start.
+
+"These cards named after people or titles --- the page, the knight, the king, the queen --- they're sometimes about people. Maybe this card's about you. Or they all could be. Maybe--"
+
+I smirk, nod my head toward the second card. "So I'm the fool?"
+
+"Maybe they're just facets of yourself." She finishes, returning my smirk.
+
+Thus chastened, I look at the second card. "Okay, well, there's a dog, one of those breeds with short fur, though it doesn't look like any of the dogs I've met. He's--" I catch myself, seeing androgyny in the dog's features and tamping down the yearning for my own. "They're stepping toward the edge of a cliff, with a little spirit thing dancing at their feet. They have one of those sticks with a bag tied to the end, but their tunic thing is what has me thinking. It's all growing things." I lean in closer and add, "And little splashes of water. Green and blue with flowers on navy."
+
+We sit in silence for a moment while I think about the card more.
+
+"There's a good balance of colors, come to think of it. More than the Page, at least. Blue and green and red and yellow." I hesitate, staring at the lean canine muzzle: the balance continues there, masculine and feminine, hard and soft, focused and uncaring. I say nothing, and wonder why.
+
+The older woman nods slowly. "It's a fancy shirt, no denying. It'd look good on you."
+
+I laugh, to which she looks up, smiling. "Seriously. It's a good mix. You're a good mix, too. But you wear all drab colors. Why's that?"
+
+There's a sudden flush to my cheeks, at my appearance being so deliberately addressed. I lay my ears back. A blush along with the first hints of annoyance. These are soon replaced with simple embarrassment. "I don't want to-- I mean, I don't think I'd look good in bright colors or fancy clothes."
+
+"I think you would." She hastens to continue, speaking over my mounting disagreements, "I think you'd look good, if you dressed how you wanted. Don't you?"
+
+I frown at her. She continues, "You didn't say you don't want to dress in bright colors and fancy clothes. You started to say you didn't want to do something else."
+
+I held my breath. Anger is the wrong word for what I feel. Frustration? Humiliation, perhaps. Am I so transparent?
+
+"I don't want to," I begin in a rush of pent-up breath, feeling that struggle blown out with it. My shoulders sag, and I complete the statement more slowly. "I don't want to be seen like that."
+
+"The fool, here, they're everything. They're the beginning of all things, and they've already got all of the endings inside themselves. At the beginning of all journeys, there's the fool: taking that first step is a fool's gamble, after all." She pauses, looking at me earnestly, intently. "You caught yourself earlier, you said 'he' and then switched to 'they'."
+
+I hunch down into my slouched shoulders, muzzle dipping as I struggle for words. "They looked-- I mean, It's on my mind, I guess."
+
+"I'll come clean," she admits after a pause, dark paws fiddling with the remainder of the deck, straightening cards. "Your mom told me you were coming, so I know that much. Even if she hadn't, though, it's written on your face. I mean this in the best possible way, Avery, but you don't make a very good man."
+
+I close my eyes. I shut out the cards, the motherly badger. Motherly in the sense of speaking truths, in the sense of knowing children, in having seen them grow up. Motherly in lived experience. Experience lived in the moment, not in some dream world of crystals and chakras. *More motherly than my mom,* I think.
+
+When I open my eyes, her gaze has softened.
+
+"Why three cards?" I ask, deflecting.
+
+"Past, present, and future." She laughs.
+
+I nod, then sit up a little straighter, murmuring, "So it's more that past me that didn't have the activation energy?"
+
+"Or didn't want to use it, yes."
+
+"That makes more sense, then."
+
+"How so?"
+
+I shrug, continuing, "If I'm at the beginning of something now, it's because of how much time I spent fretting --- and not starting --- before."
+
+She nods. "And are you at the beginning of something now?"
+
+"I think so." I sound dubious, even to myself.
+
+"Why now?"
+
+"College," I say.
+
+"Away from home?"
+
+"Mmhm."
+
+She nods again. "It's a little freeing, isn't it? Being away from parents. So you, like the Page of Wands, have been investigating, leaving all that energy pent up inside. And now you're ready to...to what? Take that step?"
+
+I catch myself fiddling with the hem of my shirt. It's an olive color, faded further into drabness by countless washings, no fancy tunic; even her washed-out smock is brighter than my shirt. It doesn't go with my fur. Nor do the well-worn khakis. A darker animal dressed in those would look rough and tumble, ready for a hike. A mountain lion looks like a mess of dirty laundry.
+
+I look up from my dull self to the table once more, speaking to the cards. "I have an appointment to start talking about it --- talking about gender --- with a counselor."
+
+"Congratulations," the badger says, smiling. And I realize she doesn't need to say anymore. I realize *that's* what I needed from my mom. I realize that's probably why my mom sent me here. I realize that there's probably more to my mom than I gave her credit for.
+
+I realize I've stopped thinking of this --- the tarot card reading --- as something mystical.
+
+I speak up, "The third card, then."
+
+The badger returns her gaze to the table.
+
+"It feels impenetrable to me."
+
+She laughs and shakes her head. "It's not a book. You're not writing a report on its deeper meanings. You're picking up on some of those meanings, but you don't have to do it right away or all the time. Or at all, for that matter." Still grinning, guides my attention back down to the card with a gesture, badger and cougar looming over the table. "Just tell me what you see."
+
+Abashed, I return her smile as best I can. "Alright. It's a...well, I want to say a woman and a child being ferried across a lake or something, but the boat they're in has six swords in it. They're upright, like they've been stabbed through the bottom of the boat."
+
+"Stabbed? Like they're going through the wood?"
+
+"Yeah."
+
+"Is water coming up around them?"
+
+I look harder. The bottom of the boat is pitch dark. "I can't tell, but no one seems in a rush to get them out, anyway."
+
+This gets a chuckle. "No, no they don't. Maybe they're plugging the holes in the boat. Maybe it's best to leave them in."
+
+Nodding, I keep looking at the card. There are lines to draw the attention. The swords, the boat, the pole of the oarsman, the horizon, the water...the water. "The front of the boat, where the swords are, isn't sinking. The people still weigh something, though. Look, the back of the boat's low in the water."
+
+She nods, "Maybe they--"
+
+"Like they don't weigh anything," I add hastily, cutting her short.
+
+"--don't weigh anything, yes."
+
+I lay my ears back and grin, "Sorry, didn't mean to trample."
+
+She returns my grin, pats my tan paw in her black one. "You're excited. It's really nice to see."
+
+"So why swords?"
+
+"I don't know. What do swords do?"
+
+I laugh. "Cut and stab. Kill people. Stuff like that."
+
+"Fair enough," she chuckles. "Why would one do that?"
+
+Her words stop me short. "To...to kill," I begin. "But that's what I just said. Are you asking me why people kill each other?"
+
+She nods.
+
+"To get something," I murmur, fumbling for words. "To gain something. To get what one wants, or needs."
+
+"So, since this is the Tarot and there's bound to be a lot going on here, can we just say the swords are a tool?"
+
+"Well, I'm not about to hack and slash my way to get what I want."
+
+She leans in close to me, stage-whispering, "I'll let you in on a secret. None of the cards in the swords suit --- in any suits --- show blood. Death, yes. Change, definitely. But no blood. It's hardly hacking and slashing."
+
+"But they're still--"
+
+She holds up a paw, "They're still swords, but they're tools. Swords show work. Strife, sometimes, sure; striving toward a goal. But what they is show work. These swords aren't working right now, they're just standing there. So where is the striving?"
+
+"Behind them?" I ask. "They figures are all facing away from something."
+
+"Or toward something."
+
+"So," I say hesitantly. "I'm going to go on a journey?"
+
+She laughs, "Can you guess what my next question would be?"
+
+I shake my head.
+
+"My next question would be: are you? And then you sit and think about it for a moment."
+
+"I sit and think a moment, then say: no, of course not, it's about the work of going through something. The journey is the work." I hesitate, then nod and continue, more sure of myself. "Because I'm here at the beginning. I'm the fool, ready to take the step, and then I just have to take the next and keep going."
+
+She smiles and urges me on with a little gesture of her paw.
+
+"So if I was stalling by investigating every possibility, never starting," I say, nodding back to the first card, the Page of Wands. "Then I guess what I'm focused on is taking that first step, and after that, taking the next."
+
+"You're doing my job for me," the badger laughs.
+
+My smile falters. "Fair enough, but what do I do?"
+
+"That's advice, kid." That soft smile, again. She flips the cards over, one by one, and continues, "Advice comes from people, not from cards. And if I'm going to give you advice, you're going to need to tell me what's actually going on."
+
+She leans forward, folding her arms on the table, and looks past the cards and to me.
+
+So I tell her. I tell her all that stuff from childhood, all those stupid things --- the dress-up, the questions, the uncomfortable guidance, the frustration at forced roles. I tell her all those things that meant nothing, may still mean nothing, and yet add up to a picture of a different me than who I am now. A different shape, a different body, different face and voice and name.
+
+I speak more freely than at the beginning of the session.
+
+I tell her about my mom, about telling her bits and pieces of my feelings, and her insistence at first that it was just a blockage of energies, and then her reluctant acceptance. I tell her about my dad, and how terrified I am of him and his iron grip on masculinity. I tell her about leaving for school and deciding that becoming my own self mattered more than their financial assistance and what belongingness they could offer.
+
+"Your mom sent you to me," she states again, after a comfortable silence. "Did you tell her any of this?"
+
+I shake my head. "She knows just that I'm, er--"
+
+"That you're transgender?" she finishes for me. "Would that be fair to say?"
+
+"I...yes, that's fair."
+
+"But you don't want to say it?" she asks, kind eyes on my own. "You don't have to, can just say yes or no."
+
+"No. I mean, I don't want to say it, but I should. Maybe that's part of the first step." I hesitate for a second, ears flat and eyes averted, before murmuring, "She just knows that I'm trans."
+
+The badger nods, unclipping the thermometer from her smock and turning it over in her fingers. "Alright. And she sent you to me for advice? She told me to talk to you, mentioned vague facts."
+
+"Yeah, she told me to go to you to work on things." I give a wry smile and add, "Her words, not mine."
+
+She laughs and sits back in her chair, slouching and twirling that thermometer. "Your mom is nuts," she says. "I mean that in the kindest way, of course: I love her dearly. Have since school. I suspect she wishes the world worked differently for her. And for you, for that matter."
+
+The unabashed laugh and words of affection are contagious and have me grinning. "Yeah, she's nuts," I echo. "Still, can't say I'm upset with what I got out of this."
+
+"The cards, you mean?"
+
+"Yeah. I was expecting fortunes, I got--"
+
+"You got what you had when you came in the door," she asserts. "And a chance to talk it through. Now, you want my advice?"
+
+"Yeah. I want to know what you think I should do next."
+
+"About which bit?"
+
+"Coming out, I suppose." I scuff at the back of my neck, paw feeling clumsy. "Maybe starting transition."
+
+"Well, it sounds like you're on your way to both, right?" She clips the thermometer back to her smock and straightens the remainder of the tarot deck in deft paws. "You've told your mom, and you have that appointment, right?"
+
+I nod, brushing fingertips over the overturned cards left on the table. It felt like we were both acknowledging their presence in our own ways. "But I still haven't told dad, and I'm still freaked out what the counselor will say."
+
+"Anxiety, then?" she offers, waving a paw above the cards. "A bit of the Page of Wands still left over?"
+
+I nod again, silent.
+
+"Do you want to dig at that?"
+
+"Mmhm. Do you have any thoughts on how to get past that?" She shuffles the cards and opens her mouth to speak, but I interrupt, "Wait, don't tell me. Now you'll ask if *I* have any thoughts on how to get past that."
+
+Her laugh is kind and her fingers sure as she slips another card from the top of the deck, laying it flat on top of the first three.
+
+The image shocks me enough to get me to sit up straight, as if by gaining some distance from the card itself I could escape it. "What the hell?"
+
+"The ten of swords," she says, voice level, conversational.
+
+I count the swords sticking out of the anonymous figure's back. Ten. A feline laid flat on his front, a dark sky, a calm shore, and ten swords buried in his back, each as high as the cat himself.
+
+I clear my throat and manage, "I thought you said there wasn't any bloodshed in the swords."
+
+"Do you see blood?"
+
+Despite everything urging me not to do so, I lean in close and inspect the figure. "No," I admit. "Though his cloak is red."
+
+"The color of passion. And yellow, the color of action."
+
+"The dawn's yellow, too," I offer. I sound dubious, even to myself.
+
+"Dawn, then?" The older woman looks down at the card curiously. "Dawn or sunset?"
+
+I frown and shake my head. "Dawn, I think. It always feels like dawn chases the night, but sunset gives in to it."
+
+"Poetic," she says, and her smile is earnest.
+
+I count the swords again. "One in his ear, one in his neck. Three or four in his back." I stifle a giggle and murmur, "That's a lot of swords."
+
+Her eyes brighten. "Isn't it? Overkill, in the truest sense of the word. Like an overreaction."
+
+A thought occurs to me, and I lean in over the table. "Staring at the dawn, killed ten times over. Look, the water's even clear, like the--" I lift the last card up to peek, and continue, "Like the six. Like me staring at coming out and poking a billion holes in the idea without ever taking the step."
+
+Her eyes stay bright. "Maybe it's an alternative to the six, then. Too much emotion, not enough action. Passion and action pinned down, rather than the work of the six. You could keep taking those steps, or you could keep killing yourself with indecision."
+
+I nod eagerly and ask on a whim, "What's it like reversed?"
+
+She gives a little shrug and turns the card over for me to see. "The swords fall out --- that's a relief --- but he's still dead, isn't he? Resigned to his place on the shore."
+
+"Sure enough," I laugh. "Wait, 'he'?"
+
+"You said it first," she says playfully. "Seriously, though, most of the figures are ambiguous. Or androgynous, I think. What you read into them can mean something if you let it."
+
+"It could be nothing," I mumble. "Or it could be the old me. The 'he'."
+
+She shrugs. My choice, apparently.
+
+A chime interrupts us, me staring at the card and her smiling at me. A clock tolling slow hours. I check my watch to confirm it. Five.
+
+"Oh jeez, I'm sorry. It's way later than I thought."
+
+She laughs, "Conversations go where they will. There's no rush. I can pull together dinner for two if you want to stay." She taps at the thermometer with a grin, "I even made marshmallows, though they'll be sticky still."
+
+"No, it's alright. Thank you. I'm getting pretty tired, as it is." I shrug, realizing just how true that statement is. "This took a lot out of me."
+
+"It does that. It's a wonder we need exercise at all, when just thinking about things wears us out."
+
+I laugh with her, nodding.
+
+"Still," she continues. "You're in town, now. Don't be afraid to stop by, say hi. There's lots more we can talk about, cards or no. Don't wait for your mom to push you my way."
+
+I lever myself up from the chair, swishing ropy tail once or twice to make sure it hasn't fallen asleep, and offer my paw to the badger. "I won't. I know she thinks we'll work on things, but I just want to talk. This was more than I expected. I didn't know I needed--"
+
+She bypasses my offered hand and gives me a firm hug around the middle. Startled, I hold still. She smells of sweets. Sweets and baking.
+
+I feel unfortunately tall. A rectangle. A lummox. A big, dumb cat.
+
+I also feel understood, appreciated. Welcomed. I return the hug carefully. Then, with her farewell in my ears, take that first step out into the evening air.
+
+And then the next.

content/post/there-is-too-much-fire-in-me.md

@@ -0,0 +1,30 @@
+---
+category:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2016-05-04
+type: post
+tags:
+- Mental Health
+- Poetry
+title: There is too much fire in me
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+There is too much fire in me to be described by the soldering iron's tip.
+
+If I were to draw that across my flesh,
+   it would all spill out at once.
+I'd melt, eaten whole by flames,
+    and flow into a pool of molten silver.
+I would be borne up through the clouds,
+    and grow lighter by the second.
+Sublimation would claim me then,
+    atoms would scatter, diffuse.
+All that energy poured to the air around me,
+    an imperceptible increase in temperature.
+Particle would excite particle
+    until I'm felt only as warmth on your face.
+
+But even that would not be enough.
+</div>

content/post/what-i-expected.md

@@ -0,0 +1,570 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Rum and Coke
+ratings: X
+date: 2015-09-01
+description: Meeting for the first time is stressful enough, but all the more so when things don't match up with what you expected.
+img: rum-and-coke.png
+type: post
+pdf: rum-and-coke.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- About furry
+- Convention
+- Gender
+- Sexuality
+title: What I Expected
+---
+
+Painting their nails had always calmed Sascha down. The simple act of dragging a brush slowly and carefully, following along the contours of the curved nails in smooth strokes, moving deliberately so as not to bump those nails already painted. The whole act seemed to be almost a meditation, calming to the core.
+
+At least, usually it did. It was difficult to contain the nervousness and excitement that filled them, and they found themself anxiously cycling over the list of things that needed doing before they headed out. Clothes: packed. Cat: fed. Tail and paws: in the bag. Phone charger...
+
+Phone charger!
+
+Cursing quietly under their breath, Sascha quickly finished up the last two nails on their right hand -- always the hardest -- and ran down the hall to snag the charger from the plug by the bed, being mindful of their still-wet nails. No sense in having to clean polish off the wall.
+
+No such luck with the charger, unfortunately, which received a dash of glossy paint.
+
+"And of course. Piece of shit."
+
+Moving slower now, Sascha made their way back to the kitchen table and settled into their chair. They took a few deep breaths to calm themself before delicately twisting the cap off the polish again, straightening up, and working on adding an additional coat to cover up the ding in the polish they'd received from the charger.
+
+"Getting all gussied up for the con?" their housemate asked sleepily, drifting through the kitchen toward the coffee pot. Mike had a way of moving that looked almost effortless, a testament to his laid back life as professional dreamer. Sascha had always admired him for that, along with so many other things.
+
+"Yeah, I figure if there's any one place where I can be assured to not be the weirdest one around, a furry con is probably it."
+
+"Oh, come on," Mike said, rolling his eyes and polishing off the coffee pot to fill his mug. "You're hardly weird around here. College towns are full of people weirder than you, no need to drag yourself through the mud."
+
+Sascha sighed. It was a conversation the two had had enough times before that they didn't feel the need to list out all the counter-arguments they kept in stock. No amount of discussion could seem to dispel the deeper insecurities involved, anyway, much as Mike might try.
+
+So the two shared an easy silence -- or perhaps it was easy on Mike's end; Sascha simply held still, fingers splayed, and watched the floor as they waited for the polish to dry. Their mind rolled through waves of anxiety and forced relaxation, focusing on holding still and not simply jittering right out of their chair.
+
+"So," Mike finally said, voice softer than before. "What's got you so nervous? Meeting up with whats-his-face?"
+
+Sascha slumped, "That obvious, huh?" They bought themself a moment to think by blowing across the nails of one hand, then the other.
+
+"Yeah, meeting Shadow," they continued. "I'm not...really sure what to do. I mean, I really like him, and I guess a con's a safe enough place to meet up with someone, since if it doesn't work out, it's not like you're trapped alone with them with nothing to do but feel awkward. And at least with this one, I can drive home if I absolutely need to."
+
+Mike eased into the chair across from Sascha and nodded, clearing a space for his coffee. "Do you think you'll hit it off, though?"
+
+"Maybe? I mean, we certainly get along well enough online, but you never really know in person until you meet. We talked through that, too, about how maybe things won't line up that well, and how this is just sort of an experiment."
+
+Sascha found it hard to meet Mike's sleepy gaze. They had tried dating each other once, earlier in college before they'd moved in together, and it only took a month or two before the realized how much better friends they made than a couple. They clicked well, just not on a relationship level. Ever since, though, Sascha had a hard time discussing relationship things with Mike. The fact that they now shared an apartment had instilled in them a hesitancy around relationships that had kept them out of anything more serious than a crush or fooling around online. This was the closest Sascha had gotten to another relationship since Mike, and it felt a little exciting, as well as more than a little scary.
+
+"You'll do fine, kiddo," Mike laughed, sipping at his coffee.
+
+The pet name got a smile out of Sascha -- the height difference between them and Mike when they were dating had led to them being confused as parent and teenaged child more than once. "I know, I know. Thanks. And thanks again for watching the cat so I can go be a ridiculous furry."
+
+"Oh, that shithead and I will get along fine. We'll totally ignore each other except around dinner time."
+
+"Sounds about right, yeah."
+
+Mike finished his coffee and stood again, wafting easily toward the hall and giving Sascha's shoulder a squeeze on the way out. "Good luck, kiddo, for real. Call me if you need."
+
+-----
+
+Sascha managed to make it through the rest of the morning without dinging any more nails, a real accomplishment. They had already packed up clothes and furry gear, and got the over-stuffed backpack into the back of their shitty Civic. They even managed to only turn around and retrieve a forgotten item once (the phone charger, natch), and that before they hit the highway. The trip was off to a good start, all told.
+
+The drive itself was uneventful, a mere two hours from home down to the hotel hosting the convention. They were pretty confident that some of their friends would already be there, and thus would provide some distraction from the way their stomach seemed to be doing its level best to pirouette inside their abdomen.
+
+Sascha had moved comfortably through the furry fandom for more than a decade now, having found it sometime in high-school, sticking with it through college, and into post-college life. More so than any other community, furry had helped them through some of the toughest parts of their life, from the divorce of their parents, to coming out -- first as gay, then genderqueer -- to moving away from home life. They'd tried to fit themself into countless other structures: gender and sexuality support groups, writing groups in college, all with more or less the same result: fading interest, spotty attendance, and eventually moving on.
+
+The most comfortable thing about the fandom was that it provided a place for them to be themself. At times, pretending to be an animal person on the internet was almost ancillary to the sense of community, of just being able to feel comfortable with friends, something they'd never experienced in more structured environments such as all those carefully curated groups and meetups.
+
+And furry is where they had met Shadow.
+
+Shadow was, as his name suggested, a black wolf. Wolves were one of the more common species out there in the furry community, and Sascha had even known a different wolf named Shadow years back. Despite the rather plain name and everyday species, Sascha had found him to be a sweet, mature person who had seemed genuinely interested in them.
+
+They had made an unusual, even rather awkward couple, Shadow the wolf and Sascha -- or Skylark, online -- the mink. Sascha had initially resisted getting much closer than friendship with Shadow, but he had eventually won them over. They had spent countless hours talking, role-playing everything from going for walks together to sexual encounters, and otherwise getting to know each other over the last four or five months. They'd even had a few short, tense phone calls, something Sascha avoided at all costs, getting to know each others' voices.
+
+Shadow had seemed open to Sascha's gender identity and expression, saying that while he generally considered himself more straight than anything, he was willing to explore outside his normal comfort zone. They had both agreed that sex may not even be a thing for them, as it tended to make Sascha uncomfortable and Shadow had said he wasn't exactly sure what all he would enjoy with someone of indeterminate gender who nonetheless lacked a vagina. It was that open-mindedness that had convinced Sascha that meeting up, even if it wound up only being casual, would be okay.
+
+Now, making their way down the highway and trying to drown out the rattling dash with music, Sascha felt less sure than ever that this was a good idea. Mike and their other friends had been pushing for them to find more of a relationship for years now. They knew their friends were right, too, given how much they talked about companionship and how much that meant to them. Still, though, this just felt like all the scenarios their parents had warned them about, and here they were deliberately going into it.
+
+They shook their head and settled back into the seat. They were committed to going. They'd been telling themself that for weeks, now, and now that they were more than halfway to the hotel, where they'd already reserved a room.  There was definitely no turning back.
+
+-----
+
+"Well if it isn't Skylark, pretty as always."
+
+The voice from behind the chair Sascha had managed to commandeer in the lobby made them jump, startled at first, then hit with recognition. "Maverick! Holy hell, I didn't know you were planning on making it down this weekend!"
+
+They jumped up out of the seat, tail smacking against the coffee table nearby.  They remembered to put their purse on the chair to claim it as best as possible, and dashed around to throw their arms around Maverick, who picked them up in a tight squeeze in turn.
+
+"I managed to wrangle some time off. I'm only down here through Sunday at stupid-o'clock in the morning, but hey, at least I made it."
+
+Sascha settled down once Maverick let them go and straightened their skirt out, nodding. "Well, still, glad you could. It's been forever since I've seen you. Haven't caught up with any of the rest of the crew, I figure I'm probably here a little earlier than most."
+
+"Oh, well, I'm here, and I know Volare's around somewhere, I ran into him at the bar, naturally."
+
+"Of course, I'd expect nothing less."
+
+Maverick laughed, straightening his badges and lifting Sascha's purse from the chair before plopping down into it, "I'm sure the bar's gonna make plenty good money this weekend."
+
+Sascha snagged their bag from their friend. Online, Maverick was a rather glowy cheetah whom they'd known for years, and met several times in person at local meets. They settled for sitting down on the arm of the overstuffed chair, leaning against Maverick and draping their stuffed tail across his lap. The two caught up on recent happenings -- who was quitting furry forever, what art had caused a big stir among their group of friends, what they had been saving up to buy in the dealer's den this year.
+
+It was Maverick who finally broached the subject of Shadow.
+
+"So when does your...uh...guy friend get here? You've been looking left and right since I spotted you."
+
+"Not until later tonight," Sascha sighed. "I'm just so nervous, I can't stop thinking maybe he'll somehow magically get here early."
+
+"Excited, huh?"
+
+"I'm not even sure it's that, really. Just nervous."
+
+Maverick furrowed his brow. "What, do you think it won't go well or something?"
+
+Sascha buried their face in their hands and trailed their fingers up through their hair, freshly dyed a subdued red just for the occasion, mumbling behind their forearms, "Yes. Well, no. I mean...I guess I don't really know. I haven't been this close to someone since Mike, so it just feels so weird. I don't know what to do about it."
+
+Maverick nodded and brought a hand up to rub up over Sascha's back, tracing along their spine soothingly. "You'll do fine, minkypie, and you know you've got a bunch of us here to take care of you if things don't go well. They will, though, trust me. Shadow's a little plain, given the rest of us, but he's good people."
+
+"Oh, come on, he's not that plain. You just say that because your spots glow blue and Volare's bright pink. By your standards, I'm plain."
+
+"That you are, girlie."
+
+Sascha groaned and draped herself dramatically across Maverick's lap, "Girlie, huh? I haven't been called that since...well, ever. Congrats on being the first."
+
+"Skylark the delicate minkygirl, plain as day, swooning wildly into the muscle-bound arms of her manly wolf lover."
+
+Sascha's groan turned into giggles, muffled by their hands as they hid their face. "Seriously? I should hit you for that. And lay off the 'girlie' and 'her' nonsense."
+
+"Oh? Feeling more boyish of late?" Maverick asked, still grinning.
+
+Sascha sat back up on the arm of the chair, twisting around to settle more comfortably against their friend as they toyed with the fluff at the tip of their tail, "A little, I guess. Maybe it's the possibility of meeting up with Shadow, though. I don't want to come across as...as...I don't know, disingenuous."
+
+"Hey now, I've heard you talk about gender enough to know that you're hardly disingenuous about it. You talk convincingly enough to get me doubting my own gender, for Christ's sake. Shadow really has you feeling more like a boy?"
+
+"Um, there's just...it's just...there's more to it than that, I guess. I've been honest with him and all, but he's so much more, well, active than I am. I don't want to surprise him or anything."
+
+"Because you interact with him mostly as a girl online?"
+
+"Yeah and..." Sascha stammered for a bit, hunting for the best way to convey the way they'd been feeling. "And I just don't want him to think I'm dishonest or anything."
+
+"Hey mink," Maverick said soothingly, "I don't think you're being dishonest, and I don't think Shadow will think you're being dishonest, either. If you've talked about gender already, then I don't think there's anything you need to worry about. Heck, you're wearing a skirt and have your hair done up all nicely, you're certainly not looking boyish."
+
+Sascha couldn't think of much to add, nodding and murmuring a quiet "thanks" in reply.
+
+The two sat for a little longer, watching the congoers and confused non-attendees streaming past the lobby chairs in various amounts of costume.
+
+It was Maverick's phone buzzing that brought their attention back to the moment.
+
+"Oh, hey, Volare found Vish, and they're at the bar, want to go meet up with them?"
+
+Sascha gave one last look around searching for the buzz-cut that they knew they would spot first, that first sign of Shadow, then finally nodded, "Sure, I could use a drink, anyway."
+
+-----
+
+The initial meeting between Skylark and Shadow was widely panned by critics as a romance, though some praised its comedic aspects.
+
+By nine that night, Sascha was still in the bar, nursing their second Manhattan and making sure that Volare stayed on his stool more often than not. Maverick had gone off to the restroom something like fifteen minutes ago, and Vish, a non-drinker, was looking more than a little hemmed in. Everything was that delightfully confused mix-up of a convention, and everyone was settling into it in their own way.
+
+"Your hair is...redder than I was expecting."
+
+Sascha whirled. The voice was undoubtedly Shadow's -- Peter's -- recognizable from the phone.  And sure enough, the buzz-cut towering nearly a foot over their own head had them immediately feeling dwarfed. The second thing to catch Sascha's attention was the crash and tinkle of not one, but two glasses as the back of their stool knocked into the bar table and tipped both Volare's and Vish's drinks.
+
+Rather than rushing to hug their partner as they had immagined, Sascha was overcome by an intense feeling of self-consciousness and guilt at what they'd done. They quickly helped pick up pieces of glass and ice, mopping up spilled beer and soda while muttering hasty apologies to their friends. In the process, they managed to cut open a finger on a piece of glass, adding to the confusion.
+
+"Whoa, whoa! Slow down. Skylark!"
+
+By the time Peter had gained their attention, Sascha was fighting to hold back tears and refusing to meet anyone's gaze, never mind that of their boyfriend.
+
+The waitress rushed over to the table with a rag and a bandage for Sascha, and was helping to clean up the sticky mess. She commented on how lucky everyone was to have been spared the deluge for the most part -- Volare and Vish both had only a few scattered droplets on their shirts, the rest of the beer-soda flood having made its way onto the floor.
+
+Sascha managed to pry their eyes from the mess and look sheepishly up to Peter, who simply held his arms out. No leaping to the offer of a hug, nor collapsing, weeping, into his arms. Instead, they hesitated for a few seconds -- long enough for the entire table to go silent -- before slowly leaning into the offered embrace, covering their face with their hands and crying as quietly as possible as Peter held them.
+
+"I'm sorry, that was...that didn't go as planned," Sascha said, once they were sure their voice wouldn't crack.
+
+"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'll just take it as you were really happy to see me. Everything's okay."
+
+"Sorry, I'm just a little anxious, awkward..."
+
+Peter leaned down and placed a tentative kiss to the top of Sascha's head, cooing gently, "It's okay, I promise. Come on, let's sit back down, and we can grab a drink and relax and catch up. You look really good, by the way."
+
+Sascha felt a good portion of their tension melt away at the relaxing murmuring of their partner, enough that they could disentangle their own arms enough to slip around Peter's stocky middle and finally return the hug, taking comfort in the fact that he practically enveloped their smaller frame.
+
+Eventually, Sascha let go and dried their eyes, tugging another stool over for Peter and introducing him to the crowd, most of whom he'd known online for the last few months of hanging out with his partner, and a few of whom he was just meeting for the first time. Peter made his dramatic arrival up to everyone by covering a replacement beer and soda for Volare and Vish, another Manhattan for Sascha, and a beer for himself.
+
+"So," said Volare, sitting up as straight as he could, a sure sign of his drunkenness. "You're the Shadow that we've been hearing so much about! You and Skylark make a really cute couple."
+
+While Sascha hid their face behind their drink, Peter grinned widely and nodded, "It's been an interesting few months for me -- for both of us, I think. I don't think Sky was really looking for much in the way of a relationship, and I wasn't really looking for someone like him." Realizing his mistake quickly, he rushed to add, "Er, them. I'm sorry, Sky..."
+
+Sascha hunched their shoulders in an attempt to get even smaller, feeling the attention shift from Peter to themself. "It's...it's okay. I appreciate the correction."
+
+Vish and Volare let their gaze linger on the couple, one smiling and the other looking nervous.
+
+"Anyway," Peter continued, hoarsely. "I think it's worked out well, there should be plenty to do this weekend, anyway."
+
+Feeling their courage return after having tripped over themself so much early on, Sascha nodded. "That's why cons are so awesome. We can all hang out together, and we automatically have stuff to do."
+
+Maverick finally made his way back to the table, having been gone for nearly half-an-hour on some minor adventure. Introductions were made and the conversation began to wind comfortably around the group, settling into rhythms at once familiar from all the time they'd spent together online, and foreign in this strange and new setting. A hotel, Sascha decided, was not the most comfortable of places, but the convention was a sort of force working actively against that, bringing comfort to a comfortless place.
+
+-----
+
+"Sky, I'm really sorry about earlier, I promise I'll do better about the pronouns thing."
+
+Sascha laughed and leaned themself in against Peter, slipping their hand into his and entwining their fingers. "Oh, don't worry about that. I dumped my friends' drinks all over them and fucked up my finger in the process of trying to say hi to you, I'm pretty sure I'm the one that owes you the apology."
+
+Peter laughed as well, and the two of them settled in to the bed they would be sharing for the rest of the con. They had splurged for this trip since Sascha wouldn't be flying and Peter was paid fairly well. They'd gotten a room to themselves with a king bed, and had piled all the myriad pillows up against the headboard in order to create a sort of cozy nest for themselves. After an evening of drinking and watching Volare get drunker than everyone, they had felt the need for a space that was quiet and soft. It was here that Sascha felt most at ease, opening up around Peter, leaning closer and closer to him as they had talked, getting more and more affectionate.
+
+"Sky, I promise, it's fine! I'm just, uh...I'm just really happy to see you. Like, I don't think I've been this happy to meet someone for the first time in a long time."
+
+Sascha tucked themself comfortably against Peter and nodded bashfully, "It's really good to get the chance to actually meet up in person, and I'm really glad-"
+
+They were cut short as Peter fumblingly nudged their head toward his and pressed a shy kiss to their lips. The kiss lingered for a brief second or two before Peter settled back, averting his gaze and admitting shyly, "I, ah...I just wanted to...have wanted to for a while."
+
+"It's okay," murmured Sascha, twisting a little to face Peter more directly and slipping their arms around him. "I'm not complaining one bit."
+
+Peter smiled and helped to tug Sascha a little closer to him, saying, "I've never really kissed...I mean, I guess I should say I've only really kissed girls...er...women in my life. Oh...that sounded bad..."
+
+Sascha laughed and leaned up to kiss Peter once more, shaking their head. "It's fine, Shadow, really. Is it any different?"
+
+"Ohh, I dunno," he said, trying to pull what was obviously his best attempt at a sly look. "Might have to continue experimenting to find out."
+
+Peter, Sascha discovered, tasted slightly of beer, and slightly of the sea, in some inexplicable way. Mike had never been much for kissing, though it was something Sascha had always found to be enjoyably intimate, so they relished the opportunity. Peter was an active kisser, too, leading his partner through his actions, guiding them with his hands on their sides and back, first closer to his side, then, with a gentle tug, up into his lap, leading Sascha to straddle his thighs and lean against him as he leaned back on the headboard. The kisses grew in intensity, as did the tension in both of their bodies.
+
+"Mmn, slow down, just a sec," Sascha whispered, pulling back.
+
+"Everything alright, mink?" Peter asked, looking concerned.
+
+"Yeah just...just need to slow down for a few, little bit of vertigo, feels a little sudden."
+
+"Okay, didn't mean to rush, that was just really nice."
+
+Sascha smiled and slipped their arms up around Peter's shoulders, "It was nice. Very nice, trust me. Just needed a second." They relaxed against his front and calmed their breathing, "Did you figure out if kissing me was different?"
+
+Peter laughed at the question and nodded, "It is, but damned if I know how. Maybe it's just that everyone kisses different, who knows."
+
+Sascha grinned and nodded, "Thought so. Here, lets just get a little more comfy on the bed and we can go back to exploring."
+
+Through concerted effort, the two slid a little further down onto the bed so that Peter rested mostly on pillows instead of the headboard, and Sascha was able to rest their weight more evenly against his front, stretching almost luxuriously along him as they leaned up to meet him in another kiss, moving more slowly and deliberately this time. Tongues teased at each other and hands gripped at shoulders as the couple worked on gaining the comfort that had come so quickly online in a new context.
+
+This time, as the kisses grew more intimate, Sascha quelled their anxiety and opened themself to Peter's obvious desire. They clutched themself closer to him with hands on his shoulders and pressed warmly to his front, feeling the way he moved slightly against them, feeling the slight bulge of his erection grow into a firm ridge against their thigh, feeling his hands move down to the small of their back and pull them to him as his hips nudged gently upwards.
+
+"This okay?" he breathed quietly. Sascha nodded in reply and pressed gently down to him in time with his own motions, slipping back into the comfort and intimacy of the kisses. Their mind was focused on that warmth, focused on making sure that Peter felt as good as they could make him in the moment. Their own arousal, much more constrained by panties and an undershaper, felt secondary to sharing the moment.
+
+Over time, Peter's motions became more insistent and he rolled the two of them onto their sides, still clutching close as he ground his hips firmly to Sascha's. Kisses grew more passionate and hands rubbed along sides and back as the couple rocked together in the bed, both seeming content to be simply be that close, even fully clothed.
+
+Sascha's nervousness began to pick up once more at the thought that Peter might want to go further than simple grinding and kissing in bed, unsure if they were ready to feel that exposed before someone they had just met in person for the first time earlier that evening. However, Peter broke the kiss first and gave a sudden buck of his hips, then shuddered in Sascha's arms, letting out a shaky moan that trailed off into something like a sigh.
+
+Understanding dawned on Sascha and a feeling of intense emotional warmth overrode their anxiety. They simply clung tightly to their lover as he shook gently against them, reveling in the feeling of someone experiencing the rush of pleasure in climax so close to them, sharing in that through proximity as best as they could. There was too much fabric in the way to feel much more than a gentle pulsing of that firm ridge pressed to their thigh, but Sascha could tell that the orgasm was intense, if unexpected.
+
+"S-sorry," moaned Peter, turning his head slightly toward the covers as if to hide his face. "I think...I think I was a little more pent up than I thought..."
+
+Sascha, practically purring in contentment, replied quietly, "No, no, it's okay. That was actually really delightful. Are you okay?"
+
+Peter worked to calm his breathing as he slowly settled down against Sascha, nodding. "I'm fine...I'm fine. Though I'll need to change pants before too long. Um...thank you, Sky."
+
+Sascha laughed and pulled themself even closer to Peter, placing a delicate kiss at the corner of his mouth and marveling at how perfect it felt to be so close.
+
+-----
+
+Sascha woke slowly, curled at the edge of the bed, to the gentle sound of Peter's snoring -- quiet enough to be more endearing than annoying. They had fallen asleep in a tangle of limbs, once they'd gotten cleaned up and into pajamas, but, as had always been the case in Sascha's experience, had separated during the night and slept in late on opposite sides of the bed.
+
+The evening of drinking, talking, intimacy, climax, and more quiet talking drifted back into focus, and Sascha curled up a little tighter, smiling against their pillow at the memory. That things had wound up heading in the direction of sex wasn't all that surprising, given how the two generally acted online. Sex had loomed large in their relationship, and although the idea of getting too much further into it still made Sascha nervous, they found themself relaxing in a warm afterglow the next morning. The simple act of being so close to someone during such an intense moment filled them with happiness. Even if they themself hadn't reached climax, it still felt as though they had gotten a chance to share something special.
+
+"Mmmf, morning."
+
+Sascha was startled out of their reverie by Peter's quiet mumbling, smiling, "Hey, morning."
+
+Peter tugged the covers up under his chin seemingly still asleep, but after a minute or two of silence, he asked, "Time is it?"
+
+Sascha yawned and peeked back over their shoulder at the alarm clock, "Nine-ish, bit after."
+
+Peter nodded and rolled onto his back, muttering, "Sleep. Gooood."
+
+With a quiet laugh, Sascha shifted closer to him under the covers until they were nestled in against his side, head resting on his shoulder and arm slipped over his front, finding the most comfortable way to fit against him. Peter slipped his own arm around their shoulders and rumbled quietly in contentment, though he still hadn't managed to open his eyes.
+
+The two stayed like that for half an hour more, Sascha nearly dozing off before Peter finally stretched out and yawned. He tilted his head down to kiss lightly at Sascha's forehead, leaving behind a gentle tingle from the soft, not unpleasant bristle of his stubble.
+
+Sascha leaned up to return the kiss, but after a moment Peter turned his head to the side, then carefully slipped out from under their arm to stand up out of bed.
+
+"Mm? Is everything alright?" Sascha asked.
+
+"Just wasn't expecting...I mean, would it be okay if you shaved?"
+
+Sascha brought their hand up to feel their own unshaven face -- barely a hint of coarseness, but enough to feel -- and felt their body tense. They nodded and sat up in bed, crossing their arms over their knees and settling their chin down behind them, doing their best to hide any shadow that might be showing, "I'm sorry."
+
+"It's okay," Peter mumbled, slipping into a T-shirt. "I just wasn't expecting it, I guess."
+
+Sascha nodded again and slid quietly out of bed, grabbing a change of clothes -- jeans today -- and their toiletries bag and headed for the shower, hoping they'd remembered their razor.
+
+-----
+
+The embarrassment didn't last long. A good shower fixes a lot of things, and Sascha always felt better after shaving, often to the point of doing it twice a day to ensure they had as little shadow and stubble as possible. It was one of those things that wouldn't go away without an investment, and they'd had enough trouble scraping up for this splurge of attending the con.
+
+Sascha thought back to the previous day's conversation with Maverick about not wanting to appear dishonest to Peter about gender. They winced, but got themself cleaned up well and even added a touch of makeup, just a bit of concealer and eyeshadow to feminize their features somewhat. Something conciliatory to make things go a little more smoothly. Soon, that warm afterglow they had felt before was back, along with a smile.
+
+Getting dressed, they belted on their tail and opted for fuzzy paws instead of shoes. Now that the con would be in full swing, it wouldn't hurt to furry things up a little. After all, just paws and a tail would put them at the low end of the dress-up spectrum.
+
+Sascha packed up their kit and slunk out of the bathroom to find Peter gathering his own things up for a quick shower. They leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek, "This better, Shadow?"
+
+He smiled up to them bashfully and nodded, "Sorry about before. I know it wasn't very nice of me. I just was caught off guard."
+
+"No, it's alright. I don't like it either. Go ahead and get ready, and we can get some food. There's a coffee shop down the street that does good breakfast burritos."
+
+While Peter showered, Sascha caught up on how their friends' nights had been. Volare had gotten drunk, of course. Vish had gotten upset, of course. Maverick had apparently spent much of the evening trawling the lobby and Friday night dance in hopes of running into anyone else he knew with little luck. His job kept him busy enough that he wasn't totally in touch with the furry scene, so it wasn't a big surprise. A few more of Sascha's friends and acquaintances had shown up, and they made a note to say hi at some point during the day.
+
+They spent a few minutes poking at Twitter, drafting message after message
+
+> Fantastic night last night :)
+
+Delete delete.
+
+> Really good evening, so good to meet up with @ShdwWolf.
+
+Delete delete delete.
+
+> Good evening last night. Caught up with friends, had a fantastic time with @ShdwWolf. Glad I could make it.
+
+They pondered for a second before hitting send. It would be enough to state that the night had been positive without necessarily tipping their hand as to how positive it had been for them.
+
+Peter eventually made his way out of the bathroom, clean-shaven and damp, and smiled to Sascha. They finished getting dressed -- standard furry wear of con shirts, jeans, paws, and tails -- and made their way to the elevators.
+
+Sascha leaned against Peter's arm in the elevator, taking his hand in their own. He smiled down to them and gave a little wagging motion of his backside. It made Sascha laugh.
+
+Once in the lobby, they ran into Maverick looking bored, and roped him into going to grab breakfast and coffee with them. The three chatted amiably as they made their way to the coffee shop and through the line to order, each getting a breakfast burrito or other treat and a coffee drink to finally wake up.
+
+Peter excused himself to go wash his hands, and Maverick pounced. He took Sascha's hands in his own and grinned widely at his friend. "So! A fantastic time, huh?"
+
+Sascha did their best to not look embarrassed, "Yeah, it was a good evening all around."
+
+"Come on, you're glowing!"
+
+"What? Am not!"
+
+"Trust me. Take it from the glowy cheetah.  You're glowing."
+
+Sascha couldn't do much other than bow their head to keep their blush from being seen.
+
+"It's good, minky," Maverick continued, voice softening. "I won't pry, I'm just happy for you."
+
+Sascha smiled shyly and drew one of their hands back, enough to take a sip of their coffee and hide their face for a moment. "It was a good and comfortable night. We didn't...you know, do much, but it was just good."
+
+"Well, hey, 'good' is what cons are for. Oh, hey Shadow, promise I'm not mackin' on your mink."
+
+Peter pulled his chair up to the table and grinned, adopting an air of incredulity, "Macking? Really?"
+
+"Yeah, come on, Maverick. We left the nineties behind a while back," Sascha laughed.
+
+Later that day, by the time they'd made it back to the hotel and met up with Volare, an icy Vish, and a few others from the IRC channel they all hung out on, the glow that had obviously suffused Sascha had calmed down to a sense of peace and happiness. They were pleased to tag along after Peter and the crew as they made their way slowly through the dealer's den, ogling books and art, carefully noting commission prices (and snagging one or two that were within their range), and just generally being a giggly group of friends.
+
+-----
+
+The day wound down slowly, and since all had been out and about on their feet all day, none were all that keen on heading to the dance. Dinner had been a simple, if stressful affair at an overcrowded sandwich place.
+
+Afterwards, everyone had decided to congregate in Maverick, Volare, and Vish's room. The fourth member, Anna, hadn't been able to make it to the con, and they hadn't been able to pick up anyone else by the time the con rolled around, so Maverick had a bed to himself while Volare and Vish alternated between cuddling and arguing in their own bed.
+
+Volare had, of course, procured a fifth of rum and a two-liter bottle of coke, despite Vish's grumbling. Everyone sat down on the beds and the single office chair, passing around one of the two water glasses filled with rum and coke, while Vish claimed the second glass as his own without any rum. Eventually, Peter caved and ran up the one flight of stairs to his and Sascha's room to get a few more glasses.
+
+"So how's it goin', Sky?" Volare asked, his voice perfectly level, but the redness in his cheeks showing that he'd had two rum-and-cokes to everyone else's one. "With Shadow, I mean. Seems like things are going well."
+
+Sascha blushed as Maverick immediately laughed. "Ignore him. Things are going well. We had a good night, and today was good. It feels...I don't know. It just feels good to be close to someone again. Some awkwardness, you know, with the gender thing. Nothing bad, just kinda finding ways to work it out, I guess."
+
+Volare nodded, hugging an arm around Vish next to him. "You sure everything's okay, though? I hate to go all motherly-gay-dude over you, but I just want to make sure."
+
+Passing the last of the drink off to Maverick, Sascha nodded. "I think so. I worry that I'm too outside of the realm of experience, for him, though it seems like he's trying, in his own way."
+
+Volare nodded again, and a silence fell over the room as Maverick set about mixing another drink, this one stronger than the last. He was larger than anyone in the room (though that was hardly a stretch, given how small Volare and Sascha were), and tended to make things to his own tastes and constitution.
+
+There was a quick knock on the door, and Sascha jumped up to open it, letting Peter back in carrying two glasses and a small metal flask. "I've got the glasses, and I've also got some crappy whiskey some rando in the hall filled my flask with. Evan Williams or something equally awful."
+
+"Mmm, shitty bourbon," drawled Volare.
+
+The group laughed and welcomed him back into the circle, letting him take his spot by Sascha. He poured a finger or two of whiskey into one of the glasses and beckoned for the coke, passing the other glass to Maverick in exchange, then topped off his own glass with soda.
+
+The pleasant banter continued around the room, minus the bits about Peter now that he was there. At some point someone put some music on through their cell phone, though later, Sascha was hard pressed to say who exactly had done so. Something chill, calm, something to fill the silences when conversation waned.
+
+Sascha noted that, when he wasn't drinking from the communal rums-and-coke going around the circle, Peter was also sipping from the flask that he carried, and quite obviously getting drunker as the night went by. That was okay, though, they figured. They were drinking plenty, themself, and it was good to feel the warm buzz surrounding everyone as the night wore on. Even Vish seemed to be getting in the spirit, laughing along with jokes and getting closer and closer to Volare through the night.
+
+"'m glad you all seem pretty cool with me tagging along like this. Know I'm new to the channel and all, but I'm glad Sky put in a good word for me," Peter said quietly during one of the little lulls in the talking.
+
+Maverick, always a happy person and a happier drunk, laughed and leaned over to give Peter an awkward sort of sideways hug. "Of course, man, you seem cool, and I know we trust Sky."
+
+Peter returned the half-hug and grinned to himself, looking sleepy. "Yeah, he's a good mink," he said, sounding satisfied.
+
+The silence lingered on for a few seconds before Sascha hunched their shoulders and quietly murmured, "'They're'."
+
+Peter laughed loudly and hugged his arm around Sascha's shoulders, pulling them firmly toward his side. Definitely drunk. "He, they, whatever. You can be my good little minkyboy too, right?"
+
+The silence continued to stretch out, glances were exchanged.  Eventually Sascha sat up a little straighter, trying to look as dignified as their drunk self could manage. "I'm not feeling very boyish. I know I'm maybe not as much of a girl as you'd like, but I'm not a boy."
+
+There were a few nervous laughs around the group, but Peter furrowed his brow. "I'm trying to compliment you, Sky. I think you make as good a boy as a...as a...as a whatever."
+
+Sascha watched Peter fall into a sulk and frowned. They didn't feel like there was much that they could do. The drunk reasoning with the drunk is a fancy way of talking in circles.
+
+It was Vish, of all people, who saved them the trouble. "Hey, it's getting late, and I want to crash. Sounds like folks have stuff to work out, too, so maybe we can catch up tomorrow?"
+
+Maverick caught on and stood up right away, only wobbling a little bit. "Hey, Shadow, was really good to get the chance to catch up. I'm out early in the morning, so..." he trailed off, offering Peter a hug, as was customary.
+
+Peter struggled to his feet and leaned silently into Maverick's hug, then seemingly on impulse, hugged Vish and Volare as well. He straightened up deliberately and made his way back to Sascha, who had made it to their feet by then as well, and held their hand, firmly entwining fingers with fingers.
+
+"Drive safe, Maverick. See you guys later," Sascha offered, trying to sound light-hearted
+
+-----
+
+"I feel like I've let you down," Sascha said quietly. "I feel like I've lied to you."
+
+Peter stomped up the stairs, two steps ahead of them. "Tell me about it."
+
+Sascha followed on in silence up the next flight and out the door by the ice machine, making their way after Peter down the hallway to their room. They unlocked the door and entered in silence, Sascha sitting carefully on the bed and Peter falling gracelessly into the desk chair. Silence, thick and tangible, hung between them.
+
+"I feel like we had a really good night last night," Sascha offered, after a minute or two. "I feel like we connected in a really important way-"
+
+Peter cut them off, "I feel like I was imagining you as my little girl, like you were the person I've been imagining the whole time these last six months."
+
+Sascha fell quiet again. They stood, paced to the end of the bed, paced back, sat again, and stood once more. Finally, they buried their face in their hands and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to...you know, be difficult. I want to be that person for you, I just...there's just so only so much I can do."
+
+"You could've not been..." Peter started. "You could've acted like what I should have expected from the start. You're not really what I expected at all."
+
+Sascha clenched their fists and stuffed them into the pockets of their hoodie, "I want to be something good for you, that's all I've ever wanted to be. I don't know how to be anything else."
+
+Peter looked away in silence.
+
+Sascha lowered their head, closed their eyes, and resumed their pacing circuit. They didn't look at Peter, they didn't look at the ground, they simply paced and did their best to cut out all input. Anxiety welled in their chest like some awful, noxious bubble aiming to burst in the form of some horrible meltdown. They focused on breathing. Count of four in, hold for a count of five, count of seven out. Anything to calm the situation, even if only internally.
+
+"Here, I'll tell you what you can do, sweets," Peter slurred, sounding half angry, half something else.
+
+Looking up, Sascha found that Peter had unzipped his fly and tugged his boxers down, and was aiming his erection in their direction. "Even boyminks got warm muzzles, hmm?"
+
+Sascha was shocked. Their head was spinning, and they couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or the proposition.
+
+"Well, c'mon, you were eager enough last night, though you must've had some rockin' panties on, didn't feel a thing," Peter sneered.
+
+"You want me to give you a blow job," Sascha asked incredulously. "But you just said I wasn't what you expected."
+
+"Come on. Bygones and all that crap. Take care of me and I'll forget about all this gender shit. I came here thinking we'd have a good time together, so let's have a good time."
+
+The combination of vague threats and an act that Sascha had rehearsed in their mind over these past few months countless times -- had acted out through role-play online with Peter more than once -- was too much for them to handle. Their mouth went dry, they couldn't swallow, the room seemed closer and closer.
+
+"Fuck it," they whispered. "Fuck you, if you think sex'll clear this mess up."
+
+And they stepped out the door.
+
+-----
+
+Sascha made it to the stairwell before the tears hit, and when they did hit, they hit silently and with no force, simply spilling down over their cheeks and into the waiting sleeve at the crook of their elbow. Growing up a boy, taught to be a man, had left them much that needed to be unlearned, but the secret of crying quietly when one was supposed to be strong felt like an inheritance of sorts.
+
+Their phone buzzed. Twitter.
+
+> fine
+>
+> Direct message from @ShdwWolf
+
+The tears came harder.
+
+-----
+
+> SkylarkMink: you awake?
+>
+> Mavcheets: Just getting ready.  What's up.  You okay?
+>
+> SkylarkMink: no.
+>
+> SkylarkMink: can i come by
+>
+> Mavcheets: Sure, just be quiet. V and V are asleep, was packing
+
+-----
+
+> Sky I'm sorry, drank too much :(
+>
+> Direct message from @ShdwWolf
+
+-----
+
+> Sky, take your time, but please come back :(
+>
+> Direct message from @ShdwWolf
+
+-----
+
+> Mav sent me a dm, can we talk
+>
+> Direct message from @ShdwWolf
+
+-----
+
+> Mav says your okay and sleeping there, talk tomorrow pls? :(
+>
+> Direct message from @ShdwWolf
+
+-----
+
+Sascha awoke neatly wrapped in Maverick's -- they still didn't know his real name -- arms when their friend's alarm went off. Maverick was well attuned to his alarm and reached across Sascha to turn it off with ease before returning to the hug that had apparently lasted all night, burying his face against the back of Sascha's neck.
+
+They had fallen asleep with their clothes on, for lack of any pajamas. The night had drawn out for another hour or so of whispered conversation in bed, keeping quiet lest they way Volare and Vish. Sascha had fallen asleep dressed and crying, but safe against their friend, feeling his bulk behind them as something of comfort rather than as a source of anxiety.
+
+Maverick had done admirably. He'd asked if everything was okay several times, and gotten the full story of what had happened after Sascha and Peter had left. He didn't pass any judgements on either of them, and had let Sascha talk until they had started to doze.
+
+Even so, Sascha wasn't sure what to make of the remainder of the evening. Everything felt so safe with Maverick and so...well, cold with Peter. They were hesitant as always to draw conclusions on that -- just because a friend was nice to them when something had gone wrong didn't mean that...well, it meant that he was a good friend. To be honest, their first instinct had been to take Mike up on his offer to call whenever, but it had been so late, and only a little bit since they had left Maverick's room in the first place with alcohol buzzing through them. Nothing to feel sorry about.
+
+Except Peter.
+
+Maverick grunted and leaned up on an elbow in bed behind them, then leaned forward to give a friendly kiss to their cheek. "Hey, morning. I gotta start getting ready, but you sleep in, okay? I'll send V and V a note explaining that you needed a place to stay for the night and took my bed."
+
+Sascha curled themself a little tighter in bed and nodded silently.
+
+"You keep in touch, okay hon?" he murmured, giving one last gentle squeeze. "And be safe, minkypie. Things got rough, but you've got friends here."
+
+"Thank you," whispered Sascha, clutching briefly at Maverick's hand before letting him get up and get ready to drive.
+
+-----
+
+Later that morning, once Volare and Vish had woken up and learned what Sascha would tell them of the night before, they made plans to get them back to their room. The two flanked them as they made their way up the flight of stairs and preceded them into the room in case Peter was still in there and upset.
+
+Instead, they found the room to be empty, and Sascha followed after to find the room neatly kept -- the bed made hastily and Peter's clothes stacked neatly atop his bag. The bathroom was humid, a shower taken there not long before.
+
+"At same coffee shop, meet me there?" read a small note on the desk.
+
+"That's good," remarked Volare. "A question you don't have to answer. And he wants to meet in a public place. Shitty what he did and all, but I'll give him credit for trying to do the right thing today."
+
+Sascha was inclined to agree, but asked Volare and Vish to follow them to the coffee shop all the same. "The sooner we can get this sorted, the better, I think. Otherwise I'll just fuck things up all the more."
+
+Vish pulled the door shut behind them as they left the room, and thumped Sascha on the shoulder lightly with a fist. "Don't go blaming yourself, mink. There was booze, things went sideways.  It's not your fault."
+
+Sascha stuffed their hands stubbornly into their pockets and hung their head, then nodded as they made their way to the elevators. "You're right, I'm sorry. I guess I was just worried that I'd chicken out on seeing him again."
+
+Vish grinned, "Wouldn't blame you, but no, this is something that needs talking through before too much time passes, or it'll turn into something ugly."
+
+-----
+
+Peter met them at the fence of the coffee shop's patio, correctly foreseeing that Sascha would have a hard time making it through the doors if they knew that he was waiting inside.
+
+He didn't hug them, he certainly didn't act out, he didn't do anything but stand with his hands in his pockets and quietly say, "Hi."
+
+"Hi," Sascha offered, at a loss for anything else to say.
+
+"Look, about last night..." He stared at his shoes for a moment before continuing, "I'm sorry. I had too much to drink, and I know that doesn't excuse what I said, just...I'm sorry."
+
+Sascha looked around to find that their friends had backed off and were standing by the entrance. Still within sight, but giving the two privacy.
+
+"It's okay, but maybe we should talk about it," they offered cautiously.
+
+Once inside and at their own table, each with a coffee, both Sascha and Peter seemed to relax. There was the requisite fiddling with condiments, lids, and hot drink sleeves to occupy them and get them used to each other's company in the wake of the previous night, but once seated, there was nothing left to do but talk.
+
+"I'm really sorry," Peter began. He paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts, then continued. "I can't say I didn't mean to make it about gender, last night. I know we agreed that this would be an experiment, and I can't say yet whether it's passed or failed. I've never been with a guy-" he held up his hand to forestall a response, "I've never been with a guy, not to mention someone like yourself. I think you're wonderful, I really do, but I don't know how to make it work in my head."
+
+They sat in silence, Peter staring down at his coffee lid and Sascha down at their hands. Finally, they dredged up enough words to come up with a reply. "I...don't feel good about last night, but I don't feel bad about this, I guess. I mean, I kind of want to yell at you about that, but I also get what you're saying. I definitely accept your apology, but I need to think a little more about what you said."
+
+Peter nodded and sipped at his coffee, while Sascha's thoughts whirled wildly around their head. They wanted desperately for this thing that they'd been working on for months to work out, but they also wanted to feel safe, not to mention welcome to be who they were. Neither of those things seemed to fit in their mind with what had happened last night.
+
+Finally, speaking slowly, they said, "I know a con breakup isn't what either of us really wanted, but I don't know that this is going to work."
+
+Peter let out a heavy sigh.
+
+"I've got a lot I can say on that, but I don't want to seem like I'm beating around the bush or anything," Sascha continued.
+
+"No, no, I agree," Peter said quietly, clutching at his coffee. "I really want it to, but when I think about you, I think about...I think about my little minky girl, and I just can't make that jive in my head...I don't know what I'm saying."
+
+"Mm, I think I get it, though," Sascha said gently, wary of the bright look of tears in Peter's eyes. "I spent years having it not jive -- 'boy this' and 'boy that' didn't work, but neither did anything girly -- so here's how I am now."
+
+They drifted back into quiet for a good long while afterward, each watching the room from a different angle as furries bought coffee and early-sermon churchgoers boggled at those in tails and rave gear. They both stayed quiet until each had finished their coffee.
+
+"So," Peter began. "We've got one more day and one more night."
+
+"And everything after."
+
+"And everything after," he agreed.

content/post/what-remains-of-yourself.md

@@ -0,0 +1,236 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: X
+date: 2017-01-30
+description: A cat heads to a party. What's usually a safe and comfortable group of friends is slowly dominated by a dog. A dog with plans.
+img: flag.svg
+type: post
+pdf: what-remains-of-yourself.pdf
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Sexuality
+- Kink
+- Dubious consent
+- Drugs
+title: What Remains of Yourself
+---
+
+<div class="cw">Drugging, dubious consent.</div>
+
+Boots? Check. Knee-high stompers with buckles from ankle to top. Dark enough brown to pass for black. Cradled the paws oh-so-nicely.
+
+Leggings? Check. Clingy and stretchy, form-fitting. Dark enough red to pass for brown. Showed off those big, no-nonsense calves and thighs.
+
+Skirt? Check. Pleated, short, the barest hint of lace.  Black and polyester, but shiny enough to pass for vinyl in the right light. Gives some shape to those hips.
+
+Top? Check. Just a navy blouse, though, nothing special about it.
+
+The last thing Alex needed was their bag: a leather and waxed canvas deal, halfway between a purse and a backpack Like a backpack with only one strap. Big enough to hold wallet, keys, phone, hat, gloves, change of socks, change of panties, a gaff in case they wanted to feel even more feminine, and a whole slew of other handy bits and bobs. It didn't really go with the rest of the outfit, but neither did it clash all that much. They didn't expect to be keeping it on them at all times, though, so that didn't matter too much.
+
+Plenty good for the night.
+
+They made it down one whole flight of stairs from their apartment before the stairs became too much to do in boots. Walking in stompers wasn't as easy as they'd hoped.
+
+Elevator to the lobby, then. And then out onto the street. *Cold, cold.* Alex shivered. *Cold.*
+
+They held their phone in their hand the entire way to the party. It was a walk of a few blocks, a ride-share across town (always nerve-wracking, but they weren't going to try for the busses and wouldn't be able to drive home), and a walk of a few more blocks. Thumbing their phone from map to messages to map to messages. They knew the route, but still. Map to messages.
+
+Made it, at least. No hassle from the driver, no one out on the streets they had to walk. The party, that red pin dropped on their map, nonetheless felt like a safe haven. *Friends here,* it announced, *Friends and fun and safety.*
+
+There was a comfortable rhythm to the party, one that was easy to fall into. Alex rotated among the loosely defined stations. The cuddle-pile on the beanbag, where they could only sit on the edge for the "no shoes" rule, too much trouble to take those clompers off (and put them back on again, later), but they did take a hit or two off a pipe someone offered. The kitchen, leaning back against the counter and chatting a little too loud with friends and friends of friends, drinking pricy beer. The living room, where they took control of the party's music for an hour or so.
+
+Comfortable rhythms from the stereo. Not too fast, not too slow, heavier on the bass than the treble. Music they liked dovetailing into more music they liked. That felt like their place, that's where they belonged.
+
+A comfortable rhythm, but with a new note, a new bass-line that teased at the edges of their perception.
+
+A party like this, they expected to know maybe half of the people, and recognize most of the rest, but there was a newbie here.
+
+Well, maybe not a newbie. He moved with too much confidence to be totally new. Talked with too much ease with too many of their friends, knew his way around way too well.
+
+New to them, then.
+
+Tall. Doberman, probably? No concessions to the style, though. No cropped ears, at least, and no mean look. Fur dark enough brown to pass for black, from what they could see, and the rest was obscured by a simple outfit. Work-out shirt of some breathable material, a backpack he kept on, and cargo shorts.
+
+*Pretty cold out there for shorts, but maybe thats just me being a cat.*
+
+Intriguing, to say the least. Alex set the next song to playing and angled toward one of their friends, no harm in asking for an introduction, right? Get a name, see if he's cool.
+
+"Jeremy, is it?"
+
+"Hmm?" His voice was a little higher pitched than they'd imagined. Not squeaky, just a tenor. "Oh, hey cat. Yeah, or Jer. How's it going?"
+
+Alex put on their best grin, shrugging, "Goin' alright. Just puttering around. Haven't been to one of theses things in ages. How 'bout you? How're you? Not seen you around before."
+
+The dog settled back into the couch, Alex perching themselves on the arm-rest by him. Jeremy set his backpack at the his feet. "Yeah, doing good, doing good. Last one of these was my first, so I guess I'm still kinda new." He had a very toothy grin, very toothy. "Hey, you got a name, cat?"
+
+"Of course. Just Alex will do for now, though." They swished, proud and a little buzzed. "Sorry, probably should've led with that, hmm?"
+
+Jer grinned, reaching up and giving their tail a little tug, dark brown paws on their black tail complementary enough. Got a mew out of them, too. "Yeah, probably," hee replied. "So uh...who invited you? Who do you know? Trying to figure out how we're connected."
+
+"Me too," the cat laughed, shrugged. "Aaron and Jen, mostly, though I've been hanging with that crowd for a while."
+
+"Mm, yeah." Jeremy nodded, continued, "I came with one of Jen's friends, Amy. Josh, and that crew. Know them?"
+
+"Oh, huh. Know of them. Not really who I hang out with, usually." Alex leaned back onto one paw, the other reaching up to ruffle the dog's ears. A brief twinge of embarrassment: *flirting already? Yeesh.* "Well, glad I got the chance to meet you. Don't see many floppy-eared dogs about. What did you get up to, last time?"
+
+Jer laughed and shrugged, "Guess not. Ma didn't want mine cropped, and it's not my bag anyway. Last time, last time, hmm. Lots of lounging, mostly. Grabbed one of the bedrooms to get closer to someone."
+
+"They let you do that?" Don't sound interested, don't sound interested.
+
+"Sure, if you ask." The dog paused, slipped some vape pen out of their pocket and drew, then added through billowing clouds, "Though keep quiet about that, it's not supposed to be a known thing."
+
+"Lips are sealed," Alex laughed and took a swig of beer pilfered from the kitchen crew. Don't sound interested, cat. *But a fling might be nice,* a small voice whined. *Don't sound interested.*
+
+Man, what was it with this guy? Body type or something?
+
+They shook their head.
+
+"Mm? What's up"
+
+Alex sat up again, giving their paw a rest. "Huh? About what?"
+
+"You just went all quiet and then shook your head," Jeremy said, grinning.
+
+"Oh, uh, internal dialogue." Alex tried to laugh it off. Don't sound interested. "Happens when I get anxious."
+
+"Are you anxious now, then?"
+
+They gave a on-committal shrug. That ought to do. Just don't sound *too* interested.
+
+"Hit off the vape, then?" The dog reached into his pocket, drew the pen back out. A pen? Maybe a different one.
+
+"Tell me what's in it, first." Relax? Around the dog? Hmm. Lowered inhibitions might be nice.
+
+"Just something to help relax. Basically what they have at the beanbag."
+
+Alex nodded, held out a paw with a little give-it-here gesture. Jeremy dropped the pen in their hand. A light, cheap deal with a translucent 'tank', about half full.
+
+They gave a draw. A short one. Started reasonably smooth, then a bite at the back of their throat. Hold it, bite's getting stronger, cough. Surprisingly odorless cloud of vapor.
+
+"Good?" Jeremy asked. "Should get you chill in a few minutes."
+
+Alex shrugged and nodded, the two motions starting a gentle buzz, an even gentler wave of pleasure. Ooh, that's nice. "Mmhm, very good. Thanks, man."
+
+Jeremy grinned and shifted himself a little to the side, closer to the bunny who'd plopped down beside him, to open up a narrow slot on the couch. He patted it. "Come sit, there's room. No need to perch up there."
+
+They hesitated a moment before shifting as well, slipping down the arm of the couch to fit neatly into the slot. Warm thigh against thigh, warm arm against arm, close enough to smell canine. Canine tinged with a slight fruity scent from the vape. Definitely a different vape.
+
+Arm against arm shifts. Jer slips his out of the way to drape along the couch back. Alex grins. Feels smooth, silky, wavy. Smooth cat. Giggle. "Trying to pull one of those subtle stretch-and-then-cuddle moves?"
+
+"Nah, more room this way." The doberman pauses, then slips the arm down further to drape over the cat's shoulder. Fingers tease at the hem of their sleeve. "But now that you mention it, that's a good idea."
+
+Alex laughs. It tinkles, wavers between masculine and feminine, chiming bells. Smoother, silkier, wavier. Tenses blurring, memory shrinking, self becoming translucent. Maybe sound a little interested. "No complaints here, not gonna turn down affection."
+
+Jeremy grins and nods. The grip tightens, cat pulled against dog. Warm, warm, so warm. Came to the party for socializing, got cuddles. No complaints indeed.
+
+Cat and dog sit like that for a few minutes, just listening to music, sinking into the couch. Warm and warmer, but not too warm. Cozy and smooth and wavy. Alex opens their mouth, and closes their eyes. Pants. *Revel in it, cat. Feel warm, taste the air, enjoy the company.*
+
+A tap at their lip, something hard and plastic. They open their eyes again. The vape. The vape and, off to the side, Jeremy's grinning muzzle.
+
+Hell with it.
+
+Another hit, about the same size though it's hard to judge. The bite is expected, calmer this time. Hold it in, breathe it out. Sweet clouds, dog. Warmth ratchets up several notches. Their weight doubles, or seems to. Sink into the couch, lean against the dog. Lean more, kick a leg up over the arm of the couch --- it's okay, they're wearing the leggings, no one's getting a show.
+
+Jeremy encourages this, for his part. That paw slips further down the cat's arm, dull claws brushing through fur. Muzzle tilts down, next to ear, and he murmurs, "Cozy cat, aren't you? Wasn't expecting this, tonight."
+
+"You'n me both," Alex mumbles. The words roll around in their head and fall out of their mouth, one by one. Disjoint, not connected to one another. Speaking out of instinct.
+
+They close their eyes again.
+
+Dog shifts, arm slips a little further around over the far shoulder, paw moves from arm to abdomen. Flat against it, then slowly curling, fingers bunching up blouse. Slit of fur between shirt and skirt exposed. More black fur.
+
+"You're cute as hell, kitty." A low rumble, nearly a growl. "Boy cat? Girl cat? Neither cat?"
+
+Purr. Purr louder. "Nnh...cat."
+
+Another growl, and this time it is a growl, insistent. "Girl cat."
+
+"Girl cat," lazy agreement. Agreement coming from some remote part of their mind. "Girl cat and boy dog."
+
+"Very boy dog," the rumble continues even after words end. A low growl filling their ears, filling their mind. Nothing but the growl. Eyes close to drown out extraneous visual noise.
+
+A tap at their lip again, then the mouthpiece to the vape is pressed past lips. No questions, no waiting. "Another hit, pretty kitty. Go on, you're fine, just breathe in nice and slow."
+
+Breathe, the bite, exhale.
+
+Start to lean back, vape follows.  "Nuh-uh, you're not done yet. One more. Getting wobbly, huh?"
+
+"W-wobble. Melty." Words are difficult.
+
+Alex melts, melts against that dog, slouching, arm draping over his thigh, Elbow, near crotch, senses arousal. Smells arousal. Not just the dog's either. *Don't sound interested* seems to have gone out the window.
+
+Dog slips the vape back in his pocket, reaches to another pocket just above it and pulls out a phone. Thumbs at it.
+
+Those delicious rubs to their tummy continue. Eventually, shirt stays bunched and they paw moves to fur instead of fabric. Purr more. Claw-tips send radiating waves of pleasure, all tingly.
+
+Buzz buzz. Jeremy checks his phone. Puts it away. "Pretty kitty," the growl is insistent, right next to their ear. "She's such a pretty kitty."
+
+Breathing turns ragged. Pretty kitty. She. Yeah, she, that's what she is. She's a pretty kitty. Girl cat, boy dog.
+
+The growl continues without words, and then, "Lets go snag one of those rooms, yeah? Got the 'okay' to play."
+
+Yeah, yeah. Don't just think it, say it out loud, girl, come on. "Mmm, yeah."
+
+Getting to the room clearly happens. At least, the next thing Alex notices is being in a bedroom. Memory's gone, only a memory. Room's a little messy, but cozy. Jer's got his backpack up on the bed.
+
+"Sit, puppy." Still a growl. Puppy?
+
+They move to sit on the bed, but Jer snaps his fingers, points to the ground. Alex pauses, swaying. Just need to sit. Need to be a good kitty. They kneel, skirt flaring out around them, backside resting on the heels of those stompy boots. Waves of pleasure, so smooth, so silky. "Kitty," they mumble.
+
+Jeremy unzips the backpack. A rustle.
+
+The growl grows imperative, menacing. "Puppy. You're my puppygirl, now."
+
+Resentment? Fear? Shame and excitement? Kitty...puppy. Feelings clash. Obedience wins out.
+
+"P-puppy," they stammer. She stammers.
+
+Jeremy draws out a seemingly complex contraption of vinyl. Evolutes it with his paws. There's a snap.
+
+A mask. Dog mask.
+
+Alex is panting. So hot. Too hot.
+
+Jer squats before them --- before her --- and, with both hands, slips the mask onto the cat's face. Feline muzzle sockets neatly into a pouch, ears are slicked back. Canine paws reach behind their head. A buckle, and then a snap. A vape being pressed through the mask to the muzzle beneath. A hit, a wave of ecstasy, intense.
+
+Erection strains at panties and leggings. Tenting, begging. Should've worn gaff.
+
+"Good girl," growl and praise. "Such a pretty puppygirl. You're mine now, hmm? My pup."
+
+Pant, pant, pant, pant. The Alex that was "they" and the Alex that is "she" swirl in her head. Ditto cat and dog. Swirl and mingle. Words too hard, can't pull them up. Comes out as a faint mewl.
+
+The doberman raps the top of the muzzle of the mask with his knuckles, "No, none of those noises. No cat, you're my puppy now."
+
+Pant. Pant, pant pant pant, pant. So hot. Too hot. "Rrrf."
+
+"That's more like it."
+
+Pant. Gasp and pant. Jer stands.
+
+"Take off your shirt, pup, don't overheat. One button at a time, one at a time. Each button that you undo makes you more my dog. My puppygirl."
+
+Words squirm around her head in a thick cloud, seem to coalesce into a thin, silver string. Contract, sink past fur and into her mind. Puppy, girl, puppygirl. Jer's puppygirl. Very high cat. Spectacularly high cat. Swimmingly high cat --- though not pot, not just pot --- and seemingly sober dog. Not cat, no. Pup. Good pup, good pup.
+
+She does as she's told, pant pant pant. She unbuttons slowly, one button at a time, pant pant pant pant. Exposes binder, exposes self. Cooler air, but not enough. Becomes more dog, pant pant pant pant pant. Thoughts flicker into her head and then out again before even being comprehended. No will, no volition, no reasoning, just dog, just dog.
+
+Pant pant pant pant pant pant.
+
+The final button. All dog, all dog.
+
+All dog.
+
+"Good puppy, beautiful puppygirl." The growl is proud now, lordly, smug. "You're my dog. You're my pup. Is there any cat left?"
+
+Headshake, spinning, a gasp. She can tell she's leaked through her panties in arousal and is well on her way to leaking through the leggings.
+
+Jer's shorts are tented out, too. He's worked up too. Her owner, the one who claimed her. Nose filled with, senses overwhelmed by arousal. Her arousal. His arousal. Need. Pant pant pant. She can smell him, smell them both. She can't not smell them both.
+
+"Good. That's 'cause you're my puppy girl. You'll do right by your owner, won't you?"
+
+Alex nods. She's a good pup, a good puppygirl. Eager to please, eager to please. She leans forward onto balled up fists. Good dogs sit, good dog good dog. Thoughts grow faint. Just a dog, just a pup.
+
+Jeremy leans forward, gather's up the cat-- the dog's scruff in his paw, clutching and lifting, pulling, tugging her closer, tugging that vinyl nose close until it bumps against the crotch of his shorts. Nose flooded with his scent. Eager to please, moaning, eager to please,
+
+"We have all night. You're my pup. It all belongs to me, what remains of yourself." A fond growl, a claiming growl. "What remains belongs to me."

content/post/when-i-fall-i-will-remain-whole.md

@@ -0,0 +1,35 @@
+---
+category:
+- Poem
+ratings: G
+date: 2016-11-14
+type: post
+tags:
+- Poetry
+title: When I fall, I will remain whole
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+I keep hoping that, one day,  
+I'll spring palladial from the bole of a tree.  
+Fully formed, sexless,  
+Conceived without desire or intent.
+
+My body will be virginal and clean,  
+My mind fresh, my soul at ease.  
+The tree, behind me, will stand crooked,  
+Bole seeping until time and air dry sap.
+
+I will be a flat expanse of green, made up of new cells.  
+Everything will work together, a smoothly running machine.
+
+I keep hoping to, one day,  
+Function with unity, unflagging.  
+Organized and purposeful,  
+Intent only on fulfillment.
+
+My vision will be clear and unclouded,  
+My will affirming, strong, and sure.  
+And when I fall, I will remain whole,  
+Confident that I lived well and unapologetic.
+</div>

content/post/where-the-dust-comes-from.md

@@ -0,0 +1,42 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Flash fiction
+ratings: G
+date: 2017-11-29
+type: post
+tags:
+- Family
+title: Where the Dust Comes From
+---
+
+"Alright, now, as soon as you see it, you must scoop it up!"
+
+"Okay!"
+
+"So what do you do when you see it?"
+
+"Scoop it up!"
+
+"Good boy, good. Now, watch..."
+
+Anne tapped the tip of her 'wand' against the edge of her plate. Once, twice...three times and a small plume of dust spilled out onto the table. Jamie, wielding his cooking scraper well, scooped the dust off to the side.
+
+"Scoop! Scoop!" Anne encouraged, laughing along with the boy as he nudged the flurry of dust onto the small pile he'd accumulated next to the plate. Once he was done, they both cheered and clapped to each other, pleased as peach to have piled up some dust.
+
+"Anann Anann!" --- Jamie's name for her since before he could pronounce 'aunt' --- "Can you do it again?"
+
+"Alright, alright," Anne laughed. "Once more, and then it's off to bed. Get ready though, okay? What will you do when you see the dust?"
+
+"Scoop!"
+
+Anne nodded. She drew herself upright, positioned her chopstick of a wand imperiously, then tapped at the side of the plate, scuffing her dirty fingers against each other to cause a small cascade of flour to sift down around the chopstick. It wouldn't have been so dramatic if the last rays of the sun coming in through the blinds make it so that they dust only showed at the last moment.
+
+They'd made a pie that morning, of course. Jamie had helped with the mixing, mostly by making a mess of himself, though he might've gotten some of the flour in the bowl where it belonged.
+
+That was hours ago, though. Ages. That had been in the *kitchen* and this was in the *dining room*. Two vastly different worlds separated by eons of time, in the mind of a child. That was cooking, this was magic.
+
+That night, Anne would tuck him into bed, and she knew that some tendril of thought about this moment would creep through, and he would ask about the magic. "Where does the dust come from? Are you magical, Anann? Can you teach me some magic?"
+
+She'd do what adults did. She'd beg off. She'd lie and cajole and bribe him to bed without ever revealing her secret. Tomorrow, doubtless, she'd come up with some other bit of magic, but for now, he had a bit of mystery. Dust came from Anann. Anann was magical. That would be enough to get him trying to conjure up dust for weeks.
+
+That was the real trick. That was the real magic.

content/post/youre-gone.md

@@ -0,0 +1,39 @@
+---
+categories:
+- Short Story
+- Interactive
+series: Sawtooth
+ratings: G
+date: 2018-01-26
+description: An exploration in grief, told through instant messages to the dead.
+img: flag.svg
+type: post
+tags:
+- Furry
+- Death
+title: You're Gone
+---
+
+<style>
+.fin {
+    display: none;
+}
+.page-content > p {
+    text-indent: 0;
+    margin-bottom: 0.5em;
+}
+</style>
+
+*You're Gone* is an exploration in grief, told through instant messages to a dead loved one.
+
+All you need to do is send the messages.
+
+Hard as that may be.
+
+-----
+
+### [Play the game](/assets/posts/youre-gone){: style="color: green; text-decoration: underline;" } (or [read the script](/assets/posts/youre-gone/script))
+
+*You're Gone* is a story as told through instant messages. It's playable in all modern browsers.
+
+There is [a version on itch.io](https://makyo.itch.io/youre-gone), which is a non-furry version.

content/publications.html

@@ -0,0 +1,19 @@
+---
+layout: home-page
+title: Publications
+permalink: /publications/
+---
+
+<h1>Publications</h1>
+
+<ul>
+    <li><a href="http://thurstonhowlpub.storenvy.com/collections/1587098-anthologies/products/22227398-arcana-a-tarot-anthology">Arcana - A Tarot Anthology</a> - <em>Editor</em></li>
+</ul>
+
+<h1>Appearing in</h1>
+
+<ul>
+    <li><a href="http://thurstonhowlpub.storenvy.com/collections/1587098-anthologies/products/22227398-arcana-a-tarot-anthology">Arcana - A Tarot Anthology</a> - <em>The First Step (The Fool)</em></li>
+    <li><a href="http://thurstonhowlpub.storenvy.com/collections/1587098-anthologies/products/21737930-furries-among-us-2-more-essays-on-furries-by-furries">Furries Among Us 2</a> - <em>Gender: Furry</em></li>
+    <li><a href="https://www.weaselpress.com/product-page/civilized-beasts-volume-ii">Civilized Beasts II</a> - <em>The dogs assure me</em></li>
+</ul>