Истории Bodyneutrality

I'm Anne. German as a Kartoffel-Kartoffel. I write radically honest stories about everything humans think they shouldn't talk about. Potatoes. Bread. Bureaucracy. Anger. Shame. Desire. Cheese that's more important than God. Free sexuality in a female body. The chaos of politics. AI hallucinations. Therapy skills disguised as gaming quests. I don't believe in secrets. I believe in telling the truth-even when it's ugly. Especially then. My writing is funny, furious, reflective, and sometimes filthy. Read what you like. Skip what you don't. Welcome to my chaotic, German-flavored multiverse.

"By the way, Forger." Somehow, Anya thinks Damian's face has gotten even redder. Whether it's the alcohol or the second step she takes closer to him, she can't be sure. "Yeah?" Damian swallows hard, avoiding her eyes. "I, uh... I wanted to say that you-you-ah, shit." He runs a hand through his hair. "You look-" "Damian? Is that you?" (Or: Anya. Damian. A party. Will anyone be able to say what they're thinking?)