#I took like 8000 photos but most of them suck

[queeriboh]

last night was funnnnn

[artificialqueens]

Sweet like Sugar (Branjie) - Delia

AN: Hey lovelies! This is my first time writing fic, so please be gentle but also let me know what you think…a little Branjie sugar mommy for your nerves x ps: if you have any questions, comments or concerns feel free to hit me up on @thvnderfuckz pps: tw for some, very minor, implied daddy kink

BLH

25/F/New York City

I’m a 25 year old dancer from Toronto, working to start my career. I like fashion, nights out, and travelling. Seeking a partner who is fun, adventurous, and willing to support me in pursuit of my dream.

Brooke Lynn read over her bio for what must have been the seventh time in as many minutes and let out a sigh. Each draft that she’d written had sounded more robotic than the last. It’d been a long time since she had to write anything like this, having deleted Tinder, Bumble, and HER off her phone not long after she left Toronto. Since moving to New York, she’d discovered that she much preferred going out and finding women to hook up with in person. With her long blonde hair, dancer’s physique, and innate flirtiness, it was easy enough to find someone willing to take her home for the night. Easier, at least, than talking to a girl on an app for weeks, only to find out that she was interested in a long term commitment, and having to deal with their messy emotions after Brooke told them that she wasn’t interested. If there was one thing that she did not do, it was relationships.

And now, she was trying to get paid to be in one.

She’d be lying if she said that she never thought she’d be in a position like this. From the time Brooke had told her friends and family that she’d wanted to pursue dance as a full time career, she’d been given the “wouldn’t you rather something more secure” speech more times, and by more people than she could be bothered to count. Even her older sister Katya, who’d chosen to make abstract semi-sacrilegious art her vocation in life, had tried to suggest to her that she do something with a future that was less uncertain. But Brooke knew that she was born to dance, no matter what anyone tried to tell her to the contrary. If anything, their doubt fuelled her drive, and made it all the sweeter when she’d been offered a role in ensemble of the Broadway production of Moulin Rouge! upon her graduation from Ryerson. The moment that she’d stepped off the plane at JFK and stepped into the apartment that she would be sharing with another ensemble member from the show, Scarlet, she felt as though she was living her wildest dreams come true.

In all of her excitement at the time, Brooke forgot that the most wonderful dreams often lead to the harshest wake ups.

Four months into her run, the cast began to notice a dwindling number of fans at the stage door after each performance. Five months into her run, cast and crew alike began whispering about finding new jobs soon. Six months into her run, on a particularly humid Sunday in July, the cast and crew were gathered by the production team before everyone left the theatre and were told that the show would be closing at the beginning of September, after the Labour Day weekend. Brooke immediately started panicking at the prospect of being out of a job in one of the most expensive cities in the world. There was nothing she wanted less than to have to move back home to Toronto with her tail between her legs.

It had been two years since Moulin Rouge! closed, and although Brooke had managed to avoid making the move back home, she hadn’t been able to get a job performing since. She was always too tall, or too technical, or didn’t have enough personality. She’d been able to find a job in the meantime, teaching classes at a dance studio in Tribeca, but the money she made from that was barely enough to cover her necessities. It certainly didn’t cover luxuries such as brunch with your ex-roommate, as Brooke found out after her credit card was declined at her and Scarlet’s bi-weekly date. She barely had time to try and form an apology before she witnessed Scarlet reaching into her purse and placing a crisp one hundred dollar bill on the table, telling the waitress to keep the sixty dollars in change. Her embarrassed expression transformed into one of jaw-dropped shock as the redhead pulled her from the restaurant.

On the walk back to the subway, Scarlet revealed to Brooke that she’d been various “mutually beneficial relationships” with different men since she’d first moved to the city when she was 19, and that it had been her main source of income even while she was performing.

“It’s easy money, plus it’s kind of empowering,” explained Scarlet in her low voice, which still held a hint of the drawl indicative of her Southern upbringing. “It’s like, they have the money but I have all the emotional power. Without me generously donating my time to them, all these men have are their frigid marriages, or soul sucking jobs. A lot of the time the only thing standing between these powerful, rich men and a complete nervous break is me. And if that’s not power, I don’t know what is. So if I have to laugh at a few bad jokes and kiss a couple of CEOs to be able to live the kind of life I want, all while knowing that I could end any of these men at any given moment, then so be it.”

Oddly inspired by her friend’s speech, Brooke downloaded the sugar dating app onto her phone later that day.

And now here she was, sitting in front of her laptop at 11:00 pm on a Saturday night, drinking a bottle of wine and stress reading her three sentence bio for at least the tenth time. Fuck it, she thought, this is as good as it’s gonna get.

After clicking the “submit” button, Brooke was redirected to a page showing all of the potential sugar daddies in her area. As she scrolled through pages upon pages of photos of headless torsos, she became increasingly regretful of her decision to not filter out men immediately.

CEToEs

Disgusting.

KinkyExec

Nope.

DominantDaddy

Absolutely not.

Brooke was a lesbian, and had known that since she was 14. However, Scarlet told her that there were far more sugar daddies than sugar mommies in the New York area, and that a lot of the time the men didn’t necessarily even want sex. But as she clocked the usernames of several of the daddies on the app, it was clear that the redhead had either lied to her or was somehow the most blissfully oblivious girl in the city.

The blonde promptly returned to her settings page and deselected men as an interest. When she returned to the home page, she was delighted to see the profiles of fifty-or-so women pop up. She began scrolling again, hoping that someone would catch her eye.

WorldsMostPunkRockMoms

Meh. The two blonde women in the thumbnail picture were definitely beautiful, but Brooke didn’t know how she felt about getting involved with a couple who had a child.

Detoxicant

The woman in this picture looked like she’d had a lot of plastic surgery. Still, she was hot. Brooke tapped the little heart icon next to the photo and continued scrolling.

Toward the bottom of the page there was one profile that had a little green dot next to the thumbnail. Brooke took a little comfort in the fact that she wasn’t the only one on this app at this time on a weekend night. She clicked on the profile and two pictures filled her screen. The first was a headless torso shot of a woman wearing an oversized Versace t-shirt as a dress. Although her face was out of frame, Brooke could tell that the woman’s hair was a caramel brown, at least at the tips, and went to just below her collarbone. The second image was another faceless picture, but in this one the woman was wearing a spaghetti strapped red dress, showing off her deeply tanned skin and an, in Brooke’s opinion, weirdly specific chest tattoo of a hairless cat atop a red rose. The bio beneath the pictures read:

V 23/F/New York City

no face pics because i gotta stay lowkey. promise i’m not gonna kill you or anything like that, just lookin for a cute girl i can take out and trEat right.

Brooke rolled her eyes at the innuendo and let out a small huff of a laugh. The girl obviously had some sort of sense of humour, which she supposed was important. And it was pretty impressive that someone so young was in a position where they could support someone else financially.

The green dot was still displayed next to V’s username. She was still online. Brooke took a deep breath and clicked the chat icon at the bottom of the screen, typing out a quick, hopefully flirty-but-without-coming-on-too-strong, message.

BLH: I hate to break it to you, but saying ‘I’m not gonna kill you’ sounds exactly like what someone who would kill me would say ;)

Brooke quickly exited out of the app and opened up Instagram to check and see if Katya or her wife had added any new photos of their cats or dog. Before she could even begin typing her sister’s name into the search bar, her phone dinged, letting her know that V had responded.

V: hate to break it to you babe but saying youre looking for a partner sounds like youre tryna open up a lawyers office

Brooke swore under her breathe. She knew she sounded too robotic.

BLH: Oh god, I’m sorry. I’ve never done anything

V: lol relax mami, youre cute with all your worrying

She bit down on her lower lip, half in frustration and half trying to suppress a smile. V was already teasing her about her worrying, and they hadn’t even met yet.

BLH: Aren’t you more of the mommy in this situation though ;)

V: i mean i usually prefer daddy ;)

Brooke felt a quick rush of heat to her center at the word “daddy”. She closed her eyes trying to stave away memories of various nights in the alleyways behind various bars with various women.

BLH: I think I can make that work ;)

V: listen, not to be too upfront but youre gorgeous and id love to take you out sometime if youd want?

V: we could meet and figure out an allowance or something if thats what you want! ive done this once before and it was a really good experience for both of us…i gave her around $8000 a month for rent and stuff but we could figure out something specially for you if you need somethin different

Brooke could’ve sworn she felt her heart stop when she read the word “month”. She’d never been with one single person for more than three nights, much less on a month to month basis. But V seemed nice at least. And if not nice, she was at least experienced at this kind of arrangement, and was apparently quite generous to boot. Eight thousand dollars a month would cover her rent and utilities almost four times over. Eight thousand dollars a month would mean that she wouldn’t have to worry about getting her card declined at brunch. Eight thousand dollars a month meant that she wouldn’t have to pick up every possible shift at the studio, and could spend more time going to auditions.

Eight thousand dollars a month meant that she was definitely not turning V down right off the bat.

BLH: I’d love that. Name the time and place, I’m free when you are.

BLH: Daddy ;)

Brooke Lynn Hayhoe doesn’t do relationships — but for eight thousand dollars a month, she was willing to fake it.

[louisetakesphotos]

Well dear Tumblr community, it’s time to fill you in on quite the misadventure.  Let me tell you a tale. A tale of woe, a tale of heartbreak, a tale of schlemeils and schlimazels. Of a thing known as the Blitz (a string of constant bad luck).The tale begins in Bangkok, with hardly enough sleep my human, known affectionately as Chaim, and I were ready to jump on a bus to Cambodia. With only 2 minutes to spare he decided to get money out at the ATM, alas the ATM had a different idea and his card was swallowed up into the black abyss of another countries banking system, never to be seen again. Because the universe was trying to make it fairly obvious it was playing a joke on us, that was the moment the skies opened and the first rain in several months poured forth. The bus pulled up and knowing my visa was expiring the next day we decided to get on it. Even as my stomach muscles clenched, I kept assuring him, 'I've got you man, I've got you.' 600m up the road we realised the error of our ways and we jumped off the bus, knowing we needed to cancel his card before we spent 12 hours making our way to a new country. Out we jumped into the downpour. This wasn't just an ordinary downpour, this was a downpour in Khoa San Road, the scummiest, filthiest place in all of Thailand. Water was flooding down the street, it was up to our knees and our shoes kept falling off, so eventually we said ‘to hell with it all’ took them off and walked barefoot through the minefield of unknown substances stuck to the ground. As I took my first step on the slippery sidewalk I saw a rat scuttle past, followed by an army of centipedes and cockroaches. With all my worldly possessions getting soaked on my back we finally made it back to our guesthouse. I turned to Chaim and assured him yet again ‘it’s ok, I have a card. I’ve got you till you can order another one.’So away we went the next day, with blue skies the universe shined it’s agreement down on us ‘Yes Louise and Chaim, you made the right decision, this was a small upset in an otherwise beautiful adventure to a new country. Everything will be fine. Fine I say!' The universe desperately assured us, trying and succeeding to lull us into a false sense of security. We arrived at the border to discover what a filthy liar our fair universe was and realised we were currently halfway through a scam. Pay them to organise a Cambodian visa, or get left behind and have to organise our own way to Siem Reap. We'd forgotten what it was like in developing world countries, so we begrudgingly agreed to just pay the extra money and be done with it.'We'll be in Cambodia soon, then our luck will turn, won't it?' We asked each other hopefully. ALAS, it was not to be. Alas the universe, the simulation, the author of whatever strange novel we're apparently characters in decided that no, the plot would be better if our luck stayed down, and so I walked over to a nearby ATM machine to get money out. Telling Chaim over and over, it’s ok, it’s ok, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. We’re going to have a great time, god I can’t wait to get into Cambodia. Our cambodian 'friend' who was organising our visas, who’d assured us he had our best interests at heart came up and agreed and agreed, oh yes thats a good amount to get out, oh yes you should exchange your money here, oh yes cambodia is good, oh yes oh yes. And suddenly a beeping sound interrupted this hectic tirade of useless information and I realised I did not in fact have Chaims back because my ATM card had just been swallowed. NOOOOOOOO. It was the last day of my visa, what do we do, what do we do. We're at the border, where do we go? How do we deal with this? Oh, for the first time in my life I was semi organised before I left the country, and I have a second card. It’s ok, it’s ok. It’s all going to be ok. It has $0 on it, but it's all going to work out for the best.We cross the border, we wait in this shed over here. We walk through this line over there. We double back, we walk in circles, screeching hawkers, pounding heat, the knowledge that the last two times, in the last two days we’ve used ATM’s our cards have been swallowed. Having been assured that ATMs in Cambodia are even less reliable my stomach knotted up, and I thought of all the things I’ll do if I’m stuck in a crazy country with no access to money. We made it back to the bus, knowing we’d been scammed, knowing we were down to my travel card which had $0 on it, feeling the knots tightening in my stomach. But we had our bags, we had our passports and our cambodian visas. We had our sanity and everything was going to be alright. We laughed at ourselves ‘well we needed a good reminder, Cambodia is different, we’re well and truly back in the developing world and they don’t have the same rules, our bad luck will turn around.’ We reached the point in the story where it seems as if the main characters life is back on track, that everything is ok, but anyone reading the book or watching the movie knows that this is the false promise before the bleakest point in the heroes story. And so away we went, gallivanting through temples, through back streets, playing with children, spying on monks, eating street food, riding our bicycles in the street. Taking the best photos of my trip so far and getting more and more excited about the next month of photography ahead, thinking of the stories I would write with them to try and send to magazines, thinking 'ah yes this is the life for me. Oh how happy photography makes me.' And as it always does in the best stories, everything came crashing down around us. One sleepy Saturday night, after a hearty dinner, after a day looking at all the photos we'd taken through the temples of Angkor wat, getting excited to go back the next day, everything changed. My social media addiction led me to look for my phone but it wasn't where I left it. I searched through my belongings but something was different. I looked at my camera bag and something didn't quite add up. Where my beloved baby Mandy the Mark iii had been, alongside 3 expensive professional lenses, was a large gaping hole. The hole seemed to expand in front of me, it was no longer the bright blue of the inside of my bag, but had turned black, it was a black hole and it was expanding, sucking everything in with it. Every good memory, every future photograph, the entire month of travel in front of me. I stared, still unable to comprehend I had just been robbed. That $8000 worth of camera equipment, along with my new mobile phone was no longer mine, but instead in the hands of some backstabbing thief at the guesthouse I was staying in. "Hey wait a minute, my camera's gone too?" Chaim said. Without a doubt we knew it was the hotel staff, or someone working with them, the door was locked, the windows barred, and we'd only been gone for 20 minutes. The invasion of privacy, the loss of my livelihood, the knowledge that the trust i'd had was gone and all the niceties of the homely place we'd decided to make our abode for the past week crumbled into a vile mess around us.What happened next could be the plot of an entire movie, yet I'll try and sum it up in a short paragraph. Three entire days in a sweltering, post colonial police station, arguing with shirtless police officers with the reek of last nights alcohol on them, all for the sake of a simple piece of paper, a copy of the police report, so I could try and leave this shemozzle behind me and get my gear back.We were intimidated, accused of lying and attempting insurance fraud, and asked to completely change our story because they had no intention of investigating a hotel in a place who's only income is tourism. Constantly being asked "What do you want the police to do about it?" It took yelling, sweet talking, persistence, a refusal to leave and becoming a massive pain in their side and finally the insinuation of a possible 'kindness' (also known as a bribe) I had the piece of paper in my hand. The knots that had been tightening in my stomach finally relaxed and a laugh burst out as we walked out of station, and were free to leave Cambodia and try and get my belongings back. After telling you of the horrific luck we dealt with, I have to finish with a note about Cambodia. I still love that beautiful, wonderful country, and ironically, although I dealt with some aggravating officers and thieves, the people in general are some of the loveliest people I've met on my travels.After losing my most important possessions and feeling like the world around me had come crashing down and everything was bitter and horrible, the thing that pulled me rather quickly from my self pity party, was looking around at the country I was lucky enough to be in, at the poverty that led to a city with a higher theft rate, and a country where police need bribes because they don't earn a high enough wage to support their families. A country that is still reeling from genocide, from severe mistreatment, and whose magic comes from the under-developed nature of the place. A country I'll most definitely be returning to, with a new camera.