#Solidity programming

[aidevelopmenttips]

Unlocking the Power of Smart Contracts: A Comprehensive Guide to Solidity Programming

In today’s rapidly evolving digital landscape, smart contracts have emerged as a revolutionary tool, reshaping the way agreements are made and executed. These self-executing contracts, powered by blockchain technology, automate and enforce agreements, eliminating the need for intermediaries and streamlining processes.

[muisley]

a mgs wip and doodle dump pile hi I love otasune

[heartorbit]

figure skating set right now please. thanks

[mikashida]

hey

[extraterrestrial-artist]

i have a zoomed in image of pliskin at the corner of my screen so hes just peeking in while i talk on discord or use my browser 24/7

[soybean-official]

The parts of you that support me

[thedeafprophet]

The Wound That Saves Your Life

I'm practicing using aseprite for my pixel art , and thought it would be fun little challenge to try and do a correspondence sigil :}

This sigil pretty important to me, as I am currently 2 weeks post-op for a major surgery that has signficintally improved my quality of life, so it seemed like the one I ought to try <3

[luuxxart]

never posted my zeniwai stuff here but have some single dads who are about to not be so single anymore

[figureskatingpenguin]

Amber Glenn (USA): I Will Find You / The Return | 2024 Grand Prix de France, FS

presenting the 2024 grand prix de france champion! 💜

[batshaped]

vista

[whirligig-girl]

Guz grinned at her model, as it completed the first loop around the layout of her new quarters. Guz explained the contents of the train--solid rocket boosters for the North Meridian Space Launch Facility.

"It's not really prototypical though, is it?" Rutherford asked.

"A steam engine pulling high explosives does seem illogical," T'lyn said.

Guz smiled and flapped her hands. "It is prototypical, and here's how it happened--"

Around the late 2330s, an oil crisis shocked Mellanus. It was a while before it got really bad, and the rationing had to begin, but it skyrocketed the price of gasoline and diesel and plastic products. As Omen approached, the railways identified a problem--there might not be enough oil to migrate everyone and move all the goods that need to be moved to support the migration as the climate changed. With the increasing diesel fuel shortages, railways had to start taking their old coal and wood burning steam engines out of mothballs.

This one, No.2475, was taken out of a museum. It only rarely actually ran, so it was in poor mechanical condition, but when it re-entered service its paint and brass was pristine.

The diesel locomotive that had been scheduled to take the train of SRBs ran out of fuel during the first hill climb, and the depot didn't have enough fuel to spare, so 2475 was diverted from its passenger duties to take the train the rest of the way.

Eventually most of the old timer steam engines ended up back in museums or scrapped, but as the oil crisis waxed, the railways invented Advanced Steam engines to be as fuel efficient as possible.

"--like that tank engine, Sam," Guz finished, pointing at the little yellow switcher that Rutherford and T'lyn had been inspecting.

[psychooomind]

Mission Report

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Ladda and James are part of the Winter Soldier program. These are different stories of their missions, their traumas, and their history together over the years.

You can also find this story on AO3.

November 2nd, 2026, Dominican Republic

She lived on the outskirts of Manabao, Jarabacoa, near La Ciénaga. Her property was nestled deep in the mountains, with only a handful of houses nearby. The winding dirt road that led to her home was entirely private—a feature that gave her a false sense of security.

It was nearly midnight when Rose arrived home. She parked her motorcycle in the garage and headed straight for the shower. After nearly a week in the field—surviving on wet wipes and way too much perfume—she needed to stand under hot water long enough to feel human again. As the steam filled the bathroom, and she brushed through her damp hair, a quiet restlessness began to settle in. She was going to see Jack, her son, for the first time in a week.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of red wine and turned on Ella Fitzgerald. Humming along, she began to prepare Jack’s favourite meal—mac and cheese with roasted chicken. These peaceful rituals, like the remote location, were part of the illusion of safety she allowed herself. But underneath that calm, the fear always lingered. A part of her half-expected a grenade to crash through the open window and reduce everything to rubble.

She knew there was no real danger. She’d done her sweep: the first gate, the perimeter fence, the hidden cameras linked to the small surveillance hub in her study. But the intrusive thoughts came anyway—part of the mental residue she brought home after spending seven days in the desert surrounded by hitmen and sandstorms. It was the price of being a CIA field operative.

Rose exhaled slowly. She was tired, but Jack’s dinner wasn’t going to make itself. After finishing the meal, she cleaned her gear, taking special care with the tools of her trade. Hidden behind the sofa in her study was a secret panel leading to a small tech room, where she stored her computers, weaponry, and surveillance screens. She set down little Peggy II—a battle-worn Getac B360 that had taken a bullet in South Sudan. Tomorrow, while Jack slept, she’d transfer all the intel and lay Peggy II to rest.

That night, she took three Ambien and prayed for a nightmare-free sleep. She slept deeply, but some dreams still dragged her back to Siberia. To the cold. To the screams. And worst of all, to his face—twisted in pain and rage.

In the dream, she saw the snow falling again, slow and silent, like ash. She felt the sting of the chains biting into her wrists. Metal on skin. Blood on snow. And then—his hands, bruised and trembling, brushing against hers in the dark. There had been a moment, barely a breath between missions, when everything else had disappeared. The war. The orders. The voices in their heads. Just the warmth of his forehead pressed to hers in a corridor lined with frost, his breath misting between them. He’d looked at her like he remembered who he was. Who she was.

But the memory always fractured—splintered by alarms, by blinding lights, by the sound of someone being dragged down a hallway.

She turned away from it in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. Her body, though motionless, flinched as if resisting the pull of something long gone.

And then his face again, not as it had been in the cold—feral, hurting—but how she remembered him after it all. After the silence between missions. After the Winter.

The next morning, Rose hopped in her Jeep and took off down the narrow jungle road. Jack’s boarding school let out at noon, giving her just enough time to make it and surprise him with a cold Coke and a tiny car keychain she’d picked up at the airport.

Sending Jack to a boarding school was the compromise she’d made between motherhood and espionage. It came with its share of awkward encounters—especially from teachers who liked to play amateur detective. Like Ms. Reyes.

When Rose arrived, she checked in at reception and made her way to the first gate, where other parents were already waiting. The bell rang, and a swarm of children poured out.

She scanned the crowd for Jack but was intercepted by a woman in her late 30s or early 40s, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.

“Ms. McMillan!” Ms. Reyes exclaimed. “This is… unexpected!”

Rose tried to offer a polite smile. “I notified the school I’d be picking Jack up today. Is he not ready?”

“Oh, yes, yes—he’ll be out shortly. But I actually wanted to speak with you. About… some things Jack mentioned.”

Rose’s expression sharpened. “Is Jack okay?”

“He’s perfectly fine. But some of the things he said about you… about your work…”

“About me?” Rose blinked. “Jack doesn’t usually talk about me.”

“Well, Rose—he did mention—”

“Ms. McMillan.” she corrected coolly. Rose had zero patience for the faux-friendliness some people used to lower your guard. She wasn’t here to bond with Jack’s teacher—she just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“Ms. McMillan.” Reyes corrected herself, awkwardly. “Can I ask what line of work you’re in?”

“Did Jack ask you to?”

“No… not exactly. He just said you work a lot. And…”

“Well, if he knows his mum works hard to provide for him, I don’t see why that should keep you up at night.”

“It’s just—other parents have started to question it, too.”

“Other parents?” Rose’s tone hardened. “I don’t even know the other parents.”

“Well…”

“MOMMY!” Jack’s voice cut through the tension. Rose turned and saw him sprinting toward her.

“I came to get my son, Ms. Reyes. That’s all. Have a good day.” She ended the conversation without another glance.

Jack threw himself into her arms, and she scooped him off the ground in a tight hug.

“You came!”

“Of course, baby. I’m here. Let’s go.”

On the drive home, they shared a Coke and sang Smash Mouth at the top of their lungs. Rose tried to catch up on every little detail of his week—his friends, his classes, what he loved, what annoyed him. She wanted to know it all.

“…and then Isabella started spitting her food.” Jack said between giggles.

“That’s kind of clever. Did you join in the prank?” Rose asked, amused.

“No… I just laughed a little.” Jack admitted, dropping his gaze. “I know it was mean, but she’s the one who put gum in my notebook last year. Remember?”

“I remember, love. We hate that girl.” Rose chuckled. “But also, laughing at someone getting picked on isn’t cool.”

“I know, Mommy. I swear I didn’t do anything!”

They ate lunch together and continued talking. Rose gave a few life lessons in between bites of chicken. Jack begged her to watch a movie before bed. She gave in, made popcorn, and let him choose.

When she returned with the bowl, she found him staring at the TV, wide-eyed.

“MOMMY, MOMMY!” he shouted. “It’s Captain America!”

“That’s not Captain America.” Rose muttered as she saw Sam Wilson giving a speech to a group of reporters.

“And look! It’s Bucky Barnes!”

Rose froze. James. His hair was shoulder-length again, and he was dressed in a sharp navy suit. He stood beside Wilson, stoic but composed. It didn’t surprise her that after Wilson’s speech, Bucky stepped forward to speak.

What did surprise her was what he said:

“…and that’s why I’m officially announcing my candidacy for United States Senator.”

“What the fuck?” Rose whispered, stunned.

“Whoa.” Jack breathed. His eyes sparkled with admiration. “Bucky Barnes is my favourite superhero.”

Rose’s heart twisted. Her son was unknowingly idolizing his own father—and had no idea.

[thefastestclockintheuniverse]

[crow-caller]

Yewchubing upd8:

I haven't been too well but am striving to get back on things. I'm about 70% done with the first in a series of Fallen London lore vids.

I haven't chosen my next book, and while I should pick something suitably pop bombastic, I'm being drawn to BETHANYS SIN which seems to be about a cursed town of man hating horse shapeshifters. I don't want to start a book until this fl thing is written though.

Also, helping no one, I'm considering making something in twine again. I miss twine

[crystalcat321]

Feeding the GHS fandom again with Sylver, this time I did an animation test with the 3D model!

[slytherinshua]

JUNG SUBIN ☆ STUPID O'CLOCK