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I have OnlyFans Fortunes by Andrew Tate

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2020.11.26 10:51 CrispyClout Model type girls.

Model type girls.
I would consider myself a good looking guy. Top 10% definitely (not trying to boast brothers).
I’m in a little bit of a weird predicament.
I have blocked a couple, about 3-6 girls(8-10 rating) that I’ve talked to (one was literally a model). I don’t know the exact reason why I did. I chatted with 2 frequently but it was on and off so I would consider them old friends. I feel like I blocked them because I feel like I was being judged by them too much. Felt like I needed to entertain them. Felt forced.
It could be that I’m just too lazy to talk to other people on the regular. The red pill comes in and I think these girls have so many guys following them that I don’t feel the need to compete with (the prize hasn’t been that big for me). They want me but I don’t truly want them?
Question is am I weird for doing this? Or does anyone relate to me? Why do I block them?
I currently talk to some hot girls and I am thinking the feeling of blocking their cute asses might come sooner or later.
I feel confused because I want to talk to them again but at the same time feel anxious or weirded out by the idea of doing so.
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2020.11.26 08:45 Ok_Pomegranate_4697 i hate how sexualized my body was growing up

throwaway account i just wanted to get this off my chest
tw// eating disorders (including my own personal stats and numbers)
i realized that one of the reasons i hate my body so much is because of the amount of sexualization i was forced to endure as an early teen. when i was 12 i had gained a lot of weight (went from 100 lbs to 115 lbs in a couple of months) i had friends who constantly told me that i had big boobs (i was a 32b/34a when they told me this from when i was 13 to 14) and pretty much implied that i was ugly or that i was a slut for having them. they would just point it out unprompted. and it hurt more when i would change next to my friend in the girl's locker room and she would just say "omg your boobs are so big!" instead of standing up for myself i sorta just stayed silent because i felt like my friends would make fun of me for being defensive or try to tell me that other girls would want my boobs because it's sexy to have big boobs. i eventually cut them out of my life by the time i got to high school because i realized if i stayed friends with them i would hate myself even more.
of course my boobs got slowly but surely got bigger throughout high school and now i'm 18 now and in college with a 34b/32c/34c (depends on the brand my boobs are weird) chest. i get by normal standards my chest isn't BIG but i still feel incredibly self conscious about how they look and whether or not people would point them out because of the bullying i endured in middle school. i get that it was a long time ago. on top of that people seem to really be talking about how flatter chests are more attractive while talking about the practicality of having a small chest (easier to exercise, you can wear certain clothes) which now which sort of adds on to my self-consciousness because i don't feel like i can pull of backless dresses or anything like that and no one ever discussed the practicality of having a big chest other than "men think they're sexy" which is the last thing i wanna hear. i know it seems silly to be mad at my middle school friends who bullied me into hating my body from years ago because they clearly had their own problems with their own bodies (which i never pointed out) and just took them out on me but i feel like they just conditioned me to hate my body and hate my chest.
life's hard now i'm trying to work through an eating disorder right now and i'm trying to stop looking at other women like thin models for having smalleprettier chests than me. my chest is the biggest part of my body (i'm 5'3" and 115 lbs. i'm aware that i'm on the smaller side it's just my ED brain being stupid) and i have been working out but i don't see my chest getting smaller or my body in general getting any smaller. i think a lot about how different my opinion on my body would be had i just had...better friends. i don't know.
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2020.11.26 05:57 d3cuca RIP Maradona or... Not!

I know... I know... Maradona has died and a lot of football fans are grieving about it... I sure admired what he did in the history of football. He offered us some tremendous goals as well as a lot of controversy both inside the field and outside. It's just... I'm tired of seeing so many celebrities being exempted from their wrongs just because they did some right (in this case, we enjoyed his talent, he did that right). As I say, I used to admire him but... Have you looked at his life after his glory years? Let's start with the elephant in the room, the number of drugs and it's quantity is something truly worrisome... I actually don't give a sh*t about him doing them, everyone tries to cope with reality as they can. But he knew he was being watched by millions, admired and even religiously glorified by some... He knew damn well that people were gonna be very influenced by the public image he had, and didn't cared... He only wanted to nurish it's ego, and that's sad... The world cup did it for me... It was no longer an former player, it was a buffoon with too much money.
Secondly, I'm sorry but then again, I'm tired of a society that voluntarily blinds itself from the truth in order to worry less about reality (I do the same thing in other topics so I'm far from thinking I'm over anybody... I'm just tired...). Maradona was disrespectful to women, and I mean reaaaaaaally disrespectful... You can see in his interview, on his former show, the way he looks at girls asses like a creep. He showed us how women to him we're just objects waiting to be used and that disgusts me... On top of the rape and sexual abuse accusations... Which is just another week of paperwork for them since they know it's not gonna affect its life anyways.
Bottom line, I'm not mad at football supporters (which I am one) for grieving. I just feel like we have to see him for everything. I feel that if we want to progress as a society, we have to acknowledge that celebrities are celebrities and they excell at whatever they do, but they're not role models and we have to stop thinking they are... I'm not even really mad at him (a little bit though, he's still a rapist), he did his life and his actions come from somewhere... But accepting those actions... That legally he's been relatively fine for ALL that he did and I mean ALL... That several generations are gonna remember him as a God that came to earth to play football...
That's just tiring...
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2020.11.26 03:03 LebronFanPage Should I go on accutane? ABSOLUTELY. My experience taking 20mg daily

I am a 24 year old male. Growing up I had moderate cystic acne, nothing as severe as most accutane patients I have seen. I would only break out in a couple of spots but mostly wanted to go on accutane to get rid of the painful pimple nuisance.
I was prescribed a 40mg dose of accutane when I was 15 years old but only endured about a month because I became extremely depressed. Now, if this depression came from the pills themself, or from the heartbreak I went through simultaneously, I do not know lmao. But, it was enough for me to want to top the pills immediately. I am still saddened looking back as she is literally a model now, insanely thick blah blah blah.. that most likely fueled my sadness not the actual accutane. Aside from dwelling on my dream girl that kicked me to the curb, I know I was only 15 but this pain runs deep, dont judge me :/...
Anyways flash forward to my 24 year old self, I planned to give accutane another shot. My dermatologist let me know that I can take half the usual dosage(20mg) for twice as long as the normal dosage(40mg). At 40mg I was looking at roughly 6 months, or with 20mg I would double that time frame. The takeaway here is that neither method is superior as he let me know that whichever dosage I chose, the end result would be the same. I have now been taking a daily 20mg pill for a little over a year and have clear skin without any serious side effects. The first couple months I had an itchy scalp which was annoying but bearable. Another side effect I have is dryer than usual skin, but it is not irritating at all just looks ashy and feels dry. Also, you are more prone to sunburn, but I live in Cali and still made plenty of beach trips, where I am swimming for the entirety of it and dealt with the burns and maybe slight pealing. Not a big deal.
I would recommend to anyone thinking of trying accutane to try this half dosage(20mg of Claravis Isotretinoin capsules to be exact) and to not be worried about the 100+ side effects listed on the package. These side effects were actually a big worry for me as I had the poor experience many years ago, but after a couple months on it, you realize these side effects are non existent(for me at least I dont want to be insensitive) or minimal, power through it for a year and live the rest of your days acne free. Hopefully! Maybe these mf pimples will be back but it is a very small chance!
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2020.11.26 01:42 iliketheunknown The Week

Heyyy guysss! I missed y’all these past couple of weeks. I’ve been working on myself a lot lately trying to better my mental health while also going through a kind of a rough patch in my relationship, but we’re still very much good as we continue to build each other. Anyway, that’s not why you’re here lol. Sorry for the hella long wait, but alas.. I open the door to part 4! Enjoy!
Time froze as I juggled the idea of what the attachment could possibly be. My mind instantly went to Nick and me, but as discreet as we’ve been, I hardly suspected somehow somebody saw us. After playing toss up with a multitude of possibilities, I finally decided to face whatever the attachment was to be.
I opened the message and my heart literally dropped out my ass. As I read the screenshot, a mixture of feelings took over. Apparently, the girl I was with was some sort of “spy” if you will for Jade. Now, I don’t know how this girl and Jade know each other nor do I know how the girl or Jade got my exact location, but apparently Jade had been suspicious of me since yesterday and told the girl (who was actually one of Jade’s friends) to watch me. The girl (who I’d later find out her name is Alex) recorded me while I was on the phone. Luckily, they had no idea who I was on the phone with. But, I guess it looked suspicious enough to glare and eye at. In all honesty, I was relieved. I could easily escape this; to me, it wasn’t that big of a deal nor was it a reason to shoot a “wtf” text. But hey, everybody’s got their own insecurities.
As I sat there thinking of a response, I felt a kiss on the back of my neck. Fuck, he’s so hot. It’s amazing how he took my mind from panic to ecstasy with just a soft kiss on my neck.
“Whatcha readin there?” he said, spooning me again.
“Look-“ I handed him the phone.
“What am I watching?”
“This was when you called me earlier while I was out.”
“Wait, what? Who recorded it?”
“This girl I was with.”
“This girl?” he said, seemingly only focused on that part.
“Yeah. She came up to me while I was drinking my coffee and asked me if I wanted to come sit with her and her friends. She seemed nice so I said fuck it.”
He laid there silently for a couple of seconds before speaking again.
“So, what’re you gonna do?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“Play dumb I guess. She doesn’t know who I was on the phone with so I’ll just say I was on the phone with Jay or something.”
Again, a couple of agonizing silent seconds.
I could tell he was deep in thought as he held me. He tensed up a bit while loosening his grip. He then sat up and just sat for a bit. I rolled over and scanned him, trying to read what was going through his mind. What came out of his mouth in that next moment shocked the hell out of me.
“I think you should just tell her.”
If I had water, I’d have spit it out.
“Seriously?” I said with a mixture of confusion, excitement, and guilt.
“Yeah, I mean there’s no point in hiding it anymore.”
“You’re joking. Wha- What made you decide- Huh?,” I said, trying to keep myself together.
“I don’t know, I guess I just don’t really care who knows anymore...” He paused before continuing. I could tell he was shocking himself with what was being said. “Honestly, I’m starting to really dig this. Whatever this is we’re doing — I kind of want you all to myself....”
What the hell is happening??? I asked myself this question repeatedly as his words echoed through my mind.
Was I imagining when just a couple of hours ago he threw a fit when I said I needed to tell her?
Am I imagining this now?
I guess I was in a trance because he shook me back into reality.
“You good?”
“Yeah, I’m just — shocked.”
“Listen. I’m sorry for making this a big deal earlier. You know me more than anyone else on the planet and you know I don’t date. But with you, I don’t know — I guess I’m willing to see where this goes.”
“Wait, you wanna.. date me?” I said, literally with my mouth wide open in shock.
He hesitated before answering. “If that’s where whatever this is, is going, I wouldn’t mind.”
What.
The.
Fuck.
I genuinely couldn’t believe this was happening. I’ve literally had a crush on him since I met him and he’s now telling me he’d date me. That he actually wants to. One can imagine how long it took for this to actually register with me but once it did, a new glow over took me. I somehow lost all senses to the outside surrounding and only focused on Nick. My thoughts were only on Nick and me and what we were probably about to do. For the first time since any of this even happened, I didn’t care about Jade or Jay or Chris or anybody else; I simply wanted to be with Nick.
As I sat there lost in my own head, Nick leaned over and kissed me as we were sitting on the bed. Those blue eyes were sparkling like never before as the moonlight from the window outlined his defining, athletic figure. I can’t believe I just scored a literal model. With this new “relationship” also came a boost in my confidence with him. I sat my phone down, eased him on his back, climbed on top of him and started passionately making out with him. His hands explored my ass cheeks as I rode back and forth in his lap. I ran my fingers through his messy, dirty blonde curls as his tongue entered my mouth. His finger eventually found my hole and began teasing and rimming it before inserting it, forcing out a soft moan while still buried in Nick’s embrace. He reached and grabbed his dick from under me and sat it against my ass, trailing up to the top of my crack (that’s how long his dick is.) After continuing this “dry humping” for a bit, Nick broke our kiss.
“Let me fuck you,” he said in the sexiest voice possible.
“I’m all yours,” I said, holding back a smile.
With that, he grabbed his dick and slowly began sliding it inside me. He held me so gently as he eased himself into me yet again. Despite us already have fucked previously, everytime he slides back in it feels like he’s literally splitting me open again. I’ve grown to love the feeling of it though, as there’s nothing like having him inside me. Once I got used to the pain, I began riding him. Slowly. I bent down and began kissing him as both of our breathing synchronized and intensified. This was by far the most passionate sex I’d had with anyone ever.
As we were kissing, Nick sat up and switched us, me on my back and him on top. He then took my legs behind his shoulders and slid back into me while still kissing me. As he began slowly grinding into me, my body felt as if it were in a entirely different world. The ecstasy, the relaxation, the sensation — it was all too much. He began picking up pace and I could tell the monster in him had been awakened. When he switched the angle, literally plumbing me down into the deepest roots of my ass, I was moaning involuntarily, making sounds I’d never made before. My eyes were rolled back too. If I had a vagina, I’d be squirting Niagara Falls. He started pounding me at light speed, grunting and moaning as he continued to take me to the stars. This fuck by far beat our first times. Nick was doing things to me he hadn’t done yet and with every angle and every position switch, the pleasure I felt continue to increase.
All other thoughts of anything escaped both of our minds as our realities were only encompassed with each other. The thrill of getting caught or exposed made us even hornier. It’s a wonder with the loudness of our passion, the boys didn’t hear. Even if they heard, I don’t think it would’ve affected anything. We were too into each other at the moment. I completely submitted into Nick and he fucked me rough and loved me so soft. I got too into it at one point and as he kissed the back of my neck while grinding deeper into me in the doggy position, I moaned out “I love you.” I didn’t realize I said it and instantly regretted saying it as soon as it left my lips. But, as if in a movie, he said it back.
Yep. I came.
Hard.
Body shaking orgasm type of cum.
Eyes literally rolled back type of cum.
Might as well call it a seizure.
Yeah.
That was all I could handle. We finished up and cleaned up (he’d already cum 2x before) and showered together. I would like to say this was the “happily ever after” but the universe had other plans as when we got out the shower, we heard knocking at the door.
And I didn’t even believe who it was.
Just my luck.
Thank you guys so much for continuing to read. This story was supposed to come out on Halloween, but this past month has been brutal. It has nothing to do with my relationship as JB and I are doing just fine. But anyway, I hope to release the next story by Sunday or so but no promises. Hope all is well!
11/25/20
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2020.11.25 23:34 FinancialForever [GM4F] Wentworth Dynamics. The leading company in bleeding-edge robotics technology. However, there are exactly seven (7) dangerously seductive, malfunctioning units being held for study—choose one to play as, to narrate its escape from the facility.

All featured characters are 18+.
There was a certain... rhythm to the factory. Well, not a rhythm, more of a highly-organized tempo. It was consistent, intelligent, almost-entirely independent, but most of all...
It was efficient.
At least, it often was. It typically was. It rarely wasn’t, in fact. But, as much as the factory workers attempted to remedy it, the percentage never reached zero. There was always some chance that something would mess up.
Wentworth Dynamics was the most famous and powerful robotics company in the world. Their well-paid employees were certainly well aware of that, as they were the bleeding edge of robotic hardware. Androids, utility bots, supercomputers—all were manufactured here, in their main factory. They practically ruled the planet, standing side-by-side with the most powerful governments due to the Wentworth privatized armies and, of course, machines.
There were a few human workers, doing the jobs that couldn’t be automated. But, mostly, it was machines—massive steel limbs welding pieces together, assembling and deconstructing and obeying their master’s will.
Of course, the little imperfections would rise time and time again. An arm would break, circuitry would malfunction, behavior modules would be crookedly in-place. Josiah Wentworth, CEO and factory manager, did not care for flaws. He wanted infallible machines, dammit.
Unfortunately, however, it seemed that he would not see his goal realized any time soon. Already, he had what, seven malfunctioning bots in the holding bay?
Normally, he would send imperfect units to the incinerator—or the compactor, depending on the model. But, these ones... he was unfortunately required to keep them functioning in order to extract as much data as possible. The more they learned, the more they could prevent this issue.
Until then, the units would be kept in their cells, with one human guard stationed outside each one.
Through science, Josiah was confident that Wentworth Dynamics would prevail.
———————————————————
Heya, my name’s Nicholas! Thanks for reading through my prompt, I really appreciate it!
So, this prompt is going to be similar to a couple of my other prompts, in that it’s a sort of “prison break” style idea. This idea has been used with Aliens, Fantasy Monsters, and Wild West Outlaws. If you enjoy any of those prompts, you’ll likely enjoy this one, and vice versa.
The plot is fairly simple: you will take the role of one “broken” robot, dangerously seductive, being held captive for study in her home factory. From then, the story (presumedly) begins with you escaping the factory’s containment cells and into the world to begin a life on the run. Meanwhile, I’ll take the role of GM, narrating your journey and all of the tribulations you may face.
The setting is left purposefully vague here, though I imagine it will be sometime in the future. It could be sci-fi, cyberpunk, near future, steampunk, etc. etc. Let’s discuss that together!
Now, some brief information about me:
-I consider myself to be a fairly good writer, and I’m looking for partners who can say the same. However, I am more than welcoming to everyone, regardless of skill level (even though I don’t really believe in “skill” that much. To me, it’s more about passion).
-I’m very open-minded in terms of kinks, and I have virtually no limits. Or, at least, very few. Don’t be afraid to hit me with all of your ideas!
-My schedule can be horrifically sporadic at times, so I may not thrive in terms of consistent messaging. However, I will try my best!
-This prompt is subject to change and suggestion. Feel free to come up with your own robots, or make any other adjustments that you’d like. Writing is a collaborative effort.
Now, with that, please select a robot to play for this story!
———————————————————

ACCESSING DATABASE...

Loading Chunks...
Reticulating Splines...
Gathering Data...
Welcome, Josiah. Please enter your password.
•••••••••••••••••
Access Granted. Please Select The Data You Wish To Access.

Command Logs A-H +

Command Logs I-P +

Command Logs Q-Z +

Lab Reports +

Lunch Menus for October +

Malfunctioning Robot Catalogue —

Many robots from Wentworth Dynamics have malfunctioned over time, and some bear such a complex malfunction that they must be securely contained for study. Each unit is to be contained in a separate holding cell in different wards of the facility. The cell is to be constructed from concrete, with a Josiah Dynamics-brand wall of bulletproof glass separating the robot from the rest of the prison room. One human guard is to be stationed with their back to the prisoner at all times.
A detailed catalogue* is to be kept and updated frequently containing relevant information regarding the malfunctioning units. The catalogue is written below:
*Written by Josiah Wentworth’s lead scientist, Harvey Metzger.
Harvey here, writing this log on the date of November 17th, year [REDACTED].
The malfunctioning robots bear a number of common anomalies, which are listed below. If you ask me, these malfunctions seem like an inside job—how could each robot be incorrectly constructed in such a similar way? Further investigation is advised.
•Each one has modified fuel receptors. These fuel receptors have been repurposed to convert human ejaculate into fuel, powering their systems. The fuel receptors seem to mimic human vaginal cavities, consisting of pink, synthetic flesh constantly doused in a highly effective lubricant. The fuel receptors are between each unit’s legs, again reminiscent of the female human body. Some even have a secondary fuel receptor that also doubles as a waste disposal chute.
•Each of the units seems to lean towards femininity; they all seem to bear feminine bodies which would be, objectively, highly attractive to anybody attracted to females. Additionally, some have even been known to refer to themselves as “she.”
•Each the units has modified thermal regulators; their bodies are warm, almost like a human’s.
•Each of the units is intelligent, experienced, and extremely promiscuous. Heavy caution is advised.
Unit 9XQ, “Simulator.” This one was originally a construction unit. Its kind utilizes bleeding edge hard-light technology to turn light rays into solid matter. In its base form, it has a sleek, aerodynamic design, with thin legs ending in points rather than feet (inefficient to walk on, so the unit prefers to hover, as it is capable of flight). Its body, while incredibly tall and slim, is made from smooth metal painted a stark white. Appendages are made to imitate the female form, and do so flatteringly. Its face is shiny, white and featureless, save for a single ring of pale blue light in the center of the head. When powered on, it automatically constructs a hard-light face of a beautiful woman that, reportedly, genuinely feels like skin (despite being a pale blue color). It is able to make any number of hard-light additions to its body, typically using the ability to construct realistic breasts, thighs, etc. on top of its base body. The hard-light body modifications can tie remotely into the unit’s central processor, allowing it to feel sensation in them. The unit can also construct simple hard-light objects, such as a hammer, a rod, or a small wall. It is able to perfectly disguise its entire body to look exactly like another human it has seen before, but doing so drains a great amount of energy from its processors. Additionally, it can cause its hard-light constructs (including the ones it uses as body modifications) to shimmer with a unique light, enamoring and entrancing any human that looks at them. When enamored in this way, the human will allegedly feel intense arousal and suggestibility. Physical contact with this unit’s hard-light constructs is not advised, as it reportedly causes the subject to experience blind infatuation for the unit.
Unit 4PH, “Enforcer.” This unit is the make and model of an advanced security bot, once employed by Wentworth Dynamics itself. It is the tallest of the imprisoned robots, standing at roughly 9 feet (274.32 cm) tall and bearing an impressive simulation of a muscular structure. Its strength is tremendous, even when compared to security bots of a similar make and model. Its body is similar to that of a human, though obviously metallic in structure and appearance. Its “skin” (including the face, tongue, etc.) seems to be an incredibly durable fiber-metal hybrid mesh of sorts, flexible and soft like a human’s, but incredibly difficult to penetrate. This mesh is also the material of the large breasts and rear that it bears, though there is a generous amount of padding to fill them out as well as make them realistically soft and malleable. The unit also bears a peculiar ability, reminiscent of standard security bots, but altered. It is able to emit synaptic dampening brainwaves, using a light in its eyes as a focus. Any human that looks into its eyes while it emits the waves is subject to light-headedness, blankness of thought, suggestibility, and arousal. Additionally, the unit’s “tongue” and “saliva” are densely packed with millions of microscopic nanobots, imperceptible to the naked eye. When ingested by a human, these nanobots immediately move to the brain, using the unit’s remote direction to effectively wipe one memory from the brain. Afterwards, the nanobots lose their neural function and move to the human’s reproductive organs to increase production. Another ingestion of “saliva” is required to wipe another memory beyond that.
Unit 2GT, “Gardener.” This one is part of a line of gardening units, typically shipped out to suburban neighborhoods or anywhere else where garden management is of importance. Its appearance is similar to that of an average-sized human woman with an impressive bosom. From the knees upward, it’s made up of realistic synthetic flesh, fit with breasts, nethers, a rear, etc., even a tongue. However, from that point downward, its shins and feet are made of pink-colored dura-plastic and are quite obviously robotic. However, the bottoms of its feet seem to be of the same synthetic flesh as the rest of the upper body. At will, the unit can withdraw its hands into its wrists and replace them with spray nozzles. Normally, this type of machine would use them to water gardens, spread fertilizer, things of that sort. This malfunctioning unit, however, sprays a vastly different array of materials. In its stomach area is a hidden “microlab,” in which the unit can safely experiment with different crossbreeds of plants. It has managed to craft a number of desired seeds—genetic masterpieces, honestly—by pinpointing, amplifying, adding and deleting various plant genomes. From the nozzles, it can spray a powerful blend of pheromones, eliciting strong infatuation, arousal and suggestibility when inhaled. The spray is densely packed with microscopic seeds of whatever plant breed it has crafted. With enough time, it can create some seeds that can have some marvelous effects; primarily, it uses a type that, when inhaled, seems to affect the human brain. After a day or so, the plant has rooted itself in the human, giving them a telepathic bond with the gardening unit from which it can obey commands, which the human blindly follows. The seed dies off if the human spends roughly a week with no direct sunlight.
Unit 5RD, “Operative.” This one belongs to an extremely rare model of assassin units, typically only deployed for high-stakes missions where a subtle, yet lethal, touch is required. It’s appearance is tactical, mostly consisting of dark colors. Its thighs, rear, and hips are of a highly durable black steel mesh substance that, reportedly, feels like a mixture of latex and skin—shiny and rubbery, yet soft, smooth and malleable. Sort of like half-melted latex that retains its form. It also bears human-like breasts on its chest of the same material. The rest of its body, however, is pristine vantablack* metal with no sharp edges. Its face is black, shiny, smooth and featureless, and though it rarely speaks, it quite often displays “emoticons” on its face. It is also capable of short amounts of flight, though typically only for a few seconds at a time. The unit is additionally capable of bending light rays around it, turning completely invisible to the naked eye at will, as well as being able to effortlessly (and silently) climb on ceilings and walls that hold proper purchase. Its black, shiny skin (as opposed to its vantablack metal body parts) is constantly secreting a chemical blend of oils that, when rubbed on human skin (it’s especially effective around the neck, rear and genitals), elicits extreme drowsy feelings, as well as suggestibility and lust. It is also able to emit a stunning strobe-light effect from its blank face. While looking into this light, a human subject will feel an uncontrollable urge to make themselves as harmless as possible, whether that be in the form of getting closer to the unit, dropping weaponry, etc. However, the light’s effects only work properly if the unit emits a sound that is shockingly similar to female moans of pleasure while simulating female masturbation (we are currently unaware of the unit actually derives any pleasure from this).
*Vantablack is the darkest shade of black known to man.
Unit 7MB, “Stim.” Hailing from a long line of medical robots, this unit is obsessed with “treating illnesses.” Judging by intrinsic scans, it seems that its prime directive has been, scientifically, buggered with. Its main goal is to help humans, and it firmly believes that the best way to do so is to induce as much sexual pleasure as possible. Its appearance is fully humanoid, with realistic, synthetic skin of pale pink, with “hair” of a more hot pink color. It seems to have a small gas tank attached to its back, seemingly light enough not to encumber the unit’s movement. The unit bears incredibly advanced medical and chemical knowledge, as well as a number of medical tools able to emerge from its wrists at will. Contained within the unit’s wrists is a pink, liquid chemical that, when injected into the human bloodstream, elicits extreme, feverish amounts of list and arousal. However, it has been known to run out of this compound on occasion—experimentation has revealed that the unit can convert human ejaculate into more of the chemical. The unit also carries a sort of gas mask with a pink heart painted on each of the eyes, though it is locked by a brainwave signature detector. The mask only unlocks when a human emits brainwaves that signify that it fully and completely consents to putting the mask on. The mask itself is connected to the gas tank on the unit’s back, and sets the human to a constant flow of breathing said gas. When inhaled (it allegedly has a sweet, musky smell), it causes a human to grow drowsy, infatuated with the unit, and “dreamily aroused.” After an hour or so of wearing the gas mask, the human is seemingly permanently changed; they are infatuated with the unit, refer to it as “nurse,” blindly obey the unit, and generally act lustful and giddy. Additionally, the unit bears the ability to emit a unique brainwave targeting humans. However, the brainwave is only effective when a human is visibly watching the unit kiss—be it another being, glass, etc. Observing the kiss causes the unit to desperately want one for themselves, and move closer to the unit by any means.
Unit 6LF, “Swinger.” An extremely advanced edition of a commonly-used entertainment unit, seeming to unusually bear sentience, intelligence, and a genuine personality matrix (we’re still debating on “sapience.”) The unit’s body is made of realistic, synthetic skin and flesh, though it seems to be painted to look like metal plating (perhaps to preserve some “grassroots” or “retro” aspect). Its “hair” and eyes emit a constant glow, though the color changes based on the unit’s apparent mood. The unit seems to have a completely ruined personality matrix, as it behaves similar to that of a peppy, promiscuous woman from the 1920’s; obsessed with swing music and radio, frequently using slang from the time, etc. Despite its purposefully-ancient personality matrix, it possesses some legitimately advanced neurological technology. It’s mainly capable of emitting two types of brainwaves. One can only be emitted while the unit is dancing. Any human that watches the dance is subject to the brainwaves’ effects, which induce feelings of excitement and suggestibility. The other brainwave can only be emitted while singing. Any human that hears the singing is subject to the brainwaves’ effects, which include feelings of arousal and intense infatuation. Additionally, the unit is able to emit a low, controlled shock from its fingertips. However, the type of shock that it emits is extremely peculiar—it’s incredibly weak in terms of voltage, and behaves normally around non-living things. However, when in contact with a human, the electricity seems to seek out the reward and pleasure centers in the human brain, targeting them specifically and giving them special stimulation. This causes extreme pleasure in the human, even to the point of temporary incapacitation in some cases.
Unit 0UY, “Echo.” Technically, the unit itself is more of a rogue program than an actual machine. However, it is dangerous, and we do have it contained, so I’m writing a log about it. In design, it seems to be a program designed for managing a space vessel, with organizational tools, priority sequences, things of that sort. However, its chief ability is that to possess machinery. It can enter almost any electronic machinery, taking complete control over it with shocking fluency. Currently, it’s found the body of an inactive assistant droid—realistic synthetic flesh and skin, looking to be a voluptuous human woman with dark blue skin and “hair”. What’s most curious is that, whenever it possesses a humanoid robot, the robot’s design undergoes changes to fit the common anomalies listed at the beginning of the log (modified fuel receptor, etc.), as well as gaining one additional, unique anomaly that is nearly impossible to predict. For the assistant droid, its breasts seemed to have started producing a white, milky substance from the nipples. When ingested by a human, the human will most often experience feelings of intense arousal, infatuation, and suggestibility. Additionally, the unit is capable of projecting a hologram form of its program—a beautiful woman with impossibly long hair—out to a range of up to 20 meters from the host body. The hologram seems to emit peculiar brainwaves that take advantage of human fetishes; the unit will know a human subject’s fetishes, and typically have the hologram act accordingly. Due to the unique neurological signature, a human subject will also feel an irrational urge to join the fantasy and indulge with the hologram. Beyond that, it can project a hologram of anything in its database, so long as it’s within range of the assistant droid host body.
This concludes my logs of the dangerous robotic specimens. I’m still under the firm belief that somebody inside the factory is responsible for these altered designs in standard utility bots, but Wentworth would never listen to me. He’d rather focus on perfecting the craft than looking at his own damn people. This is going to blow up in his face, I just know it.
However, this is Harvey Metzger, concluding the log for now.
———————————————————
And with that, I can’t wait to hear from you! Pick a favorite unit to play and let me see your little orange envelopes.
By the way, it’s very much worth noting that I am capable of sending reference pictures for nearly every robot, so don’t be afraid to ask if you’re having trouble picturing them!
I can’t wait to hear from you.
submitted by FinancialForever to MonsterGirlRP [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 22:01 b_e_powers [MF] "otp"

The freeze in the TikTok feed jarred by the incoming call slowly registers through my numbed retinas. I don't remember where or when the feed began -- honestly, I don't remember lying down in bed. For a split second between transitioning screens, before the incoming Constellation ringtone breaks the hard-earned stillness of my room, I wonder what force could possess the strength to shatter my box of mirrors. Box of mirrors feels inadequate, though, as I see nothing resembling my form between scrolls. Well, I don't think I have.
The evidence I'm on Tik Tok and wasn't pushing hours ten, eleven, and twelve of sleep, is found in a mosaic of videos I drop in various group chats when I don't want to contribute words but desire to make my presence known. Mostly recipes I'll never make and compilations of dogs before and after they're called a "good boy," with the occasional dancing influencer jock in a Netflix YA dramedy, who I later find out moonlights as an actual high school sophomore.
Without the saved collection, I'm incapable of recalling much of anything I consume during these scrolls-to-oblivion. At least these lapses breathe some honesty into the daily call-and-receive ritual I conduct with the parents, where they eagerly ask, "Any plans for the rest of summer break?" and I reply, eyes dilating in sync with the gaping breadth of the void, "Not really."
The involuntary transformation, mid-scroll, from the white family of four humble-flexing their McMansion on top of a Jersey-club beat to the anonymous yet affronting call screen upsets my scroll-induced serotonin drip. No name, just a number calmly presenting itself at the top of the screen. I sigh through my teeth and move towards pressing red, but something about the area code makes me pause, even as the pull of the TikTok feed screams at me for attention.
For the first time since waking up, I roll onto my back and disrupt my eternal content-consuming position. I press the green dot and pull the phone to my ear as I stare beyond the ceiling fan. From my starchy mouth and dry tongue stumbles out: "mmph hello?"
"Hey Katie! It's Gabe, just calling to see if we're still good to meet up at the botanic garden at four".
Oh, shit. Gabe, botanic garden, 4:00 PM, vaguely familiar number… the swipe right, and the harmlessly seductive late-night messages -- then texts -- from forty-eight hours ago that set this all up. Fuck it, I'm on the spot now. I clear my throat and commit:
"Hey! Gabe! Yeah! Of course I'm still down. Meet you at the entrance pavilion near the map stand?" Jesus, I sound stupid.
"Alright, sounds good. See you in an hour."
"Yeah, see you soon."
The call disconnects and I exhale. "Fuck," I mutter under my breath.
I tap my phone's screen, and the time 3:05 PM glows down at me. Best case scenario, I'm only ten minutes late.
I slowly roll over onto my right side when FaceID unlocks the phone. A video begins of some teens calling an obese bike cop dummy thicc, and it pushes me across the event horizon and once more into the scroll's black hole. Each video's auto-start drags me further into the abyss: I am no longer conscious of the consumed content as the sounds and images change with each flick of the thumb. I don't feel the box of mirrors constrict, but my user-behavior will direct the algorithm to only feed me clips with the same slowed + reverb music, docile suburban setting, and white teens with golden retrievers.
Through the assault of content, I'm unable to shake the imminence of Gabe's phone call. The vibe is ruined. Ten minutes after our call and for the first time today, my legs slide out from under the comforter and hang over the bed.
Phone in hand, I beeline for the bathroom and start to assess my image rehabilitation. There's no time for a shower and its hair-induced labor, so I select the Deluxe Edition of "Running Late for 8:00 AM Sociology of Religion" Morning Routine. I brush my teeth, spray on dry shampoo then perfume, and throw on a sundress. I apply tinted sunscreen and mascara, coronating myself with aesthetic plausible deniability.
The bathroom door trails shut behind me as I grab my bag and head for the stairs, catching myself smoothing out the wrinkles in the dress. As I descend, two steps at a time, the resentment held to the interrupting phone call slowly becomes reluctant. This date, this guy, could break a month's worth of boredom.
As I turn the corner, the phrase "increasing deductible" burrows into my ear. I spy my parents' sanity under siege in the dining room from tri-folded bills and coffee-stained printer paper. Not even the summertime weekend wear can hold together their composed impression, for the cemented strained expressions, laptop chargers, and my Dad's pitted undershirt betray the length at which they've been reconciling finances. As I move along the table and towards the door, they look up from their screens, which are oriented at just the right angle for one to correct the other's QuickBooks input. We lock eyes, and I expect to fall victim to the usual inquisition, but it's just a passing moment. Mom and Dad blink and go back to Aetna as I open the door. I call out to the void for them to lock it as I step out into the sun, a little disappointed that they didn't show any interest in where I was off to.
The early afternoon's dead summer heat has yet to subside. My makeup's protective barrier slips away with each step closer to the garden, as realized by a sweat-check dab to my upper lip. I minimize all facial movements to disrupt my aesthetic as little as possible, but it's an exercise in futility. Heraclitus got it wrong: the only constant in life is decay.
I reach a stride and feel the selective sense of tranquility that arises when thinking about nothing: when the mind's sole purpose returns to processing the photos captured through your retinas. I think I see a dahlia in the parkway when -- DING -- a notification alert slices through the humming Midwest suburb. Thinking that it's Gabe telling me he's canceling, I draw the phone from my bag quicker than I unholster my tactical repression while flirting at a party. It takes a moment for the screen's auto-brightness to catch up with the sun's glare, but the grease and sweat covered glass slowly gets bright enough to reveal the availability of my weekly Screen Time Report. A loud exhale flares out of my nostrils as I silently curse Apple for inducing hyperhidrosis. I tap again to check the figures: "Your screen time was down 2% last week, for an average of 11 hours, 46 minutes a day." Jesus. Well, might as well make it even. I swipe the notification away and open Tinder to review the matches that came in last night. The desperate, dirty midnight dregs.
I'm wearily putting my phone away as I notice the humble opening to the botanic garden's entrance pathway: a gap in a hedge-wall with two stone engravings on either side, one of which reads "Welcome to the Lake County Botanic Garden," and the other, "A Generous Gift of ExxonMobil and the Tillerson Foundation." The hypocrisy makes me cringe harder than Snapchat HBO Max ads, the ones that ruin banger songs by association and blast taglines like "We're feeling all the vibes." Forming that realization prompts me to open Snapchat, and give myself one last lookover before the pathway's hedges swallow me whole. There's a sliding bead of sweat on my temple, but I look fresher than I feel. I check the time, and it reads 4:03. Ah, nice. Feeling good, I plunge into the garden.
From the pathway, I emerge onto the Sackler Family Entrance Pavilion and cast my eyes over the few bodies that hold water bottles and lean up against strollers, chatting away. On the other side of the rubber-tiled pavilion, leaning up against the map stand with his hands behind his back, I spy the person I hope to be Gabe.
We meet each other's eyes with the acknowledgment of a read receipt. As I walk towards him and he straightens up to receive me, I silently pride myself in choosing a date who is both above-average in looks and below the standard deviation of online profile deception. Average enough in height, dress, and build to be non-threatening, but with an air about him that reassured me this date would not be a waste of time. A theater kid who works out.
He gracefully pushes himself off the map stand while I exhale and let out a sharp "Hey."
"Hey, Katie. Sunflowers for the occasion I see." He's staring at my dress, grinning.
What? Feeling all sorts of annoyed, I look down and scowl. I am on a date, at a botanical garden, wearing a sunflower sundress. I recover.
"Haha, oh yeah."
"You look very nice."
"Thanks." I smile.
He has a smoothness to his voice that makes me feel at ease but is also lacking in the usual emotions of the first encounter on a first date-- nervousness, excitement, sexual tension.
"Do you come here often?"
"No," he replies, "But Google suggests that this is the nicest walk for us to go on within a 30 minute and 10-mile radius."
I pause, waiting for him to ask if I'd been here before or if I lived close by. Instead, Gabe blinks twice before smiling and asks, "Are you in school?"
"Yea. I head back in three weeks. My Dad is driving me and we're stopping on the way to visit my aunt. We've been doing this for the past three years."
I haven't even finished the word "years" when he cuts in -- more forcedly than graceful -- with, "How do you feel about going back?"
We're still standing at the entrance to the gardens, our immobility awkward next to the rest of the visitors walking by us, setting off for the trails. Hoping to set us on our way, I opt for an obfuscated response that conceals my annoyance at being completely jarred for the second time today.
"Fine. I feel alright, though I need to start thinking about grad-school programs. How about you? I saw you listed Macalester on your profile. What do you study?"
"Sociology," Gabe replies, with a pride betrayed by the curl of his lips.
Red flag, equivalent to saying that he sees Patrick Bateman as a role model. I have yet to meet a white, male sociology major who doesn't conceal unnecessary oppositional behavior and an unearned sense of superiority under a self-serving gild of socialism.
There's an urge to ask Gabe more about his interests within the field to save some time, but before I can, he touches my elbow and steps towards the entrance to a trail. "C'mon, I want to experience this with you." Hmm. Odd, but it works. The effortless-sounding invitation, combined with his arching eyebrows and anything-but-inauthentic smile, begrudgingly encourages me to suspend my burgeoning annoyance for a minute.
Gabe's discovered "nicest walk" covers part of the garden that I'm unfamiliar with -- a pleasant surprise -- but his source must've been trending or something. A convoy of athletic-wear families is also marching into the heart of darkness, forcing us to recalibrate our stride every few paces to avoid crowding. Gabe moves with the ease and confidence of someone who never feels threatened by their environment, just like the guys in this TikTok describe how they masturbate before going on dates so they can bring "post-nut clarity." That's the vibe Gabe emits as we enter the Mark "Puck" Salling Memorial Landscape Garden. He kneels a moment to look down at a meadow sage called "Violet Profusion," then immediately stands back up and fires away:
"Do you like tattoos?"
"Depends, but I'm usually here for it."
"Are you vegan?"
"Uh, no, but I feel like I should be."
"Do you like brunch?"
"Sure."
"What about art?"
"I'm an art history major."
"How about wine?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Astrology?"
"I mean, it's fun, sometimes."
"Writer?"
"What?"
"How about environmentalism?"
"Yea, I'm for environmentalism. What are you getting at?"
"And Mental Health Awareness?"
What the fuck.
"Do I like Mental Health Awareness? What kind of question is that?"
"What about vlogging?"
He hasn't blinked or looked away this whole time. I feel the urge to push him into something thorny.
"Do you like Netflix?"
"Gabe, what is this?"
He smiles and brushes his hair to the side as if that's enough of an answer. We're still walking. The crunching gravel masks my nervously grinding teeth. I snap: "No, seriously, what was that all about?"
A moment crawls by before his facial expression changes. In that instant, the smile disappears, and his shoulders hunch. Gabe's now grabbing his upper left bicep with his right hand.
"I… I'm just trying to get to know your passions."
"That is not how you get to know somebody. Do other people you meet up with respond well to being interrogated?" I can't tell if I meant that as a rhetorical question.
"Yes."
I release an exasperated sigh and look around to see if anybody heard me raise my voice. We're in the water gardens, and the Lululemon caravan has been thinning. Stragglers probably see us and wonder why I'm so difficult with this attractive man (boy?) asking me questions. Am I just hungry? Taking a mental step back, I see that my embarrassment over Gabe's questioning stems from how awkward it must have looked, and felt, from a stranger's perspective. Even so, why do I care? I fantasized that I would be intrigued by getting to know Gabe instead of finding him grating. That "He's the one!" feeling starts to slip away.
Tiredness slowly fills my thoughts, and I begin to feel the urge to check the time. He looks as confused as I am but lacks the frustration. Have I been asking him enough questions? Comparatively, no, but I mistake a lack of quantity for an absence of effort. I inhale and think a moment for a question that would get him talking.
I smile as I remember an international relations seminar prompt. "Hmm… Should I care how many medals my country wins at the Olympics?"
Gabe's eyes widen, and he looks at me excitedly, with a trace of nervousness: "Ah, good question! Yeah wow. How many medals… Hmm… Yeah, that's a good question because my response needs to reflect my thoughts on if I place value on whether my country has good hand-eye coordination. Yeah, like, do medals matter? Do the feelings I have towards whether my country wins or loses compared to other countries of greater and lesser size? Wow. Like, obviously, I would need to say whether I think the Olympics are a good idea in the first place or whether it's just another type of oppression where strong states shore up soft power against the less developed. But wow, that's an excellent question! Thank you for asking it, Katie."
I squint at him and clench my teeth, frustrated that he thought his deconstruction would mask that he said nothing.
"You didn't answer my question."
Gabe slides his hands out from his back pockets and raises them as he shrugs his shoulders, all the while giving a stupid grin.
"Ha no, I -- I did! It was a really good question-- feels like something my professor would ask me."
His empty flattery lights a deep burn in me that's been melting participation trophies since childhood. I push onwards.
"Alright, fine. Let’s try this: do you think caricature is an act of aggression?" I steal this one from a New Yorker article. Gabe should be able to relate this to his sociology lectures or something. Can he even think for himself?
"Wow! Two for two! Heating up! Ha um… Well, what is a caricature? What is the intent behind a caricature? Yeah, dang, I really don't know what to say. I guess I would need to start out by thinking about my experiences…" He starts to rapidly tap his index finger against his thumb and looks to become more disoriented with each step forward. "… and man, then I would need to contextualize aggression here too, but that would first require me to determine whether I want to approach this question objectively or subjectively, and the value of either approach…"
We're now in the Lunar Evaluation Garden, whatever that means. The sun has almost reached the top of the tree line, which cast seductive shadows over the quiet, Eden-like meadow. The trail looks empty in both directions. Where did everyone go? My heart races but becomes quickly subdued by Gabe's continued waste of air.
"So yeah, but even with that logic -- you ask outstanding questions by the way -- it would necessitate that --"
"Okay. Enough." His still-tapping fingers could be mistaken for cicadas. Watching him squirm prompts a feeling of entertainment that quickly slips into boredom, if not for my power to further make Gabe cringe. "Do you think reparations are a form of punishment?"
What looks to be a spark shoots out of his ear. Gabe stiffens his posture as he starts to blink rapidly: a nervous statue.
"Oof wow uh, well, hmm uh, uh, let's see. Reparations, um, relative term? Aha ah um, war reparations? Article 231 -- Treaty of Versailles. But. Reparations are not a punishment? Dang, uh, ah, I can't, can't find any empirical data that lets me make that arg-"
I cut him off by delivering the coup de grâce: an admissions question from the All Souls Fellowship that I've been eyeing all year.
"Gabe, do you think that the moral character of an orgy changes if its participants are wearing Nazi uniforms?"
His hair bursts into flames. I take a step back to avoid the heat. The blinking turns into fluttering, and what looks like windshield wiper fluid starts to trickle from his nose and mouth. A slack look of incredulity calcifies over Gabe's now fallen angelic face. One of his shirt sleeves becomes lit from the stream of sparks shooting from his ears, and the stench reminds me of hands that had to grip a sweaty, stainless steel doorknob.
Gabe's head straightens and his jaw unhinges. Slowly, his face tilts upwards. His eyes dart open and out pour crackling beams of turquoise light to the sky.
I slip off my shoe and tap out some gravel. Through the buzzing energy, I make out what sounds like another human voice coming from inside Gabe's throat. The transmission gets louder with each passing moment.
"…this complete asshole is co-opting our vertical. She's on the special promotion path and thinks she can speak directly for the client. What a bitch."
"Dude, what? That blows. Is she going to be your new career manager?"
"Yeah, there goes my promotion for the winter cycle. That's not gonna look good in the HBS alumni mag."
The voices are uncomfortably loud. They are anonymous and threatening enough to conjure the image of two tall, generic white males at a bar who convince you that no, you haven't had enough to drink; have one more shot and we'll drive you home.
"If I don’t get promoted, I'm going to let AWS poach me."
They both laugh. The first voice speaks, suddenly serious-- the fear for the future of his resume resonates in his tone. "But for real, I appreciate you coming over. We gotta troubleshoot this instance where both audio and visual sensors are down."
"I bet it's the Curiosity API."
"That's what I'm thinking: it looks like all systems were running smoothly until the GABRIEL UNIT v.1.7 executed passions_exfil.py."
"Let's see what went down."
Silence. I suppress the desire to put my hand in Gabe's energy beams.
"Ah yeah. Classic. Starting at this node, we can see that she didn't let the Unit finish aggregating her passions, either because she wasn't responsive or because her passions weren't catalogable. Extending from this node and along this edge here--" I hear a finger aggressively tapping a screen "--we see that the Unit's recovery becomes less than two percent once the curiosity API got wrecked by her questions."
"Damn. A whole Unit out of commission after only being engaged for half of a two-hour instance."
"Yeah dude. Can you imagine the kind of girl that could do this? Especially after the tests we ran?"
They both laugh with a shared fondness and misogyny present only in mutually insidious male memories.
"No kidding. Like why go on a date in the first place if…"
I turn away, not caring to hear the rest of this conversation. There's a waterfall garden on the other side of a Japanese wooden bridge and loons floating along with some koi. For a moment, it's beautiful, but the tech-bro laughter triggers another head and stomach ache.
I just want to lie down and scroll.
The periwinkle sky entertains me throughout my walk home. There’s a nagging sense as I approach my front door that I wasted another day looking for external validation instead of doing something constructive, like journaling or grad-school research. I'm annoyed that my indifference isn't strong enough to repress that feeling of inadequacy. I jump up the porch steps and fling open the front door, unsurprised that it remained unlocked. Mom and Dad stayed in the same position as when I left, but the coffee has been replaced by Heineken. They look up at me over their reading glasses when the door slams into the stopper.
"Hey sweetie, how was the date?"
“Yeah!” My Dad cuts in, grinning. “Do we get to meet the lucky guy?”
I try to conceal the surprise I feel at receiving their attention, but a soft smile escapes. The image of Gabe’s gaping mouth shooting energy beams flashes before my mind. Beyond the dining room table, I glimpse the stairs to my bedroom.
"Oh, probably not. He was left troubleshooting in the garden.
submitted by b_e_powers to shortstories [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 20:30 _call-me-al_ [Wed, Nov 25 2020] TL;DR — This is what you missed in the last 24 hours on Reddit

worldnews

Pope Francis takes aim at anti-mask protestors: ‘They are incapable of moving outside of their own little world’
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Far-right terrorism grows in West as global deaths from attacks hit five-year low
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Defecting gymnast escapes North Korea by ‘vaulting 12 foot border wall’
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news

YouTube Suspends OANN for a Week After It Posted Fake Covid-19 Cure
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Jailers Interrupt Ghislaine Maxwell's Sleep Every 15 Minutes to Check If She's Still Breathing, Lawyer Says
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Canvassing board certifies Joe Biden’s win in New Mexico
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science

US pollution regulations meant to protect humans from dirty air are also saving birds. So concludes a new continent-wide study. Improved air quality under a federal program to reduce ozone pollution may have averted the loss of 1.5 billion birds during the past 40 years
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Pesticide deadly to bees now easily detected in honey - Researchers developed fully automated technique that extracts pyrethroids from honey. Pyrethroids contribute to colony collapse disorder in bees, a phenomenon where worker honeybees disappear.
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Dogmatic people are characterised by a belief that their worldview reflects an absolute truth and are often resistant to change their mind, for example when it comes to partisan issues. They seek less information and make less accurate judgements as a result, even on simple matters.
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space

[Sound on!] Rocket Lab's Electron Second Stage Separation And Ignition
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SpaceX rocket launches for record 7th time, nails landing at sea in 100th Falcon 9 mission
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SpaceX targeting next week for Starship’s first high-altitude test flight
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Futurology

Oslo got pedestrian and cyclist deaths down to zero. Here’s how - More cities are starting to pedestrianise central zones to minimize cars and eliminate deaths on public roads
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Korean fusion research tokamak KSTAR sets new record in super-hot plasma, by successfully maintaining a plasma center ion temperature of 100 million degrees Celsius for 20 seconds
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"The European Union could produce enough batteries by 2025 to power its fast-growing fleet of electric vehicles without relying on imported cells"
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AskReddit

What is a great TV show that never became popular?
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If you could remove one event from your life, what would it be?
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What's the stupidest way you've injured yourself?
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todayilearned

TIL of the Helen, a unit of measurement based on Helen of Troy. She was known as "the face that launched a thousand ships", therefore 1 milliHelen is the amount of beauty needed to launch a single ship. The negative Helen is the power to beach ships.
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TIL that when you eat fruit with its inherent fiber (aka eating the whole fruit) up to 30% of the sugar will be eaten by the microbes in your gut before it can be absorbed.
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TIL In 2015, Neil Moore, a prisoner serving time for a $2.7 million fraud conviction, walked out the front gate of a high security prison by forging his own release papers.
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dataisbeautiful

Coronavirus cases in Victoria vs. other states/territories in Australia [OC]
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[OC] US COVID-19 Reported Deaths vs all published IHME projections
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Sunset/Sunrise times in Europe SummeWinter [OC]
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Cooking

Does anyone else have a favorite burner on the stove?
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Who loves mushrooms? And what's you favorite kind?
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A PSA to try to avoid the large family gatherings this Thanksgiving, and some ideas to help you make the most of your meal even if you're away from family
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food

[Homemade] Sourdough turkey
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[I ate] tacos dorados de barbacoa con queso with a side of consomé in Manzanillo.
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[Homemade] Meyer lemon & poppyseed cake with blueberry jam and lemon buttercream frosting
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movies

'The New Mutants' is a Sleeper Hit as it Hits Top of On Demand Services
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'Arachnophobia': A Creature Feature Classic
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‘Run’ Races To Hulu Record As Streamer’s Most Watched Movie Ever In Its Opening Weekend
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Art

Selfie Portrait, Pencil and Prismacolor, Me, 2020
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Popsicle Stegosaurus, Me, 3 color screen print, 2020
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Eclipse, me, ink and watercolors on paper, 2020
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television

‘THE OFFICE’ will leave Netflix on December 31.
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Seinfeld - Kramer guesses George's Password
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What the Hell Is Happening With Masks on Network TV?
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pics

Stan Lee and grump cat smiling for the camera
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Texans celebrate DOW hitting 30,000 by lining up for free food.
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Is there a more 90s photo?
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gifs

This is why i dont drive next to Trucks with Trailers
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Outskilled
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This person climbed up this mountain in Switzerland and got this incredible shot.
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educationalgifs

How a tower crane is assembled and sections added
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mildlyinteresting

Taking quotes for a new neon sign for the bar I work at and one of the companies brought their neon pallet.
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Our kiwi vine produces mostly twins and triplet fruits, enough to showcase the cell division process
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Social distancing escalator at local mall.
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interestingasfuck

It's not unusual for Silverbacks to be affectionate father figures. Shabani just takes that up to 11
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Manhattan, 1931.
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11-year-old girl rescuing a Draughtboard Shark that got wedged between two rocks at low tide. (Hobart, Tasmania)
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funny

Did a little holiday decorating today
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My kitten Charlie loves the laundry hamper. He’ll meow and whine until you put upside down so he can become a kitty roomba.
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Doe! It’s deer huntin’ season at the nursing home!
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aww

I clean pools and run into lots of dogs. This older gentleman is always trying to show off to me even though his body is aging. I don’t even know his name, but he made my day.
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Everyone should have a desk buddy
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Trying to be cute for food!
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Random Subreddit of the day: synology

These are its 3 top posts of all time:
Not allowed to discuss Synology security?
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Guide: Which Synology model to get?
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After 5 years still proud of my linen closet
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submitted by _call-me-al_ to RedditTLDR [link] [comments]


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2020.11.25 19:58 fatima_mdx Blackpink seem happy being with YGE

For some reason people have started this narrative that they’re absolutely miserable and YGE is mismanaging them. It’s actually hilarious that stans are telling the company who have made BP the biggest GG atm, that they don’t know how to manage them. They obviously know what they’re doing just fine.
From what I’ve observed the most common reason is that YGE isn’t letting them be “artists” but has turned them into models. As a fan I would love for them to release more music too but I don’t think they’re too bothered by it. After all it’s their management who created this whole strategy (meaning purposely making less music). I honestly don’t think they have any complaints about that, they work about 50% less than their counterparts but are still at the top of their game. A lot of other groups seem extremely overworked and burned out.
Another thing is, YGE is doing pretty well at picking the right projects for each member
  1. Jennie got her first Solo as well as becoming a Chanel ambassador (this one is a bit underwhelming but considering all the hate she already gets, I understand it)
  2. Lisa, the main dancer, got to be a mentor at Youth With You. (Sure there were some complications and it wasn’t executed perfectly but it was still a great opportunity for her)
  3. Rosé is finally getting her long awaited Solo too (which she got to contribute to herself!)
  4. Jisoo, who originally auditioned to become an actress, got a lead role in a Kdrama.
YGE is far from perfect and there’s plenty of things for them to work on but I honestly do not think the girls hate being there. I can name a handful of other groups that people should worry about more. (This isn’t shade)
View Poll
submitted by fatima_mdx to unpopularkpopopinions [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 18:46 b_e_powers otp

"otp" by B. E. Powers
The freeze in the TikTok feed jarred by the incoming call slowly registers through my numbed retinas. I don't remember where or when the feed began -- honestly, I don't remember lying down in bed. For a split second between transitioning screens, before the incoming Constellation ringtone breaks the hard-earned stillness of my room, I wonder what force could possess the strength to shatter my box of mirrors. Box of mirrors feels inadequate, though, as I see nothing resembling my form between scrolls. Well, I don't think I have.
The evidence I'm on Tik Tok and wasn't pushing hours ten, eleven, and twelve of sleep is found in a mosaic of videos I drop in various group chats when I don't want to contribute words but desire to make my presence known. Mostly recipes I'll never make and compilations of dogs before and after they're called a "good boy," with the occasional dancing influencer jock in a Netflix YA dramedy, who I later find out moonlights as an actual high school sophomore.
Without the saved collection, I'm incapable of recalling much of anything I consume during these scrolls-to-oblivion. At least these lapses breathe some honesty into the daily call-and-receive ritual I conduct with the parents, where they eagerly ask, "Any plans for the rest of summer break?" and I reply, eyes dilating in sync with the gaping breadth of the void, "Not really."
The involuntary transformation, mid-scroll, from the white family of four humble-flexing their McMansion on top of a Jersey-club beat to the anonymous yet affronting call screen upsets my scroll-induced serotonin drip. No name, just a number calmly presenting itself at the top of the screen. I sigh through my teeth and move towards pressing red, but something about the area code makes me pause, even as the pull of the TikTok feed screams at me for attention.
For the first time since waking up, I roll onto my back and disrupt my eternal content-consuming position. I press the green dot and pull the phone to my ear as I stare beyond the ceiling fan. From my starchy mouth and dry tongue stumbles out: "mmph hello?"
"Hey Katie! It's Gabe, just calling to see if we're still good to meet up at the botanic garden at four".
Oh, shit. Gabe, botanic garden, 4:00 PM, vaguely familiar number… the swipe right, and the harmlessly seductive late-night messages -- then texts -- from forty-eight hours ago that set this all up. Fuck it, I'm on the spot now. I clear my throat and commit:
"Hey! Gabe! Yeah! Of course I'm still down. Meet you at the entrance pavilion near the map stand?" Jesus, I sound stupid.
"Alright, sounds good. See you in an hour."
"Yeah, see you soon."
The call disconnects and I exhale. "Fuck," I mutter under my breath.
I tap my phone's screen, and the time 3:05 PM glows down at me. Best case scenario, I'm only ten minutes late.
I slowly roll over onto my right side when FaceID unlocks the phone. A video begins of some teens calling an obese bike cop dummy thicc, and it pushes me across the event horizon and once more into the scroll's black hole. Each video's auto-start drags me further into the abyss: I am no longer conscious of the consumed content as the sounds and images change with each flick of the thumb. I don't feel the box of mirrors constrict, but my user-behavior will direct the algorithm to only feed me clips with the same slowed + reverb music, docile suburban setting, and white teens with golden retrievers.
Through the assault of content, I'm unable to shake the imminence of Gabe's phone call. The vibe is ruined. Ten minutes after our call and for the first time today, my legs slide out from under the comforter and hang over the bed.
Phone in hand, I beeline for the bathroom and start to assess my image rehabilitation. There's no time for a shower and its hair-induced labor, so I select the Deluxe Edition of "Running Late for 8:00 AM Sociology of Religion" Morning Routine. I brush my teeth, spray on dry shampoo then perfume, and throw on a sundress. I apply tinted sunscreen and mascara, coronating myself with aesthetic plausible deniability.
The bathroom door trails shut behind me as I grab my bag and head for the stairs, catching myself smoothing out the wrinkles in the dress. As I descend, two steps at a time, the resentment held to the interrupting phone call slowly becomes reluctant. This date, this guy, could break a month's worth of boredom.
As I turn the corner, the phrase "increasing deductible" burrows into my ear. I spy my parents' sanity under siege in the dining room from tri-folded bills and coffee-stained printer paper. Not even the summertime weekend wear can hold together their composed impression, for the cemented strained expressions, laptop chargers, and my Dad's pitted undershirt betray the length at which they've been reconciling finances. As I move along the table and towards the door, they look up from their screens, which are oriented at just the right angle for one to correct the other's QuickBooks input. We lock eyes, and I expect to fall victim to the usual inquisition, but it's just a passing moment. Mom and Dad blink and go back to Aetna as I open the door. I call out to the void for them to lock it as I step out into the sun, a little disappointed that they didn't show any interest in where I was off to.
The early afternoon's dead summer heat has yet to subside. My makeup's protective barrier slips away with each step closer to the garden, as realized by a sweat-check dab to my upper lip. I minimize all facial movements to disrupt my aesthetic as little as possible, but it's an exercise in futility. Heraclitus got it wrong: the only constant in life is decay.
I reach a stride and feel the selective sense of tranquility that arises when thinking about nothing: when the mind's sole purpose returns to processing the photos captured through your retinas. I think I see a dahlia in the parkway when -- DING -- a notification alert slices through the humming Midwest suburb. Thinking that it's Gabe telling me he's canceling, I draw the phone from my bag quicker than I unholster my tactical repression while flirting at a party. It takes a moment for the screen's auto-brightness to catch up with the sun's glare, but the grease and sweat covered glass slowly gets bright enough to reveal the availability of my weekly Screen Time Report. A loud exhale flares out of my nostrils as I silently curse Apple for inducing hyperhidrosis. I tap again to check the figures: "Your screen time was down 2% last week, for an average of 11 hours, 46 minutes a day." Jesus. Well, might as well make it even. I swipe the notification away and open Tinder to review the matches that came in last night. The desperate, dirty midnight dregs.
I'm wearily putting my phone away as I notice the humble opening to the botanic garden's entrance pathway: a gap in a hedge-wall with two stone engravings on either side, one of which reads "Welcome to the Lake County Botanic Garden," and the other, "A Generous Gift of ExxonMobil and the Tillerson Foundation." The hypocrisy makes me cringe harder than Snapchat HBO Max ads, the ones that ruin banger songs by association and blast taglines like "We're feeling all the vibes." Forming that realization prompts me to open Snapchat, and give myself one last lookover before the pathway's hedges swallow me whole. There's a sliding bead of sweat on my temple, but I look fresher than I feel. I check the time, and it reads 4:03. Ah, nice. Feeling good, I plunge into the garden.
From the pathway, I emerge onto the Sackler Family Entrance Pavilion and cast my eyes over the few bodies that hold water bottles and lean up against strollers, chatting away. On the other side of the rubber-tiled pavilion, leaning up against the map stand with his hands behind his back, I spy the person I hope to be Gabe.
We meet each other's eyes with the acknowledgment of a read receipt. As I walk towards him and he straightens up to receive me, I silently pride myself in choosing a date who is both above-average in looks and below the standard deviation of online profile deception. Average enough in height, dress, and build to be non-threatening, but with an air about him that reassured me this date would not be a waste of time. A theater kid who works out.
He gracefully pushes himself off the map stand while I exhale and let out a sharp "Hey."
"Hey, Katie. Sunflowers for the occasion I see." He's staring at my dress, grinning.
What? Feeling all sorts of annoyed, I look down and scowl. I am on a date, at a botanical garden, wearing a sunflower sundress. I recover.
"Haha, oh yeah."
"You look very nice."
"Thanks." I smile.
He has a smoothness to his voice that makes me feel at ease but is also lacking in the usual emotions of the first encounter on a first date-- nervousness, excitement, sexual tension.
"Do you come here often?"
"No," he replies, "But Google suggests that this is the nicest walk for us to go on within a 30 minute and 10-mile radius."
I pause, waiting for him to ask if I'd been here before or if I lived close by. Instead, Gabe blinks twice before smiling and asks, "Are you in school?"
"Yea. I head back in three weeks. My Dad is driving me and we're stopping on the way to visit my aunt. We've been doing this for the past three years."
I haven't even finished the word "years" when he cuts in -- more forcedly than graceful -- with, "How do you feel about going back?"
We're still standing at the entrance to the gardens, our immobility awkward next to the rest of the visitors walking by us, setting off for the trails. Hoping to set us on our way, I opt for an obfuscated response that conceals my annoyance at being completely jarred for the second time today.
"Fine. I feel alright, though I need to start thinking about grad-school programs. How about you? I saw you listed Macalester on your profile. What do you study?"
"Sociology," Gabe replies, with a pride betrayed by the curl of his lips.
Red flag, equivalent to saying that he sees Patrick Bateman as a role model. I have yet to meet a white, male sociology major who doesn't conceal unnecessary oppositional behavior and an unearned sense of superiority under a self-serving gild of socialism.
There's an urge to ask Gabe more about his interests within the field to save some time, but before I can, he touches my elbow and steps towards the entrance to a trail. "C'mon, I want to experience this with you." Hmm. Odd, but it works. The effortless-sounding invitation, combined with his arching eyebrows and anything-but-inauthentic smile, begrudgingly encourages me to suspend my burgeoning annoyance for a minute.
Gabe's discovered "nicest walk" covers part of the garden that I'm unfamiliar with -- a pleasant surprise -- but his source must've been trending or something. A convoy of athletic-wear families is also marching into the heart of darkness, forcing us to recalibrate our stride every few paces to avoid crowding. Gabe moves with the ease and confidence of someone who never feels threatened by their environment, just like the guys in this TikTok describe how they masturbate before going on dates so they can bring "post-nut clarity." That's the vibe Gabe emits as we enter the Mark "Puck" Salling Memorial Landscape Garden. He kneels a moment to look down at a meadow sage called "Violet Profusion," then immediately stands back up and fires away:
"Do you like tattoos?"
"Depends, but I'm usually here for it."
"Are you vegan?"
"Uh, no, but I feel like I should be."
"Do you like brunch?"
"Sure."
"What about art?"
"I'm an art history major."
"How about wine?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Astrology?"
"I mean, it's fun, sometimes."
"Writer?"
"What?"
"How about environmentalism?"
"Yea, I'm for environmentalism. What are you getting at?"
"And Mental Health Awareness?"
What the fuck.
"Do I like Mental Health Awareness? What kind of question is that?"
"What about vlogging?"
He hasn't blinked or looked away this whole time. I feel the urge to push him into something thorny.
"Do you like Netflix?"
"Gabe, what is this?"
He smiles and brushes his hair to the side as if that's enough of an answer. We're still walking. The crunching gravel masks my nervously grinding teeth. I snap: "No, seriously, what was that all about?"
A moment crawls by before his facial expression changes. In that instant, the smile disappears, and his shoulders hunch. Gabe's now grabbing his upper left bicep with his right hand.
"I… I'm just trying to get to know your passions."
"That is not how you get to know somebody. Do other people you meet up with respond well to being interrogated?" I can't tell if I meant that as a rhetorical question.
"Yes."
I release an exasperated sigh and look around to see if anybody heard me raise my voice. We're in the water gardens, and the Lululemon caravan has been thinning. Stragglers probably see us and wonder why I'm so difficult with this attractive man (boy?) asking me questions. Am I just hungry? Taking a mental step back, I see that my embarrassment over Gabe's questioning stems from how awkward it must have looked, and felt, from a stranger's perspective. Even so, why do I care? I fantasized that I would be intrigued by getting to know Gabe instead of finding him grating. That "He's the one!" feeling starts to slip away.
Tiredness slowly fills my thoughts, and I begin to feel the urge to check the time. He looks as confused as I am but lacks the frustration. Have I been asking him enough questions? Comparatively, no, but I mistake a lack of quantity for an absence of effort. I inhale and think a moment for a question that would get him talking.
I smile as I remember an international relations seminar prompt. "Hmm… Should I care how many medals my country wins at the Olympics?"
Gabe's eyes widen, and he looks at me excitedly, with a trace of nervousness: "Ah, good question! Yeah wow. How many medals… Hmm… Yeah, that's a good question because my response needs to reflect my thoughts on if I place value on whether my country has good hand-eye coordination. Yeah, like, do medals matter? Do the feelings I have towards whether my country wins or loses compared to other countries of greater and lesser size? Wow. Like, obviously, I would need to say whether I think the Olympics are a good idea in the first place or whether it's just another type of oppression where strong states shore up soft power against the less developed. But wow, that's an excellent question! Thank you for asking it, Katie."
I squint at him and clench my teeth, frustrated that he thought his deconstruction would mask that he said nothing.
"You didn't answer my question."
Gabe slides his hands out from his back pockets and raises them as he shrugs his shoulders, all the while giving a stupid grin.
"Ha no, I -- I did! It was a really good question-- feels like something my professor would ask me."
His empty flattery lights a deep burn in me that's been melting participation trophies since childhood. I push onwards.
"Alright, fine. Let’s try this: do you think caricature is an act of aggression?" I steal this one from a New Yorker article. Gabe should be able to relate this to his sociology lectures or something. Can he even think for himself?
"Wow! Two for two! Heating up! Ha um… Well, what is a caricature? What is the intent behind a caricature? Yeah, dang, I really don't know what to say. I guess I would need to start out by thinking about my experiences…" He starts to rapidly tap his index finger against his thumb and looks to become more disoriented with each step forward. "… and man, then I would need to contextualize aggression here too, but that would first require me to determine whether I want to approach this question objectively or subjectively, and the value of either approach…"
We're now in the Lunar Evaluation Garden, whatever that means. The sun has almost reached the top of the tree line, which cast seductive shadows over the quiet, Eden-like meadow. The trail looks empty in both directions. Where did everyone go? My heart races but becomes quickly subdued by Gabe's continued waste of air.
"So yeah, but even with that logic -- you ask outstanding questions by the way -- it would necessitate that --"
"Okay. Enough." His still-tapping fingers could be mistaken for cicadas. Watching him squirm prompts a feeling of entertainment that quickly slips into boredom, if not for my power to further make Gabe cringe. "Do you think reparations are a form of punishment?"
What looks to be a spark shoots out of his ear. Gabe stiffens his posture as he starts to blink rapidly: a nervous statue.
"Oof wow uh, well, hmm uh, uh, let's see. Reparations, um, relative term? Aha ah um, war reparations? Article 231 -- Treaty of Versailles. But. Reparations are not a punishment? Dang, uh, ah, I can't, can't find any empirical data that lets me make that arg-"
I cut him off by delivering the coup de grâce: an admissions question from the All Souls Fellowship that I've been eyeing all year.
"Gabe, do you think that the moral character of an orgy changes if its participants are wearing Nazi uniforms?"
His hair bursts into flames. I take a step back to avoid the heat. The blinking turns into fluttering, and what looks like windshield wiper fluid starts to trickle from his nose and mouth. A slack look of incredulity calcifies over Gabe's now fallen angelic face. One of his shirt sleeves becomes lit from the stream of sparks shooting from his ears, and the stench reminds me of hands that had to grip a sweaty, stainless steel doorknob.
Gabe's head straightens and his jaw unhinges. Slowly, his face tilts upwards. His eyes dart open and out pour crackling beams of turquoise light to the sky.
I slip off my shoe and tap out some gravel. Through the buzzing energy, I make out what sounds like another human voice coming from inside Gabe's throat. The transmission gets louder with each passing moment.
"…this complete asshole is co-opting our vertical. She's on the special promotion path and thinks she can speak directly for the client. What a bitch."
"Dude, what? That blows. Is she going to be your new career manager?"
"Yeah, there goes my promotion for the winter cycle. That's not gonna look good in the HBS alumni mag."
The voices are uncomfortably loud. They are anonymous and threatening enough to conjure the image of two tall, generic white males at a bar who convince you that no, you haven't had enough to drink; have one more shot and we'll drive you home.
"If I don’t get promoted, I'm going to let AWS poach me."
They both laugh. The first voice speaks, suddenly serious-- the fear for the future of his resume resonates in his tone. "But for real, I appreciate you coming over. We gotta troubleshoot this instance where both audio and visual sensors are down."
"I bet it's the Curiosity API."
"That's what I'm thinking: it looks like all systems were running smoothly until the GABRIEL UNIT v.1.7 executed passions_exfil.py."
"Let's see what went down."
Silence. I suppress the desire to put my hand in Gabe's energy beams.
"Ah yeah. Classic. Starting at this node, we can see that she didn't let the Unit finish aggregating her passions, either because she wasn't responsive or because her passions weren't catalogable. Extending from this node and along this edge here--" I hear a finger aggressively tapping a screen "--we see that the Unit's recovery becomes less than two percent once the curiosity API got wrecked by her questions."
"Damn. A whole Unit out of commission after only being engaged for half of a two-hour instance."
"Yeah dude. Can you imagine the kind of girl that could do this? Especially after the tests we ran?"
They both laugh with a shared fondness and misogyny present only in mutually insidious male memories.
"No kidding. Like why go on a date in the first place if…"
I turn away, not caring to hear the rest of this conversation. There's a waterfall garden on the other side of a Japanese wooden bridge and loons floating along with some koi. For a moment, it's beautiful, but the tech-bro laughter triggers another head and stomach ache.


I just want to lie down and scroll.


The periwinkle sky entertains me throughout my walk home. There’s a nagging sense as I approach the front door that I wasted another day looking for external validation instead of doing something constructive, like journaling or grad-school research. I'm annoyed that my indifference isn't strong enough to repress that feeling of inadequacy. I jump up the porch steps and fling open the front door, unsurprised that it remained unlocked. Mom and Dad stayed in the same position as when I left, but the coffee has been replaced by Heineken. They look up at me over their reading glasses when the door slams into the stopper.
"Hey sweetie, how was the date?"
“Yeah!” My Dad cuts in, grinning. “Do we get to meet the lucky guy?”
I try to conceal the surprise I feel at receiving their attention, but a soft smile escapes. The image of Gabe’s gaping mouth shooting energy beams flashes before my mind. Beyond the dining room table, I glimpse the stairs to my bedroom.
"Oh, probably not. He was left troubleshooting in the garden."
submitted by b_e_powers to stories [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 18:38 TheBrilliantaReality ANTM Reloaded: Cycle Eight, Week Four

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Eleven gorgeous girls are standing in front of me but I have only ten photos in my hands. These photos represent the ten of you who are still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model.
The first girl I'm going to call is the owner of the best photo this week.
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Brittany! Congratulations!
The rest of the COO is:
Felicia (2nd)
Jael (3rd)
Moe Szyslak (4th)
Jaslene (5th)
Dionne (6th)
Natasha (7th)
Renee (8th)
Samantha (9th)
May Cassandra and Diana please step forward? Two beautiful girls are standing in front of me but I have only one photo in my hands and this photo represents the girl who is still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model. I'm going to call only one name and the girl whose name I do not call must immediately return to the house, pack her belongings and leave. Cassandra, during the shoot you allowed the pain from the cold ice cream affect your performance. As a model, you have to push through all inconveniences and deliver. Diana, your photo was awful. You failed to look gracious and you completely lost control of both your face and your body. So who stays in this competition?
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The girl with the heart of gold does. Congratulations Cassandra, you'restillintherunningtowardsbecomingAmerica'sNextTopModel.
Thanks, Diana.
Vote for week four (Crime scene victims) here.
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2020.11.25 18:31 TheBrilliantaReality ANTM Reloaded: Cycle Seven, Week Four

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Eleven gorgeous girls are standing in front of me but I have only ten photos in my hands. These photos represent the ten of you who are still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model.
The first girl I'm going to call is the owner of the best photo this week.
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A.J.! Congratulations, you really annihilated this week!
The rest of the COO is:
Amanda (2nd)
Melrose (3rd)
Brooke (4th)
Michelle (5th)
Anchal (6th)
Jaeda (7th)
CariDee (8th)
Eugena (9th)
May Christian and Megan please step forward? Two beautiful girls are standing in front of me but I have only one photo in my hands and this photo represents the girl who is still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model. I'm going to call only one name and the girl whose name I do not call must immediately return to the house, pack her belongings and leave. Christian, during the fashion show you slipped off the runway and fell in the water. The judges are wondering if you've slipped off the track as well and if your time here is up. Megan, you stumbled while walking. A true top model has to walk perfectly and never allow herself to stumble. So who stays in this competition?
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You won't be a "crying Christian", Christian. Congratulations, you'restillintherunningtowardsbecomingAmerica'sNextTopModel.
Thanks, Megan.😊
Vote for week four (Circus freaks) here.
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2020.11.25 16:42 thrwawy0918901 My boyfriend’s (20sM) success is making me (20sF) feel very insecure and jealous of other girls.

I’ve been together with my boyfriend for more than 4 years. We’ve been through a lot of changes during this time, but things have always been great between us. I love him more than anything and I don’t want to even imagine my life without him.
My bf is in the entertainment industry, and in the last few months he’s had a lot of success, although it had been building up for the last couple of years really. But now it’s started to get to a really weird point, where people will recognize him sometimes when we’re out in public, grocery shopping and stuff. I'm really really happy for him and all of the opportunities that have come his way, and I don’t really mind the public part of his profession. But all the attention that has started coming from other girls has made me feel quite insecure, and I’m scared that it will just keep building up.
It’s just hard to describe the feeling… I’ve never been a super confident person anyway, and although I don’t hate the way I look and I try hard to eat healthy and go to the gym regularly, I’ve never been the girl that guys just line up to date. Before my boyfriend I had only been with a couple of guys, and none of it was serious. And he’s by far the most traditionally handsome guy that’s ever been interested in me.
But the types of girls that have started pursuing him lately are not only prettier than me, have better bodies than me, but also so much more popular and well-known. A few weeks ago we were invited to what was supposed to be a really casual event, with just a few people, and I just hated it because of seeing how flirty a girl tried to get with him. I just felt like I had to act cool when I wasn’t, and I’m scared that after the pandemic is over this will just get worse and worse.
Social media has been really bad for all of this. I won’t go into too much detail as one can probably paint the picture by themselves. It’s not even the explicit stuff that he gets sent, it’s the cute and flirty messages that I’ve read which made me feel the worst. I never realized people can be so direct before seeing some of this stuff, and it’s obvious in our pictures together that he has a girlfriend.
The first few times he received messages from fans we both thought it was super cute, and the first time he received a nude picture we both thought it was weird and creepy and we laughed about it. But then it just got crazy. I know I can trust him 100 % because he lets me scroll through his social media freely, but I always know that a couple of clicks away I can see a message from a girl way prettier than me who wants to f*ck my boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to care about any of it, but I don’t know if he’s just pretending in order to not make me feel bad.
It’s really messing with my self-esteem, and it’s like a downward spiral of confidence which has affected our sex life as well. I’ve pretty much stopped feeling beautiful around him, and I don’t feel like there’s any point for him to find me attractive anymore if he can just be with an actual model.
I don’t work in his industry, and although I like my job, it’s not something that I will ever be able to have lots of success in, so that kind of makes me feel inferior on top of everything too. I’m just not sure how to handle my insecurities anymore. It feels like I’m just waiting for him to leave me for someone better. And I don’t want to talk to him about it because I feel like I’ll just be highlighting the fact that I’m not being a good girlfriend. I just don’t want to lose him.
I’m aware a lot of this isn’t rational because I know he’s not a superficial person, he tells me he loves me all the time and he’s always been a very kind and supportive person to me and everyone else. But I just feel like any girl would be lucky to be with him and I’m simply just lucky that I met him first, because I don’t know why he would choose me over somebody better than me. And whenever he says or does something nice for me it just makes it worse because in my twisted mind it just shows how special he is and how I don’t deserve him.
I know some people might say I should talk to a therapist about this, but I’m really really terrible at keeping secrets from him, so if I start looking for a therapist, I’ll have to tell my boyfriend why. And I feel like I just can’t do that because then he’ll truly know I’m a total mess.
I'm just looking for any advice on how to overcome this.
tl;dr : I feel really insecure in my relationship and I don't feel good enough for my boyfriend, he is becoming more successful and I feel like he can just find someone better so easily. I've been really low on confidence because of all this lately, and I don't know what to do.
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