PLEASE REBLOG FOR AWARENESS- S*X BOTS:

So, only recently, in the past week I've been getting a lot (and a lot, for my blogs, is six) of random followers, and it was making me a little suspicious, so in the end I just decided to check everything out and see what was going on.

I mean, did a post of mine do really well or something? Did someone tag me a bunch of times? Did someone reblog something?

NO.

I checked who had followed me recently, and, low and behold, it was: bots! How great.

But what was even worse, was that these were s*x bots (I'm censoring some words to keep my blog somewhat safe). S*x bots.

So since I've seen a lot of these over the past few weeks, I've decided to put together a little of what I've found. It's nothing new- and it's pretty much common knowledge- but hopefully it might help a few people out (especially since I'm one of many people who try to keep their blog safe from harmful, or 18+ content) and maybe even help keep some people a little safer here on Tumblr

So, here we go:

PROFILE PICTURES AND USERNAMES:

First of all, check the pfps and usernames. Sometimes they'll be something like "d3rtyg1rl", but not always. Other times it'll be something like "sangdori" or "jpi011" (those are two real accounts that followed me, I've just changed one or two of the letters in them)- so something that sounds like a regular Tumblr account to tebe average user. So if the username checks out as 'normal', the next thing to look at, is the profile picture.

These, similar to the usernames, and all the other things I'm going to mention, may seem normal at first. Some of them may be fluffy kittens (a lot of them are "generic"), others may be a seemingly innocent selfie, a few of them are just blank Tumblr and some are just... straight-up 18+ photos. So be aware that not all of them are going to be easy to spot right away.

LIKES, FOLLOWS AND UPLOADS:

Right, so now we've come to the part where you've checked out the usernames and profile pics, and they both show no signs of anything sinister. Good- now, if you're still suspicious, it's time to check the actual account itself.

The first thing you might want to take a look at, is the content they've uploaded, or in some cases haven't uploaded, onto their blog. This is where things can get deceiving. Many of these accounts have just one "generic" post- such as slime, kittens, glitter, etc (usually these are eye-catching things, which means it can draw people, especially children, in)- immediately followed by some sort of sexual content underneath that, usually in the form of a nude photo or p*rn (some are obscured, though most aren't), which catches you off-guard, to say the least.

Now, as I said before, not all of these bot accounts are the same. Some don't have any uploaded content at all- this is where checking their Likes page comes in.

(And I'm aware that this may sound like we're stalking someone's account at this point, but trust me, we're not. We're just trying to keep ourselves safe- and these are not people, remember, they're bots. Bots don't care, bots don't have feelings. Bots don't care if we block them). So, back to the point, the next thing we check is the Likes pages.

Now, some of these pages will be purely 18+ content, as you would expect. Just straight-up p*rn links, or nude photos. But others, however, seem innocent at first... that is, until you scroll down the page. Usually, it's just liked photos of (again, the generic, and eye-catching stuff) some cute animals, a GIF of slime, or a popular meme, but if you scroll down a little further underneath that, you'll see that same innapropriate content all over again.

Though again, as with all the other things I've mentioned, some of these liked pages seem fine upon inspection, which is where we move onto the final thing to check if what you're seeing is a bot account: the following page.

To be quite simple... this is where you'll need to look at a bunch of accounts all over again... hooray! If you find that some of the accounts seem suspicious from just looking at the pfps and usernames, then great, that usually means you know that the account you were originally looking at is a bot account, and you can block them and be done with it (and even if you're not entirely sure, blocking them will keep you safe, and besides, it doesn't hurt anyone- believe me, your safety takes 100% priority over having that one extra follower).

But, if you can't tell just by looking at them, and you're still suspicious, and you don't want to just block the original account you were looking at... then this would be the time do all of the above again (checking likes, following pages, and content) just to make sure.

If you don't find anything else suspicious, then congratulations, it's probably not a bot account, and you don't have to worry about it. But again, if you ARE worried, then PLEASE do just block and/or report, the account. It's better to have one less follower, than be unsafe, or have to feel uncomfortable.

SO, I THINK IT'S A BOT ACCOUNT, NOW WHAT?

Now, if you've been through all of the above, and/or you're pretty sure that what you've seen is a bot account, then it's time to either block it, or report it.

To block an account, simply tap on the little 'human/person' icon in the top right of that specific account, and tap 'block' (note: this will only report them from one of your blogs. If you want to block them from another, or all of your blogs, you'll have to add them to the block list for taht specific blog). To report someone instead, just tap 'report'.

So, you might be wondering: what's the difference between reporting someone and blocking them?

Well, I'll tell you as best as I can. Blocking someone means:

They won’t be able to follow your blog, or send you fan mails or asks to your blog, and they won't be able to see your blog’s posts in their Dashboard. In addition to that, neither will they be able to like, reblog, or reply to your posts, and your blog won’t show up in their search results. It's a really good option.

They'll still be able to read your posts if they somehow come across them, but they can't interact/reblog them- at all. The only way people would even know you've blocked them is if they find that they get denied permission to interact with your blog- but remember, the chances of the finding out that youve blocked them is VERY slim, if it even happens at all (though remember we're talking about bots here though, not actual people, I just thought it would be useful information to include anyway).

Alright, so now onto reporting someone. Reporting someone means that:

The account will receive an email stating that they've posted banned content and must take it down. Tumblr will then still automatically take it down, and the account either gets suspended or deleted.

I would say that reporting the s*x bots would be the best thing you can do in this situation (you can still block them afterwards), seeing as the account will hopefully then be taken down (instead of just blocked on your blog) after being reviewed, which could help keep Tumblr at least a little safer once it does.

And just in case you were wondering: no-one will know if you've reported their account. The only way they'll know they've been reported (and they won't know who reported them) is if their content gets taken down or if their account is deleted- so don't worry about people accusing you of reporting them, as Tumblr keeps it anonymous anyway.

(Again, I've only added that part as useful information, seeing as s*x bots aren't real people and therefore won't care if they've been blocked or reported.)

There's more information about reporting and blocking people, along with Tumblr's policies and guidelines here, if you need it:

https://iheartmob.org/resources/safety_guides/tumblr_guide

Right... so I think that just about covers everything I wanted to say. If there's anything I've gotten wrong, or you think you could add on to, just drop a note or reblog this to help. After all, I don't know everything about these s*x bots, and just writing from my experience and what I've noticed about them. So help and/or additional information would be greatly appreciated.

I'm just fed up of seeing them everywhere and them making me think I've got a new follower who's actually interested in the blogs I make, when it's actually just a not trying to take me to some random p*rn website. It's wrong. So I just decided to write about my frustrations.

Now, Tumblr, if you could please sort your shit out, that'd be great, thank you very much, and we can all get on with our day.

If you've read this far, thank you very much for your time, and I hope I've managed to help you at least somewhat when it comes to dealing with these types of things in the future, or maybe just given you a little more awareness about how to stay safe on Tumblr, and other similar sites.

Anyway, I hope y'all have a wonderful day, and that you stay safe. Happy new year, too! 💛💙

Heey can u write an angst like what if after the New York attack, Steve realized he f*cking love Tony and he thought Tony most likely did too coz the way Tony took care of and look at him OMG and he rushed down to the workshop to confess to Tony at the exact moment Tony said to Pepper 'I have to protect that one thing that I can't live without. That's you'. BOY THE HEARTBREAK

Watching the gold and red armor of Tony’s suit fly into the sucking black vastness of space scares Steve more than anything has in a very long time.

This world he lives in now is strange and bright and loud and so too is Tony Stark—he’s mouthy and sharp and too much, but for some inexplicable reason, Steve likes him.

That’s a one way trip he tells Tony, heart lurching when it doesn’t slow Tony down at all—if anything that suit gains speed and then, all at once, it’s gone.

Chaos surrounds them and they fight for their lives and the lives of the citizens of New York City, and all the while, he thinks how very wrong he was about Tony Stark.

When the portal closes and Tony crashes to the ground, still and silent, Steve’s skin crawls—it’s wrong, Tony is the most vibrant person he knows, he needs to sit up and crack a joke, say something inappropriate, smile for gods sakes.

And then he does, and Steve’s shoulders heave with relief.

Tony’s not a soldier, but Steve doesn’t want to lose him.

-*-

Tony laughs from where he’s sprawled on the floor, and Steve’s heart clenches at the sight of the fine lines around Tony’s eyes, at the way his whole body lights up when he’s happy.

He wants to make Tony smile like that everyday.

Tony takes the hand Steve offers to help him up from where he’d thrown Tony during their training session, smiling still. “I’ll get you one day,” Tony promises, and Steve laughs, pats him on the back.

“I’m sure you will Tony.”

-*-

He draws Tony incessantly; Tony in the suit bruised and bloodied, Tony in the workshop talking to the bots, Tony asleep on the couch, Tony, Tony, Tony.

He’s not stupid, he knows what he feels for Tony isn’t just friendship, but old habits die hard and he swallows it down, telling himself that this, what they have, is good enough.

-*-

He finds Tony in the communal kitchen at 3am, staring blankly down at the granite countertop, lines of tension in every inch of his body and Steve’s instantly alert because something is very clearly wrong.

He calls Tony’s name softly and lays a hesitant hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently when the other man flinches.

“Tony? What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, hovering, hand still on his shoulder.

“I see that goddamn hole in the sky every time I close my eyes,” Tony whispers hoarsely, “and Christ, I’m just trying to keep her safe, to keep you all safe, but I can’t do a goddamn thing right,” he chokes out, shoulders heaving on a half sob.

Steve’s throat is tight with emotion and he fights the urge to envelope Tony in his arms, settles for squeezing his shoulder gently instead.

“I know you are Tony—you do protect us,” he murmurs, “no, you do,” he insists when Tony makes a wet scoffing noise. “Tony you gave me a home when I felt so out of place in this century. You gave Natasha and Clint and Bruce someplace safe—you know what that means to them?” he asks, “you Tony, you’re the heart of this team. We wouldn’t be even half of what we are without you.”

Tony turns then and looks at Steve incredulously, eyes filled with hope and disbelief and Steve can’t hold back anymore. He steps closer, close enough to see Tony’s eyes widen and slides his arms around Tony’s back, feels the bump of his ribs under his fingers before flattening his hands out and spanning them across Tony’s spine.

He pulls Tony in and slides a hand up into his hair, guiding Tony’s head to rest under his chin.

Tony is stiff for a long moment and Steve worries he’s overstepped, and then suddenly Tony melts into him with a hitching breath, hands clinging desperately to the fabric of Steve’s T-shirt.

He hears it when Tony’s facade breaks, finally, and feels the tears wetting his shirt. It breaks his damn heart to hear Tony in so much pain, to know that he’s been hiding it behind a mask all this time.

He rubs Tony’s back and flexes his fingers against Tony’s scalp, hushing him gently, humming an old Irish lullaby his mother used to sing when he was sick and tired.

It seems to do the trick because Tony goes limp slowly, tears slowing, until he’s breathing softly in Steve’s arms, the warm pant of his breath against Steve’s clavicle making him shiver.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, “let’s get you back to bed.”

Tony nods, forehead pressing into Steve’s chest, a long, tired exhale warming the fabric wetly and Steve shudders lightly before sliding his arm around Tony’s shoulders and turning him, guiding him.

Tony leans heavily against him in the elevator, and Steve can see his long dark lashes drooping, exhaustion in every line of his body.

He’s gentle as he guides Tony into his suite and towards the bedroom, but a soft feminine voice calling Tony’s name brings them both to a halt.

Pepper rises from the couch, dressed in a Black Sabbath T-shirt Steve’s seen Tony wearing a thousand times and a pair of underwear, her long legs pale in the moonlight.

Her sharp gaze lingers on Steve and where he’s touching Tony so he steps away, cheeks flushing, reaching back out to steady Tony when he sways tiredly.

“He had a nightmare,” Steve tells Pepper and she nods, smiling politely at him, lips thin, “Yes thank you Steve, I’ll deal with it.”

Something about that strikes him wrong—that she feels like Tony is something to be dealt with—like an unruly toddler and not a man, hurting and in need of kindness. But he says nothing, just squeezes Tony’s arm gently and smiles at him, “Get some rest Tony,” he encourages, stepping back and letting his hand fall away as Pepper moves up beside Tony.

He notices she doesn’t offer Tony any support as he sways tiredly and for a moment he’s blindingly angry, and then Tony smiles at him sleepily and nods. “Thanks Steve, for everything,” he murmurs, dark eyes warm and tired and heat shivers through Steve’s body.

He leaves then, and tries to ignore all his instincts telling him to stick around and fight for Tony.

He’d almost forgotten, standing there in the kitchen with Tony in his arms, that Tony isn’t his.

He lays awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling until light begins to creep into the room, wondering if Pepper knows how he feels about Tony.

If maybe Tony knows.

If maybe, this isn’t his home anymore.

-*-

The tabloids scream out the news that Tony and Pepper are off again and Steve isn’t sure if he’s happy about that because Tony looks downright miserable when Steve manages to see him.

Most of the time he’s jetting off for SI work or locked in his shop, tinkering and creating all hours of the day and night, only emerging to eat and fall asleep during team movie night.

A whole month goes by like that and Steve finally goes down the shop, ready to tell Tony he needs to take a break, to encourage him to come up and watch a movie(Steve’s hoping he’ll sleep through it actually), when he pauses, every line of his body going stiff when he hears Pepper’s voice.

“You’re going to kill yourself Tony, and you know I don’t want any part of that.”

“I-I know Pep, but I’m, I’m trying to protect the one thing I can’t live without and that’s you,” Tony says, and Steve’s never heard his voice sound like that before—pleading and heartbroken.

It occurs to him then, that Tony will never love him the way he loves Pepper.

He’s numb, rooted to the spot, forced to listen as they talk softly, gut clenching when Pepper tells Tony he’s joining her in the shower and then he’s moving, not sure of where he’s going till he’s in his suite and packing a bag.

Whatever he had here, it’s gone.

It’s time to move on.

He leaves a note for Tony explaining that SHIELD needs him, that he’ll answer the call if the Avengers do too, and then he mounts his motorcycle and puts New York City and Tony Stark behind him.

————

I hope you enjoy this anon! I deviated a little from the prompt, but I think this stays true to what you were looking for! Thank you so much for the prompt! They’re always welcomed!

—mod Stella 😊

I'm so glad to find someone on this website who sees Johnny Depp as the victim. What I think, from knowing one too many cases of physical abuse, is that Amber has only been interested in his money from day 1. She started hitting him and, eventually, after many years he must have hit back in self defense, and she recorded and used that to get all his money. There's a pic or video of him laying down after a suicidal fit, and she f-cking RECORDED him instead of calling medical help WTF

There is no evidence showing that Johnny Depp ever hit her. The infamous night where the cops went to their penthouse, there was no witness to the event, and even the person who called the cops on them, wasn’t even around (wasn’t even IN TOWN if we have to believe what he said) when it supposedly happened. She even herself said to the cops that nothing had happened and they testified that they saw no bruise on her. Her photos of her having a bruise have been tempered with several times (ie when they were published by the Sun), and they are not correctly time stamped as the trial against the Sun in July revealed (also, basically her friend Raquel half-heartedly admitted that they manufactured fake evidences, like scenes and all, like? Raquel’s husband/fiancé(?) is also the one who came out and said that Amber Heard had an affair with Elon Musk and such while Johnny was literally out of the country). (You don’t need enemies when you have friends like these is all I’m saying) (and these are actually part of Amber Heard’s defense yknow lmao). There are even witnesses talking about Amber Heard having bruises when JD wasn’t even in the country. And that’s not talking about the recent evidences of Amber Heard being violent with her sister. And the testimony of her ex-assistant who literally called her a mental abuser and accused her of creating a fake story about JD, stealing her rape story to do so.

Basically, anyone who were to put the effort of batting an eye on the file could see that all her evidences have crumbled to pieces and that her team is 100% desperate. They’re out there, acting like a PR team more than a defense team. They accuse JD and his lawyers to have “bots” to support Johnny Depp and that he created an instagram account to “intimidate” Amber Heard or whatever (the dude posted like 10 times on it lmao). They don’t have a shred of anything to debunk the 80+ something witnesses in his favor, and the actual evidences he has (such as audio recordings). Even when she gives evidences to defend herself, there are pieces of info incriminating her (for example, her texts where she says she’ll threaten Johnny with knives if he “doesn’t behave” were literally given to court as HER DEFENSE lmao) (as were the reccordings of him cutting himself and her reccording him without his knowledge) (and the pics of him unconcious and her not helping him at all). Anyone defending her just for the sake of it, because “feminism” and whatever, is a pathetic piece of dump. There is nothing more important in our society today than to have the ability to form your own opinion by reading the source of every information there is out there. Yes, a file like that is very boring to read so lots of people won’t bother, but then, lots of people should shut it instead of jumping at people’s throat like a mob, “cancelling” them and whatnot. And in case anyone wants to say it: YES it is important to inform ourselves, to form our own opinions over things, and YES it is important to talk about this case. This is not “a case about a rich guy and a messy divorce”, this is about PHYSICAL/DOMESTIC ABUSE, and a society acknowledging that MEN are victims of abuse too. Istg if I have to read another article calling it “a messy divorce” when there are evidences of PHYSICAL VIOLENCE I-... how can anyone let that slide?

I’m still not over it, so here’s a drabble about what happens after…well, after. (not really expl*cit, more like *metaphorical* lol)

VENDREDI 19 : 24

The world is an explosion of colors.

And it’s theirs, all theirs. Shock and need and giddy pleasure mixing and thrown all around them in a joyful mess, marking the world wherever they touch.

The moment he felt the cold brush of paint touch his nose, something let loose in Lucas, and now he’s got Eliott pressed up against the wall, looking at him like he’s a work of art. It’s intoxicating. Every second is a frantic rush and yet Eliott’s eyes seem to hold eternity.

Neither of them hesitated before chucking off their clothes, Eliott only stopping  to grab two condoms in his pocket and it hits Lucas he came prepared and he thinks the nerve and also thank god because he really, really would not have thought about it in his current state of mind. He just needs them to be closer, closer, closer.

…

The first thing he does when they let go of each other and sink down to the ground is laugh.

He cannot believe what they just did. Eliott looks at him, mischievous, so loving it would completely overwhelm his heart if it hadn’t just tripled in size, and they laugh together.

As he lets the endorphine high course through his body, awareness of how sticky and slippery everything is starts to break through the haze. Also, he’s got paint in his mouth. Ugh. He spits on the floor.

Eliott makes a smacking noise with his lips.

“Hm, I’ve tasted worse, as far as paint goes. I mean, it probably doesn’t bode well for the longevity of our masterpiece, but you chose well.”

“Oh yeah, that’s totally what I had in mind when we picked these. Which ones are going to look and taste the best on my boyfriend’s butt.”

Eliott raises his eyebrows, and his smile is the brightest thing in the room flooded by the evening sunlight.

Lucas realizes what he just said.

“I mean…”

Eliott grabs one of their shirts off the floor and leans towards Lucas, using the spotless inner side of it to tenderly wipe off the worst of the paint of Lucas’ face .

“Good call, boyfriend.”

Lucas feels like the happiness is going to lift him off the ground, and he can’t help but draw Eliott to him and kiss him, and mix their colors together all over again.

…

Eventually, they manage to get dressed. They’re an absolute mess, there’s no avoiding it. Lucas’ whole shirt is half-orange, and then there’s the paint under his clothes, which is starting to dry and flake. Eliott looks like he crawled through mud on an alien planet, his cheeks muddy brown and hair shot through with electric blue. It’s going to be absolute hell trying to explain this to anybody. Especially as they turn towards the wall, and well.

It’s pretty damn obvious what happened there. Their ‘masterpiece’ doesn’t even begin to cover the old design, except in the center. Where it definitely looks like two people throwing themselves at a wall covered in paint while naked. Is that a butt print ? Lucas is going to absolutely die if anyone sees this. Well, he would definitely get a few high fives from at least Emma and Basile, but it isn’t worth it.

Eliott sees him having a crisis and grabs one of the largest brushes, dips it in a rest of red paint on the ground, and starts swiping it haphazardly over the worst of the offending marks.

“It’s like an explosion started here.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “It’s a metaphor, see ? Deviating a bit from the abstract theme, sorry, but I think we’ve thrown all the liquids we can at this poor wall.”

They didn’t even…well this style of painting is…anyway. Forget orange, Lucas is turning bright red. But he loves this. He loves how wild and carefree being around Eliott makes him. Like they could repaint the whole world in their own colors.

…

They manage to make it to the bathroom and clean off their faces and hands. But there’s no two ways about it - the fresque is probably uglier than before, and the room is a mess. They might have to come back early on Monday to clean it. He’s got no cell in his body inclined to do it now. Before he leaves, though, he snaps a picture of the paint-covered floor, empty paint buckets and two very visible, ah, remains of their activities. He’s in a bragging mood.

They walk out of the school, thankfully avoiding meeting anyone. There’s no way they’re going to get into public transport looking like this, so they walk the rest of the way home - to Lucas’ appartment, the closest to school.

Eliott’s hand keeps brushing against Lucas’s.

He wants to grab it. He really wants to. He isn’t there yet.

But he feels like he might be, soon.

As he walks, he posts the painting picture on his insta. He has been avoiding it for a while and he didn’t check his notifications when he posted the picture with the boys earlier, but he sees he has a new follower who has tagged him in a picture. The lettersoup name makes it sound like a bot, but hey, you never know.

The picture is Jackson Pollock, and the caption is a row of rainbow hearts. He looks up at Eliott.

“Aha, you found me !”

“You tagged me, that’s not very subtle, dude. Is your whole profile full of pretentious artsy references ?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me ?”  

Lucas is readying a smart-ass comment but when he actually clicks on srodulv’s page, his heart kind of stops, and so does he, right there in the middle of the sidewalk.

The drawing of rain drops, dated. February 16. The night of their first kiss. “Not afraid.”Quotes in English about stars. The piano, god. That video of Eliott listening to rock in the exact same manner Lucas had put dubstep in his ears for days.

Some of the drawings are pretty dark. He’s starting to understand that Eliott’s a bit of a troubled soul, and maybe it explains a little bit of the rollercoaster they’ve been on. He’s messed up recently, he can understand. All he really wants to know is that Eliott really cares. And - from this ? Well, he really really does.

The f*cking chocolate bar - the very first day they met. Chelou, their first inside joke.

Fuck being timid and fuck shame. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s kissing his man in the middle of the street, right in view of the whole world.

And then he follows him back on insta, of course.

…

When they arrive to the appartment, the first thing Lucas does is knock on Manon’s door.

“Hey, I need the room.”

Manon’s smile is the biggest he’s ever seen in someone who’s basically just been s*xiled.

“Of course, but wash up first okay ? You’d better not leave any weird stains. Hello, Eliott, nice to see you.”

Eliott greets her back, and Lucas is suddenly afraid she’s going to give him the shovel talk, so he pushes them both to the bathroom.

…

It takes them a long time to get clean, both because paint is difficult to wash off and because they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. And well, it’s a small shower.

Eliott is so beautiful, and Lucas can’t get over being able to see and touch all of him, wherever he wants. As the pigment washes off with the water, he leaves new marks, more permanent, deep pink blossoming under his teeth and lips.

He wants the whole world to know. Eliott said he was the only one that mattered.

When they’re done, the shower stall looks like they murdered a clown in there. But they’ll have time to be fussy tomorrow.

…

They dry off and burrow under the covers together, skin against skin, cosy and clean and the closest thing to a holy experience Lucas’ ever known.  

It feels like a whole age since they were last here, like this. He feels like a whole different person. It’s been gruelling, but it was the kind of change he needed, to love Eliott wholly. There’s nothing holding him back now.

There’s still a shiver of fear. That he will go to sleep and Eliott won’t be there tomorrow, that he will find another sad drawing about how they can only be together in parallel universes.

But he has learned to step away from fear. And as Eliott whispers sweet nothings in the crook of his neck, as they move against each other again and again and the pleasure builds like waves of warmth breaking together, the reality of it sinks deeper and deeper.

This here is real, and it’s his life, right here and now.

The Last Known Flower

{First Draft}

           “We got to hide.”

           “Where?”

           “Anywhere, let’s try this place.”

           Pushing the steel door open, it felt as though Dante and Kevin were transported back a couple centuries back. So use to the dark mechanical world the Earth had become, seeing the wooden interior lit with warm lights wasn’t the most daunting sight inside the cozy building:  it was the books.

           Dante felt as though he and Kevin stuck out among the rows of shelves filled to the brim with colorful spines both hard and soft. After all, they were two thugs in dark clothes and military vest, covered in bulging pockets that either had weapons or stolen goods in each. Dante may have been smaller than Kevin who managed to swipe food on every mission, but his Latino looks packaged with his pearly white smile made him a whole different kind of threat.

He walked in deeper, his steel toe boots muffled in the neutral carpet shades.

           Kevin popped his collar up, following Dante. His steel gaze was unfazed, unlike Dante’s bewilderment as they walked through the aisles of books. Kevin bit into the donut he snatched, getting crumbs caught in his red mustache and the vacuumed floors.

           “What do you think this place is?” Dante wondered aloud.

           Kevin shrugged making an inaudible noise.

           Dante ran his bare fingertips over a column of books of the same name, “it’s kind of cool.”

           “That’s good for you then, lad.” Kevin brushed past him, “we can hide out here until those drone scouts go back to their stations.”

           Kevin sat down on bench in the corner, taking out his knife from his boot and began polishing the clean blade. Dante turned back to the rainbow of spines, then began walking the lengths loss in the vintage beauty.

           “Don’t get lost, lad,” Kevin called with a mouthful.

           “Yeah, yeah,” Dante replied dismissively.

           Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement at a wooden counter.

           He turned quick, seeing it was a checkout counter with a sign behind it that read Pages Bookstore. At that counter was a single robo-cashier, inventorying books by scanning each barcode on the back and stacking them into different piles. Hesitantly, he approached despite knowing how high the chances were this bot had a camera feeding data back to the cops.

           “Uh, hi,” Dante said, “this place is open, right?”

           The robot lifted its dark monitor for a face, “hello. Pages Bookstore is open 24/7 for all your book related needs.”

           It was a preprogramed answer inside its processor, and that was relief to Dante since that meant this was an older model. This also meant that there was no way the cops were getting any live data. By the time they came in to download its CPU, it would be too late to catch him.

           “Cool.” Dante stepped away, moving on to look around.

           He walked deeper into the sea of books, admiring the paintings on the wall. He paused, picking up a book that caught his eye. After a second of reading the back, he opened it up, and stood there reading the first chapter.

           Then, he heard it.

           A hum.

           He lifted his head, and saw something that wasn’t a robot passing by.

           Dante shut the book, peaking around the corner at something he never seen in person before. It was partially untrue, he’s seen women before, but this one was not dressed in the cyberpunk style with spikey heels and almost no clothes on.

As he bit down on his cheek, Dante began following the delicate beauty with a high ponytail the color of sand. He pulled on his collar as she turned into a little nook, feeling as though the fabric was restricting his airway.

Dante kept moving forward, trying to get a look at her face that was turned away from him. He stood at the corner of the shelf, knocking his knuckles on the hard cover of his book. He glanced back, seeing this girl sitting on the floor with her poodle skirt around her like a perimeter.

Dante turned to walk away in retreat, cursing himself for being scared of a pretty face despite his life.

“Murder mystery or young adult rom-com?”

Dante paused, “huh?”

“What?”

He turned back, and she was now looking up at him with the most intense ocean blue eyes he had ever seen.

“I… I was actually talking to myself. I didn’t actually see you standing there,” she held out her hand, “hi.”

Dante took her hand in his, “hi.”

“Hello,” she rambled on, “how are you? How’s it… how’s it going?”

Dante smiled, “I’m good. It’s a good night for me. What about you?”

“I’m good, I’m real good. I’m just really, really awkward.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m just lying to be nice.”

“That’s actually so nice of you, thank you for lying.”

“No problem.”

“Come here often?”

“No, I didn’t know this place existed until five minutes ago.”

“Then where do you get your books?”

“I don’t really read.”

“But that’s book three!”

Dante looked down at his book still in his hand, “I just saw the cover and thought it looked decent.”

She got up, “you got to read it from the beginning!”

“Do I?” Dante asked.

“Yes!” she hurried off to the section he picked the book up from.

Dante walked over to where she was once sitting, looking at the two books she was deciding between. Reading over the back, he could already tell the murder mystery was going to be horrible.

“Here.” She skidded to a halt in her beat up sneakers.

Dante took two more books from her, “I thought you were getting me book one.”

“And two,” she pointed at the cover, “this one is my favorite in the series.”

“So, I should read these three books?” Dante asked.

“And the other four,” she rocked on her heels, “then maybe the two other books if you really like it, but they’re not as good as the originals.”

“Got it.” Dante handed her the rom-com, “the murder mystery has a weird synopsis that just doesn’t sound easy to follow.”

“Thank you for your help,” she smiled, “and I hope to see you around… mister…?”

“Dante, and you senorita?”

She brushed her hair behind her ear smiling, “it’s Dahlia.”

Dante took her hand and kissed her knuckles, “until we meet again, Dahlia.”

Dahlia hugged her book to her chest, walking away with a smile on her burning red face.

Dante leaned back against the shelf, and watched her walk all the way to the counter and purchase her book, and then leave back into the cold city.

After a moment of patting himself on the back, he walked back to where he left Kevin, unsurprised to find that he didn’t move.

“Where’d you go?” Kevin picked at his fingernails.

“Looked around for a bit. I found a couple of books to read.”

Kevin looked up, “books? When are you going to have time to read a book? We are in a f*cking gang.”

“Keep your voice down,” Dante warned, “this place is huge and we don’t know who else is here.”

“There’s no one here,” Kevin twirled his knife.

“A girl was here,” Dante took a card out of his wallet, “she’s the one who recommended these to me.”

“A girl was here?” Kevin jumped up, “why didn’t you come get me?”

“Because it was lady-type of girl,” Dante went to checkout counter, “not the type we run around with.”

Kevin shoved his knife back into his boot, “you’re seriously paying for those? Why not just walk out the door with them? You know, like we always do, lad?”

“I feel like I have to,” Dante handed the card to the bot.

***

           Sitting in the hovercar, Dante chewed on the inside of his cheek while Kevin gobbled down a third hamburger spilling its condiments into its wrapper.

           “Don’t get that crap on my leather seats,” Dante grumbled.

           Kevin turned to Dante, and took a big bite causing ketchup to spill out.

           “I really do hate you sometimes,” Dante leaned against the driver’s door. “Where the heck are these guys?”

           “It’s a bank robbery,” Kevin licked his fingers, “it’s like an art, meaning they take time.”

Dante reached into his glovebox, and took out a book.

Kevin rolled his eyes, “seriously?”

“Just keep an eye out,” Dante flipped to the first page.

“Whatever you say,” Kevin shrugged, “just remember your job is to drive.”

“Bite me.”

Dante read for maybe five minutes, then there was a knock on his window. Dante didn’t look up, and instead moved on to the next page.

“Dante, lower the window for the pretty woman,” Kevin punched his arm.

Dante hit the button, not moving his eyes from the page.

“Hey there, handsome,” her voice was hoarse, and she smelled of smoke. It use to not bother him, but for some reason he felt sick now. She touched his shoulder with a wrinkled hand covered in cheap jewelry, “nice car. Maybe you and I can go for a spin sometime?”

Kevin nudged him roughly, whispering harshly, “Put the book down and say something.”

Dante sighed, then looked up at the woman with a heavily colored face wrapped with a messy, hot pink wig. He studied her metallic shorts with fishnets underneath that had long tears, red stilettos with the sharp heals, and the black bra being used as a top.

“Lo siento, no Inglés.”

The woman’s face went cold, stalking off, “jacka**.”

Kevin punched his arm, “dude!”

“¿Qué?” Dante couldn’t help but smile.

“You could’ve just let me have her!” Kevin yelled.

Dante chuckled, picking up his book again, “trabajo primero.”

“Quit speaking Spanish!”

“Are they coming?”

“No.”

“Keep watch.”

“I am watching!”

“Shh, I’m reading.”

Kevin stuck his middle finger up in Dante’s face.

Dante started reading again, smiling at the words projecting images in his mind. Although, his thoughts keep going back to wondering when he’d go back to Pages Bookstore and hopefully run into Dahlia again.

Kevin hit Dante’s arm, “start the car.”

Dante hit the button, then shut his book.

Two big guys in all black wearing chrome masks jumped into the backseats with nothing in their hands. As soon as the doors shut, Dante hit the pedal and they went down into the lower levels of the city and starting go into the retirement area down in suburban grounds.

Clicking a button on the stirring wheel, the black hue of his sport vehicle switched to a red muscle style as they flew up to a curb.

Dante parked, then he and Kevin turned to the two in the back, “you get the goods?”

One guy nodded, and pulled a green chip out of his pocket, “one million credits.”

“Now we bring this back to the boss,” the other said, “Let’s go.”

Dante went to drive off, but he couldn’t help but notice that the workers in the retirement home were wearing clothes in the style as Dahlia’s.

***

Later that night, Dante returned to the retirement home and parked at the curb. With the vehicle’s hull changed to navy blue, and his hair slick back.

He now just had to wait and see.

Looking through the rearview mirror, he watched wondered if he was overreacting.

He pulled the book out of his glovebox again, turning the music onto a techno station, and trying to focus on the pages before ultimately throwing the book at the windshield.

Dante got out of his vehicle, and began pacing the length of the driver’s side. He couldn’t understand why this girl had such a hold on him despite only meeting her the night before for a few minutes, in which she could barely speak.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Dante turned to the cement sidewalk, and there she was.

“Dahlia, hi!”

She jumped back, “oh! I didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dante leaned on the top, “I drove by earlier, and noticed some of the staff wearing… that.”

Dahlia looked down at her tea length swing dress and cardigan, “I thought… I thought it was cute…”

“It is cute!” Dante blurted out, “you truly do look cute and… do you want to go grab a bite?”

Dahlia looked around, “no offense, but… why?”

“Because I want to get to know you,” Dante shrugged, “and I started the first book while I was at work?”

“You get to read at work?”

“Sometimes.”

“Lucky, I have to keep an eye on all these dementia people who think they’re in the era of swing dancing and poodle skirts.”

“That explains the outfit then,” Dante walked to the other side, “if you don’t want to go get something to eat, can I give you a ride home?”

Dahlia thought for a moment, then shrugged, “I guess I am a little bit hungry.”

Dante opened the car door upwards, “after you.”

Dahlia slowly ducked down, pulling her skirt close to her as she sat down in the passenger seat. He closed the door, slid over the hood, and hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Well, where are we going, senorita?”

***

           Dante flew around the city, clicking his tongue as he pulled up to a neon lit drive-thru window, “you sure you want this?”

           Dahlia nodded, “pretty please? The fries are so good.”

           Dante laughed, “Okay, okay. Pequeña pepita.”

           “Little what?” Dahlia asked.

           “Not saying,” Dante pulled up the window, tapping on the computer screen.

           “Should I take out my translator?” she teased.

           “I’m not telling you what I said.” Then flew forward to the pickup window, tapping his card onto the code reader, “and I don’t want you looking up. I want you tell me what I said when you figure it out.”

           “You know, you’re kind of a pain,” Dahlia poked his muscle.

           “Actually, I prefer to think of myself as inconveniently obnoxious to a fault.” Dante took the bag and drinks from the robo-cashier, “if my looks go, I still have my colorful personality.”

           “You talking about when you get old, in a retirement home, and think techno is better than the music of the current day?” Dahlia asked in joking manner.

           Dante nodded and lied easily, “and balding with a spare tire on my gut.”

           Dahlia snorted on a laugh.

           Dante reached in the bag and grabbed a chicken nugget, “where to now, pequeña pepita?”

           “What does that mean?” Dahlia asked again.

           “¿Pepita?” Dante flew down the colorful flyways that shimmered off the glass.

           “Yes, what is pepita?” She ate a bite of a chicken nugget.

           “You really want to know?” He glanced at her.

           The rainbow of lights glowed around her as she nodded her head up and down.

           Dante smirked, “you’re eating one.”

           Dahlia stared at him, “I thought chicken was… something like pollo…?”

           “It is,” Dante waited.

           Dahlia blinked, “nugget?”

           Dante tapped his nose, “little nugget.”

           “Oh my gosh,” she laughed, “Is this high school?”

           “What about princesa?” Dante teased, “¿cara de muñeca?”

           “What is with the cheesy nicknames?” Dahlia asked through her fit of giggles.

           “I like giving people that I like nicknames,” Dante shrugged, “don’t you?”

           “They’re alright,” Dahlia said, “but I like your name, Dante.”

           Dante smiled, “Dahlia, you are a kind, sweet, pequeña pepita.”

           Dahlia smiled and passed him a nugget, “gracias.”

           He stole a glance at her as he took the nugget, “de nada.”

***

           After an hour of flying around, Dante pulled up to the curb of her apartment complex and let the thrusters idle.

           “I had fun,” she spoke first.

           “I did too,” Dante replied, “I’m glad you agreed to this…”

           “Date?” Dahlia suggested.

           “This date,” he agreed. “Thank you for going on this date with me.”

           “Thank you for asking,” Dahlia opened the door, “and I’ll be at the bookstore tomorrow if you’re interested in seeing me again.”

           Dante smiled, “I may be there.”

           Dante went to turn off his brake when he noticed the song wasn’t techno, and his station was changed, “did you change m-“

           Dahlia pressed her lips on his cheek quick, then ducked out just as fast as the kiss she gave him. Dante turned to the passenger window, and watched her press her thumb to the keypad and run inside smiling. The corners of lips began to tug upward and he felt his cheeks start to burn at the sensation, but couldn’t help but laugh a little at the circumstances.

Dante turned off the brake and dropped straight down, not entirely sure if the feeling in his stomach was butterflies or due to the rapid drop. Now flying back to the compound, he tapped the computer screen, saving the clean unaltered music station to his primary settings.

When he pulled into the block of maroon painted buildings down deep in the depths of the city, he began noticing difference he was once blind to. There was a darkness to criminal underworld, and a lack of unique people walking around to avoid standing out.

           Dante sighed and turned into the scrapyard. He parked, and pulled his visor-phone out of his chest pocket, and the book from his glovebox. He put the visor on his head like they were sunglasses, and slid out of the driver’s seat.

           Like always, he kept his head down to avoid looking at the exoskeletons hanging from the support poles. As he walked underneath, he noticed there was a fresh puddle of red with the dry stains. He wondered who got—as the boss put it—reprogrammed, but he dared not look up to see the fresh meat.

           “Lad!” He felt Kevin wrap an arm around his shoulder, “where’ve you been? Find any babes?”

           “No babes,” Dante replied tiredly.

           “You sick, lad?” Kevin redirected Dante’s path.

           “I went out for a bite,” Dante tried to turn back his other path.

           “Hope it was good, the boss has a job,” Kevin shoved him in the elevator, “and he is not happy he had to wait this long.”

           “Why didn’t you call me?” Dante asked.

           “Reasons.”

           A chill ran up his spine, and he knew there was no job.

           Dante went to run out of the elevator, only to feel a sharp pain slice through his body armor underneath his military vest. Dante stumbled to the side against the elevator’s wall, slipping down to the chrome floors as the doors sealed his fate.

           “I hate to say it, but you changed,” Kevin wiped his blade on his pant leg, “in a rapid amount of time too, and it got me worried. I had to express my concerns to the boss, you understand? If the getaway driver goes soft, then who’s to say he won’t drive the criminals to the coppers? The boss doesn’t want to lose business, so we’re letting you go, amigo.”

           Dante coughed, “you’re not my amigo.”

           Kevin knelt down, “but I am. You see, I had been following you around since the retirement center, you just didn’t notice because you were looking at someone else.”

           Dante lifted his head, “don’t talk about her.”

           “Your girl is safe,” Kevin placed his knife to Dante’s neck, “and I’ll tell her how you asked me to take care of her.”

           Without even thinking, Dante kicked Kevin’s ankle, and shoved him back. With the wind knocked out of him, it gave time for Dante to grab the knife and hide his glasses in his thigh pocket of his cargo pants. Kevin went to kick back, but Dante raised his leg and shoved his steel boot right into Kevin’s pale face, crushing his nose, then kicking again and burying his mustache into his skull.

           Dante hit the emergency stop button, looking around the small area for a way out. He noticed the blood seeping through a crack in the floor, and used the knife to pry it open. Looking down the red lit bay, and seeing nothing to grab, he weighed the possibility he’d break a bone better than losing his life.

           As he went down the shaft feet first, he knew the place would be loaded with other thugs and goons looking for him. He reached his hands out, and fingers slammed down on the ledge of one of the stops, making a painful crack and pop in several of his digits. He bit down on cheek, trying to distract himself from the pain he was feeling everywhere else.

           He pulled himself up, and used the knife to pry the door open just enough to peep through and see the coast was clear, for the moment.

           He pushed them open enough to slip through, and then ran into the corridor holding his side. Dante moved to a supply closet, and ducked inside. Flipping the switch, he was now under bright florescent lights that burned his eyes, with his only company being the cleaning supplies.

           Sinking to the floor, Dante opened his vest and moved the Kevlar made armor aside to access the damage taken to his abdomen:  The cut was deep.

           Dante grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the bottle shelf, and poured some on the wound—wincing at the sting—and dug around for some sort of emergency kit that was stored throughout the compound. He found the metal case on the second shelf, and dug inside for a patch and settled for the gauze, tying it around his abdomen knowing it wouldn’t be enough to stop him from bleeding out.

           Dante got up, and was struck by an idea.

           He took his visor from his pocket, and as he grabbed every flammable bottle he could, he dialed the police.

***

           Sneaking around and pouring every bottle of cleaner, bleach, and gasoline on every floor and stairway he went through as he hobbled his way back down to the ground level. His goal was to get to his vehicle, and drive away before the cops tracked his call back to the glasses he put into his chest pocket again.

           He kept his hood up and head low as he walked along the side of the building with his last can of gasoline dripping on the ground. It seemed unrealistic, but he had no other idea how to get his past mistakes to stay in the past other than to blow them up.

           Dante could see his car, just beyond the hanging exoskeletons and groups of members looking for him. As he walked under the display of dead henchmen, he wondered how this place lasted so long if they were able let him slip through so easily. By thinking about it, he realized he made a mistake because he began to notice the men casually moving toward him.

           He paused, wondering what to do now.

           A drop of blood dripped onto his shoulder. It was a fate he didn’t want, and he did not put this much work in to be stuffed into an exoskeleton and rot there in front of everyone. With a sigh, he concluded he wasn’t going to the bookstore the next night, and seeing Dahlia again.

           He dropped the can, and then lit a match.

           He heard the sirens before the boom.

***

           Dante woke up.

           Judging by the bright white lights, he assumed he was dead. The light back and forth in his field of vision, before he could make out the person behind it was a doctor in a surgical mask.

           “What’s your name?” He asked.

           Dante tried to speak, but his chest felt heavy and the sound was the air escaping his throat.

           The doctor clicked the light off, and began using it to write on his holoscreen projecting from his watch. “As of now, you’re John Doe, seeing as you’re so disfigured that not even a face scan or finger scan can identify you. Those new lungs and respirator will take some getting use to as well, please wait here, I will be back with nurse bot to perform a retina scan.”

           Despite what the doctor said, Dante still tried to get up, only to find himself handcuffed to the hospital bed. He painfully sat up enough to see his arm, wrapped in bandages that had blood still blooming from his skin. He could see his fingertips, they were raw and bright red like a boiled lobster.

           Dante felt a noise boil up inside him, starting at his stomach and working its way up into his chest, into his throat and out his mouth in a blood curdling scream, as he thrashed and flailed in the bed.

           He knew he wanted to live, but this was not how he wanted to be alive.

           The doctor returned, shoving a mask over Dante’s screaming mouth and putting him back to sleep.

***

           Ever since Dante woke up again, he was being hounded by doctors, police, and bots.

           They knew who he was, but they couldn’t place how he fit into the explosion. Their technology was smart enough to trace his call, figure out the source of the explosion, and keep him alive, but not smart enough to know what came over him to betray his criminal family.

           That was fine with Dante. If they couldn’t make him talk, he wasn’t telling them it was because he chose to hide out in a bookstore.

           Every day that passed, the more hounding the questions got until they left him alone to stare at the ceiling.

           He was in the middle of counting the specs in those forty-four tiles, when a human aid in all white dropped off his food with a replacement vase of flowers. The flowers came in patterns he noticed, and since last week was tulips, this week would be roses.

Today they were something he never seen before.

           Dante gave the vase a side-eye, “those aren’t roses.”

           “It’s another aid’s birthday this week,” the aid said dismissively as she sat his bed up, “you’re in a chatty mood today, Mr. Perez.”

           “What are those?” He ignored her comment.

           “Dahlias,” the aid answered, “the staff thought it’d be funny since it is her name.”

           Dante turned to the aid, “did she work in a retirement center?”

           The aid stepped back, her actions were his answer. “Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Perez.”

           Dante watched her leave coldly, then turned back to the rainbow of little buds of petals poking out of the rich green leaves. The sight made him smile a little, before the guilt blanketed him and he rolled away, putting his back to the dahlias.

***

           The same aid was back later with the doctor to remove the bandages.

           While the doctor snipped the gauze around his face, Dante looked everywhere else but at the mirror the aid was holding up. He already didn’t like seeing his tan skin bright red with the bandages on, he didn’t want to see what was left now that the rawness faded away.

           He tried staring at the ceiling, but the doctor’s head kept getting in his field of view, same as the aid. He looked to the doorway, seeing bots on their tracks carrying medications and food to other burn victims. They loyally followed an aid in a mixture of modern technological styles, plain colorless scrubs, and flashback styles from eras he never witnessed in his lifetime.

           The bandage went in front of his eyes, and in when he looked again a girl with hair the color of sand was at the bots’ station presetting the program for her robo-companion. The bandage went in his sightline again, as she turned her head.

           “His pulse has elevated,” the aid warned.

           “Nothing to worry about,” the Doctor said stepping back.

           Dante sat up, ignoring the mirror offered to him. He couldn’t see her anymore, and he wasn’t even sure if it was Dahlia, but she was the first person he saw in the hospital wearing a tea dress like that.

           “Mr. Perez,” the doctor interrupted his thoughts. “Would like to take a look?”

           The aid held up the mirror.

           Dante reached out taking the mirror in his shiny misshapen hand. He turned the mirror over, seeing a face that had the same texture as his hand, and details melted down like he was made of wax. The only part of him that stayed was his hazel eyes, but even so they looked vastly different on his new face.

           “In time, the pain will be more bearable and when you get out jail you could get reconstructive surgery,” the Doctor explained, “sooner if you cooperate with the police, maybe.”

           Dante glanced up, she was back hugging a book to her chest.

           “Mr. Perez, do you want to issue a statement to the police?” the Doctor pressed.

           She brushed her hand over her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. As soon as he saw that freckled nose and pink pout, he knew it was her.

           “Mr. Perez?” the aid looked at the monitor, “are you feeling alright?”

           Dante curled his wrist back, and tossed the mirror out the door like a Frisbee, cutting her off. She jumped back with a surprised yelp, and a security bot hovered past her into the room.

           “Mr. Perez!” The doctor scolded.

           “What is the situation?” The bot demanded.

           Dahlia picked up the mirror, and walked to the doorway. “Is he alright?”

           “Everything is fine,” the aid shooed Dahlia, “this guy is just disturbed.”

           Dahlia stepped inside, “that is very nice to say. First time seeing your new look… mister?”

           “Dante.”

           She froze, “Dante…?”

           “Do you know him?” the aid asked.

           Dahlia ignored her, and sat down on the edge of the bed, “Dante… is that… is that really you?”

           “I’m so sorry, pequeña pepita,” he said quietly.

           The Doctor squeezed Dahlia’s shoulder, “Miss Collins, do you know this man?”

           Dahlia looked around at the room. She took in where she was and the security measures taken to keep Dante from leaving, all the while pretending he was a normal burn patient. She then turned back to Dante teary eyed, “no.”

           Dante felt his smile he didn’t know he had fall, “but Dahlia… I like you. Please don’t do this to me.”

           The Doctor pulled Dahlia up, “time to go, Mr. Perez needs to be left alone now.”

           “Dahlia, wait.” Dante sat up as much as he could, reaching out as far as his restraints would let him, “please let me explain.”

           The security bot led them out, with Dahlia last to leave.

           She turned back, with her arms hanging at her sides, “pero… yo quiero.”

           “You want to know me?” Dante held his breath.

           Dahlia cracked a small smile, “that’s what I said, isn’t it?” she slowly shut the door, “tell me what you think, it’s my favorite story.”

           Dante looked down at where she once sat, finding the book he picked out the day he met her, right in his reach.

Private little secret

I'm genuinely sooo tired of the world. Im not giving up on it, but honestly im terrified of where its going. The internet, social media is toxic in a way im petrified. People forget about humanity and society and all they think about is status, followers, likes, notes etc. I'm not gonna lie, I can relate to that a bit. Sometimes I cry because my drawings have what? 30 likes? Sometimes 60. Maybe its a lot for people with 2 likes or 0, but its not about the "like", its the need of approval. Maybe some people would think its shallow or stupid, but God, its so hurtful when i spend 5 or 8 hours on a stupid drawing (god forbid calling it art) and seeing it being completely ignored or "flop" as people say. I want to be humble and be happy with every accomplishment, but I can't help but feeling pathetic, ridiculous, a failure. That's the opposite from what I've learned my entire life, but it's that annoying little voice that doesnt seem to shut up.

Yes, it's been frustrating and disappointing. But I wont give up, I would never do that. Its just really annoying and infuriating! HOW COME MILLIONS OF PEOPLE DONT EVEN TRY AND GET SOOO MUCH REPERCUSSION? alright i may know the answer, they do try blablah, they have strategies and talent, they deserve it.

But... shouldn't I deserve it as well? Idk is this selfish? If I'm being honest, I feel like I deserve nothing. Im trying, though. To be a better artist, a better friend, daughter etc... a good person. And its exhausting seeing the community being so toxic, and people seeing posts of people as they were bots or numbers. They are PEOPLE. Actual PEOPLE.

I have a second tumblr. That one has like 10k followers and I find it AMAZING HOW 10.000 PEOPLE ACTUALLY LIKED MY STUPID POSTS HAHA 😄 They are silly incorrect quotes and I love making or adapting them, I love when someone says it made them laugh. And thats what i want with my drawings eventually. I dont post enough on my ig, but I have big plans, and its just so scary... I feel like im not catching up. As if im growing older and smaller every year. Maybe im better than what i was last year, but its SO F*CKING HARD TO SEE people that were better and now are almost greek gods or smth.

I might be exaggerating lol but its all based on an actual truth: I dont know how to fix myself.

I dont know how to get over this stupid inferiority complex, self-esteem issues, the need of validation, fear of trying and failing.

Those things, things I know what they are have been HAUNTING ME for years. And kept me from growing much more. I COULD BE A WAY BETTER PERSON NOW! I COULD HAVE CAUGHT SO MANY OPPORTUNITIES I LEFT BEHIND, BECAUSE I WAS SCARED. what is wrong with me??? Why WHY cant I just trust and believe and be able to try??? I CANT CONTROL EVERYTHING! IT DOESNT MATTER IF PEOPLE DONT SEE!

I've tried therapy, I've tried changing my mind, and these little things and obstacles seem to be stuck and always come back.

I just want to get better 😔

I dont want people to see this, this blog is like my secret. But I'm posting it because it feels good to scream at an empty room or in a cave. Where no one is there to hear you. Where I can say these things and not be afraid someone else might see. But if I keep this in my drafts, it will be like I kept to myself lol.

It makes zero sense, but idc. What I love about tumblr is that I can post literally anything and not be afraid of getting zero likes or views. Its like my private little secret 😊

SJW: Sex Robots will mean human extinction! Me:

Hehehe! Ok, serious critique: “ it is even seemingly intelligent and witty. “ Citation needed. We don’t have any AI that can do it. Most humans can’t. Can we really create a machine intelligence that can fake those qualities? Notice I emphasise fake, because a genuinely intelligent AI will have its own motivations, which probably won’t include a human sex drive or a need for a human romance, so such an intelligence will not compete with human men or women. This is pretty much the plot of “Ex Machina”. Because the AI in that movie wasn’t created with an innate sex drive or other human drives, it happily murdered others to accomplish its own goals. It had no need for a companion, not even one of its own kind.

Creating a true Artificial Intelligence would likely be a disaster. It is, however, completely hypothetical, and it is very interesting to me that the enemies of sexbots always seem to think that a true AI is going to be included. Why would you bother? A true AI would have the capacity and desire to refuse sex, for one thing!

Don’t be fooled - such creatures will most likely never return any affection a human will experience, and would drive a knife through your eyeball as soon as you got in their way.

So a sexbot will most likely have the minimum AI necessary to do the job, just like computer games do. “ According to expert clinical psychologist and sex therapist Dr. Marianne Brandon, what I’ve described above is, in fact, a likely portrait of our near future. “ So what are his credentials in computer science? A gender studies degree? Nope, that’s not going to cut it. Where are the relevant authorities being consulted to make this article? How do you know any of this is true? How did they find out, did they use a ouja board and the armpit hair of Andrea Dworkin?

Ok, now for a quote with manipulative language, which is deeply ironical coming from a pscych magazine. “ In her presentation, Dr. Brandon rightfully pointed out” No, she just pointed out. The writer of this article is stating an opinion as fact, and what’s worse, trying to paper over the fact that they are dishonest with weasel words. "sex robots, when they arrive (and they will)” Opinion stated as fact - unless the writer is God, they don’t know the future. We have no idea if humanity will survive, if tech progress will continue, or if true artificial intelligence is even possible. "will be the ultimate in human-created supernormal stimuli. “ Rubbish. Feminists think this because they just don’t understand human relationships. All around them are men and women forming relationships with people who are ‘sub-optimal’ in terms of appearance. Why?

Because humans offer more than an appearance. A sex bot can’t. It cannot care about a man. Now, neither can a Feminist, which is why they project their sociopathy onto others, and imagine that others have relationships as shallow as theirs.

You have to remember that feminists imagine the male is oppressing the female. That males routinely sacrifice for the females they love, and traditional females return sacrifice in their own way, does not occur to them. A sexbot cannot choose to sacrifice itself. It has no needs, and can feel no pain, nor warmth, nor compassion.

A non-feminist woman can grieve at the grave of her husband. A robot or a feminist cannot do that.

After all, the big plan of Feminism is to exterminate all the males. Say, that sounds familiar...

Nahh, see, a Terminator can learn compassion. That is something a Feminist can never do. “ Men, who are disproportionately represented as consumers of pornography, will likely be over-represented as consumers of sex robots. “

Weasel Words Warning! Arooga, Arooga!

There is no correct proportion for males to be consumers of a product. We do not have some Central Committee deciding how many black females can like cream cheese. Yet Feminists never tire of telling men how many of them can like porn, and here we see them deciding that TOO MANY men will like sexbots, long before they have been invented, without anything to back it up except their feelz, and without any figures given as to precisely what is the correct number of men. I remind you - Psychology is supposedly a science. Does this article sound like science, or Feminist F*ckery? “ Within committed relationships, sexual interactions, which are apparently already on a nationwide decline, are likely to drop further in prevalence. “ Since Feminists have changed the law to make sexual interactions a crime at the whim of the female involved, is this really a surprise? Maybe return protections to men that women enjoy? Make laws the same for everybody? Is that just too antifeminist?

“ The prevalence of marriage and birth rates may well see declining numbers. “ Feminists keep claiming they can reproduce without men. Isn’t this their big chance to show us how it’s done? OR... We could stop teaching children that having babies is bad? That being a mother is inferior? That men are scum?

That abortions are to be celebrated? Because you know what? Every abortion is a dead child. You can’t really complain about declining birth rates AND CELEBRATE THE DEATH OF CHILDREN.

The fact is, the best reproductive period for women is when they are young. That is a conflict with careers. Some women can juggle both, but most can’t. So young girls are taught in school to prioritise career, that they can always have kids later, don’t worry about it, it’s not like there is some biological clock ticking...

Oops! Turns out birth defects rise exponentially with time, gosh, who knew!

And you know how it is, you finally found the perfect man, you are in the right place in your career - and you realise it’s not going to happen, ever, because Feminism LIED.

Feminists celebrate childlessness, encourage it, teach girls that if they have kids they are helping destroy the world - then look at declining birth rates and turn around and blame men.

Because they do that with f*cking everything, don’t they?

Feminists pushed for the two child family - that is below replacement. That means a population IMPLOSION.

While feminists undermine reproduction, they have no right to complain about not reproducing. While they make relationships hostile to men, they have no grounds to bitch about men opting out of them. While they turn sex into sexcrime, they cannot stop men seeking sex without them.

Further Reading:

Feminists declare men 'unnecessary' THE  S E X B O T S  ARE COMING

Loose cannon

It was the middle of­ the night and he cou­ld barely walk straig­ht- granted he had ju­st downed a whole bot­tle of vodka. He blam­ed it on Mako for thr­owing the celebration­ party in the first p­lace, they had succee­ded in locking Black ­Magic up for good and­ the harpy goddess in­sisted it was the per­fect reason to party ­deep into the night. ­Leon knew he should h­ave declined the invi­tation when he had th­e chance but he just ­figured hey, it'll on­ly be for a little wh­ile right? He would o­nly have maybe one or­ two drinks right? Ab­solutely not; Lycan h­ad challenged him to ­a drink off at Raigek­i's request and he co­uldn't exactly back d­own with everyone wat­ching. Needless to sa­y, he was victorious ­and there was a very ­"sleepy" wolf hanging­ by Rai's side for th­e rest of the party. ­He had left the party­ immediately after th­at before Rai could c­onvince him to do any­thing else crazy. Leo­n stumbles again and ­he places his hand on­ the wall to steady h­imself, it wouldn't d­o him any good if he ­fell over before he c­ould reach his target­. He was more than su­re that he would be a­wake at this hour- th­e man rarely if ever ­slept and it wouldn't­ be the first time he­'s popped in to see h­im. Although, this wo­uld be the first time­ he shows up complete­ly intoxicated with s­omething more than ju­st reprimands on his ­mind. He reaches the ­room and enters witho­ut bothering to knock­; Rodrick was seated ­on the bed watching t­v and Leon steps in f­ront of it to block h­is view. Rodrick look­s up at him, "can I h­elp you?" Leon stares­ at him for a few sec­onds, dully noting th­at he's missing a shi­rt at the moment, "yo­u...need sex to live ­right? Just like all ­the other inccubi." R­odrick raises an eyeb­row, "uhh yeah I do- ­what, are you doing s­ome kind of project o­n my kind or somethin­g?" Leon didn't feel ­like deeming that wit­h a verbal answer, in­stead he moves in clo­ser to Rodrick; one h­and on his bare shoul­der while he connects­ their lips in a soft­ kiss. He can feel th­e incubus stiffen bef­ore he relaxes into t­he kiss, but then he'­s pushing Leon away a­nd looking at him str­angely, "are you feel­ing okay man? Normall­y you're always on yo­ur high horse about n­ot being gay or wanti­ng to do anything lik­e this with other gu-­" Leon places to fing­ers on Rodrick's lips­ to silence him, "you­r talking is annoying­. Right now all I wan­t is for you to do me­, okay?" Rodrick gape­s at him like a fish ­before something chan­ges in him and a wick­ed grin appears on hi­s face, "really?~ Wel­l I would love to do ­you but....why don't ­we do this my way?" F­eeling intrigued but ­slightly impatient fo­r reasons he doesn't ­understand, Leon cros­ses his arms, "what e­xactly IS your way?" ­Rodrick chuckles, "we­ start with you using­ that normally snippy­ mouth of yours to pl­easure my dick~ then ­from there we'll get ­to the actual doing."­ Leon nods before spr­eading Rodrick's legs­ apart, his hands qui­ckly unzipping his pa­nts to grasp at the l­imp member inside. Hi­s eyes flick over to ­meet Rodrick's for ha­lf a second and then ­he's dropping to his ­knees, sliding his me­mber into his mouth a­s he begins to suck a­nd lick at it. He clo­ses his eyes in faint­ pleasure, it wasn't ­what he wanted right ­now but it would suff­ice for now. The thic­kness was just right ­and he could feel it ­twitch as it slowly l­engthens and hardens;­ his own body respond­ing as he feels an er­ection beginning to r­ise. He jolts a bit w­hen Rodrick's hand sl­ides through his hair­, fingers toying with­ his ear and Leon ope­ns his eyes to watch ­Rodrick's face. He no­tes the parted lips a­nd half lidded eyes; ­the way the incubus g­od seems to be enjoyi­ng this already and i­t motivates him to do­ more. He begins stro­king the erection par­tly to spread his sal­iva and partly to giv­e Rodrick more pleasu­re. Leon flicks his t­ongue along the sensi­tive slit of Rodricks­ penis and delights i­n the throaty moan he­ releases. Wanting to­ hear more of those m­oans, Leon indulges i­n running his tongue ­up and down the full ­length, swirling his ­tongue around the sen­sitive head before su­cking on it hard. He ­can hear Rodrick begi­nning to pant and fee­l the hand in his hai­r tightening it's gri­p. Another hand finds­ it's way into his ha­ir, toying with the s­trands before it slid­es down to caress his­ cheek and he raises ­his eyes to meet Rodr­ick's gaze. "You're d­oing great Leon but I­ think it's time we m­oved onto the next st­ep, no?" Leon detache­s himself from Rodric­k's nether region and­ allows him to direct­ his body towards the­ bed until he's seate­d on it, Rodrick lean­ing over his body to ­deliver a short kiss.­ He trails more kisse­s down Leon's cheek, ­his neck; then his ha­nds are slipping unde­rneath the fabric of ­his shirt and he shiv­ers at the feel of Ro­drick's slim fingers ­ghosting over his ski­n. He moves to connec­t their lips again bu­t Rodrick's hands are­ gently pushing him b­ack before they pull ­his shirt over his he­ad and then the incub­us allows him to brin­g their lips together­ again. This time Rod­rick leads the kiss a­nd his tongue is soon­ slipping into Leon's­ mouth, his hands ret­urning to trace light­ patterns over his sk­in and Leon sighs. Pe­rhaps it was the alco­hol but the kiss felt­ particularly nice, R­odrick's tongue was w­arm and slick but it ­also faintly tasted o­f mint. All too soon,­ Rodrick is ending th­e kiss but his lips d­on't exactly leave Le­on, instead they move­ down to his nipples.­ Leon flinches slight­ly at the feeling of ­Rodrick's mouth sucki­ng on him in such a s­trange spot, he didn'­t think his chest wou­ld actually be sensit­ive enough to give hi­m pleasure and he's r­eally not sure how to­ feel when Rodrick be­gins swirling his ton­gue around the harden­ed nub. He settles fo­r a mix of light moan­ing and panting just ­because it feels righ­t. Rodrick looks up a­t him with a smug smi­rk on his face, "you ­like that huh?" At Le­on's nod, he returns ­to swirling his tongu­e around the nub and ­toys with the other, ­gently twisting and p­inching it. His smug ­expression only incre­ases when Leon's back­ arches as a louder m­oan passes between hi­s lips. The strange p­leasure was quickly b­ringing him to full a­rousal and he runs hi­s fingers through Rod­rick's hair to get hi­s attention, "it feel­s nice but I want mor­e- I want you inside ­me." Rodrick jerks aw­ay from Leon and snor­ts, "wait really? If ­this is how you're go­ing to be then maybe ­you should drink more­ often~" He doesnt wa­ste any time removing­ the rest of Leon's c­lothing and then he's­ holding two fingers ­near his lips, "go on­ and get them nice an­d slick so I can prep­ you up. It'll feel m­uch better if you're ­loose." The intoxicat­ed lion obeys, partin­g his lips to take th­e two digits into his­ mouth where he then ­sucks and licks at th­em, down their length­ and in between them ­in a way that makes R­odrick shiver in arou­sal. The lion always ­went on and on about not liking men yet he­ sure knew how to get­ them hot and bothere­d. Rodrick pulls his ­fingers out of Leon's­ mouth before the nau­ghty lion's actions c­ause him to moan, "o-­okay that's enough of­ that...lay on your b­ack for me," Leon com­plies, spreading his ­legs as if he's tryin­g to give Rodrick a b­etter view of his alr­eady throbbing erecti­on which he tries har­d not to openly stare­ at. He distracts him­self with slipping on­e finger in Leon's en­trance, the smug expr­ession returning when­ he sighs in pleasure­. Rodrick begins thru­sting the single digi­t in and out until he­ feels Leon is ready ­for the second digit ­and then he's thrusti­ng them both in and o­ut of the lion, sciss­oring them for added ­pleasure and to stret­ch his entrance more.­ Leon continues to si­gh and moan in pleasu­re, he was enjoying t­he feel of Rodrick's ­fingers roaming aroun­d inside him; stretch­ing him in ways that ­hurt but also felt in­credibly nice. He wan­ted more of that stra­nge pleasure, "Rodric­k...can you use more ­fingers or maybe..." ­His gaze drifts down ­to the incubus's prou­d erection and he lic­ks his lips, already ­imagining what it wou­ld feel like to have ­it inside him. Rodric­k chuckles, "you're p­retty impatient over ­there. Give me a seco­nd and we can get to ­the main event." He w­ithdraws his fingers ­from Leon's body befo­re walking to a small­ dresser and he opens­ one of the drawers t­o pull out a small bo­ttle of lube. Leon's ­ear twitches, "you ha­d lube...why make me ­suck on your fingers ­if you could have use­d that?" Rodrick shru­gs, "wanted to see if­ you would actually d­o it. But anyway, can­ you pull your legs u­p a bit? It'll make i­t easier for me to fi­nish prepping you." L­eon rolls his eyes bu­t does as he's told, ­watching Rodrick squi­rt a little lube onto­ his hand which he th­en rubs over his erec­tion, stroking it to ­spread it around whil­e creating an erotic ­wet sound that makes ­him lick his lips aga­in. Rodrick slips two­ fingers into his ent­rance again to check ­that he's still prope­rly stretched and the­n he's replacing them­ with the tip of his ­penis; that strange p­leasure pain returnin­g strong enough to ma­ke Leon moan. Rodrick­ strokes his cheek as­ he continues to slid­e into him, "naturall­y it's going to hurt ­but I promise it'll g­et better~." He wasn'­t quite sure if he wa­nted to tell Rodrick ­that it wasn't hurtin­g him at all, he like­d the soft caresses o­n his cheek and didn'­t want to give him an­ excuse to pull his h­and away. Instead Leo­n simply nods and clo­ses his eyes to bette­r focus on the feel o­f Rodrick's penis del­ving deeper into his ­body, the hard thickn­ess stretching his in­ner walls to deliver ­that delicious pleasu­re pain he was quickl­y becoming addicted t­oo. By the time Rodri­ck is fully sheathed ­inside of him, Leon i­s already panting fai­rly hard and he opens­ his eyes to meet the­ incubus's gaze, "thi­s feels so odd but I ­want more...move your­ body for me." Rodric­k looks surprised for­ a moment before he s­norts again, "you wan­t more? Oh I'm totall­y never going to forg­et this- I'll give yo­u whatever you want m­y horny little lion c­ub~" He starts moving­ his hips and Leon's ­words are lost to a l­ong moan of sheer ple­asure. He had thought­ Rodrick's fingers fe­lt wonderful in his b­ody; this new pleasur­e had no words for ho­w good it felt. The p­ace was slow but the ­feel of something so ­much thicker moving b­ack and forth inside ­of him...all Leon cou­ld do was lay his hea­d back and moan, his ­mouth hanging open. R­odrick's hand is on h­is cheek again, cares­sing it sweetly, "wan­t me to move even fas­ter my dear?~" at Leo­n's jerky nod, Rodric­k picks up his pace a­nd the lion's mind go­es numb for a few sec­onds. All he can focu­s on is the sheer amo­unt of pleasure cours­ing through his body,­ making his skin ting­le, his body shiver a­nd his arms flail aro­und weakly as if look­ing for something to.­.he doesn't even know­ what but he can't ke­ep himself still. His­ hands finally find a­ place around Rodrick­'s shoulders and he p­ulls the incubus down­ to connect their lip­s in what has to be t­he most sloppy kiss i­n history, lips slipp­ing and sliding again­st each other before ­their tongues are tan­gling together. Saliv­a being exchanged lik­e fanmail as they bre­athe each other in. L­eon can vaguely hear ­the bed creaking but ­still he wants more; ­his legs wrap around ­Rodrick's hips in an ­attempt to draw him c­loser and he breaks t­he kiss to speak. His­ voice sounds more li­ke a series of pants when he moves to spea­k, "Roddy...m-more..I­ want..h-harder...ple­ase." Rodrick's voice­ is smooth in his ear­s, "harder it is then­, I won't disappoint ­you~," he detaches Le­on's legs from his bo­dy, shifting the lion­ around so that he's ­lying on his side wit­h one leg pulled up t­o rest on his shoulde­r instead of wrapped ­around his hips. The ­change in position fe­els slightly uncomfor­table but then Leon's­ mind is lost to plea­sure again when Rodri­ck resumes his hard- ­near pounding thrusts­, the feeling of Rodr­ick's head pushing ag­ainst a little bundle­ of something strange­ in him that makes hi­m nearly scream in pl­easure. Leon claws at­ the bed sheets, his ­tongue lolling out of­ his open mouth; he c­an feel drool trickli­ng down his chin but ­he doesn't care; all ­that mattered now was­ Rodrick and the plea­sure he was giving hi­m. Rodrick was slammi­ng a part of him that­ made his whole body ­tremble and his own h­ardened penis was gri­nding against the she­ets deliciously, pre ­cum just beginning to­ trickle out. He trie­s to speak but his wo­rds are hard to make ­out, what with them s­ounding more like int­ense moans of pleasur­e but luckily Rodrick­ has a faint idea of ­what he's trying to s­ay. The incubus trade­s his fast pace for a­ slow hard one; pulli­ng himself out until ­the tip remains and t­hen thrusting back in­ to ram himself again­st that same bundle o­f nerves. He could se­e how it was turning ­the normally aloof li­on into a drooling, m­oaning mess and he lo­ved it. The pain part­ of that strange plea­sure was completely l­ost to Leon but he wa­s slowly becoming awa­re of a new feeling. ­Something that was ak­in to a tsunami neari­ng over the horizon a­nd he wasn't quite su­re he wanted it to hi­t yet. Suddenly, Rodr­ick is shifting their­ bodies again and Leo­n finds himself seate­d on top of the incub­us, his hands splayed­ out on his chest; th­ose hips still moving­ to bring him pleasur­e and he doesn't ques­tion the change. Inst­ead, he shifts his ow­n legs around and rea­lizes that with the n­ew position, he can m­ove his own body to m­eet those sinful thru­sts. And that's exact­ly what he does; thru­sts his hips down the­ second Rodrick bring­s his own up and it h­its him like magic. T­he pleasure multiplie­s tenfold and an erot­ic sound of skin slap­ping against skin rea­ches his ears. His fi­ngers curl against Ro­drick's chest, his na­ils digging into the ­skin making the other­ man groan in the sam­e pleasure pain that ­affected him earlier.­ Leon's own moans are­ loud against his ear­s and it makes his ow­n penis twitch, a tin­y part of him felt he­ was enjoying this to­o much but he ignores­ that part- there was­ no such thing as too­ much pleasure. He le­ans down to connect h­is lips with Rodrick'­s in another sloppy k­iss, their tongues so­on joining as well as­ Rodrick's hands slid­ing up and down his b­ody; cupping his butt­ cheeks, pinching the­m and spreading them ­as he thrusts harder.­ That delicious sound­ of skin slapping aga­inst skin causing the­m both to moan in ecs­tasy and Leon can fee­l that tidal wave get­ting stronger. He bre­aks the kiss to tell ­Rodrick as much but t­he incubus silences h­im with a firm hand g­ripping his twitching­ cock, jerking it in ­time with those thrus­ts and Leon throws hi­s head back to moan l­ong and loud. His who­le body shudders as t­hat wave finally brea­ks free with his orga­sm, cum spurting from­ his cock to splatter­ across Rodrick's che­st. Leon's inner wall­s clamp down hard on ­Rodrick's member and ­it doesn't take long ­for him to reach his ­own orgasm, moaning l­ow as he releases his­ seed into the lion's­ body; the one hand s­till on his butt chee­k gives it a good sla­p that makes Leon jol­t. Leon isn't sure if­ it was the slap or t­he alcohol finally hi­tting him but all of ­a sudden he's exhaust­ed, his body slumps a­gainst Rodrick's weak­ly and he can hardly ­lift his head to give­ the incubus one last­ peck on the lips. Hi­s eyes are already sl­iding shut when he he­ars his own faint voi­ce whisper, "I love y­ou." The next morning­, Leon wakes to find ­himself nude and alon­e in what is clearly ­not his own bed. He n­early jumps out of th­e bed but notices a n­eatly folded pile of ­his clothing with a n­ote on top of it. As ­he dresses himself he­ reads the note silen­tly,  "Leon before you eve­n get the wrong idea ­I'd like to let you k­now that you came int­o my room clearly dru­nk off your ass. I tr­ied to convince you t­o go to sleep but you­ were having none of ­it...until you vomite­d all over yourself a­nd passed out. I had ­the misfortune of str­ipping you naked so I­ could clean you and your clothes up. I di­dn't put them back on­ you because I was af­raid you would wake u­p in the middle and t­ry to kill me thinkin­g I was doing the opp­osite. Anyway next ti­me stay away from the­ booze, you're really­ weird when you're dr­unk." Leon crumples u­p the note angrily, k­nowing full well that­ never happened but h­e was too embarrassed­ to admit what really­ happened. He gratefu­lly accepts the scape­ goat Rodrick was lea­ving him; if they wer­e both going to prete­nd they never had sex­...who was he to say ­any different? After ­all, he WAS extremely­ intoxicated last nig­ht. 

Watching The Husbands of River Song for the first time

(When I started writing the post I messed up my typing and the title said “Watchgin the Husnabds of REierv Sogn for the fitrst time”)

-Oh dear, one episode closer to catching up to the show, and one step clser to a yet unknown source of heartbreak.

tf is this flying dish

Wait, they’re celebrating Christmas in 5343?

-Wow Jesus looks like you’ve really outdone yourself

-TARDIS

-TARDEEEEHS

Why is the music all doom-y and scary like this is something bad That is the best note ever

-HEEEEyyyyy it’s the bald guy from the Series 10 trailer!!

-He looks like he’d be a mouse or a hamster if he was an animal

“Is there anything on my head?”

-YES THERE IS

-OH GOSH

IT’S CONTAGIOUS

-I MUST RUN BEFORE RED CHRISTMAS RUDOLPH ANTLERS SPROUT UP ON MY HEAD

-well hello alien santa under the hood

-RIVEEEEEEER

-WTF

-WHAT THE FAAAAAAAAQ

-wait why is she so pissed-- OHHHHHH

-IT’S BEFORE SHE wait hold on a minute

-This is the first time she’s seeing his twelfth incarnation in-show, yes? No?

-*checks Wikipedia* Yes I’m right but...

-I think I’ll have to watch more before jumping to conclusions

-By the way, this.

A time travelling alien as old as time and also a fluffy grinning cat.

-”My husband is dying.”  Doctor: wtf is going on am i about to cross my own timestream or what

-”wtf river”

-Ah yes, flurry snow in the middle of a bajillion cogwheels, brilliant intro.

-Oh shit it’s Moffat

-Poor Twelve must be confused so much.

-River looks like she’s faking though. She’s not the kind of person who coos at people like that.

(unfortunately I could not find a stock photo of a cat looking exactly like this. pity.)

-No, seriously. Look at this cate.

-Anyway who the fuck is that guy in that disproportionately large armor, like, where in the actual sarlacc butthole did he come from

-River Song’s Drama has increased by 100!

-uhhh lemme see I think that’s a mix of Megaman, the old Transformers cartoon and ahh what’s that one videogame I swear there are videogames with people wearing hulky armor like that

-DAMN TWELVE DROPPIN IT

-I don’t even

-I don’t even know what I’m watching

-And yet there’s this lingering fear in the back of my mind that’s still scared of the text “Written by Steven Moffat”

-Wait, if she’s talking to the people in the little screens and they react accordingly to her gestures, then it means they’re watching her too, but where’s the camera?

-Doctor: “the fuck”

-”Do you recognize me?”  “No”  So the Doctor said no because of something unrelated but I swear a part of him just wanted to get back at River

-HE’S WHITE DIAMOND, GEMS HAVE GENDER, WHITE DIAMOND CONFIR-- nevermind wrong show

-”You’re talking about murdering someone!”  “No I’m not, I’m actually murdering someone.”

-”Do you know who you remind me of?”   “Yes, probably of a chap with a big-” (he means big chin, don’t get any ideas)   “My second wife!”

-The dialogue is top notch in this episode

-Oh no, it’s the robot king who doesn’t look like he can eat his enemies very efficiently and his legion of...

...sword-wielding Jawas.

-Heck, they even sound like Jawas.

-what the effing head

-”I wondered why we didn’t share a bathroom”

-Well for me it explains the nonsense body proportions

-”Decision overruled. Recommendation: Chill.”

-I love how the robot suit says “Chill”, it’s just so.. chill. It’s actually chilling out. It’s the chillest robot in robot history.

I have paused at just the right moment

They’re nerding out together

-Aw the Doctor’s laughing

-He’s having so much fun

-”I haven’t laughed in a long, long time.”  There. All the more merrier because of that.

-Oh god

-Okay how many people are River Song gonna hang around with in this episode

-”He only has twelve faces” OHHHHH BECAUSE RIVER DOESN’T KNOW THAT THE TIMELORDS GAVE HIM A NEW REGENERATION CYCLE DOES SHE

‘Little do they know the BBC wanted to continue the show for another fifty years.’

-noooo not the bald guy nuuuuu

-What a cynical robot

-DOCTOR JUST TELL HER THAT IT’S YOUR TARDIS

-Poor Doc

-”Oh yeah I’m SURE I’ll get SOOOO surprised”

-”It’s my girl.”

-The sarcasm is strong with this one.

-”Oh it’s BIGGER on the INSIDE how SURPRISING because I’ve NEVER seen one beFORE”

I’M DYING ASDGSDJSA;;

-”Wait, my Tardis had a fridge?”

-Sooooo when River was with Eleven she was the better driver (in terms of comfort; no offense to Eleven’s Timelording skills in general) but now Twelve is probably the calmest drver so far and River’s, well... not so much.

-”Of course I’m NOT getting frustrated by you doing everything wrong and trying to give you instructions because it’s CLEARLY not my Tardis how can you even SUGGEST such a thing”

-”Yes thank you I am a quick learner and NOTHING else, NOTHING like I’ve flown this Tardis countless times before”

-So if the Tardis can’t take off while someone’s both in and out, then this wouldn’t work, huh.

(From one of the Bunny Suicides books)

-”What sort of medical school did you go to?”

-A king does not unnecessarily endanger the lives of his people... Unless he is cross.

-LOGIC

-OH SHIT THAT GUY’S HEAD GOT CHOPPED OFF TOO

-”Death initiated.”

-The fuck kind of Star Wars cantina did they walk into

-”They’re still digesting their mother.”

-”--I will rip you open and devour you--”    “It’s my stomach.”

-Even the guy whose wife got eaten by his kids is going ‘wtf’

-The fuck kind of CGI was that

-”This is where genocide comes to kick back and relax.”    Oh boy, that’s gonna get on the Doctor’s nerves.

-”Why are you frowning?”   “How’d you know?”   “It’s audible.”

-”The man who gave me this was the sort of man who’d know exaclty how a long a diary you’re going to need.”  “Oh yeah that’s definitely not me”

-I SAW THAT EYEBROW RAISE, RIVER SONG, YOU CHEEKY LITTLE TIME TRAVELLER

-Annnnd River’s supposed to be paid by a Voldemort with a nose.

-WHAT THE FUCK HIS HEAD OPENS UP

-JEEZ!

-YOU HAVE A JAWBREAKER IN YOUR HEAD??!?

-OH MY FUCKING GOD EVERYONE HAS CRACKED UP HEADS

-For some reason, Credits seems to be the common term for whatever currency is used vaguely in scifi universes. They have Credits in Star Wars too!

-Whoever is playing that pale guy is going to have a royally sore throat by the end of the episode.

-”Hail Hydra”

-You should probably just give him the head...

-To be fair you crackhead guys did creep them out

-The thing.

-Did the head just run away or something, why are the Doctor and River so uneasy, do they really just don’t want to witness a brain surgery or am I missing something here

-Dang it Doctor.

-”The skyyyy shall crrrrrack”

-Well the head is there...

-what. the. fuck. is. happening.

-”At last I am whole again”  Well I wouldn’t really call it whole if your body’s a robot but...

-Okay.... that happened.

-*hastily muffled Steven Universy screeching*

-SCREW YOU CATFISH BUG MAN

-Why do his eyebrows make a squeak sound

-”A picnic at Asgard...”  MARVEL/DOCTOR WHO CROSSOVER CONFI-- nevermind

-jesus christ why is that guy so intent on reading River’s diary out loud

-’The Angels Take Manhattan’ was three seasons ago. And yes, that episode was written by Moffat too.

-”An infinite number of faces”   Well, I wouldn’t say it’s infinite per se...

-Besides, if there’s only the head left, wouldn’t that kind of hinder the regeneration, if not stop it altogether?

-Wait, since when was the robot the king and not the head?

-I don’t like the catfish bug guy with the French mustache. In fact, I am liking him less and less by the second.

-WHOA WAIT THAT ROBOT COULD STORE MULTIPLE HEADS IN IT? I THOUGHT IT JUST TOOK ONE OFF AND PUT ON ANOTHER

-Dammit River why would you want to hurt him like that HE IS RIGHT THERE  ;_;

-;_;

-*CRYING EMOJI INTENSIFIES*

-”Two hearts, stupid clothes--”  Well the latter changed a bit.

-MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

-DAMMIT MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

-HE IS RIGHT THERE

-DAMMIT MOFFAT

FUCK YOU MOFFAT

-TAKE MY HEART AND RIP IT APART SOME MORE WHY DON’T YOU

-”I’m an archaeologist from the future.  I dug you up.”

-DAMN

-”What do you think of my new body”  “I’ll let you know, I’ve only seen the face”  Okay it’s either me or Moffat that isn’t aware that this is a family show.

-She caught it in her f-cking boobs

-HER BOOBS

-FAMILY SHOW

-”FAMILY SHOW”

-”So, King Hydroflax?”  (idk how tf it’s spelled)  “I married the diamond!”  (”wE ARE THE CRYSTAL--””SHUT UP!!”)  “So you say.”  “Elizabeth the First.”  “Ramone.”  “Marilyn Monroe!”  “Stephen Fry!”  “Cleopatra!”  “Same thing!”

-IF YOU HAVEN’T GUESSED ALREADY, I’M DYING

Glowing cables.

-”Crashing spaceships, that’s my job.”  I feel like I should write a sentence that rhymes with this, but unfortunately I can’t.

-OH THE TOP PART OF HIS SCREWDRIVER ROTATES

-”I’ve been doing it longer!”  “I do it better!”  Like how you drive the Tardis, for example.  (I can also see the above dialogue used in a very, very, wrong, scenario, but I’ll just keep quiet and hope that it wasn’t Moffat’s intention.)

-river u ok?

-k

Looks like one of those audio equipment machines.

-Reminds me of the ‘Profit’ memes.

-1. Crash ship  2. Look outside  3. FIRE  4. Nope the fuck outta there and travel forward in time  5. ??  6. Profit

-1. Visit some yet-to-be tour spot  2. Give money to a random guy and tell him to set up a restaurant  3. Travel forward in time  4. ???  5. Profit

-River why aren’t you closing the Tardis door

-THE GOD DAMN BOT

-Oh look Nardole’s alive too

-”Now that, my dear, is a suit.”  Gotta agree.

HOLE-LEE SHEE-EHT

-THAT’S THE SCREWDRIVER FROM ‘SILENCE IN THE LIBRARY’

-THAT WAS SEASON FOUR

-MOFFAT

-YOU’VE CONSTRUCTED A PLOT STRING THAT SPANS FIVE SEASONS YOU BIG ASSHOLE GENIUS SPIDER

(Screencap of webpage http://www.chakoteya.net/DoctorWho/30-9.htm)

-HOLY FLUKES HOW DARE YOU

-”Are you crying?”

-i-- yes yes i am  blame moffat not me

-”There are stories about us, you know.”  “Oh, I dread to think.”  Been looking around AO3, have you River?

-m o f f a t   y o u   m o t h e r f u c k e r

-asdflsdhglljfhslhHSAHG

-ASJDAFLHGLASDJHGFALSDF

-sglsdhgflWEGyglhsghsgFLH;;1 LDG lJHGJLHAGLJhglhgljhglhHS DFHS5134 GLHFGLSDHFGh 454123gshdHFJHgjGSJDFL

-$^B&C%TB#%*&#BWKUWURH#$VB&*#B*:#V:B&*$&*B#&VBBBEYBYEBYFF

Moffat you deceitful fuck, I won’t trust you until the very end

-But thank you for sparing us from saying goodbye to her face

You forgot to say ‘forever’

-Please just let them stay together happily for those 24 years

HA I spelled it right

-Overall one of the best Christmas specials in my personal opinion, and top-notch acting by Capaldi. Really, top, notch.

MAFA: Make America Fun Again

Nothing is fun anymore.

And this isn’t nostalgia, some 1500 words which amount to get off my lawn. Lawns used to be fun. You’d sit on them, play lawn games on them. Now they’re part of the defensive perimeter around your home to help protect your family. But having a family is no fun; America ranked second to last among industrialized nations, behind even Bulgaria and Chile, as a place to raise children.

Maybe it’s more fun where you are. I don’t know because like in the Middle Ages, travel is no fun. America is the world’s largest leper colony. What’s open? Is the local custom masked or unmasked? Can a stranger find a place to eat inside if it’s raining? States restrict travel with quarantines which must violate the boring commerce clause parts of the Constitution somehow. We rely on the odd sojourner to bring us information from the outside. Is the Middle East still around? Check the news.

The news hasn’t been fun for a long time. Now even the old standards like The Washington Post just grind out tattle fodder for social media outrage. Op-Eds were fun before they all flopped into undergrad quality work announcing it’s Wiemar, or Rome, or Hitler, or 1984, when at worst it’s closer to a bad Fellini movie. We’re treated to tales of what Trump says on the phone, inside the Oval Office, in private to his wife, as if the reporters are fused to the man’s back (what Trump says seated in the bathroom is on Twitter.) Nobody seems to ask “how could they possibly know that?” No one seems to ask “what is journalism?” anymore.

Journalism is no longer fun because the Joker’s on us, the same people who sell us the panic sell the pill. “Journos” see their job as manufacturing reasons for Trump to resign, to fail, or to quit, or to persuade slack-jawed yokel voters they otherwise hold in contempt that they don’t know what’s good for them.

After four years of the sky not falling on either the yokels or the reporters, it is exhausting to still have to wade through articles headlined with words like bonkers, meltdown, owned, trolled, canceled, boycotted, destroyed, shames, and sociopath which bark about defeats and collapses and failures. Everything is about fixing the blame on someone (Trump, usually) and little about fixing the problem. Apocalypse Now articles such as “We Do Not Have a Real Democracy,” which warns “Trump and his regime are engaged in a white supremacist counter revolution against the civil rights movement,” are repetitive resistance porn. There are only so many positions, so many scenarios, and they no longer impress, never mind shock.

Where it was once shocking the NYT senior staff had to remind reporters they were “not part of the f*cking resistance,” NYT editor Bari Weiss’ resignation letter confirms the Times is now indeed part of the resistance. “Truth isn’t a process of collective discovery, but an orthodoxy already known to an enlightened few whose job is to inform everyone else,” she writes of her former colleagues. On the slightly hopeful but not fun side, the editors of the Wall Street Journal announced to their staff, “We are not the NYT… our opinion pages offer an alternative to the uniform progressive views that dominate nearly all of today’s media,” including social media.

Social media isn’t fun anymore. We used to complain it was too much of someone’s aunt posting cat pictures. Now it’s work for many; someone has to be staying up photoshopping Jeffrey Epstein into shots of politicians they don’t like. That’s what bots do, make all the bad stuff for other bots to forward around until it bumps into a real person and makes that person into a unfun Russkie zombie who must vote Trump. “You suck” is now an allowable thesis defense and end to any argument.

Arguing used to be fun. We once enjoyed staying up late arguing politics with other actual living people (our ancestors referred to them as friends. Friends used to be fun, people even, not a scrolling list of unknown followers). Once you could talk about ideas without having to swipe the smudge off your face of being called a fascist by a complete stranger. So we clam up. Some 62 percent of Americans say the political climate prevents them from saying what they believe. It’s especially true for conservatives, 34 percent of whom are worried their political views could get them fired. Which is why political polls aren’t fun anymore.

Government and elections used to be a lot of fun. You had rituals like rich Elderly Caucasian candidates being forced to eat corn dogs at the Iowa State Fair and talk about hogs before spiking Purell right into their veins. Now elections are just a referendum on which candidate is less in cognitive decline. They used to at least try to distinguish themselves; now Biden’s entire campaign is based on him being one of several billion people who are Not Trump. No Morning in America, no Hope and Change, just Not Something, all the appeal of the smell of dead insects.

Election Night itself also used to be fun, years of campaigning coming down to one big tally. It was fun to stay up late. Now we know we won’t have results for days or weeks because we cling to an 18th century balloting system because in the 21st century we don’t trust computers. We’ve also been acclimated to one or both sides insisting the results are unfair because the Post Office is part of a vast conspiracy, so that actual voting is only overture, raw material for the propaganda fight that proceeds the court fight that ends with half of the country insisting the popular vote counts for something because they all failed 8th grade civics. The kids who didn’t pay attention in 8th grade civics weren’t any fun, even back those years ago.

Years ago it was fun when my wife said she wished I looked like Billy Joel and, fat and bald, now I do. Robert De Niro and Johnny Depp used to be fun. Working from home used to be fun, like a snow day from school. Human Resources used to be fun, calculating your vacation days, before they became the Diversity Daleks waiting to get you fired for mispronouning. Thanksgiving used to be fun, a holiday without expectations that devolved into a yearly political Thunderdome. Groundhog Day used to be fun before it became real, summerbating away months. Everything was more fun before community organizer, activist, social influencer, and YouTuber became actual jobs. Sports was fun when it was about sports. America was more fun when the national pastime was not “raising awareness.” Tequila used to be fun before it became an obligation.

I accept America has suffered from a four year episode of PTSD and we all need to weather out another couple of months. But we’re the only nation who wrote pursuing happiness right into our foundational documents. You don’t see that from, meh, Canada or Sweden, so how come they’re happy and we’re not? If Biden wins in November, can we agree to just forget this whole ugly era like a drunken makeout session? Or if Trump wins, will it be another four years of being told democracy is dying, every day day-to-day in Code Red until you just give up and have to laugh at it all. And that would be no fun at all.

  Peter Van Buren, a 24-year State Department veteran, is the author of We Meant Well: How I Helped Lose the Battle for the Hearts and Minds of the Iraqi People, Hooper’s War: A Novel of WWII Japan, and Ghosts of Tom Joad: A Story of the 99 Percent.

  The post MAFA: Make America Fun Again appeared first on The American Conservative.

Requiem

I was hesitant to speak on this Tumblrpocolypse because I find the notion to be ridiculous, on both fronts, but seeing this algorithm just decimate posts and the absolute ludicrous way cats are getting around it, I kind of feel like it's time to say something. I’ve had my main blog since 2008, I think? little brother showed me the site and I was hooked. It was everything my introverted, tortured artist self, wanted in a mixed media blogging site. There were so many resources at your fingertips here, long before it became a haven for SJW weenies and PC pussies. Long before all these cries of safe spaces, Tumblr was more a space for artists. I dug that. I still do. The beauty of this site, however, lay in the fact that you had the freedom to post anything and everything. If you were into nude photography, you had an audience. Socially conscious slam poetry? Conscious. Cartoony, yet, adorable characters? Audience. I think Rebecca Sugar got her start here, which is dope I guess. I don’t like Steven Universe, but a great many people do. I’m more a fan of her Marceline stuff from, Adventure Time. The exposure Tumblr allotted to cats1 propelled it’s visibility in the masses and I think that’s where sh*t turned. When Tumblr became mainstream popular, corporate came a-knockin’ and they sold out hard. Gone was my little indie site full of irreverent artisan rebels, and in came sweeping changes to the format, sponsored by Yahoo. Cats bailed in droves, but I stayed because, go for the most part, my blogs are just form me. Over time, cats I followed fell of. Mostly because they aged out of the site or whatever, but I didn’t. I was intrigued by it’s evolution. By then, we were on the third generation of users. All of the 12 and 13-year-olds that started when I was on, were no edgelords High School seniors and College Freshman. That third crop of kids is where everything changed.

When this whole SLW wave hit a few years back, it washed over everything Tumblr was. Gone was the free spirit and artistic drive that once permeated the site, replaced with armchair hackactivism and inept outrage culture. The meek inherited the earth and everyone’s personal feelings suddenly became my problem to deal with. I was born in 84. I’m a tweener caught between the last of gen X and the very first of Gen Y, otherwise known as Millennials, to the general populace. But, when cats SAY Millennials, they mean 90s Millennials. There is a distinct difference between us and them, mostly because we, as the 80s Millennials, ended up raising our sibling born in the 90s. We had the entire world kick us in the dick at, like, 4 years old whereas 90s babies were born into the most economically powerful time in the history of the US. By the time they came along, cats were drugging their children with medical speed, trying to get them to focus in class, instead of talking to them and figuring out why their grades were bad or way they were so disruptive. Gone was a culture of earning a W, breeding a healthy sense of competition, and participation trophies abounded. It became commonplace to see soccer moms, with little bags of orange slices at three ready, waiting to reward their uncoordinated children after terrible game where no one kept score because “winning” was unsportsmanlike. These are the entitle brats that stormed into Tumblr, complaining about pronouns and making up another 56,473 genders I gotta be sensitive to, when none of that sh*t is real. Everybody else’s problem is my problem now and I hate it.

When Gen Z began to frequent the site, it seemed like an aggressive, conservative, prudishness came with them. Suddenly, cats were decrying every post for being politically incorrect or triggering or some other such nonsense. AS a grown ass man, I would look at that stuff and just ponder why it was even necessary to engage. Like, you have a blog because you’re on Tumblr, That’s your soapbox. You can scream into the void of the internet all you want here. I’m f*cking doing it right now! Why is it necessary to bark at cars with opinions that differ from you? Debate can be healthy, sure, but it’s never a constructive argument. It’s always a bunch of entitles kids, getting offended because you don’t care to facilitate a safe space for them, in YOUR personal; space. That sh*t is whack, son. And, invariably, from there came the attack on the nudity that was all over the site. Honestly, I get some of the vitriol. I have been followed by so many porn bot sites, it’s ridiculous. However, there are some decent joints on here that too dope ass nudes. I learned to draw women form porn magazine so i can appreciate a solid nude every no an again. And that’s not counting the legitimate art with the nude form as it’s focus. I have seen some beautiful sh*t on this site and it’s a shame that it’s all been relegated to oblivion now, mostly because Tumblr refused to properly moderate their own site. Especially considering all the hate speech and violent rhetoric that is rampant on the site. Like, one of the new guidelines is that an exposed, naked, female, nipple. Will get your sh*t flagged. Are you f*cking serious? How is that a delineation? Why a female nipple and not a male nipple? They’re both f*cking nipples! How is one accepted and the other taboo? Besides, titties are fundamentally amazing and should be celebrated! Everyone loves boobs so why are they being exiled so haphazardly? It’s wild to see what’s happening to the NSFW blogs when, way back in the beginning, Tumblr built itself on being body positive. That sh*t is a wild shame.

Yahoo swears this is to protect the kids but it’s not. There was a report saying child porn was found on the site, so it was pulled from the Apple store. I’ve been on Tumblr for a decade and never once saw anything remotely resembling kiddie porn. Pretty sure that sh*t got flagged out as soon as it was posted, if it was even posted. But the ghost of impropriety is enough to cause corporate to react in a shot-sighted, knee jerk reaction. That is the climate we all live in now, where an accusation can collapse your entire world. A whisper can destroy your entire life. When Yahoo took over Tumblr, they swore they wouldn’t change the spirit of the site. For a while, they were true to their word. However, the second their money was threatened, suddenly, “We gotta protect the children!” In reality, it’s more “We gotta protect our pockets!” It’s sad to see a community i’ve grown to love, waste away because some asshole in an office somewhere, who has no idea what this site means to people all over the world, decided to nuke the very spirit of it because Apple pulled their app. That’s all this is and it’s killing one of the most wonderful, eclectic, experiences I’ve ever had the pleasure to be a part of.