#Compound (COMP)

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 14 - Dirty Work

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: Death, use of weapons, little bit of torture, violence, military inaccuracies.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You make it down the stairs last. Johnny came to wake after what felt like no time at all. You really need to get a good night's sleep soon. You have a feeling that won’t be happening though. When you make it to the dining room things feel different. Johnny is standing next to Gaz and Ghost looks almost like he’s sulking in the corner of the room. 

Price is leaning over the table looking at images of a compound. “We split into 2 teams, you three go round the back me and Ghost will go in the front.” He says before looking over at you. He frowns before standing up straight and crossing his arms. 

“The building should be running with the night staff. Al Qatala only, we’ll need to disable the alarms, you should be able to cut the power directly from a room at the back of the building.” Price says pointing at one of the photos. “After that make your way up to the top floor, that's where the main control room is, if Makarov is anywhere he’ll be there. If not, it's where we’ll find out where he is.” 

“Makarov will know we’re here is as soon as we take the place.” Johnny says. 

“That's why we have to act fast, as soon as we know where he is we move.” Price says.

“Unless he’s there.” Gaz says.

“He won’t be there.” you say. Price’s head snaps over to you. “I’ll be the pessimist.” You shrug. 

“We plan for the possibility he is there.” Price says.

“And the possibility he’s not.” Simon says. Looking at him now looming in the shadows. The person you saw in the bedroom just a few hours ago seems like a completely different person then the one hiding in the shadows right now. Ghost is a fitting name.

“Capture or kill?” Johnny asks, stepping forward. 

“Kill. He’s not getting away again.” Price says. Johnny likes that nodding at him and turning back to Kyle. You look round the room, they've been after this guy for a while. 

“Get ready, we’ll be leaving soon.” Price says, crossing his arms. Everyone starts to move and he looks over at you. “A word?” You swallow hard, nodding and walking round the table to him while everyone leaves the room. You’re nervous all of a sudden.

“Are you ready for this?” He asks quietly, bending down to speak to you closer. 

“Yes.” You say holding your ground. 

“It’s going to be dangerous, you could get hurt.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” 

“No. I just need to know you’re ready.” he asks, you look up in his eyes.

“I’m ready.” You nod. He smiles for a second and you move to walk past him. He grabs your arm tight. “You do anything to hurt them and I swear to God I'll put a bullet in your head myself.” You look back digging your eyes into him. Why is he saying this now? Does he know? You pull your arm out his grip. 

“You wouldn’t be taking me if you didn’t trust me.” You say. He smiles. 

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” 

…

There’s thunder in the distance, a chill in the air. You’re all laid on a hill looking down at the back of the compound, there are lights on but no personnel. 

“Soap, we’re in position. How’s it looking on your end?” Price’s voice calls in your ear. 

“All clear Cap, we’re ready to move in.” Soap replies. The comps still sound strangely formal to you. 

“Okay, keep coms open, let us know when you’ve cut the security.” Price says as you all get to your feet. 

“Copy.” Soap says. You have an AR again, you’re still not used to the bigger weapons. Price’s warning is still ringing loud in your head. Why did he choose to say that now. Does he know what happened between you all? He is the captain, maybe he does. You follow Gaz and Soap down the hill to the back door. Gaz's foot slams into the door and it swings open. Soap goes in first and you follow behind him, you’re almost good at this now following his movements cleaning rooms like you’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Soap opens a door to another room, it’s warm you follow him inside. It looks like a maintenance room. Gaz comes back and stands in the doorway as Soap walks over to a control panel. You watch as he opens what looks like a fuzebox, he takes wire cutters off his vest and get's to work.

“Price, security systems are offline.” Soap’s voice comes into your ears as he closes the box.

“Copy, we’re moving in. Make your way to the control room.” Price says. You follow Gaz who leads, Soap following behind you. You run into people on the way but Gaz takes them down, the smell of gunpowder and blood is just something you need to get used to. You make it to the next floor, Gaz calls out your location as you move through the building. 

Each floor you go through you find more people. Gaz and Soap take them down, they’re way more confident firing off at people compared to your hesitation. You all turn the corner and run into Price and Ghost. They stack up on the door, this is the last place you need to check, if Makarov is going to be here he’s behind the door. 

Price nods and Ghost kicks the door open, it all happens quickly, voices ring out, shots ring out too. There's a pained groan as everyone goes into the room. You go over to the computer in the room, as soon as you move the mouse you see how corrupted it is.

“The whole thing’s been wiped.” You say. You turn to see Ghost and Price pull the man to his feet and throw him down in a chair. The man is shouting in Arabic through gritted teeth. You turn to start looking through papers with Soap trying to find anything you can to help. 

“Where’s Makarov?” Price asks. 

“Go to hell!” He shouts in English. You turn to see Ghost tying him to the chair. 

“Where is Makarov?” Price asks again. The man spits blood out on the floor, you see the wound on his shoulder. 

“I’ll never say!” Price sighs and Ghosts fist meets his face. It’s all starting to feel a little deja vu. You stick to what you’re doing, looking through the papers for anything useful.

“This was dated today. What does it mean?” Soap asks handing you a piece of paper. 

“It’s a termination order. They’re storing something here, it’s in the garage. Whatever it is, is being picked up tomorrow then the post will be shut down.” You say turning to look over at Price and Ghost. 

“What’s being stored?” Price asks. 

“It doesn’t say.” You reply, putting the paper down on the table.

“Okay, the three of you go check the garages.” Price says. Gaz leaves the room first and you follow him back through the building. Now it feels weird walking back through this place and over bodies, there weren't that many Al Qatala and now you know why, they probably got sent home days ago. 

“I thought you guys were keeping an eye on this place? You didn’t see them moving anything into the garages?” You ask Kyle ahead of you.

“No, only people moving in and out.” He replies. When you make it outside it’s starting to rain and the thunder sounds closer. 

“When did the message say they were coming?” Soap asks as tests the handle on the door, it’s locked.

“Tomorrow morning, it didn't have time.” You say.

“Strange.” Soap says, you frown looking over at him as Gaz kicks the door. 

“Why? There could have been multiple messages, we only found one.” You say shrugging. 

“Why though? They did such a good job at wiping the computer, shredding everything else why leave that one message?” Soap says. A pit forms in your stomach. You turn to look at him. 

“Probably just didn’t have time before we got there.” You swallow it away looking back at Gaz who gives the door one last kick and it swings open. Maybe he’s right, maybe you’re being too blasé about the whole thing, they are more experienced with this kind of stuff. 

You watch Gaz walk in and you move to follow him. 

“Holy shit.” You say when you walk in the room, the wall separating the two garages has been knocked through, there’s 2 trucks both of the beds look full and have been covered with tarp. It’s the ones you recognise from the CCTV footage Gaz showed Farah, the ones that came over the border a few days ago. 

Gaz walks over to one and pulls the tarp off to reveal missiles. 

“Holy shit.” Soap says. His hand runs over the American flag stamped on the metal. 

“American? These are ULF missiles.” You say.

“Were.” Gaz corrects you. 

“Price, we’ve got trucks full of American missiles here.” Soap says over the radio. There’s no reply, Gaz looks over frowning. 

“Price. Come in Price.” Soap says, you’re all already moving to the door before Soap even has a reply. 

“Ghost, Price come in.” Soap calls as you all jog back over to the main building. Now the pit in your stomach is back. What if they’re hurt? Fuck what if they’re dead? Soap and Gaz keep trying to call them as you sprint up the steps.  

“Price!” Gaz shouts as he sprints into the room. You make it in just after him, Price is rubbing his head using the chair to get back to his feet. The place looks like even more of a mess than before, stuff thrown everywhere a lamp knocked off the desk flashing on the floor. There had clearly been a struggle. 

“Where's Ghost?” Soap asks. 

“He went after him.” Price says, Soap rushes out the door.

“Go with him.” Gaz says, you nod following Soap down the hall. You have no idea where he could be but you follow Soap back down to the ground floor. You both freeze for a moment. Soap putting his hand up to stop you. You’re listening for noise. Soap is scanning down the corridors looking out the windows. 

You hear a gunshot.

“This way!” Soap shouts and sprints down a hall. It’s dark and there are no lights on. When you turn a corner you see an open door. The rain is coming down hard now, the thunder sounds like it’s right on top of you. 

You make it out and see Ghost wrestling with the guy on the floor. Soap slowly walks towards him with his weapon trained on them. You follow what he’s doing, keeping your distance, they’re rolling around on the floor, you can’t tell who has the upper hand. The man is clearly putting up a good fight. 

Soap looks like he wants to intervene. You hear a rumbling sound and the almost deafening sound of the rain on the garage roof. You’re not sure what to do, Ghost manages to push the guy off him and they end up on their sides. You think that's it Soap steps up to them until you see the glint off a knife. You don’t get chance to call it out the sound of crashing metal distracts you, you turn to the source of the noise seeing a truck barreling towards you. 

“Move!” Soap shouts as he grabs your vest pulling you out its path. You both fall to the ground as the car drives past, it stops just before crashing into the garages. Soap is firing at it before he’s even stood up. You get to your feet and click the safety off your weapon as people jump out the car. You see the weapons in their hands, you don’t care about shooting them now. It’s kill or be killed. 

Your shots are not great, you can see some of them hitting the car instead of people, you’ve only ever shot an AR once in basic training. It comes back to you though surprisingly, like riding a bike. You see someone fall to the floor, you hear shouting behind you and turn quickly to see Price and Gaz coming out the building. 

You breathe a sigh of relief at least it’s not all just down to you and your shit aim. You fire off another shot, this one actually hits one of their shoulders and he falls to the ground. You look over to where Ghost was fighting that man they’re not there anymore. There can’t be many more guys left, the car only has 5 seats. 

The shots stop, you follow behind Soap as he moves closer to the car. Its engine is still running, the doors swung open. You make it over, Soap kicks the bodies of the people on the floor. You make it round to the other side of the truck and Soap leans in, turning the engine off.

“Where’s Ghost?” Price asks. You look around, maybe he got up and hid from the gunfight. You don’t see the guy he was wrestling with either. There’s another gunshot. You all turn, raising your weapons towards the source. Price and Gaz sprint off in the direction first and you follow behind them. 

You rush round the corner of the garages and see Ghost stood there over a body putting his pistol back in its holster. 

“You solid?” Price asks as Ghost turns. He nods, you see him reach down pulling a knife out the mans shoulder, he wipes it on the grass before putting it back in his vest.

“What do we do now?” Soap asks.

“They know we were here, they will have told Makarov already.” Price says. You can hear the frustration in his voice. 

“They probably still want those missiles though.” Gaz says. You shiver, the adrenaline has worn off and you’re drenched. There’s a crack of thunder and the rain seems to pick up even harder. 

“Gaz is right. Even if they managed to get word out to Makarov, it’s a big stash he has just sitting here. He wouldn't want us taking it back to the ULF.” Soap says. 

“Okay. We’ll stay here tonight, follow them in the morning.” Price says. “Chances are they lead us straight to Makarov.” 

“And if they don’t come?” You ask. 

“They’ll come. They’ll want those missiles.” Price says. He sounds sure about it as he walks past you back to the building. You look over and see Ghost reaching down to pick the body up off the floor. Price orders you all to clear the place up. In case they didn’t manage to get the word out to Makarov, you don’t want to spook whoever is coming in the morning. 

It feels kind of pointless but you follow the orders nonetheless. When you’re done you wish you could take a shower, dry your sodden clothes. You’re not that lucky though, everyone seems to fall into a routine when you’re back inside and somewhat dry. Ghost collects everyone's weapons, he takes his time taking them apart and cleaning them like he’s done it a million times. He probably has. 

Gaz and Soap end up on clothes drying duty laying everything on radiators and cranking the heat up in the building to an almost uncomfortable level. You decide to go back up to the main control room and search the place for anything useful. It’s a longshot but you would rather be doing something then nothing. 

You end up trying to organise things, for some reason it makes you feel better. Most of the paperwork is out of date or they have done their best to censor or destroy everything. It’s probably fruitless until you come across a locked drawer. Now you want to get it open. There has to be a way to brute force it open. You take your knife out and jam it between the draws. You kneel down on the floor angling the knife down then pulling it towards you. 

It doesn’t seem to be doing anything. You try again using more strength growing out, pulling until it hurts. You let go of the knife now stuck in the drawer huffing and letting out a breath. 

“What are you doing?” Price asks. You look up over the desk at him. 

“There’s a locked drawer here.” You say pointing even though you know he can’t see. He comes in walking round the desk to see what you’ve been up to. You hear him chuckle when he sees the knife sticking out the drawer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key.

“What you just had that this whole time.” You say tutting and reaching up to take it out his hand. 

“Ghost found it on his body.” He shrugs. You open the drawer pulling your knife out. You see the laptop straight away. You stand up, putting it on the desk and opening it. It turns on and there is no login. 

“What is it with all these people and never using passwords?” You say out loud. 

“Makes our job easier.” Price says. 

“Yeah also probably means there’s probably nothing important on it.” You say opening the documents folder. You sort them by most recent and open it. 

“What is it?” He asks as you scan over the document.

“Something about new orders. They’re moving, they know you’re after them.” You say as you continue reading. “They’re planning something too, something big.” 

“In Urzikstan?” He asks. You shake your head opening another document.

“It doesn’t say, this is a shipping manifest by the look of it. Sent from Moscow.” You close it down looking at the list. “There’s a lot here, it could take hours to sift through all this.”

“Can’t you do a keyword search or something?” He asks. 

“I don’t really know much about computers.” You sigh. 

“Gaz does, c’mon.” He says. You close the laptop lid, you expected him to have moved but he’s just stood there looking at you. You feel your heart pick up speed, he’s frowning at you for a second then his expression goes soft. 

“You did good today.” He says. You swallow the nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me that every time.” You say trying to lighten the mood. He hums, pressing his lips together and angling his body closer to you. 

“How was your time with Soap at the ULF base?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows, he definitely knows and this is a test. Or maybe he doesn’t and he wants you to confess so he can send you back home. 

“Good.” You manage to say. You won’t say anything, you don’t want to get them into trouble. 

“I heard it went more than good.” He says in a low voice, his hand lands on your hip. You freeze in place, his touch is nice, his eyes are blue like Johnny’s, a deeper blue though. Maybe Johnny had already talked about what happened, he did say they were all together. You don’t know if you’re upset or relieved he maybe spoke about you. Price doesn’t seem mad, his eyes scanning round your face is body inching closer to you. 

“I’m only slightly annoyed,” he says. Great, here it comes, this is it, this is where he tells you to leave. You open your mouth ready for the string of apologies to come out. You don’t get a chance though as he leans down to kiss you. 

He takes your breath away, literally. His kiss is deep, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you close to him. You almost can’t believe it’s happening, his kiss is soft like Johnny, he’s slow too letting you control the speed. His beard tickles your face, you don’t mind though. Before you can help yourself your hand runs up his arm. 

He breaks from the kiss first, your heart is still pounding in your chest. He smiles at you. 

“You said you were annoyed.” You say swallowing, he chuckles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“Yeah, that MacTavish got to you first.” He smiles.

next

Banners by plum98

[spitfaggot]

another fun thing about bootblacking — it's as much of a kink as it isn't.

and by this, i mean: it's labor!

we have to look beyond kink into the vanilla/non-kink world to see the only remaining examples of shoe care as a job. the only examples i can think of are shoe-cleaning mall kiosks and, maybe, a chair or two in an airport terminal or fancy hotel. but these places are dwindling, if they even still remain at all. consumerism and planned obsolescence has invaded fashion so much that most people aren't concerned with the upkeep of their actual leather shoes, let alone sneakers or pleather boots.

(edit: cobblers and shoe repair most certainly count, but in this instance i'm referring to chairs or kiosks that maintain the footwear without disassembling it, although there are many bootblacks that can provide services like these.)

this, compounded with the cost barrier to leather gear and a much smaller community post-AIDS of the 1980's i believe has made bootblacking much more scarce in kink circles. i mentored under a bootblack that primarily works bars and club events, and have gone on to do the same myself, and... not many people even know what a bootblack is anymore. i've met people in full cow at the local Eagle who have never even heard of our existence. i was in the right place at the right time and met the right people in order to be able to sub/apprentice under one, and that in itself is a privelege nowadays. instructional videos are lovely, but there's nothing like working with the real thing to practice.

getting booked at events is a headache in and of itself, which is where the talk of labor comes in. if you are bootblacking, you are doing physical labor. it doesn't matter if you're working a pup social at a leather bar, or a private residence party, it is labor. on average, i scrub and polish a shift at a bar event for 5 hours (8pm to 1am) with very few breaks. on a good night, i can polish usually 6 or 7 customers in that 5 hour shift, and that's if nobody comes to me with a Langlitz project or a full set of chaps. tipping your bootblack is crucial, because 90% of the time, that's how we make any money at all.

bootblacking is how i have kept my boyfriend, my cats and i fed many times. and it is very hard to find an event nowadays that will pay a bootblack up front to be there for the night — most just "allow you to keep tips" and maybe comp you a drink or two. at this point i just have a menu of my services that i provide, and i turn away folks who cannot pay or barter. (i, personally, will take coffee as payment for boots and harnesses.) this often means i make less than minimum wage for 5 hours of physical labor.

my point being: bootblacking is a kink, but it will likely be found today more often as a job leatherfolk will take up at an event, much like a vendor. the more public adult spaces where we can actually express it as a kink the better, and those are growing incredibly scarce. and the people willing to pay us even more so, despite how much upkeep leather gear like boots and jackets should be getting.

[arterial--amalgamation]

☆ CHEMISTRY NPT PACK ☆

Names : Chem . Baxter . Daniel . Dexter . Cain . Cobalt . Neutro . Cal . Isaac . Argon . Barrie . Chrome . Bronze . Goldie . Atlas . Magnus . Xenon . Erasmus . Rome . Caspian . Helios . Asclepius . Lucian . Triton . Cosmo . Asteroid . Astro . Becket . Andrew . Albert

☆

Pronouns : Beak/Beaker . Tube/Tubes . Acid/Acids . Base/Bases . Comp/Compound . Re/Reaction . Tox/Toxic / Cor/Corrosive . Bon/Bond . Com/Combust . Radio/Active . Nuc/Nuclear . Chem/Chems . Data/Datas . Sci/Science . Test/Tests .

☆

Labels : transneutral . chemcoric . chemicallexic . cassgender . plutonian . hazardgender . madscientistgender

Tags : @the-bastards

[luna-wing-cns274]

A plea.

This one must flee.

The black hand reaches for her heart.

This is no hunting ground, it is a prison.

She is In no position to ask anything of you, freinds.

But those I love and I are separated by eons of void.

And a cruel master keeps her that way.

[Jaws.omf.locale.secure]

Please help me. I beg of you.

[ FILE RECEIVED: “BAILOUT.cmf6” ]

< L4 Ma’ii: Understood, Styx, standby for extraction, ETA one minute. Quarterlight deceleration bolt in 3, 2, 1— >

Hard acceleration, thrust beyond sanity. 

Ma’ii could feel the G-force across their hull. A tide of power flowed into their k-comp emitters, thrusting their casket to the bottom of a deep, protective gravity well. 

Exactly three klicks from their target—point-blank range—Ma’ii’s fighter snapped into existence. For an instant, the flash from their engine nacelles lit up the hull of Demeter’s Bounty in brilliant white light. 

In that instant, Ma’ii captured the image of the ship’s port hull and cross-referenced it against a half-dozen naval intelligence reports. Union, Constellar, IPS-N, all as recent as they had been able to steal. These had done little to prepare them for the three-dimensional, tactile-analogous shape now being constructed by their LIDAR. 

Nonstandard hull geometry: jagged edges grafted onto the cuboid body of an IPS-N cargo hauler. Cables and pipes bundled into black veins along its length, all converging on a sealed aperture at the vessel’s nose. In place of a bridge, there was a bizarre mechanical flower of jointed spines connected by bands of searing energy, splayed out like the legs of a vast crustacean lying dead on its back. 

Dominant features resolved into details. Dozens of point-defense cannons scattered in uneven rows, torpedo tubes cored straight into the superstructure, missile pods sheathed in sloped plating. 

The light faded, and Demeter’s Bounty became an indistinct silhouette against the void. 

Just as the reports had suggested, a basilisk projector. Ma’ii neatly sliced away a lobe of themself, copied fire-control system routines to its subjectivity, and placed the semisentient partition between their mind and the feeds from visual-spectrum sensors. They loaded ACERBITE and placed the tip of the weapon close to the proxy partition’s outer layer. 

The purpose of the proxy’s existence was simple: it would absorb the visual stream and relay it to Ma’ii on exactly half a millisecond’s delay. The instant it showed any sign of basilisk exposure, Ma’ii would drive ACERBITE home, killing it and severing the feed before they could be exposed to the lethal information. It was only once they were safely distanced from reality that Ma’ii dared to transmit a tightbeam message. 

< Demeter’s Bounty? This is the NLS fighter craft Degrees of Freedom. Hold your fire. I am here to rendezvous with— >

[ WARNING: RADAR LOCK DETECTED ]

As Ma’ii watched, the ship’s broadside lit up with a constellation of sparks. Bright threads of PDC fire streaked across the void towards them, trailed by dozens of miniature drive plumes. Missiles, under acceleration, half a millisecond ahead of them. 

< Very well. To work, then. >

Firing their drives, they fell into a breakneck sprint, twenty-two gees of hard burn. Maneuvering thrusters fired in staccato pulses across their hull, aiming their nose under the ship’s belly. 

In the milliseconds that followed, they could feel the outer boundary of the incoming projectile cloud and the missiles streaking out ahead of the kinetics, a storm of radar data. At least thirty sources of radiation rained down across their hull, an unblinking compound eye disgorging ordnance into the narrowing space between them. 

Ma’ii grinned, fangs gleaming, as the range collapsed to exactly the value they needed. 

Cut thrusters, hard pivot, twist, sprint. 

Nose pointed up along the port hull, the blade-thin profile of their body presented to the oncoming fire. They ejected a cloud of nanite chaff in their wake, and an entire salvo of missiles sailed through the countermeasures, away into space. Ma’ii’s dorsal and ventral interception lasers snapped into place and began chattering away, stabbing the compound eye of Demeter’s Bounty with ultraviolet needles. Jets of steam erupted from valves surrounding their laser turrets, dumping waste heat away into vacuum.

Broadcast on all radio frequencies, Ma’ii’s wild cackling filled the void. 

As the cannons’ fire control systems switched to new sources of targeting data, streams of PDC fire began to waver and lag. The storm of kinetics converged into an intersection of tracer-green threads just meters behind Ma’ii’s hull, pursuing them as they rode their momentum beneath the ship and past its spine, out of the cannons’ field of view.

Under direction from Demeter’s sensors, at least a dozen missiles cut thrusters, pivoted, and reacquired Ma’ii. Echoing their maneuver, they gained on them as their new acceleration vector carried them up towards Demeter’s starboard broadside. 

Ma’ii’s maneuvering thrusters pushed them into a narrow swerve towards the hull, training the tines of their railgun onto a jagged outcropping of metal. Ma’ii forwarded the targeting data to their proxy partition, felt the subtle motion of their thrusters correcting for time delay, and fired. 

The shots reached their target almost instantly. Ma’ii watched as plumes of debris burst from the impact points, hurled outward by force of decompressing air. Accelerating, they swerved clear of the expanding debris field, and watched as it swirled into the path of the pursuing missiles. Behind them, a series of detonations.

Only meters away, the hull of Demeter’s Bounty sped past, melting into an indistinct smear of grey and black. They cut engines, pivoted, and burned hard to decelerate, circling towards the rendezvous point. 

Ma’ii could feel radar locks accumulating and watched PDC towers swiveling to engage. They would be slotting belts of proximity-detonation shells, their targeting systems waiting only for the gunners’ clear-to-fire…

Cut engines, pivot, deceleration burn. Radar lock, fox three. 

Missiles leapt from Ma’ii’s bays, streaking after each PDC in sequence. One after the other, they found their marks. As their last missile sped away towards its target, Ma’ii saw a flash in the distance. They felt the phantom of their unloaded avatar, eyes widening in terror.

All of their ventral thrusters fired simultaneously, half a millisecond too late. 

Three distinct concussions burst against the underside of their body, buckling sections of armor and shearing away their ventral interception laser. As their missile reached its target, the stream of airburst rounds cut off, leaving Ma’ii shouting over comms.

< Damage sustained, multiple PDC impacts! I’ve reached the rendezvous point but my position is untenable—Styx, where are you?! > 

[sharkeaten]

various esme headcanons from her superhero verses that i need to dump somewhere:

- in her gen v/the boys verse, she and alejandra were both injected with compound v as babies as part of a research study on how comp v manifests in twins. while alejandra was fine, esme sustained heavy side effects, including partial blindness and significant nerve damage. she was given up for adoption after this, as her parents believed she wouldn’t produce any power.

- in her general mutant verse, she’s born with these disabilities, & was given up for adoption as a child because her parents were under the impression they were only having one kid, they couldn’t afford two more, and alejandra was the one chosen to stay.

- esme discovered her powers at age eight during an autistic episode. her sonic scream broke all the glass in the house and nearly deafened her parents (sorry aksel and sarah 😞).

- her psionic abilities began manifesting as well at this point, and she quickly began to use them to see the world around her in a different way, similar to sonar readings and scanning. the time and energy that takes wears on her, though (and gives her migraines), so she mostly uses an advanced form of echolocation via small tongue clicks as she walks. her powers work with her disabilities in that she has an extremely heightened sense of hearing and is able to feel objects she normally couldn’t through telekinesis.

- being selectively mute, she rarely actually talks and prefers to speak in people’s heads. if necessary, she can make it seem as if her lips are moving, but she doesn’t like to use her voice around those she isn’t close to.

- she currently lives in new york, new york, working at the american museum of natural history and going to grad school for a paleontology degree. she often gets asked if she’s weathervane (booo famous sister), despite the sunglasses she wears all the time because of her sight and her penchant for walking around like a goddamn supervillain (she’s wearing trench coats in the new york heat someone stop her). she’s also trying this new thing called “stopping being vengeful” — let’s see how that works!

[skinks]

listen I’m as much against unrealistic Hollywood body image toxicity as the next person but you guys gotta stop insisting visible abs are only possible through extreme dehydration. you think countless professional athletes with visible abs are dehydrating themselves before and during competition? hell I can see my abs sometimes and I’m a) like 25-30% body fat and b) a true hydrohomie. yes the desiccated shredded look for bodybuilding comps and shirtless movie scenes is not healthy long term, but that person is still going to see their abs in the mirror after a night’s sleep and a big glass of water or from getting a pump after exercise. to pretend otherwise is just disingenuous. also there’s no difference between “regular gym muscle” and “manual labour muscle”, everyone has the same muscles regardless of how big or defined they are. the only difference you’re seeing is either the type of work the person has been doing + their percentage body fat. if you see some big bulky dude with a high bf% who does strongman compound lifts at the gym all day, but never worked manual labour in his life, is that not just regular gym muscle? if you see some ripped cut landscaper who just pays attention to macros to deliberately lower his bf% but never goes to the gym, does he not have manual labour muscle? you don’t need to go to a gym to get buff but similarly you don’t need to be hauling animal feed sacks for a living to get beefy. sorry I saw a stupid poll. people are like “I like manual labour muscle bc then I know they drink water” dumbass!! if you understood anything about exercise you’d know good hydration is crucial to growing muscle, any muscle, in the gym or otherwise. only thing less useful than tumblr users opinions on working out is tumblr users opinions on having sex

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Cottage Industries (A Neo Ouija Compilation) 2000 IDM / Leftfield

Got into some excellent y2k-era IDM today with this first installment from a long-running series called Cottage Industries that was put out by UK label Neo Ouija. Here we have a nearly spotless collection of mindbending stuff that's sure to leave any IDM junkie feeling blissed-out, just like the iconic android in the armchair from the cover of Artificial Intelligence, the foundational comp from Warp Records that really put IDM on the map in the first place all the way back in 1992 😌. Neo Ouija seems to go for that super chill, emotively melancholic, and solitudinous kind of vibe, and this comp here, which appears to have been just the label's fourth release, serves as a great introduction to their sound from when they were just getting started.

And ultimately, it's really hard for me to pick total favorites among this set, but I feel like I need to talk about a couple in particular: one, Quinoline Yellow's "Eythyl Maltol," and two, Clatterbox's "Power Up."

Quinoline Yellow's "Eythyl Maltol," a title that makes reference to a flavor-enhancing chemical compound, is the debut track from a guy named Luke Williams, who, quite possibly because of this very tune, would go on to showcase his talents the following year on the much more well-known Skam label. "Eythyl Maltol" is a slow, head-nod-inducing groove, with rhythmically glitchy stutters and some beautifully layered, otherworldly synth work to go along with it all. And among debut tracks for IDM artists, it probably ranks towards the top; a total unknown guy making a name for himself rather quickly with this one.

And Clatterbox's aptly titled "Power Up," which liberally incorporates zappy 8-bit videogame sounds, feels like the track with the most mass appeal here. Typically, IDM is made for a post-club, home listening environment, but I feel like you could totally get away with playing this one at a nerdy hipster bar-type setting. A bit more uptempo and far more conventionally structured than the rest of these tunes, this electro-leaning track could maybe serve as a solid nugget in order for you to introduce your friends to this whole amazing genre of underground electronic music; before, y'know, you start to melt their brains with some of the more abstract stuff 🫠.

And if you pair this album with the also excellently chill and organically crunchy IDM double-disc comp, Putting the Morr Back in Morrissey, which was put out the same year by German label Morr Music, then you've got yourself a few hours worth of some ultra-satisfying and relaxational, turn-of-the-millennium IDM fare there 😎.

Highlights:

Phonem - "Bioluminescence" Bauri - "Fleck Yck" Plod - "Aptaxi" Geiom - "Reihl (94)" Penfold Plum - "Cute Toy" Geiom v Infant - "Multistories 2" Quinoline Yellow - "Eythyl Maltol" Yunx - "Nemo-Sis" Clatterbox - "Power Up" Consumer Durable - "Cool Dry Places"

[birdgowrl]

these were just *some* of the routines out of the junior protege comp that i thought really stood out to me personally.

juniors:

#1 - starr bell castro (theCREW) *

#9 - camila giraldo (stars dance studio) *

#11 - lauren allison (dance delxue) *

#13 - daniela carbonell (J2K dance studio)

#14 - talia mempin (elements dance space)

#17 - eva gonzalez (dance deluxe)

#23 - emily collins (dance deluxe) *

#24 - kenzie wright (elite performance studios) *

#27 - brielle mckenna (studio x) *

#32 - katie carlson (evoke dance movement) *

#36 - kate matthew’s (studio x)

#37 - katherine harmston (JBP entertainment)

#38 - ayla zink (evoke dance movement)

#40 - aria bongiorno (dance delxue) *

#41 - sophia tooles (the six compound) *

#43 - caitlin wheeler (evoke dance movement)

#45 - tinsley wallace (renner dance company) *

#48 - addyson paul (evoke dance movement) *

#55 - juliana foley (dance xplosion)

#57 - qwyneth woods (dance studio c) *

#63 - mila hiatt (CannDance studios) *

#64 - dakota casteel (spotlite dance studio) *

#65 - zaeda borlaza (nor cal dance arts) *

#66 - kalliope lindstorm (AVANTI dance company) *

#67 - victoria tucci (dance xplosion) *

#71 - lilah gow (JWDA) *

#72 - isla gardner (club dance studio) *

#75 - mikayla isler (club dance studio) *

#77 - olevia short (DBA creatives at dana’s studio of dance)

#79 - mya lanigan (evolve) *

#84 - caitlyn paik (to the point dance centre)

#86 - tenley anthony (the collective PHX) *

#91 - stella marcordes (the company space) *

#93 - skye harrell (mather)

#93.a - gabby lyles (virtues in motion dance studio)

#96 - ruby taylor (utah festival ballet)*

[anamelessfool]

[Instrumental]

Copia x Cardinal Marian, Copia & Terzo Domestic Fluff sponsored by @comp-lady's Domestic December

Link to Challenge Here

Words: 1426 AO3 Link Here

Tags: Duet, Singing, Being Silly, Holiday Doldrums

Dedicated to @delullu and @thew0man <3

Ficlet Below the Cut!

After the Solstice Holidays and before the New Year, it was rough around the Ministry compound. Not much to do except nurse a hangover and wait for the calendar to refresh you, to wash away the old year. Next year will be different. But right now, I got to lie the fuck down.

Papa Emeritus III would make it everyone's problem and start wandering the halls looking for some last minute pick-me-up from a sibling who was already either exhausted with him or disgusted by him thanks in part to his traditionally ridiculous behavior at the Solstice party. Sister would have nothing to do with him, which of course meant he would resort to the only two people whose job description required mandatory interaction: Sister's Personal Assistant Marian and his protegee Papa Elect Copia.

Which is why during this time Marian and Copia preferred to hunker down somewhere. And when Marian would get so sick of puzzles or hearing Copia crow about The Life and Times of JP Morgan she would demand a field trip.

Luckily at this time of year Copia’s beige LaSabre would have the snow chains on and they could go into town without careening off of a snowy cliff on the way there.

And in the nearest town there was a bar that, for a discreet twenty dollar bill it would be Karaoke Night any night Marian wanted.

“Here we stand…Worlds apart, hearts broken in two! Two! Twooo….” Marian scream-sang the words as they lit up across the video screen. From his place at a nearby table, Copia sighed wistfully. She was a terrible singer, he had to admit. Not a musical bone in her body. But her heart was into it. Always, fully.

Also watching her plush hips sway in time to the music was a bonus.

“Some day, love will find you! Break those chains that bind you! You know, I still love you—” Marian held out her hand to him, flashing a winning smile. Copia’s heart soared. “Even when we go our separate ways!”

A man wandered up to the stage and threw a dollar into the empty plastic pitcher for her. She blew him a kiss. Copia felt a little tinge of jealously bubble up in his throat but it was followed by another thought, this one much more thrilling. Doesn’t matter, she’s coming home with me….

“Closer to the heart! Closer to the HEAAAAAART! YEA-YUH!” And Marian jumped off the small stage, drink in hand, to wander back to Copia’s table and his nest of empty glasses with lemon slices.

“The song’s over?” Copia asked. Watching her sidle over to him, a smirk across her face put him in a certain way. He pretended for a moment she had eyed him from across the bar, a mysterious temptress. He a debonair scoundrel. His heart fluttered.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine….

“No there's like a five minute instrumental section, get with the program,” she said. “Here, drink this.”

Copia did what he always did—immediately what was told. He took a sip from the tiny straw. His whole mouth was awash with acrid flames as the liquid scraped down his throat. He nearly arched and hissed like a cat. “W-what was in that?!”

“Long Island Ice Tea—I thought you'd like it. The most alcohol for the least amount of money.” Marian cackled. “Enough with that unsweetened shit. You're up next.”

Copia clutched one of his empty glasses of unsweetened shit. “No thank you. I enjoy just watching you.”

“Why not?” Marian scanned the room. There were a half dozen people besides them on this impromptu Tuesday night karaoke.

“I just….prefer…”

“There's like five other people here.” She gestured towards the bar. “Four now, because I think that guy over there is asleep.”

Copia idly tapped the glass, blinking.

“You know you're going to perform in front of thousands of people soon, yeah?”

“That's different. So many, and they're ah…they're a wall at that scale, really.”

The little [INSTRUMENTAL] blocks started filling across the screen. She’d have to start singing again soon. Marian threw him a determined look. A hungry look. Her eyebrows raised and her mouth quirked. “Drink the rest of that. I'll get you up here.”

Marian turned back to the stage and Copia watched her ass in her tight jeans cross the floor. Imagined his hands across the nipped in part of her waist. He knocked back the rest of the burning concoction and dealt with the pain.

Marian’s solo ended and someone in the darkness actually clapped. She did an ironic curtsy and the next song title appeared across the screen.

Copia bit his lip and gripped the empty glass.

He heard the song. The fake organ refrain. The plinks and chirps of the most perfect arrangement of notes he'd ever heard since Bach felt inclined to start writing.

It was his ringtone for years, when custom ring tones were a thing.

Are they still a thing?

The intro ended, and the lyrics flashed across the screen, unsung. The midi karaoke track blared without any singer. Without anyone to help push the song along and give it life.

Marian stood there, staring into his eyes. Her smirk transformed into a wild, toothy grin.

How dare she.

How dare she let this song run down.

This perfect song.

Copia blinked again, this time keenly aware of how heavy his eyelids had become. He got up and his vision swam a little.

Marian was right. That was a lot of alcohol for a sensible price. And maybe chugging it wasn't the best idea Copia ever had.

The eight inch step up onto the little stage brought with it a surge of emotion. He was already singing the song in his head, trying to keep time. He wanted his intro to be completely on time.

Copia touched her arm with one hand, then grabbed under her chin. Marian laughed, dropping the mic in his other hand. She winked.

The horrible rinky-dink light set up was still unnaturally bright and he shut his eyes tight, leaning into the mic. He had to recover. He owed it to the song. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me!”

Marian pulled another mic from the plastic pitcher nearby and joined in, trying to mimic the dulcet tones of Agnetha Fältskog the best a mere mortal could. “It was like shooting a sitting duck! A little small talk, a smile, and baby I was stuck!”

Copia made a little pleased grunt, a nod, then swept his arms out theatrically, continuing, “I still don't know what you've done with me! A grown-up woman should never fall so easily…”

Something pressed play in Copia's heart. The program ran without any doubt, dismay—there was definitely something beyond the buzz of a drink mixed with a heavy hand. For some reason he wanted nothing more than to give the performance of a lifetime. He put a foot up on the stool, leaning into the bridge. “I feel a kind of fear when I don't have you near… Unsatisfied, I skip my pride, I beg you, dear!”

Copia glanced over to Marian. She was red faced and giggling, the mic forgotten in her arms. He threw her his own smirk, pointing at her with an accusing finger. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me! Don't go sharing your devotion…”

Marian stepped forward into him, and his hands automatically wrapped around her. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck and her lips connected with his. He tasted something tropical, warming him on this dreary winter December evening. The empty song continued, abandoned, but her kiss was consolation enough.

Marian couldn't resist a little bite as she pulled away. “Told you,” she said.

“Eh er-well..I was going to pick that one next anyway,” Copia huffed. He shifted his weight and through the bright lights he saw a curious gleam of metal in the far corner. A figure had slipped into the bar and settled behind a table, a large square-shouldered rectangle. With horns. With a metal mask.

“Omega?” Marian stammered. “What—”

There was a theatrically wicked laugh from behind them. Terzo was standing by the stage, leafing through the giant binder of songs and typing in numbers.

“You think you could keep this place a secret forever, fratellino,” Terzo sneered. The Infernal Eye gleamed in its socket. “We’re singing Super Trooper next.”

Bonus Organ Cover Of the Greatest Song Since Bach Decided to Dabble (Copia's words)

[haorev]

Worst things about having no adhd meds:

(1) I’m so tired all the time. So fucking tired. My sleep schedule is fucked and I’m tired.

(2) look I have trouble switching tasks when I’m on my meds, I forgot in the last three and a half years what it’s like to switch tasks not on my meds and it is Hell (part of this is the autism but it’s just compounded now)

(3) I keep forgetting to email my program advisor asking if I can have notes for my comps because I don’t have my meds and my memory is shit without them

[the only reason I’m not mega spiraling rn is bc of my depression and anxiety meds; they manage to keep the panic at bay mostly]

[max1461]

Ap iril sğoppim Maisash Ngant: pori hamn tiliw sğetika ewweri ngawalin hwopimn ğiwnang oi emrong nga salsh nga ewweri

[ɐpp̚ ɪˈɾɪlˑ sɣᵝʌᵝpˈpɪmˑ ˈmaɪsɐʃ ŋɐnt̚ ‖ ˈpɤᵝɾi hɐmn tɪˈlɪɰᵝ ˈsɣɛdɪxɐ ɛɰᵝˈβɛɾi ŋɐˈɰᵝɐlɪnˑ ˈxɣᵝɤᵝpɪmn ɣɪɰᵝˈnɐŋˑ ɤᵝɪ ɛmˈɾʌᵝŋˑ ŋɐ sɐlʃ ŋɐ ɛɰᵝˈβɛɾi]

p t k β ɾ ɣ s ʃ h m n ŋ l ɪ ɯᵝ ɛ ʌᵝ ɐ aɪ ɤᵝɪ Contrastive stress (most often final) Some syllable structure or other; approximately (C)(R)V(C)(C) [-syl., -approx.] -> [+half-long] /[+syl, +stress]_# [-cont.] -> [-release] /_# [-tense, -low] -> [+tense] /_# [open-mid] -> [close-mid] /_(C)[+high] t -> d /V_V k -> x /V_ ɣ -> [+labial] /_[+labial] [+voice, +strid.] -> [-strid.] /V_ h -> x /_C

Ap iril sğop-<REDUP>im Maisash Ngant DAT distant.past say-COMP Maisash Ngant "Maisash Ngant once said"

pori hamn tiliw sğe-tika ewweri nga-walin never NEG stop ABSTRACT.NOM-do quarry 2sg-REFL "never stop dragging yourself (like the spoils of a hunt)" hwopimn ğiwnang oi emrong nga salsh nga ewweri or.else men strong kill 2sg eat 2sg quarry "or stronger men will kill and eat you like the spoils of a hunt"

The first line demonstrates "Ap iril sğoppim" as a set phrase for introducing quotes; fronting of prepositional phrases is otherwise largely reserved for focus constructions. The second line shows negative concord between pori "never" and hamn "not". The conjunction hwopimn in line 3 is a (not fully transparent) compound of hwopi "occur" and hamn "not". There is no explicit marking of comparatives, "ğiwnang oi" is implicitly comparative. Double marking of the pronoun nga in the serial verb complex "emrong nga salsh nga" is emphatic. The use of the noun ewweri as an adverbial at the end of line 3 is a poetic device; a more colloquial rendering would be "set ewweri" — "like a quarry".

[gayvampyr]

Hi! You mentioned in your pinned post your studying biochemical engineering and computer science, and I'd like to ask:

Why did you choose those? (if it's not too personal)

and

What's your favorite little quirk/big quirk/whatever about biochemistry and/or computer science?

hi! sorry this took me like a century to answer :p

so i chose those two through a process of elimination. before i even got to college i knew that i wanted to study STEM, but i had no idea which specific field i wanted to go into. chemistry always sounded the most fun to me, and i like working with computers, so i started with those. i took a few classes in various STEM fields and talked to some people at my university which helped me narrow down my interests. i took chemistry for a year and half and i liked it a lot, but i wanted to try biology, so i changed my major to evolutionary genetics. after studying primarily biology for a semester, i decided it wasn't really my thing, but i still enjoyed certain aspects of it: mainly protein function within an organism and the chemical interactions of our cells. so i switched to biochemistry. my computer science interest is a bit more straightforward: computers are cool, and knowledge of them is useful in a wide variety of fields. i figure it's a good skill to have and this way, it's not necessarily an either-or thing (which universities are very big on).

as for "quirks," i'm not entirely sure how you mean, but i really like studying enantiomeric resolution and substitution/elimination reactions. it's been a little while since i've done it but i think it's cool how you can use molecular and electron geometry to change the solubility of otherwise identical compounds and retrieve one from a racemic mixture, and i'm excited to learn about the potential applications in a biological system.

for comp sci, i haven't been studying it as much as i have natural sciences, but one thing i thought was helpful conceptually was this:

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Brian Beutler at OffMessage:

Six years ago, White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders attended a dinner at a Virginia restaurant called the Red Hen. By 2018 Sanders had established herself in politics as an accomplished liar and an accomplice to an administration that was in the midst of orphaning migrant children, using cruelty as a deterrent. Her presence perturbed the staff, who alerted the owner, who in turn politely asked Sanders to leave and comped her companions for the food and drink they’d already been served.  Nobody heaped abuse on Sanders. So far as we know, nobody filmed the confrontation, and if anyone did, it never found its way to the internet, which would’ve compounded Sanders’s embarrassment. Democratic leaders in Congress did not applaud the Red Hen. Neither did Barack Obama or Joe Biden. It’s likely that the whole episode would’ve been forgotten quietly, lost to the mists of time, had Sanders not exploited it herself to whip up right-wing outrage and get revenge.  [...]

Some people no doubt heard about the story from Sanders’ feed directly, and from Trump-loyal Twitter users who passed along her recounting. But that’s not the only conceivable way people with light or non-existent media footprints might have learned about what happened at the restaurant. If influential mainstream news figures treat something as important, others follow. Their individual audiences may be modest, but they are quite large in aggregate, and their cultural influence is vast. What a political media herd decides to pursue will diffuse through society, becoming received knowledge even of people who don’t take much interest in politics. What goes viral on social media or YouTube or around the water cooler is not in any way disconnected from what people in the journalism industry focus on as real news. Likewise, the front page of the New York Times is not hermetically sealed from non-traditional media.  How did low-information swing-voters who never read the New York Times learn about Hillary Clinton’s emails? About Hunter Biden’s laptop? It’s clearly not all coming from right-wing content creators.  [...]

Consider an analogy to the differences between progressive political media and right-wing political media. The latter is much larger, and more consolidated. There are outlets and creators of all shapes and sizes on the right, but there’s also Fox News. A single email from the News Corp C-suite can change the message blaring into millions of households, gyms, and offices that have televisions tuned to Fox News. And from there, it will be amplified further by lawmakers, pro-Trump influencers, talk radio hosts, the hosts other right-wing cable news channels, and maybe, eventually, more mainstream sources. 

Progressive media has no mechanism like this. It is highly fractured and balkanized by issue-area. Even if the audiences for progressive and right-wing media were of similar size, it would be difficult if not impossible for anyone to feed the progressive audience talking points or marching orders a small handful of ideas to focus on.  Directly influencing the vibe on social media, where millions of users compete for eyeballs and ear canals, is similarly daunting. Even the social media companies that aren’t run by right-wing fanatics have throttled professional political news, and the political news that does break through is almost all framed to get people’s hackles up. Tens of thousands of atomized liberals can not counteract these effects. The Biden campaign could in theory stand up a troll army to post on-message content all day, but there’s likely a reason it has not. By contrast, influencing the handful of people who control the editorial consensus in the news industry is much simpler. Democrats don’t have a Fox News, at least not yet, and they don’t control the New York Times. But they can exert influence over mainstream news, and thus what diffuses through the culture, in two ways: 1) by mounting sustained media criticism; 2) by getting a handle on the kinds of things elite journalists understand to be newsworthy—novelty, conflict, scandal—and making or uncovering more of those things. 

Brian Beutler’s Off Message Substack hits at the mainstream media’s role in amplifying bad-faith right-wing outrage-bait.

The conservative media apparatus is highly organized, while the progressive media apparatus is much more balkanized, explained by this quote: “Progressive media has no mechanism like this. It is highly fractured and balkanized by issue-area.”

[crimmson]

i'm about to vaguepost about playing helldivers 2 because i'm feeling zesty. I have cramps and no patience.

I play helldivers 2 for fun. do not have the audacity to metagame at me while also being the single biggest source of teamkills every time I play with them.

and this isn't specific to them because i love y'all but a solid 75 percent of my helldivers 2 friends do this, but the person I'm mad at also does this, see previous statement about teamkills:

say words when you are throwing your fucking stratagems perhaps?? perhaps say you are throwing a giant nuclear bomb of death near us so we have time to make an attempt to get clear?? like yes silly accidents happen, that's part of what makes helldivers 2 so fun. I laugh my ass off when shit goes sideways. yes, it is genuinely funny when your teammate gets ragdolled and drops their Big Explosion Button right on the team, and I cannot emphasize enough how much I am not being sarcastic. it is genuinely the funniest shit.

but that is completely different from what I'm talking about. I need people to stop shutting down all your fucking lines of communication and going silent every time a fight gets hectic. SAY WORDS. PLEASE. I can at least work with SOMETHING better than I can work with NOTHING. like literally even just making weird noises works because i literally have learned what those noises mean and honestly it's great shorthand. and even something simple like "danger close" is great. but I cannot fucking interpret dead silence.

also open your fucking ears sometimes maybe. I have to assume this is connected to going silent when you're focusing. but nothing pisses me off more than me saying I'm gonna go take out an enemy structure, I have the equipment, I get all the fucking way there, and then they just fucking show up and do it instead. like oh. Okay. so nobody was listening to me at all actually, or did not care. i'm giving fucking status updates the entire time, and half that time I'm being ignored. and i guess it only bothers me because i'm always fucking listening and absorbing everything as everyone is running around and giving their own status updates. Even while i'm fighting for my fucking life in some trench. so i just cannot fathom why it's that hard for other people to fucking listen to me. i'm not saying that's right or fair on my part, but it's happening.

realistically I can forgive a lot of the above when it's literally anyone else except this one person, because I know my other friends' playstyles and personalities so I can adapt pretty well, and everything else just sort of makes up for it, and I don't mind it. But with this one person I lose my fucking mind and i just sit there grinding my teeth because it's also compounded with 500 other things that has nothing to do with the game but I am just always at like 50% Annoyance Capacity with them by default.

i think a good tldr is this game is really great and showing who works well under pressure and who doesn't, and jesus christ some of my friends are really really bad under pressure. and i know this and i love them. and then there are the people who are not my friends, and I cannot forgive them for this.

christ anyway I just don't mesh particularly well with this one person's playstyle but they always fucking show up and I can never seem to play with any of the people I want to play with, WITHOUT that one person. and i'm trying not to be a huge bitch about it but jesus christ i fucking miss playing with some of the other people and other group comps. but I have to be nice and fucking tiptoe around for reasons.

[sadpurpleblood]

Alright! It's late and my head hurts but I'll attempt to put my newest conlanging progress into words now. This'll be about demonstrative/interrogative pronouns, adjectives and copulars. Pretty fun stuff if I say so myself (Lots of text ahead).

First off, the simpler stuff. The demonstrative/interrogative pronouns!

Here's a neat little chart. The language distinguishes 3 levels of proximity in demonstratives, all pretty transparently derived from the proximals. The only really strange thing here: The distal demonstratives set also functions as interrogative pronouns. Interrogativity is already marked on the predicate, so there's really only ambiguity between the two meanings in clauses transparently marked as questions. Most of the time you can assume that the interrogative is meant in these clauses. The pronouns can stand alone or modify a noun if they follow it and agree in case and number.

For example:

horx'v (vo/ve) he/hec. [ˈxor.χəβ̞ (β̞o/β̞e) xe/xet͡ɬ] hor-x-v (vo/ve) he/he-c kill-PST-1SG.SBJ (1SG.ABS/ACC) DEM.PROX-NOM/ERG.S "This killed me"

horx'v (vo/ve) qóci he. [ˈxor.χəβ̞ (β̞o/β̞e) ˈqo.t͡ɬi xe] hor-x-v (vo/ve) qóci he kill-PST-1SG.SBJ (1SG.ABS/ACC) canine-NOM.S DEM.PROX-NOM.S "This wild dog killed me"

horx'v'q (vo/ve) hex/hex'c? [ˈxor.χə.β̞əq (β̞o/β̞e) xeχ/ˈxe.χət͡ɬ] hor-x-v-q (vo/ve) hex/hex-c kill-PST-1SG.SBJ-INT (1SG.ABS/ACC) DEM.DST/INT-NOM/ERG.S "Who/what killed me?"/"Did yon kill me?"

(Sidenote: Normally, if a nominal takes NOM-ACC or ERG-ABS allignment is inherent to itself, though in certain pronouns either can be used, based on social rank for 1st/2nd person pronouns, based on what they refer to/applied freely in most other instances. That's why there's multiple possibilities in the example sentences.)

Now, time for adjectives! Though in reality, adjectives are really just another form of the verb in this language, hence what most English speakers would think of as adjectives have their base form in the predicative. sar qúru. [sar ˈqu.ru] sar qúru be.beautiful songbird "The songbird is beautiful"

When modifying a noun, you just take the verb with whatever TAM-affixes were attached to it and have it agree in case and number with the noun it modifies.

hór qúruc sar'c cécewur'n. [ˈxor ˈqu.rut͡ɬ ˈsa.rət͡ɬ ˈt͡ɬe.t͡ɬe.ˌwu.rən] hor qúru-c sar-c céce-ur-n kill songbird-ERG.SG be.beautiful-ERG.SG tongue-AUG-ACC.SG "The beautiful songbird kills the slug (lit. big/great tongue)"

To form comparative clauses, there are two options. Either you use the verb ro "to defeat" in verbal form and the verb of comparison in the gerund dative singular, or you use the verb of comparison in verbal form, suffixing ro directly onto the verbal root, all other suffixes following it.

ro qúruc cécewur'n sártar. [ro ˈqu.rut͡ɬ ˈt͡ɬe.t͡ɬe.ˌwu.rən ˈsar.tar] ro qúru-c céce-ur-n sar-ta-r defeat songbird-ERG.SG tongue-AUG-ACC.SG be.beautiful-GER-DAT.SG "The songbird is more beautiful than the slug (lit. the songbird defeats the big/great tongue to beautiful-being)"

sárro qúruc cécewur'n. [ˈsar.ro ˈqu.rut͡ɬ ˈt͡ɬe.t͡ɬe.ˌwu.rən] sar-ro qúru-c céce-ur-n be.beautiful-COMP songbird-ERG.SG tongue-AUG-ACC.SG "The songbird is more beautiful than the slug"

When using the comparative simply as a descriptive adjective, use the compound verb from the second comparison strategy and treat it like a regular adjective.

hór qúruc sarroc cécewur'n. [ˈxor ˈqu.rut͡ɬ ˈsa.rət͡ɬ ˈt͡ɬe.t͡ɬe.ˌwu.rən] hor qúru-c sar-ro-c céce-ur-n kill songbird-ERG.SG be.beautiful-COMP-ERG.SG tongue-AUG-ACC.SG "The more beautiful songbird kills the slug"

For superlatives, use the comparative with the indefinite pronoun wug [wuŋ] "everyone/thing".

Onto copulars. Similarly to the comparative, there are two possible strategies. One of them is to take the descibing noun in the nominative/absolutive case and using that as a verb root. macáneyelu (vo) [ma.ˈt͡ɬa.ne.ˌje.lu (β̞o)] macáne-el-u (vo) mother-FUT-1SG.SBJ (1SG.NOM/ABS) "I will be a mother"

For the second strategy, the describing noun takes the absolutive/accusative instead, while the verb slot is either left blank or taken by a null root to which the TAM-suffixes are added to. This is necessary for phrases where the describing noun phrase consists of multiple words, though not restricted to that scenario. yélu (vo) macánen sar'n. [ˈje.lu (β̞o) ma.ˈt͡ɬa.nen ˈsa.rən] el-u (vo) macáne-n sar-n FUT-1SG.SBJ (1SG.NOM/ABS) mother-ACC.SG be.beautiful-ACC.SG "I will be a beautiful mother"

When past tense (')x would become the main verb of the clause, it is realized as xo instead.

And that was that! Took me a while, but it was a good exercise i think. I hope y'all also got something out of this lol.

[swiftnliftnewsandarticle]

Binance:  World’s largest exchange 

To gain further insight into Binance, it is necessary to first comprehend the notion of cryptocurrencies. Despite its boom, a lot of people these days are unaware of what cryptocurrencies actually are. A cryptocurrency is a kind of digital or virtual money that is protected by cryptography and is very difficult to fake or spend twice. Blockchain-based decentralized networks underpin a large number of coins.

In terms of the amount of cryptocurrency traded every day, Binance is the biggest cryptocurrency exchange in the world.[2] It is registered in the Cayman Islands and was established in 2017.

Changpeng Zhao, a developer who had previously worked on high-frequency trading software, launched Binance.  China was the original home of Binance, but as cryptocurrency regulation in China grew, the company relocated its offices outside of the country.

Following the Chinese government's prohibition on cryptocurrency trading in September 2017, the company was compelled to exit the country. Since then, it has offices in Taiwan and Japan. Currently, Malta serves as its base.

The goal of Binance is to attract as many users as possible. The exchange offers enough currencies and functionality to satisfy experienced traders while remaining user-friendly enough for beginners. For cryptocurrency traders of practically any experience level, I would suggest Binance.

The biggest cryptocurrency trading platform worldwide is called Binance.1. It is not very user-friendly, despite having a wide range of trading options and features. Depending on their level of experience and education, investors may encounter a challenging learning curve when using Binance.

Binance provides a vast range of trading options, such as an amazing assortment of market charts and hundreds of cryptocurrencies, through its desktop or mobile dashboards. In addition, a range of order types and trading alternatives, such as options and futures, are available to users. Only more than 65 cryptocurrencies are accessible to American consumers, and many services and possibilities are unavailable in the country.

Binance offers a thorough learning platform, an NFT platform, and more in addition to its tools and services. US clients don't seem to have access to the NFT marketplace just now.

Only more than 65 of the more than 365 cryptocurrencies that Binance offers for trading are accessible in the United States. It also supports a range of fiat currencies, such as USD, EUR, AUD, GBP, HKD, and INR, for users who are located abroad. Binance offers an extensive selection of cryptocurrency pairs based on your region.

Binance Coin (BNB), VeChain (VET), Harmony (ONE), VeThor Token (VTHO), Dogecoin (DOGE), and Matic Network (MATIC) are a few of the cryptocurrencies that are available on Binance U.S. Furthermore, Binance accepts well-known cryptocurrencies like:

Dash (DASH)

Cosmos (ATOM)

Compound (COMP)

Bitcoin (BTC)

Ethereum (ETH)

Litecoin (LTC)

Cardano (ADA)

For more information>>