#the linguistics bunker

[boneless-mika]

Love being an hour and 20 minutes early to a lecture

[zepskies]

Hey loved your Sam having a crush on Dean's gf! I was wondering if I could request the flipped version where Dean has a crush on Sam's gf 😏😏

Oh my God, hun! 🫢

The way I didn't even contemplate this!! But it's so delicious...

(And thank you for reading that Dean imagine! It was angsty, but oh so fun. 😘)

See this imagine for context: You are Dean's one exception.

Word Count: 1,300

Imagine: Dean gives you an impossible choice.

Dean hates this. He hates it more than anything.

He hates the look of you, all soft curves and smiles that brighten your eyes. Your hair looks even softer.

(He wants to tangle his fingers in it, tight, until your voice echoes in his ear.)

He hates that you bake cookies on Saturdays. (He also hates that you're learning how to make pies, just because he mentioned off-handedly that you should try. If your snickerdoodles are this good, he can only imagine what you could do with some cherry filling.)

He hates that you greet him, every morning, without fail, with a hand on his shoulder and asking how he's slept. (Even better if you'd joined me, he thinks.)

And then his mind gets truly creative, imagining all the ways he could make you lose sleep. All the ways his hands and tongue could get creative, tracing the contours of your body.

He hates all of that too.

But what he hates most of all?

That you're Sammy's girl.

Sam's known you longer, since college. The two of you reconnected after the second apocalypse diverted. Or was it the third one? Dean's lost count at this point.

So you're smart. Sam studied Latin, but you studied Greek and Spanish, and even symbology. You consider yourself a linguist -- a fact that had Dean grinning from the moment he met you...

But as many times as he made you blush and smile with his charm and a well-placed joke, it was Sam who hooked you with one of his dimpled smiles and asking you for help on a case.

You'd agreed, for him. The two of you bonded over your nerddom, with heads bowed over ancient texts and shared personal history, and Dean tried not to feel like an outsider.

And yet, even when you fell for his brother. Even when you moved into the bunker, taking up his counter space with your ridiculous baking appliances. Even when you doted and touched and kissed and promised Sam more with your eyes, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed his chance.

So Dean backed off. He made excuses not to be around you and Sam when it got too much for him. Had to ignore the way his stomach churned (and maybe his heart clenched too).

...Until his chance comes. He sees it.

He's also a bit drunk.

"Aw, Dean. You okay?" you ask, picking up a large, empty bottle of whiskey by his hand, which still holds a fifth of a glass.

"Oh, I'm good," he replies, raising his brows with a smile. "I'm real good."

You snort with a laugh. He smirks at the sound; he would never admit it, but a small part inside him always swells with warmth when he makes you laugh.

You bring him a glass of water with just a few cubes of ice. You know he doesn't like it packed to the top. "Drink this."

"What's the magic word?" Dean teases, even as you take the glass tumbler out of his hand.

You then sit next to him at the kitchen table and offer him a wry smile, resting your chin in your hand while your elbow rests on the table. "Please, will you hydrate yourself?"

"Already did," Dean remarks.

"Dean," you say, more seriously gesturing to the water. "Please."

He hesitates. But seeing your face, he finally rolls his eyes and dutifully sips at the tall glass of water.

You reach out for his shoulder. His inebriated gaze is drawn to your hand, the smooth skin of your arm, and back to your face that shows soft concern.

"You don't drink like this unless something's on your mind," you say.

Dean falters. When did you get to know him so well?

"What, a man can't drink alone anymore?" he says wryly.

"He can, but he's gonna have to spill his guts sooner or later," you smirk. Dean grimaces at the image. Suddenly the Jameson sloshing around in his gut doesn't feel all that nice. But the longer he looks at you, the worse he feels.

"Trust me, you don't wanna know," he says. He gestures, with the hand that holds his glass, up at his head. "'S not for newcomers."

"Yeah, but I'm not a newcomer, am I?" you quip.

Dean can't help it. He stares at your face. Your damn perfect face. Perfect for him.

His heart clenches with the pain of guilt. With thoughts he shouldn't have. How he'd rather slit his own wrists than hurt his little brother. Not like this, for fuck's sake.

But Dean's got a problem. It's eating him down to the bone.

He wants you. He really wants you. More than he's wanted anything in so long...

"You really wanna know?" Dean asks. His voice is both a rumble and a coarse whisper. His green-eyed gaze falls to your lips.

For your part, you suck in a subtle breath. Your eyes widen, and your body's frozen, suspended in time.

You stare back at Dean's handsome face, overgrown with stubble, like he’s forgotten to shave. And you finally know what he's been hiding for the past few months. Why he sometimes ducks out when it's supposed to be the three of you, hanging out, watching a movie, sharing a pizza, being friends and family all at once.

You sometimes thought Dean had something against you, no matter how many times Sam has said, "That's not it." With one of those pensive looks on his face.

Like he knows something you don't, and just doesn't want to speak it into existence.

But then, Sam would distract you with his hand stroking your cheek. A kiss to your lips, sweet, but with urgency. You like that about Sam. You even love that about him -- how he can be both kind and considerate, but passionate in his affections.

But now, you stare at the eldest Winchester's face. You don't even know what you're thinking.

Dean sees you fidget, and has a feeling that you’re blushing.

He leans in, slowly. He’s mere inches away from finding out how sweet you really are.

He hears your shallow breath. His eyes flick up to yours, briefly capturing you again. You smell whiskey on him, but it doesn't completely drown out his cologne. His Deanness.

You can feel your face heating up further, down to your neck. What the fuck is happening right now?

"Tell me no," Dean says. Tell me to stop, or I swear to God...

"Dean, what..." you whisper. But that's not a no.

Still, he can't. He just can't do it. Not to Sam.

Dean just reaches out with a hand to soothe a gentle thumb across your cheek. He realizes then that he loves you. He loves you enough to let you go, if he has to.

"It comes down to this," Dean says. His voice is deep, full of grit and desire. You can see it in his eyes. He sees the conflict in yours.

He swallows. His heart is pounding against his ribcage, but he uses every ounce of self-restraint he has left, forcing his hand to fall away from your cheek.

"You've got two choices, sweetheart," he says. And he pulls away, leaving you there at the table.

Dean doesn't know it, but your heart is about to burst just like his. What the hell! How could he do that? Why...

But you realize then, holding a hand to your wildly beating, guilt-ridden, confused heart.

You never told him no.

AN: I love Sam, don't get me wrong. But because I'm unequivocally a Dean girl, I had to leave it a bit ambiguous. 😏

Read the Sequel!

Here's the requested sequel to this, in which you have to make a choice (contains both Sam and Dean endings):

Imagine: Choosing him.

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

DW Tag List:

@hobby27 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @emily-winchester @deans-baby-momma @melancholictearz @luvs4dria @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin

@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @chernayawidow @syrma-sensei @fabimaou @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373

[atthebell]

Do you have any vod recommendations to rewarch until our streamer comes back?

chants of sennaar - incredible game about translation and languages, very fun to watch him play since it's something he's pretty interested in, very cool if you're into linguistics like i am

tchia - cool game, interesting story and mechanics, nice long vod and someone in chat was from new caledonia so gave some cool context

stray - catboy moments of all time, beautiful game obvi

scorn - batshit gorgeous very gross (/pos) very horny game he acts like a freak the entire time it's great

mirror layers - wild ass game he once again acts like a freak the whole time fun and interesting concept and he gets scared a lot so 👍🏻

the tartarus key - fun game, interesting puzzles

scp secret files - solid game, if you're into scp stuff my impression is it's by far the best scp game to have come out

escape from mystwood mansion - cute short puzzle game very fun

decarnation - INCREDIBLE game, nails the topics it covers, cool to watch him play it since he really appreciated the style & understood the themes

viewfinder - very cool concept, fun puzzles, chill vibes

amnesia the bunker - i watched most of this live but remember nothing, fun to watch him scream and it's a nice looking game

birth - chill vibes, short and sweet

among us monastery - deranged game, he acts like a freak, very funny

the past within - any puzzle game him and felps play together is a fun watch, this one's a rusty lake game so it's got a weird fun style

underground blossom - another rusty lake game, fun puzzles, he's deranged in this for reasons you'll understand once you watch it

venba - incredible game about an indian family in canada & their relationships with each other through the lens of food, very cute very cool, tbh might go play it myself it's very much my kind of game

fear the spotlight - origins of many lesbian protector/shipper moments, and a nice little high school horror game

cellboier cryptic killer [cellbit] [roier] - i recommend watching these synced up tbh bc otherwise you will not know what the other person is fucking talking about but yeah its a cellboier stream its great watch it if you haven't already rewatch it if you feel like it

homebody - idr anything about this vod but i remember enjoying it, some horror shit in a house, he probably screams a lot and maybe there's puzzles either way a solid time

killer frequency - very fun game, cool vibes, it's been a while since i watched it but he's probably a freak in it

in no particular order

[girls--complex]

Been enjoying your art for quite a while now! I really need to see and know more about transgender warriorprince, it almost could be a drawing of current me irl, and i'm amab. Definitely one of my goals in a sense, long story. Thanks!

Well I was actually going to do a lore sheet of the current character "within" that archetype soon I'll do this later I'll say a few things though...

First I have a Tezuka star system or Fate/like saber face type way of looking at this where there's the visual archetype that forms the basis of different mind soldiers... So maybe the more interesting thing to you is the archetype versus the specific guy.

Also that I think amab Tboy can be a real gender if you want. It also doesn't matter if you're a real thing or if someone else tells you you're a real thing or not bt I want to put it out there the reality that sometimes a Tboy is a Tboy regardless of the mundane realities we consider essential to Tboy izm

Transgender warrior prince guy as an archetype is someone who Has kind of an earthen perspective and an emphasis on well-being and balance that can translate to pragmatism or to reductive worldview. A great capacity for nobility and valor and also like greed and reactionary patterns and violence. He's broadly solar. If I want to learn more about his medicne I have to let him ferment longer in my mind bunker I think. Here's some of the "in character" knowledge:

In his capacity as Michal's yaoi consort (momentary scizzoring and crying based yaoi that collapses amicably due to incompatible goals/both being stone (?)) he functions as both relational ground to reinvent herself after first 20ish years of her life overshadowed by weapons grade socially fuckin shattering mental illness and also an initial object of compassion that disrupts tha cluster B malicious destroyer patterns. Conversely she as his yaoi consort demonstrates a human soul with ready access to the absolute fucking depth of misery and despair and the golden gleaming heights of ecstasy and genius which disrupts his sort of comfortably narrow affect N points him to inward spiritual portal ....

Oh his name is Gregory "Gory" Slaughter with the baptismal name "Ataraxio", selected by Michal as translation of masculine Sanskrit name Ananda, one of her hobbies is pretending to understand linguistics. Begins to practice syncretic woodland catholicism on tail end of 1st saturn return.

Helping? Interesting? Maybe. It's a cartoon so modular glyph that can be ensouled by spirits peculiar to each viewer (grimoire on metaphysics of cartooning forthcoming). Interested in your response or elaboration but it's allowed to be secret. More pictures?

Playfighting with lunar syzygy (want to do a real version of this pic sometime)

Girl and boy forms, as Gory

Thank you for aksing me ? Love excuse to rant and rave

[mcyt-builds-contest]

good lord i really set your inbox/notifs on fire with that one, huh. on your behalf i'd like to apologize for being a pedant about wording, though in my defense not only is it funny but also from a metatextual perspective it's still not a vault if it was built specifically for dream to hide out in, it's a bunker/safehouse/the Absolutely Safe Capsule from Earthbound 3. (and also it doesn't excuse the 50 other prisons also being named "vaults" despite no longer serving that narrative purpose)

also i technically haven't been on anon for like half of this! folks, if you wanna engage in further word nuance arguments, something i am seriously enjoying that's not even a lie i'm having a lot of fun talking shop right now, leave the builds contestrunner alone and hit us up over @betweenlands -- we've got a little work to do today but good-faith discussion of weird niche wording things is always our jam.

i love a good argument, but be kind to each other y'all, and also be kind to the pollrunner that has to sift through their inbox with this

Guys are you ready for the linguistics enjoyers vs Pandora's Vault fucker discourse guys

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Roland Fryer

Published: May 9, 2024

The anti-Israel protests on college campuses present a puzzle for observers of academic norms and mores. Today, even relatively minor linguistic infractions, like the failure to use someone’s preferred pronouns, are categorized as abuse at many elite institutions, some of which even define potentially offensive speech as “violence.” One need not even speak to run afoul of campus speech codes; I recently participated in a training in which we were warned of the consequences of remaining silent if we heard someone “misgender” someone else.

Definitions of “harmful” speech have become so capacious that one assumes they include antisemitism. In some cases, they surely do: A university wouldn’t take a hands-off approach to a student or faculty member who expressed prejudice against Jews in the manner of Archie Bunker or the Charlottesville marchers. Yet that’s what many of them have done when faced with protesters’ speech that is offensive to Jews, even when it crosses the line into threats, intimidation and harassment.

At a December congressional hearing, the presidents of Harvard, Penn and MIT struggled to answer when Rep. Elise Stefanik (R., N.Y.) asked whether “calling for the genocide of Jews” violates the schools’ “code of conduct or rules regarding bullying and harassment.” Two of the presidents lost their jobs, but the central question remains unresolved: How could it be that the university is zealous about policing pronouns but blasé about the advocacy of hateful violence?

For someone who prides himself on adherence to fact, reason and rationality, trying to follow the logic of university decision-making over the past five years has been a mind-bending experience. But universities are also political entities, where competing interests vie for influence over the function and purpose of the institution. In the case of the protests, two competing interests have made themselves heard most loudly: students and faculty who are hostile to Israel and alumni donors who see the protests as antisemitic. Caught between them are administrators, who must figure out how to balance these interests without entirely losing the faith of either group.

This dynamic can be explained by economic theory. In the early 1970s, economist Michael Spence introduced the concept of signaling, which has since become one of the foundations of information economics and earned Mr. Spence the 2001 Nobel Memorial Prize in Economics. This seminal concept helps explain how individuals and organizations communicate their attributes or intentions in situations of information asymmetry.

The best-known application is the job market. Employers and potential employees face a situation in which applicants have more information about their productivity than the employer, since the employer can’t directly observe those qualities before hiring. To overcome this asymmetry, job seekers engage in signaling—taking actions that can credibly convey information about their abilities. Such signals include everything from educational credentials to the way the applicant dresses for an interview.

When I encountered Mr. Spence’s model in graduate school, I was mesmerized. My doctoral dissertation extended his work to understand underinvestment in education in some black communities. The basic economics also seem applicable to what’s going on now on college campuses.

The key idea is that the protests present university administrations with a two-audience signaling quandary: Behaviors that appease students may anger alumni, and vice versa. Like a job applicant’s potential productivity, university administrators’ political preferences are hidden from students and alumni, but they may signal them in various ways. They may choose a liberal commencement speaker rather than a conservative one, they may create programs that emphasize “inclusiveness,” and so on. Students and alumni observe these strategic disclosures of preference, and each group decides whether to accept the decision or agitate against it.

University administrators whose preferences align most closely with their alumni will ignore the students and simply do what they think is best, as the University of Florida’s president did when he banned encampments and declared that the school is “not a daycare.” Those whose views align with the protesting students will do the opposite.

But most top administrators don’t have such strong preferences. They will engage in a high-wire act of trying to appease both students and alumni. If students decide “safety first” is the most important initiative on campus, administrators—even if they disagree—will adopt stances consistent with that and hope the alumni don’t revolt too much. If a few months later students set up encampments and chant anti-Israel slogans, then administrators will also adopt stances consistent with that and, again, hope the alumni don’t complain too much.

The congressional hearings revealed that this signaling strategy was at work. The three presidents would risk alienating students if they disavowed anti-Israel slogans and alumni if they endorsed them. So they offered lawyered-up equivocations that signaled confusion and weakness.

Economic theory can explain why the situation on so many campuses has spiraled out of control and why no interested party—neither students nor donors nor seemingly anybody else—has anything good to say about how administrators are handling the protests. But economics can’t address the more essential issue at play, which is moral. Elite universities decided years ago that they would adopt a basic principle: Any speech act that attacks, questions or even declines to affirm the self-understood identity of another constitutes harm worthy of punishment.

I may not like that principle, but it’s now a fait accompli. And if you’re going to punish one person who violates it, you have to punish everyone who violates it. To permit attacks on one identity group while prohibiting attacks on others is worse than hypocrisy—it is profoundly immoral. If administrators had the courage of their stated convictions, if they had principles rather than merely gestures meant to signal their status as good liberals, the most egregious antisemitism on campus would have been stopped before it could snowball.

Mr. Fryer is a professor of economics at Harvard, a founder of Equal Opportunity Ventures and a senior fellow at the Manhattan Institute.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 55] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content Warning: This chapter has themes of sexual assault. Please consider if reading about SA from a second-person perspective might be upsetting to you.

The more you look at it, there's something inherently funny about seeing these guys cross their arms. Their biceps, or maybe pectorals, are so big that they look like they have to strain to maintain a grip on their own arms. It's enough to make you snort, but not worth the verbal beratement you'd get if you chirped at any of them about it. It seems they've gone their whole careers looking corny because they're so muscular, and so few are willing to chirp at someone who could crack their spine like a glowstick. It only makes it more tempting. You'll have to be content with creepily studying them from a distance as they head out in clunky black kits and cruel blue jeans in this warm early afternoon sun. The loyal ducks filed into one of those deep green humvees, tearing down a gravel path toward a distant treeline. 

The officer's quarters are starting to fill up, and foreign diplomats in spangled uniforms peacock in this hilariously pedestrian setting. It's funny how they all stand the same way. Not just because they stand with the refined postures and straight-laced uniforms of someone who's spent far too long in the service. Occasionally, a few of them cycle between staring out the window at the training soldiers, hands folded behind them with puffed chests, satisfied. As if they're proud of their flock of lambs. Staring into oblivion, nodding with a frown as if to say 'at ease'. More than satisfied to continue gulping down bitter black coffee as if it makes them tougher than other people. They don't even look at you, but you don't mind. Your uniform, or lack thereof, lacks the chest candy to warrant a slapping handshake and a booming cackle. You didn't even have to spy the American flag on the loudest's sleeve to know his allegiance. 

People-watching was only the intermission, though. Being in such executive quarters means the library isn't exactly academic. Rather than case studies and textbooks, the library was occupied with poetry and a few fiction epics. The pristine papers were far too clean to be of the same calibre you're used to, still stiff and crackling with every turn of the page. You'd found some old Jane Austen books to pass the hours of the day, skimming through some pages, daydreaming past others. You also had a brand new cell phone that could be calibrated to your preferences, though it's sorely lacking familiar contacts. It's an excellent way to pretend to look unapproachable. 

Training isn't until dusk today, so you would have no reason not to enjoy the sunshine if it weren't for the cruel heat. Maybe your time in Al Mazrah has left you jaded to brutal heat and a punishing sun, or maybe people-watching peacocking out-of-touch generals whine about their 'bitch wives' is just too rich. Plus, they don't have reclining upholstered seats with crisp air conditioning out there under a lemon tree. It's just so easy to pass the time here, more leisurely than home in many ways. 

What's so bizarre is that there are nearly no requests of you during this idle time at the base. Here you are, an able-bodied and more than capable linguist who could easily be aiding in some sort of project. Even if it didn't involve said linguistic skills. Surely Laswell could use a hand with filing papers or something. Surely they didn't even need to keep you here in the first place. Sure, you were just rescued from that bunker just over a week ago, but medical clearance should mean you're entirely entitled to find a lovely cottage in the countryside by the sea to unwind in before heading home. It only occurred to you now, watching new faces in green pleats boast and bellow, that you realize they're intentionally keeping you. Why bring you to the gala in the first place? It's not like you're a guest of honour; they made that point clear the day you touched turf in Italy. 

Just then, you caught familiar faces in the courtyard through tall windows; rucking must not be enough for these boys. It seems like those hours slipped past faster than you were expecting. Cruising past cliques of troops in the busy afternoon, they aimed toward the shooting range with broad rectangular cases in hand. It's a gorgeous day, sunny and humid, just past noon. Even indoors, you could smell the hot concrete past the frigid air conditioning unit that was churning away above the table of Generals and Secretaries that sat across the room. 

A small pack of cats, maybe three or four, trailed Ghost's boots with high tails. A small grey one with snipped ears, some brown and orange calicos, and one remarkably fat tabby—that one has definitely found success in the stray lifestyle. A weak snort escaped your nose as you put together the pieces. You'd bet your life that he's been secretly feeding the little buggers at night or when no one is looking. From this angle, it looks like Soap is inquiring about the strays and laughing. Price is trying to shoo them from slipping past the steel door to the shooting range. Ghost seems to be posturing with that same cold ambivalence you knew well, opting to ignore their eager and targeted yowling in favour of retaining that on-so-spooky demeanour. 

With a few cups of coffee and some fresh fruit in your belly, the sun was finally low enough to mentally prepare yourself for Lorenzo's training. Low-light training makes sense; it's not like you'll always find contact in brightly lit football fields with floodlights smothering every shadow. If anything, nearly all combat you'll face will be in low lighting. It's not like there's anything better to do, so you might as well put the book back in the dusty library and make your way to the grey building Lorenzo mentioned at the end of the tarmac. 

He's already there, standing in a gym that looked like it hadn't been touched since the 1980s. In its age, it'd become a makeshift storage facility. Painted wood floors now house stacks upon stacks of neatly piled metal chairs. Old workout equipment, thick ropes for cardio training, and those grey plastic tables that fold in half are all relatively organized around the dim space. A few of the humming florescent lights tinkered with the strain of their apparent age.

"Hello, Uccelio," he drew fully into view. That voice always made your heart flutter. "You're early. This is okay, though."

"Let's not waste any time then," you hummed, stepping onto a cracked training mat that's definitely seen better days. 

Lorenzo seemed satisfied with the prospect. You were just eager to finish the training so you could get a good rest before tomorrow's tedious event. He ran those brown curls through his fingers, pondering his words as he stepped to circle your position. This man definitely has a way of leading lessons that teach you theory and practice in equal parts. After every session, you're left to reconsider existing moves and reflect on old instincts. 

"You know what makes you lucky, Miss Cricket? You're a woman." His tone sent shivers down your neck. 

"Men walk through life with a bullseye between their legs," he continued, his prowling now circling you in the opposite direction. "The wise soldier takes advantage of all of the enemy's weaknesses."

"The wiser soldier…" his monologue halted for dramatic effect. "-Can exploit those weaknesses with more than one method."

The way he's leading this session made you frown with amused confusion as his implication struck you. Does he think this is the first time you've used sexuality to take advantage of dumb suckers before? Does he think this is some profound and abstract thought that doesn't occur to every woman on the planet? He'd give you a gold star for your work on those Russian mobsters and cartel goons back in Mexico. The memories made you shiver, but in that instance, the successful outcome far outweighed the expected discomfort. 

"You have a womanly influence that can sink into a man's mind and soften him," he said, stepping closer, standing eye to eye. "And you have the advantage of being a pretty little bird."

Lorenzo's hand made contact with your wrist, and you wrenched yourself free without a second thought. It was textbook. Must be starting with the basics. Your heels hovered as you readied to spar. What confused you was when he tried the same move again. You wrenched again and broke free easily. But this time, his eyes had a different look, one you recognized from yesterday. His mouth collided with yours. What? You had to remember the action of kissing back. The action was alien to you as if you'd somehow forgotten how to ride a bike. For a moment, you leaned in, tasting his lips as he insisted. The wetness on his lips tasted sugar-sweet on yours. Yet your conscience receded.

He was mumbling something to you, but it wasn't registering in clarity. You have every skill and capacity to push him off, but you won't. You have every skill and capacity to lean into his touch. You're supposed to want this. He's been nothing but kind to you. He praises you and makes you feel special. Why do his fingertips feel like spiders on your skin? Muscles were stiff, instinctively protecting your neck for reasons beyond your comprehension. 

Fireworks on your skin teetered on the edge of feeling like sparked gunpowder, scratchy and sulphurous. The gunpowder feeling from his touch suddenly ceased as you came to terms with your body's subconscious recoiling, only to detonate. An explosion of pressure on your cheek, and he's shouting something. Carnal fear wraps you temporarily before instinctive mechanisms rebuke his suddenly hostile posture. He's getting close again, but those eyes are different. Terror, shock, wrath and the floor all collided with your skull, and in a single blink you were kicking slipping feet under you to scramble upright. Your cheek burned. The heat from a blossoming pinpoint strike throbbed; it made no sense. Doesn't he know you have a gala to go to tomorrow?

Sweaty palms flung the door open, wasting precious seconds to heave the wood and steel. Just as you passed the threshold, a heavy boot slammed the door shut on your heels. You caught the whites of the eyes of a few startled soldiers as you caught your feet under you. Amber lighting overhead no longer offered soothing comfort, but instead looking the colour of a distant flickering fire. Something in you was certain that the building was alight with hungry flames that would engulf your dorm room as you charged within. Anxiety and dread churned in your stomach in a thick knot. 

Time felt like an abstract hypothesis, an unfinished concept that was still in early beta. Once warming, plaster walls became grainy and hard. Why are you so rattled? It's not like you couldn't fight back– What's the last week been about if not teaching you how to fight back? Fighting back against him in particular, even. Maybe it was a part of the lesson? Things went wrong so fast, and it all stems from a lack of biochemistry. You had every reason to lean in. To invite the tension and unburden yourself as you've done before. It's not like he was expecting a relationship. The way he'd smile at you, the way he made you feel special and heard, it made you feel powerful. Important. Why do you have to constantly find a way to fuck up every good hand that you're dealt? 

At some point you'd made your way into bed. It felt like you were drunk, nearly blackout. Soft white sheets no longer offered the plush comfort you'd worshipped when you first arrived. They felt void of tooth, too slick, like you're in one of those sensory deprivation tanks. Darkness forced you to stew in your own thoughts with no outer stimuli. The only sensation that registered was the prickling pain on your cheek, and closing your eyes did nothing to soothe a racing mind. Tomorrow's a public-facing day; it'd be a cause for alarm if you showed up with a bruised cheek. Especially as a guest and not a clearly established uniformed soldier. Fuck, it's not like you're getting any sleep anyway. Rising with a groan, you were shocked at how dark it was. 02:24. How the fuck did five hours slip in a blink. Time is just slipping away here like this barracks is in some sort of black hole. An ice pack will numb the bitter nothingness that engulfs you, solving your problem in a backward sort of way. 

Familiar hallways were stark and barren, in that weird uncanny state all buildings get when everyone is asleep. That same common room you'd spent hours at earlier had low commercial lighting you'd expect from what's essentially a hotel. On the bright side, a small ordinary scullery unit had an ice machine that likely hadn't been cleaned in years, despite its modern appearance. Crunchy ice folded into a mat of tissues, moulding to your cheek with a damp chilling bite. Footsteps approached, and your heart sank. Fuck. Fuck, what are you supposed to say to him? Did he actually punch you? Maybe one of those stacked chairs hit you in some freak accident, and you took off like a spooked cat. Another instance when your emotions enraptured sense. Just as you readied your throat to speak, the bill of a baseball cap stepped into view from around the corner. It's Gaz. He noticed you, clicking a phone shut as he stepped to sit at one of the wood tables. 

"What're you doing up?" you asked, shifting your posture and fighting for control over the bundle of ice. 

"'Was just on the phone with my mum," he responded politely, tapping at the phone screen absently.

What wouldn't you do to talk to your own loved ones right now? 

"Is she back in the UK?" You forced a smile, pulling up a chair adjacent to him. 

"Nah- nah," he shook his head, finally setting the small phone on the wood table with a thump. "She's in Azerbaijan."

"It must be rare to have such a small time difference." 

"It's rare to get to speak to her at all, really," Gaz smiled, turning to look at you with a suddenly surprised expression. 

"What uhh-… What happened?" He continued, gesturing to the pack on your cheek with a furrowing gaze.

"Training," you chuckled. 

It's not a lie, and it's not entirely true either. It still made you sick to speak the word aloud. He nodded casually as if he understood entirely, but that relaxed look on his face faded. Reading into your face that you willed to retain calm stoicism. The air fell still. He's doubting your story but also too unsure to press further. Silence lingered, and your churning thoughts settled somewhat. Fuck. How are you going to train tomorrow? How do you recover from whatever the hell just happened? Pretend it didn't happen? Apologize? No, you didn't do anything wrong, but it'd make things less fucking awkward. The skills are useful, and he's a sweet man. He was a sweet man before he graced you by socking you in the cheek. Why did you recoil? How much of that was real? 

"You know that we always have your back, Cricket… You can talk to me."

He sucked air past his teeth, rocking back in a creaking seat once again. Ever the heart of the team, he folded his arms and leaned in again as if uncertain of what to do in this situation. You've seen this man crash through enemy compounds and gun down terrorists with uncanny accuracy, but trying to comfort you is a tool he never learned. 

"It's okay, Gaz," you smiled weakly, making sure to meet his eyes. "I'm fine. It's just one of those days," you laugh, forced and meek. 

You'd never seen this side of him before. It's not that you didn't want to talk to him because of his merit or personality. If there's anyone you feel you could bear your soul to, it would be Gaz. You just couldn't bring yourself to speak because silence was just more befitting, and silence in solitude didn't fit. It's an easy silence. With your eyes closed, you could hear him tapping on his phone screen again. There wasn't even a soul in the vicinity, and another friendly face was the life raft you needed. The ice in your makeshift icepack had long since melted, and you surrendered to the fact that it's now just a damp bundle of tissue.

Just when confusion starts to cease and make way for a clear idea of what you want, you're always sent back to the drawing board. Every time you feel control catch on your slipping grip, it's forcibly yanked from you by some punishing lesson. It feels like every instinct is wrong. All faith is askew. This so-called agency you've pursued has consistently brought you a solid gut punch in one way or another. The exhaustion from cyclic mental toiling leisurely set in. Over what might have been an hour, you'd seen him continuously try to shake off sleep, sighing deeply and adjusting his posture when the late hour started to get to him. At this point, it started to feel cruel. Cruel, but effectively comforted. When you rose to tell him you're off to bed, the back of your hand on his shoulder made him startle awake. Sleep won't be a guarantee, but at least you won't have thoughts of isolation and danger clouding your self-reflection. These guys might have your back through thick and thin, but it seems like they're powerless against your most significant threat to date– your own intuition. 

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Master List

[random-thought-depository]

The infamous Star Trek TOS episode Spock's Brain was on TV last night.

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Really wondering how reproduction is handled in that weird gender segregation set-up on that planet. An all-male hunter-gatherer society with Stone Age technology obviously isn't going to be making any babies, so presumably reproduction is handled by the Imorgs somehow. So... Do they send male babies up in that elevator thing and have the Morgs pick them up? A baby probably isn't going to survive if you just leave it in the elevator and hope some Morgs randomly wander by, so is there some kind of protocol for coordinating these pick-ups? Do they wait to send the babies up until their milk teeth have erupted and they're ready to start eating solid food, or have the Morgs figured out how to make some kind of low-tech baby formula equivalent? Or do the Imorgs raise the Morgs underground until they're old enough to somewhat fend for themselves and then release them onto the surface and they hope they find some group that will adopt them? Given that the Imorgs later capture and enslave adult Morgs, what's even the point of this? Wouldn't it be easier to just keep the male babies and raise them in Imorg society? Maintaining the Morgs as a separate but dependent parallel society just seems like a lot of trouble for the Imorgs for no obvious benefit.

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"Ooh, that guy doesn't seem to know what a woman is and looks befuddled when you ask if he has a 'mate' or 'companion.'" - you're talking to him through a machine translator and know almost nothing about his culture! Translation error seems pretty likely here! Similarly with Kirk confusing an Imorg by defaulting to male pronouns when asking to see their leader; if the UT is programmed to translate gendered pronouns faithfully, it might run into the same problem with any language that doesn't have them. If the UT is programmed to just render English default-male as whatever the equivalent convention is in the other language, it would probably just switch it to feminine or gender-neutral (archaically feminine but functionally gender-neutral in the modern language?) when translating into Imorg.

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McCoy is really quick to assume the Imorg are dumb cause they don't talk like our idea of how a smart person talks.

"She has the mind of a child" - hey, with the information you apparently have right now, perfectly viable alternate hypothesis: her people got their equivalent of the FOXP2 mutation a lot later than we did and had a lot more selection pressure for using theory of mind to compensate for inefficient communication; she has a less developed linguistic capacity than you and is a much less verbal thinker, but she has a perfectly fine intellect, and you can observe evidence that her people are not dumb by looking at the technology they have produced.

That said, the first time I watched this I thought the intellectual atrophy thing was kind of dumb, but I can kind of see it being a consequence of having a technology like the Teacher and skimping on conventional education and training because they're post-apocalyptic survivors in a doomsday bunker and their economy is very labor-limited and conventional education and training takes time away from other work. Like, if the Imorgs can just zap temporary knowledge into people's heads, maybe they don't need to teach their children much, so they don't, because conventional education and training would take time away from other work so it's more short-term efficient to just rely on temporary skills dispensed by the Teacher for almost everything. The Imorgs might be kind of high-function semi-feral; they're socialized to cooperate and to not break the plumbing and to use the Teacher to give themselves whatever temporary skills they need, and that's basically where their education ends. People like that wouldn't be dumb, but they might be profoundly ignorant, e.g. not knowing about planets and space, and not knowing what a brain is.

[poltergeist-coffee]

Etoiles in your college au is just so... Etoiles

Yeah, he a Philza are besties

Oh, how about Phil btw? I was wondering but forgot to ask

And maybe foolish and bbh if you have ideas for them

(Oh and Maximus and Quackity too or anyone else if you had any idea)

Unrelated to that

YOU NEVER HAD A PHYSICS CLASS???

Man, you're lucky, unfortunately I was forced by the brazilian scholar system to study physics on the moment I went to high school

But I went to a museum with my class

On the bus, it looked like it was a class of 11 years old students

It was fun

Also THERE'S A NEW CAPYBARA???

I have to see them when I find time

The capybara are one of the most random things on the qsmp and I love them for that

However had the ideas of put the capybaras is a genius

I hope I can manage to catch on lore since a lot of the ccs are in Las Vegas and hopefully things are a bit come more calm

Enfasis on the "hopefully"

Because there's already an dead federation employee(on the first day I think)

Btw do you know if they found out who did this? I saw some people talking about how could be federation trying to frame Cellbit but something was confirmed?

- 🍽️

Anon i lied because i 100% i took a physics class last year KNSAKJVNASKJD i nearly failed it tho which is probably why i forgot lmao but still it's the only physics class ive ever done

field trips are always fun!! i hope you had a good time with your class today :DD

qsmp lore + au rambling belowwww

the new capabara is named Alexandre and is played by a new admin who speaks Portugese!! they use teal/cyan signs and Bagi found them at cellbit's castle because they said they forgot the way back to the capabara island :(( i think bagi made them a room in her bunker right after meeting them and they helped her interior decorate all day lol i think you'll like them a lot since they reminded a lot of people of richas's admin at first (this capabaras admin is also the one who's been making all the mystery twins lore recently!! like the cucurucho who spoke to cellbit before he went to sleep and made the enigma bagi solves yesterday on stream)

yee bagi found a dead federation worker like...yesterday i think? or maybe it's been a couple days...i don't remember... (i am very bad with time) everyone is theorizing that it's cellbit but specifically it's f!cell!!! the reason is because bagi got a book she had to decode and all the writing inside sounded like f!cell!! some people think that it's the federation trying to frame cellbit because cucurucho said he'll have to pay the "consequences of his actions" just before cellbit went to sleep so..... it's very sus. if something was confirmed then i don't know? i didn't see anything like that >:00

---- now onto au silliness ----

i haven't thought much about philza in this au but he is 100% there kajnbkja he visits missa who works in the library a lot :DD

Foolish is an architecture major with a minor in sculpture and ceramics!! his current major project is called "The Titan" but he just doesn't want to work on it.... he keeps procrastinating and finding reasons not to work on it because it's frustrating him so much kekw BBh often hangs out in his studio and likes to bug foolish about how much progress he's made (zero progress).

I think almost everyone at the school knows bbh because he's so sweet and friendly plus he's like always willing to help if people need it :"))

i don't have many ideas for maxo and quackity.... but maxo would probably do something in programming/coding and quackity is double majoring in linguistics and law? maybe?

I can totally imagine there being a rumor among a lot of quackity's friends about him and wilbut because quackity keeps claiming they're dating but if you ask wilbur he's like "what" MVKADSJ maybe there's a bet on if people think it's really true or not lolol

[cometcrystal]

[Chorus] Yeah I own this beat You can call me the king or the ruler Felon on bass, getting hoarse at the mic We're getting 20 percent cooler We had a great day out Calling my name like Ferris Bueller It's time to wrap this up We're getting 20 percent cooler

[Verse 1] 7 colors in your hair Get your boots on dear 'cause we're going out there Don't care 'bout the dress code Put it on, let's go Girls go wild cause we're going "al fresco" Ha! No need to perform Hands on our bodies gonna keep our skills warm We need social reform 'cause we're just so criminal Linguist subliminal, damage is minimal Top percentile, largest fraction Massive attraction, girl-on-girl action Stop that, I'm gonna need a redaction Drop that, you already got your reaction Me? I'm gonna keep on smiling You? You're gonna need restyling I got the quote back From the jeweler You're getting 20 percent cooler [Chorus] Yeah I own this beat You can call me the king or the ruler Felon on bass, getting hoarse at the mic We're getting 20 percent cooler We had a great day out Calling my name like Ferris Bueller It's time to wrap this up We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler

[Verse 2] Shhhhhhhh, reduce that treble There's an 8 or a 9 who think they're on my level Like a rebel in a bunker getting shelled with a mortar Bump up and down 'cause I think you ought'a Place your hand on my thigh Don't be coy, I can hear you sigh Grinding your hips, I'll be flashing my pink And in ten seconds flat you'll be back with a drink Wooo! Bring out the Bacardi Twilight, Sparkle, up in the party Tap that, like a phone in the Cold War Room on the third floor, knocking at my front door Me? I'm kind of a rarity You? Work that dexterity Lean back now, here's what I meant Getting cooler by 20 percent [Chorus] Yeah I own this beat You can call me the king or the ruler Felon on bass, getting hoarse at the mic We're getting 20 percent cooler We had a great day out Calling my name like Ferris Bueller It's time to wrap this up We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler We're getting 20 percent cooler

[Chorus] Yeah I own this beat You can call me the king or the ruler Felon on bass, getting hoarse at the mic We're getting 20 percent cooler We had a great day out Calling my name like Ferris Bueller It's time to wrap this up We're getting 20 percent cooler

[roamanddiscover]

Palau

If you're looking for an escape to a tropical paradise with picture-perfect island views, look no further than Palau. This small island nation in Micronesia is made up of 66 stunning islands, each with their distinct charm and natural beauty. From white sandy beaches, crystal-clear waters, and lush green forests, there's something for everyone to discover in Palau. Beyond its breathtaking scenery, Palau offers a unique and fascinating cultural experience. The Palauan people have a long and rich history dating back centuries and have developed a distinctive way of life that is reflected in their traditions, language, and cuisine. As you explore the islands, you'll find yourself immersed in a world of ancient rock formations, lush coral reefs, and exotic marine life. Palau has been named one of the world's best scuba diving destinations, providing visitors with an opportunity to swim with schools of colorful fish, rays, and even sharks. For those looking for adventure on land, Palau won't disappoint. Hiking through dense green forests, visiting ancient stone monoliths, and exploring hidden waterfalls are just a few of the many activities that Palau has to offer. But it's not just outdoor enthusiasts that will find something to love in Palau. History buffs can visit the remains of the island's Spanish and Japanese occupations, while art lovers can appreciate the intricately crafted traditional carvings and pottery created by Palauan artisans. Despite its relatively small population, Palau is known for its warm hospitality and welcoming spirit. Visitors can enjoy a variety of local dishes, including fresh seafood, tropical fruits, and dishes cooked in traditional underground ovens. No matter what your interests are, Palau is sure to captivate and surprise you with its unique blend of natural beauty, cultural richness, and warm hospitality.

Etymology

The name Palau comes from the Palauan language and means "place of rendezvous." This refers to the island cluster's historic role as a hub of trade and interaction among various Pacific island cultures. Another Palauan legend attributes the name Palau to the story of two lovers from different islands who reached each other by swimming to a common point called Palau. Spain, which claimed Palau in the late 16th century, called the islands Las Islas Encantadas, meaning "the enchanted islands," because of their stunning landscapes and rich biodiversity. During the German colonial period at the beginning of the 20th century, Palau was known as the Pelew Islands, which was a mispronunciation of its original name. It wasn't until Palau became an independent nation in 1994 that it officially adopted its original name as the Republic of Palau. The name Palau reflects the unique cultural and linguistic heritage of the islands, which has been shaped by centuries of trade, migration, and colonialism. Despite its small size and relative isolation, Palau has a rich and complex history and culture that continues to evolve and thrive in the modern era.

History

The history of Palau is as diverse and rich as the nation itself. The Spanish explorers were the first to set foot on Palau's shores in the 16th century, but it was the Germans who established the first settlement on the islands in the late 19th century. The Spanish and German colonial periods were relatively brief, lasting only a few decades each. During World War I, Japan wrested control of Palau from the Germans and went on to rule the islands for several decades. The Japanese built a number of military installations on the island group and established a strong presence in the region. Many of these historic sites, including Japanese gun emplacements and bunkers, can still be seen on Palau today. After World War II, Palau remained under US administration as part of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands until 1994, when it finally gained its independence. The United States played an active role in assisting the Palauan people to rebuild and develop their country during its formative years as an independent nation. The new country faced many challenges in its early years, including a lack of infrastructure and limited natural resources. However, with the help of the international community, Palau was able to establish itself as a thriving center of commerce and tourism. Today, visitors from all over the world flock to the island nation to experience its unique blend of natural beauty, rich cultural heritage, and modern amenities. Throughout its history, Palau has remained steadfastly committed to preserving its natural wonders and cultural treasures. The government of Palau has implemented a number of initiatives to protect its coral reefs, forests, and endangered species, which are major draws for tourists. Palau also places a strong emphasis on sustainable development and eco-tourism, recognizing that its long-term prosperity depends on the health and vitality of its natural resources. the history of Palau is one of resilience, diversity, and transformation. From its colonial past to its present-day status as an independent nation, Palau has overcome numerous challenges to emerge as one of the most vibrant and dynamic countries in the Pacific region. Geology Palau's rock islands are one of the country's most unique geological formations. These limestone and volcanic islands have been eroded over millions of years, creating a stunning landscape of over 200 mushroom-shaped islets rising from the sea. The rock islands' limestone formations are considered some of the oldest in the world, dating as far back as 35 million years. They were formed by the accumulation of coral and other debris on ocean floors which eventually emerged as limestone islands. The limestone also contains a vast network of underwater caves, sinkholes, and tunnels formed by the erosion of water. These underwater formations have become popular sites for diving and snorkeling, offering a unique experience to explore the hidden wonders of the island's geology. In addition to the limestone islands, Palau is also home to several volcanic islands. These islands are characterized by their black sand beaches and towering basalt cliffs, offering a stark contrast to the white sandy beaches and coral reefs of the limestone islands. One of the most famous examples of Palau's volcanic geology is the island of Babeldaob, which contains the famous Ngardmau waterfall. The waterfall is located in a volcanic crater and offers breathtaking views of the surrounding landscape. Palau's geology offers visitors a unique and astonishing experience that cannot be found anywhere else in the world. From underwater caves to black sand beaches, the geological wonders of Palau are a testament to the country's natural beauty and diversity. Geography The Republic of Palau is an island country located in the western Pacific Ocean. It is situated in the Micronesia region and is composed of 340 islands, among which 8 larger ones are inhabited. Palau's capital city is Ngerulmud located on the largest island, Babeldaob, which hosts almost 70% of the country's total population. Palau has a total land area of 466 square kilometers (180 square miles) and is located approximately 800 kilometers (500 miles) east of the Philippines. Its closest neighbors are the Federated States of Micronesia to the west, Indonesia to the south, and Papua New Guinea to the southwest. The islands of Palau are largely of volcanic origin and are covered with lush tropical forests. With a population of around 22,000 people, Palau boasts of stunning landscapes and beautiful coastline, making it an ideal tourist destination. The topography of Palau is characterized by mountains and dense forests. The highest peak is Mount Ngerchelchuus at 242 meters (794 feet). The islands are surrounded by a large lagoon and it has diverse diving sites and abundant marine life. The famous jellyfish lake located on Eil Malk island is a must-visit place as it is home to millions of golden jellyfish. Palau has a tropical climate with high humidity throughout the year and two distinct seasons: the rainy season, which runs from May to November, and the dry season between December and April. Temperatures range between 25 to 31 degrees Celsius (75 to 89 degrees Fahrenheit) year-round, making it a perfect destination for holiday relaxation. In terms of geography, Palau is divided into 16 states, with each state consisting of multiple islands. Due to the small size and diversity of the islands, most places in Palau can be accessed by boat or by land. On the other hand, the small size of the islands also makes it easy to explore the hidden gems of the island nation. Palau has much to offer in terms of geography: beautiful tropical landscapes, diverse ecosystems, and picturesque small towns. The small size of the country means that tourists can expect a unique cultural experience and a chance to explore different corners of the country in a short amount of time. Ecology Palau is blessed with an awe-inspiring natural beauty that lies in its spectacular marine life, coral reefs, and endangered species. The coral reefs surrounding the islands of Palau are considered to be one of the most diverse marine ecosystems on the planet. The marine life in Palau is so vast and vividly colored that it is a common belief that Palau is a place where nature comes to life underwater. The islands of Palau boast of a plethora of species ranging from the smallest of the tropical fish to the majestic dugongs, reef sharks, giant clams, and manta rays. The crystal-clear waters surrounding the islands are blessed with vibrant and colorful coral reefs that widen your eyes, and make you gasp in awe at their sheer beauty. The stunning underwater world of Palau is an essential part of the ecology of these islands, which draws several tourists to explore its depths. Palau's ecological significance is not limited to its marine life alone. With over a hundred species of birds, the jungles of Palau are equally attractive, as they are home to amazing flora and fauna. Palau's unique topography fosters endemic species of animals and plants that cannot be found anywhere else in the world. From the majestic Palau large flying foxes to the Palau railbirds, the island's wildlife includes some unusual species that are rare and endangered. Palauan authorities are committed to preserving their rich natural heritage, which is affected by climate change, plastic pollution, and overfishing. Efforts are being made to protect the endangered species and the coral reefs that are essential to the island's ecosystem. The rich web of life in the coral reefs of Palau encourages several initiatives to conserve the fragile ecosystem of these islands. Palau is a breathtaking place with an exceptional ecosystem, making it an ideal destination for nature enthusiasts. The crystal clear waters surrounding these islands and the diverse marine life make Palau's ecology unique, not to mention the endemic species of animals and plants that call this place home. Palau's beauty is not only confined to its marine world but extends to the lush jungles and forests, which are equally captivating. Palau's people, government, and visitors are working together to save the environment for the well-being of generations to come. Biodiversity Palau is renowned globally for its biodiversity, which is the result of unique geology and geography, and strict conservation efforts. Despite its small size, Palau boasts a rich array of flora and fauna, with over 1,300 species of plants, 700 species of fish, 160 species of birds, and 13 species of whales and dolphins. Palauan waters are home to six of the world's seven giant clam species. Palau’s diversity is enriched by its mosaic of different habitats, ranging from tropical rainforests and mangroves to coral reefs and seagrass meadows. This diversity is incredibly important for Palauans as the ecosystem provides them with food, medicine, and other cultural resources. The Palauan government has made a concerted effort to protect such diversity by implementing strict environmental protections that limit overfishing and destructive fishing practices while also preserving the pristine and unique Rock Islands Southern Lagoon. The creation of the Palau National Marine Sanctuary in 2015 secured a staggering 500,000 square kilometers of ocean from commercial fishing and other harmful activities, safeguarding one of the most biodiverse regions on the planet. The Palau International Coral Reef Center (PICRC) is a research and conservation facility dedicated to preserving Palau's biodiversity. The center conducts scientific research on the marine ecosystems of Palau, such as monitoring coral reef health and finding ways to mitigate the impacts of climate change. Moreover, the PICRC educates and raises awareness among the Palauan populace and visitors about the importance of biodiversity in maintaining a healthy ecosystem. the biodiversity of Palau is rich and unique, and it is a vital resource for the local people. The Palauan government recognizes the fragility of these treasures and has made an impressive effort in its preservation. By doing so, the government has ensured that Palau's biodiversity is available and enjoyed by future generations.

coral reefs Climate Palau has a tropical climate that is characterized by high humidity and constant heat throughout the year. The average temperature on the islands ranges from 26°C to 28°C, with the peak temperatures occurring from April to June. The weather is generally mild and pleasant, with occasional rainfall and thunderstorms during the rainy season from July to October. However, the islands are blessed with ample sunshine, and tourists can enjoy sunbathing and water sports activities throughout the year. The climate of Palau has a significant effect on the marine ecosystem of the islands. The warm waters surrounding Palau provide an ideal habitat for an array of marine life, including over 1,300 species of fish and over 700 species of coral. Furthermore, the tropical climate supports the growth of the world-renowned Palauan rock islands and marine lakes. Despite the pleasant weather, visitors to Palau should be prepared for heavy rainfalls and occasional typhoons during the rainy season. The islands are prone to floods and landslides during this period, and travelers should take necessary precautions. mosquitoes and other insects thrive in the tropical climate, so insect repellent is essential. It is worth noting that the tropical climate of Palau is vulnerable to the effects of climate change. Palau has already experienced rising sea levels and stronger typhoons, and the future of the islands' ecosystem is uncertain. The government and communities of Palau are taking steps to mitigate the effects of climate change, such as banning single-use plastics and promoting sustainable tourism practices. the tropical climate of Palau is one of the main attractions of the islands. Visitors can enjoy the warm weather and delightful waters surrounding them throughout the year. However, travelers should also be aware of the potential risks of the rainy season and the importance of preserving the unique environment for future generations. Environmental issues As an island nation in the Pacific, Palau is particularly vulnerable to the effects of climate change. Rising sea levels, stronger storms, and ocean acidification are all pressing environmental concerns for the Palauan government and its citizens. As a result, Palau has become a global leader in addressing these issues and is committed to reducing greenhouse gas emissions in line with international agreements. In addition to climate change, Palau is battling plastic pollution and overfishing. The country has banned single-use plastics including bags, straws, and cutlery, and implemented a "cash for trash" program that incentivizes recycling. Palauan officials have also worked to establish a network of marine protected areas to safeguard the vibrant coral reefs and marine life that are so critical to the islands' tourism industry and way of life. Palau's government has been outspoken about the need for global action on these issues and has taken steps to raise awareness among other countries and international organizations. In 2018, Palau hosted the Our Ocean Conference which brought together delegates from around the world to discuss and commit to marine conservation efforts. Despite these efforts, challenges remain. The country's small size and limited resources mean that it must rely on international aid and cooperation to effectively combat these environmental issues. But Palauans are highly motivated to preserve their unique and fragile ecosystem, and the world can learn a great deal from their innovative and proactive approach to environmental protection.

Politics

Palau is one of the youngest democracies in the world, having gained independence from the United States in 1994. The country has a unique political system, which allows traditional leadership to coexist with modern democratic institutions. Palau is divided into sixteen states, each of which has its own governor, legislature, and judiciary. The state governments are responsible for delivering public services and maintaining local infrastructure. At the national level, the government of Palau operates under a presidential system with three separate branches: the executive, legislative, and judicial. The President serves a maximum of two four-year terms and is directly elected by the people. The President's cabinet of sixteen ministers is appointed by the President and confirmed by the Senate. The Senate is comprised of sixteen members, one from each of the states, who are elected for four-year terms. The House of Delegates is composed of members elected to two-year terms from each of the states, with the number proportional to population size. One of the most unique features of the Palauan political system is the Council of Chiefs, which acts as a traditional advisory body to the President and the Senate. The Council is made up of chiefs chosen by the traditional leaders of each state, and its members are appointed for life. Although the Council does not have any legal power, its opinions are highly regarded, and it provides a valuable link between traditional and modern governance institutions. Another unique aspect of Palauan politics is the country's system of enforcing its Constitution. Palau has an independent Constitutional Review Commission that reviews all proposed legislation to ensure that it complies with the Constitution. If the Commission finds that a proposed law is incompatible with the Constitution, it must be amended or abandoned. This ensures that the Constitution remains the highest legal authority in the country and protects the rights of the people. Since independence, Palau has developed a reputation as a beacon of democracy in the Pacific region. The country has held ten successful national elections, and its government is held accountable by a free and vigorous press. Read the full article

[the-invisible-queer]

I think 🔪 anon is bunker anon tbh they talk the same

Source: linguistics major

Are you Alex Blake?

[linguisticsbunker]

Mystery Languages

Not every historical language even made it into the written record. There are plenty of languages that have been dead for centuries, with little or no record of their having ever existed. Often, linguists are left with a few words and a scattering of place names to try and decipher some of a language’s characteristics from. Today, I’m going to go over some of extinct and little-known languages from the Indo-European family tree. 

Our first stop is the Ligurian language, which was spoken in northwest Italy and southeast France roughly between 300 BC and 100 CE. It was probably spoken before that, but these are the rough dates we have records of it from. Most of what we know about Ligurian is from Roman sources and a few reconstructed place names. From this, Xavier Delamarre concludes that the Ligurians spoke a language similar to, but different from the Gaulish and Italic languages spoken by the people around them. He believes the language was Celtic in origin, although this entire argument is based off of two places names and one word, so take it with a grain of salt. However, ancient sources state that the Ligurians, while similar to the Celtic peoples around them, were distinct in some ways, namely their appearance (they were said to be smaller than their neighbors, and apparently many of them had auburn hair. Despite their smaller stature they were also said to be very physically strong and were prized mercenaries.) There is also a modern Ligurian language that is not related to the ancient one, but is spoken in the same area. 

Our next dead friend is the Phrygian language, which was spoken by people who initially lived in the Balkans and later migrated to Anatolia (modern-day Turkey). Several classical sources describe it as being similar to Greek, and the surviving inscriptions in the language use Phoenician and Greek alphabets. Because there are some written records of this language, linguists have been able to determine that it had several noun cases and conjugated verbs for voice and mood in addition to tense, person, and number. We know a fair amount about the Phrygians, especially their music, which influenced early Greek music and led to the development of the Phrygian mode, a type of scale used in quite a lot of the extant ancient music. It was also revamped and used in Medieval European music and is still used today. I can’t really explain it without getting very into theory, but it sounded sort of minor. (Google it if you really want to know.) 

Finally, we’re going to look at the Cimmerian language, from the Caucuses, attested from around the 8th century BC. This language is a good bit older than the other two, and the only evidence of the language has come from two Assyrian inscriptions (that’s right, Assyrian. This is old school.) The language appears to be similar both to early Iranian languages and early Greek languages. The Cimmerians themselves seem to have gotten around the ancient world; they conquered the kingdom of Lydia around the year 650 BC, and sacked the capital, Sardis. (This was apparently a pretty big deal, ancient Greek historians note that it caused concern in the Greek colonies near Lydia. Lydia, in case anyone was wondering, was in Anatolia, which is Turkey.) The Cimmerians may have also conquered the Phrygians at some point, which would make some sense, since Phrygia was also in Anatolia. (Though to be quite honest, everything was in Anatolia to the Greeks, so who knows.) The name Cimmerian is thought by some to have developed into the modern place-name Crimea, which would make some sense, since the Cimmerians were said to come from somewhere near the Black Sea, but no one has quite been able to figure out where. (The number of groups of people said to come from “somewhere around the Black Sea” is pretty staggering. It is one of the least helpful place descriptions possible.) 

[dynamoe]

Another Storyline from the Conjectural Technologies Lost Years

Conjectural Technologies pitch themselves hot-shot political consultants with super science-backed election strategies to every candidate. They’re hired by an insane Texas millionaire running third party.

As their methods shockingly boost him into the lead, he reveals himself to be, not a harmless eccentric but an evil lunatic bent on world domination. By Super Tuesday, they mutiny and escape to join Deee-Lite on the MTV Rock the Vote! tour.

→ all 2022 Billy & White

Having just turned 18, 1992 is the first presidential election Billy can vote in. Being a huge dork conscientious citizen, he gets way into researching his civic duty—  delving into election probability and delegate math. He finds loopholes in the system that would guarantee a statewide win. Pete remains apolitical and indifferent until he realizes they can make money off it.

They’re in a battleground state and they’ve got an angle: Technology-driven micro-polling. Computerized strategies. Neuro-Linguistic Programming Robocalls. They pitch themselves as hot-shot consultants: political wunderkind Bill Whalen and Peter Jefferson Kennedy White, “The Facile Masshole” (who might be a Kennedy cousin).

__

Twenty minutes with a round hairbrush and a blow dryer and half a can of ozone-murdering hairspray White had pouffed his hair into a perfect power helmet with side-wings. He spritzed gray toner on the temples and edges to sell “prematurely gray” over “translucent from birth.” He shot finger guns at his reflection, “Mature Credibility!” then immediately undercut it by making a retching noise.White cracked open his make-up Caboodle on the kitchen table and began laying out pots of Ben Nye pancake. “We’re a center-right conservative district remember,” Billy stated, tapping the palette of foundations, “Think ‘Ballet Rose’ not ‘Ebony Rosewood.’” “That’s so cynical, pally.” “No one ever went broke underestimating the bigotry of the American voter," Billy sniped as he stared through a magnifier on a brochure for Harvard, picking out the arrangement of stripes on the school tie. He grabbed the closest match among his 10-ties-for-a-buck thrift store ties, before augmenting the pattern with blue Sharpie.

1992 was a weird election, with the third party candidate throwing a monkey wrench into the proceedings. It was also a heavily "youth" oriented election with Bill Clinton playing sax on The Arsenio Hall Show and doing Q&As on MTV about his underwear preference. Clinton was hailed as the first "Boomer" candidate at a time that "Boomer" meant "young" (at least young for a presidential candidate)

The episode could be done "faux documentary style, to make it even closer mirror the '92 Clinton campaign documentary The War Room (previously parodied by Documentary Now! as "The Bunker") "Political" humor bits in VB are usually the worst of the worst, but with the benefit of 30 years of hindsight we could pull this off and make this funny.

If this was a real show, I would hire Dana Carvey to play all political figures in this episode (as he did on his entire SNL tenure), most prominently the Ross Perot-inspired lunatic Texas millionaire candidate. His 1992 impression deserves another airing. (Hell, if I could, I probably would have Dana Carvey play every character in every episode. The dude WAS comedy in the 1990s. He's goddamned Garth from Wayne's World) 

[villadiodatis]

at this point my brain is just blatantly connecting my thesis to Dean Winchester, so:

Dean and desire.

It's been proposed by queer theorists like George Haggerty that desire and act are equally transgressive. The mere fact of wanting disrupts the social order. The threat to hegemony comes from the possibility of transgression, the suggestion that something might occur, and so desire alone warrants punishment. This blurring of thought and deed has material consequences in works like Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which Dorian wonders if the portrait is changed by the consequences of his actions or his desires and attitudes themselves: “[W]as it indifferent to results? Did it merely take cognizance of what passed within the soul?” The inner self’s desires, once one is aware of them, can wreak havoc without one’s consent or will. 

And this is where Dean comes in. In 5.14 “My Bloody Valentine,” Famine says to Dean, “That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean ... You're not hungry, Dean, because inside, you're already dead.” 

I believe his transgressive desires at this point aren’t absent, they’re just so deeply repressed that they can’t be perceived. Growing up in a world where things like tulpas, which make thought manifest, exist, Dean knows perfectly well that desire is never just desire; it always has an effect on the world. So he subconsciously buried his desires. He didn’t do this voluntarily, but it happened, and that’s how we get Dean, who we know wants things powerfully and viscerally, as supposedly empty.

I also want to talk about what is considered transgressive here. Obviously queerness is part of it, but it’s more than that. In (white, straight, middle-class, mainstream) American society, the expectation is to settle down and be a law-abiding citizen. But in the world of Supernatural, in Dean’s world, his norm, his upbringing, was centered around a nomadic outlaw lifestyle. You get some fraudulent credit cards, you impersonate a federal agent, you do some grave desecration, you kill the ghost, maybe hook up with a grateful damsel, and move onto the next case. Wanting to get out of the life is taboo to John, and therefore to Dean. So transgression here consists of disobeying the way of life he’s always known, of embracing domesticity and being happy in it.

But what about Lisa and Ben? He achieved domesticity for a while with them, and he didn’t enjoy it.

Ah, but remember how he’s suppressed his transgressive desires? He wasn’t aware yet that he wanted to settle down. He only did it because Sam told him to before he died. He wasn’t entertaining or indulging in his desires, he was conforming to more expectations. I’d argue that he wasn’t aware of his repressed desires until Purgatory and Season 8, with the bunker. That’s when we start to see him getting more antsy about settling down and, more importantly, knowing that he wants to settle down, even if he doesn’t express it.

This is also why we see him engaging in supposedly transgressive acts like drinking and sex without truly hungering for them. They're not his desires, they're expectations, first from John and later from the persona he's built. At his core, just above those suppressed desires, as @minor-mendings pointed out in this sublime post, which is what inspired this meta, "dean's a puritan who thinks pleasure is illegal." He engages in acts that could be termed hedonistic or transgressive, but he can't take pleasure in them. For Dean, desire must lead to act, but act does not necessarily imply desire, and it's the desire that's dangerous.

If you've read this whole thing, thank you so much, I hope you got something from it, and I’ll leave you with this: literary/linguistic theory also has a concept called a “speech act,” which encompasses any words that perform an action. This can be a contract, a threat, something as simple as ordering food--or saying that there are “people, feelings that [you] want to experience differently than [you] have before, or maybe even for the first time.”

Or in other words, happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It's in just saying it.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 32] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

After two weeks in a basement bunker, London is far from where you'd hope to rejuvenate your body's aching for vitamin D. Catching a view of the white cliffs of Dover over Gaz's shoulder, a lengthy flight immediately after a hospitalization left your sore muscles restless in anticipation of an upcoming landing. Unlike your travels in the States, you weren't treated like a diety whenever you wore your uniform in public. On this side of the Pond, there were no thank you for your service's or forfeited seats, instead just lingering glances thanks to your marred face and throat. Just a crying baby whose uproar did nothing to stop Soap or Gaz's impenetrable slumbers, and a broken seatback display left you weighing every action you've made in the past weeks. 

Ghost had the luxury of being given first-class tickets, though that was a result of his injuries requiring more breathing room. Arguably deserved, though no less irritating. They're more than eager to put millions into a helicopter that'll just get shot out of the sky, but they won't spare a couple bucks to fly their agents first class? You'll just have to make do with fighting for legroom sandwiched between these two goliaths. These two make it look so easy. 

Technically, on paper you're RCAF. Canadian. However, your home government freely trades specialists like you among adjacent American organizations, along with a famously tight alliance with the British government. Right now, you're an RCAF linguist officer operating under CIA orders on a SAS task force, functioning as an extension of NATO- or maybe NORAD. It's an easy mistake to forget which alphabet soup acronym you're taking orders from each day, but frankly, you stopped asking questions months ago. Whichever organization it is, they seem to have a cavalier attitude towards keeping you on a consistent schedule. After almost half a year of deafening silence, you're now scrambling between tasks and frantically pushing your limits under impossible pressure. Such is the life of someone with a very specific and unique set of skills; it's always been hurry-up-and-wait. 

Based on the limited information you gathered from Laswell or Price before they departed on their own plane, your orders were to await further instructions at the SAS Barracks. The terrorist attack that had happened in London hours ago had the two of them worked up beyond what you'd expect from an attack on friendly soil. It's almost inevitable that a disgruntled civilian with an unsettled mental state would do something drastic, but their combined apprehensiveness articulated a larger issue. You could just tell. That lingering thought wasn't helped when even the energy on the plane you were locked in was unsettled as people's eyes lingered on you, a clique of soldiers in uniform, for longer than what you'd expect from someone with your injuries. 

As the rolling countryside translated into a looming cityscape, even from a bird's eye view, you could tell the country was electric with tension. Counting landmarks you'd recognized from pop culture, you predicted your landing would be in about 10 minutes. Streets growing nearer and clearer were peppered with those chartreuse English police uniforms and blocked roads in the inner city. It was past noon by now, but the streets were almost entirely devoid of traffic.

Even when you landed, an extra frisk of your person was the consequence of a country that was springloaded with tension after a direct attack in their capital. Just another airport, though at least now you have the companionship of three other familiar faces. Precious few words were exchanged between the four of you besides directions and wordless commands in the form of points and nods. You were flying dark in this unfamiliar territory, but your allies' confidence suggested you would be far from lost. 

Efficient transport was arranged to escort you to the barracks you were prescribed to visit, but it'd let you catch an intrigued glance of this age-old city from the tinted window of the dark SUV. You'd spent a few short weeks in Brighton early in your career while on a diplomatic translation mission, but otherwise, this was your first time in the United Kingdom as a whole. There's a certain charm to the narrow streets and ironwork lampposts, though that would be quickly overridden by the imposing sprawling compound that was marked to be your destination. Dewy rain misted your face as you climbed granite stairs toward a surprisingly modern building with sloping gleaming glass and glossy steel columns. All it took was a nod from Ghost to the receptionist, and you effortlessly slipped past a front desk with impressive ease, breezing past metal detectors and security teams without a second glance. 

Just another military base, just like the hundreds you've seen before. Though particularly modern, that's just a consequence of staying at an active base rather than some abandoned Cold War settlement. This building had all the glitz of modern military funding, leading past keen-eyed students early listening to a lecturer's speech in a sloping auditorium from the vantage point of a glass railing catwalk. The boys walked as stern as ever like three diligent bulldogs striding like the ground was rising to greet them with upturned palms. For their ranks and portfolios, the little squirts in this training ward must look at you four like Gods walking among mere mortals. In reality, you had felt just as small and insignificant as those keen trainees barely a year ago when you met these titans. 

Passing under a hanging Officer's Quarters sign, it struck you that you were no longer expected to sleep in communal sleeping quarters like the grunt you were early in your career. As a senior officer, you had the amenity of having an exclusive personal chamber. A senior officer. You're already a senior officer in your career, yet you can't help but feel so dreadfully unfulfilled. The last time you insisted on improving your interpersonal life, you did something woefully drastic and consequential. Maybe you're just fated to solve gang disputes and weaponry scuffles until the day that you keel over and die. 

"Three-sixteen," Ghost's voice chilled your bone marrow, cutting you from your imaginative trance. 

Tilting his chin to direct you down a sleek hallway of hotel-like residence units, mathematically measured to provide the exact same amount of relief issued to you by your higher-ups. With a nod, you parted ways with your chattering colleagues. The three of them headed in the opposite direction, immediately carrying on their boisterous discussions about fishing, football, and/or their recollections of their basic training days in these halls, remarking on recent renovations. Respectfully, you couldn't care less, just nodding along and smiling when it was socially expected until you could shed this chafing uniform in your own space. 

Three-twelve, three-fourteen, there it is. An unlocked door groaned as you pushed past, meeting a delightfully prosaic desk and bed combo that could be more accurately described as something you'd see on a ship's quarters. Not ridiculously cramped like a broom closet or that white van, but it is far from the comfort of a hotel room. Both would be equally uninspired, though a hotel room would definitely discard those standard-issue green wool sheets that feel like steel wool on bare legs. Slumping your bags next to the pale wood dresser, you weighed whether it was viable to pack your items into the wardrobe. Considering the pace at which things have been moving, you could either be here a month or 45 minutes, and it'd be impossible to guess. 

It didn't take a second after the door clicked shut before you were stripping from that starchy uniform. Crisp air ghosted over your skin, feeling goosebumps whisper over your exposed flesh in the cool air. Shrugging into one of your dozens of black tee shirts and green-grey cargo pants, you were hit with a jolt of surprise as you caught your wounded appearance in the tiny mirror. That's just a sight you'll have to get used to for the next few weeks. Most of all, you couldn't wait to take advantage of that aluminum shower you were afforded within the cubicle of a bathroom in your unit. At this point, a hot water shower was as foreign as seeing a shark on a mountaintop, but now you were on your way to explore this strikingly well-funded compound. 

Leaning over another catwalk, you overlooked an immense training gymnasium as you rested your forearms on the glass railing. Distant tweets of whistles sang along with a chorus of grunts and pattering footsteps. Drills of heaving recruits and exercising soldiers occupied small collectives of personnel, moving in small packs of their own like differing species on the safari. It's like the water fountains on the perimeter were watering holes, and the yellow wood parquet floors of the open arena were the grassland savannah of West Africa. Following that logic, that familiar dark balaclava'ed fucker you spied must be like a lion or a cheetah; recruits dodged his path as he exercised alone as if they knew he'd bite if they got too close. 

You spotted your remaining crew not far away, squatting on a bleacher just within earshot of their masked colleague. Satisfied with your time spent overseeing nature unfold in this barracks gymnasium, you descended the riveted aluminum staircase, dodging a coming pack of joggers to join your partners in their discussion. Proud glass windows offered a view of a dreary cityscape of dark brick and sloping metal roofs as you passed, sliding across smooth wood to find a seat among allies. Gaz and Price nodded in your direction, acknowledging your introduction. 

You had stepped into a conversation about a change in their fitness plans. Price thoroughly recited the upcoming adjustments they can expect to their weekly regiments, shooting drills, and cardio expectations. Eyes glazed over. This couldn't be less relevant to you, though you still were somewhat interested in the superhuman outcomes scheduled for their weekly training that you, lucky, could dodge. After wandering over distant burpees and sprinting, training you begrudgingly remembered doing in your own training back home, your eyes settled on the subject immediately before you. 

Ghost was doing expertly measured push-ups on the glossy wood floors only feet from where you were sitting. With a bandaged arm folded behind his back, you got to spy the skillfully wrapped gauze around his upper arm, which looked like it was curated with manic precision. The grim menagerie of inked barbed wire and skulls on his tattooed arm flexed and bowed as it worked to sustain the doubled weight- effortlessly. It's almost unfair how his splayed fingertips were just guiding the floor away from him with every grunt. His shoulders tightened every time his body hovered back into the lowered position under that SAS tee, watching the letters warp. No shivering or buckling like you would be doing under those conditions, only skillful accuracy and sheer strength willing his body to rise once again with another low breath. The man had only barely broken a sweat despite being at this since you'd spotted the group on the catwalk above. A shiver trickled down your spine, causing you to reflexively shake your head to dissuade bubbling thoughts. You defensively turned your attention back to Price's spiel just in time for Ghost to seemingly conclude his set, rising from his knees to stride over. 

"How's it feel to be back in your hometown?" you pouted to Ghost as he approached with honey-sweet mischief on your tongue, the words lept from your mouth before you could even recognize what you'd blurted. 

"I'm from Manchester, you muppet," he grumbled, undoubtedly spiteful, halting his approach as his shins brushed against the lowest step of the bleachers. 

These Brits have such an odd way of being so fiercely defensive of whichever town they came from, fighting tooth and nail about the cultural differences they have from the next town over. Despite that town being about a fifteen-minute drive away. You couldn't help but tease them because you knew it would get under their skin. The way Ghost's stare bored into you despite your creeping grin, you knew he was fully aware of your tease. His gaze cut like a dull knife, sawing and agonizing, but you didn't care. It gladdened you to know that you ground his gears in a way nobody else could, a sentiment you both exchanged with one another. 

"LT's grounded until he's fit for action again, but we're going to go rucking outside if you want to come with," Soap asserted, folding and unfolding a lustrous yet bland pamphlet between his fingers.

"In the rain?" you queried, flickering your eyes to the tall glass displaying a grim view of sheets of rain. 

"Unless you wanna' keep this miserable fucker company," Price huffed, gesturing to Ghost with a stack of papers in his hand. 

Go rucking in pouring rain with soldiers who you knew full well had a cruel level of physical stamina, or be stranded in the most vicious company you could imagine. It's like having to choose between having a nail shoved in your eye or getting your fingernails pried off. Both were horribly unappealing and will unquestionably lead to some form of injury. You had the grace of dodging their last session in Verdansk, so you hardly had any excuse. Neither did you have the excuse of injury, especially since Ghost was just doing one-armed push-ups with a fresh bullet wound and actively healing ribs only seconds ago. 

"Rucking sounds fantastic," you grinned. 

Soap-clapping his hands made an ear-splitting echo that made you nearly jump out of your skin. Soap and Gaz seemed shockingly enthusiastic about you joining them. As though they knew your aching joints would scream in protest before you even set foot on the pavement, let alone after an hour or two of running. 

"Fuckin' right, Cricket," Soap leaned forward to slap his palm over your shoulder. "Go get your boots on and meet us out front." 

Blinking hard, you fumbled to gather what you agreed to. Given the alternative, this was far more preferable, though no less dreadful. Considering you were the unprepared one, you were left to speedwalk back up those echoing aluminum stairs to grab your boots from your quarters. On your way back, boots and shell jacket equipped, you couldn't help but chuckle as the keen-eyed recruits that passed looked at your battered appearance like you were a ghost that haunts the halls. It took a molecule of self-respect not to indulge in their fear and take advantage of now being the big fish, lunging at them and making them leap out of their skin. No. You won't be the cruel jokester others exposed you to when you were their rank. Even though it would've probably felt fantastic. 

Slipping past the security team with a nod, you saw Price, Gaz, and Soap just outside the grand glass doors in front of the luxurious barracks. Soap was eagerly bouncing on his toes, warming up relaxed muscles in preparation for a big hike. There were no backpacks for you to carry, so that must be their apology for guilting you into this. Price politely whipped the door open for your arrival, passing Gaz as he turned to stretch his calf over the stairs. 

"Alright, let's go," Price nodded gruffly. 

"Where 'we headed?" You inquired, shielding your eyes from the drizzling rain.

"We've got a place. Come along," he replied, pulling his hat down to dodge the damp air. 

Following Gaz's bounding steps, the three of you set off, trudging along grey streets in an entirely foreign direction. Soap seemed more than eager to get running, nearly springing with every step, slapping crawling tree branches to leave an onslaught of shed droplets to fall on you in his wake. You cut him with your gaze when he turned to laugh in your direction, and he just carried on in the vanguard. They were leading you farther into the city's density, though a city sprint could easily fall into the repertoire of a soldier of their calibre. After all, you must be trained for all environments, including the damp and dreary London inner city as the setting sun tinted the dark sky a pale red as it insisted on setting soon.

Cool, misty air settled in your lungs as your skin grew clammy under the waterproof jacket, and you grew eager to use the body heat from running to warm your chilling muscles. Your head shook in confusion as Gaz ducked into a nearby storefront, leaving you pacing a few steps away as you scrambled to understand the change in direction. Soap and Price had followed as if it was clearly marked on the intended route, though they had the grace to stop and wait for you to grapple with what was happening. Your eyes flickered to the dripping sign above, clearly reading Pub. Soap and Gaz grinned at you with those shit-eating grins you've become used to. These cheeky fuckers. 

"C'mon Grant, before I change my mind," Price teased, rolling his head to gesture for you to follow. 

It didn't take a second thought. Your legs practically sprung into action, catching the heavy swinging door with your forearm and progressing into the bustling pub. After all, when in Rome. The air in the pub was heavy, but lively, passing shoulder to shoulder with laughing patrons as you worked the zipper of your jacket free. Gaz and Price were already carrying on about their favourite local beers while Soap eagerly swiped up the laminated menu from the booth they settled into. A live band blasted eccentric grunge music, feeling an overwhelming atmosphere of elation as you slid over the plastic seats next to your comrades. 

Despite recent events leaving you more than deserving of an alcohol-fueled bender, what you craved more than anything was orange juice, of all things. It felt like it was all you could think about, though it's definitely your body's physiological reflex to expedite your body's healing process. The three of them clinked their beers to your juice, silently toasting to many more team outings to come. Maybe rucking isn't so bad after all. 

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