Looking for love? ‘Married at First Sight’ is casting in ...
Looking for love - CNA
Looking for Love? Owning an iPhone Could Actually Get You ...
Looking for Love: Understanding What You Need
Looking for Love (1964) - IMDb
Looking for Love (1964) cast and crew credits, including actors, actresses, directors, writers and more. Looking for Love: Understanding What You Need. Looking for love and finding frustration instead? Follow these five steps to increase your chances of finding lasting happiness. Looking for love . By Ruth Smalley. By Anne-Marie Lim. By Lianne Chia 17 Aug 2020 12:01PM (Updated: 17 Aug 2020 12:10PM) Can a person with disability have sex? How do they find someone who'll love ... Looking at gender and age demographics, although men weren’t immune to the effects of this, women were more likely to be swayed by Apple gear than men, and the impact was greatest on those under ... Looking for love? ‘Married at First Sight’ is casting in Houston If you’re interested in taking part in the show, online applications are currently being accepted Directed by Don Weis. With Connie Francis, Jim Hutton, Susan Oliver, Joby Baker. After being in Hollywood for a month with lots of compliments but no offers, girl next door Libby Caruso decides to give up on having a singing career and focus on what she believes is her destiny: to be a wife, hopefully to a doctor. To nab a husband, she believes she has to get a job where many eligible ... Looking for Love Gayle's gone in search of America's best pizza , best burger and best cake . Now Oprah has a new mission for her best friend—the best places to meet single men over 35!
2008.01.25 06:34 r/iPhone
Reddit’s corner for iPhone lovers (or those who just mildly enjoy it...)
2020.09.24 02:58 WeebThotPatrolSIB Divinity Original Sin 2
I don’t really want to watch youtubers or gaming media reviews of the game, as I’d like to skip over any fluff and bias. I want a straight answer from regular gamers like me who have clocked the hours. Is DOS2 worth buying for someone like me? I love RPG’s that are character driven and immersive with rich worlds and interesting quests. I have played DnD with some friends only two or three times and I really enjoyed all that went into the character creation and just how lived in our world felt. I’m looking for an adventure to take with my buddies and I want an honest opinion on whether this is the game or not. Is it like playing DND? Is the character creation and immersion up to par? Can we get a lot of hours out of the game (being mild completionists)? Thanks guys
2020.09.24 02:55 kim_karbashianFREE Lovegang ride @ 8:30 & 6 PM EST on 9/24 w/Jac Mitigang
Your (former) fav NY based SC instructor is offering free classes on 9/24 at 8:30 AM & 6 PM on zoom! Just email her at [email protected] You can check out her insta for more info (@jaclynmitigang) While I love the SC streams, a live zoom with a former SC instructor that actually sees you and cheers you on hits different, ya know? As someone who takes both, I think they’re of equal caliber and love both! So if you’re looking to switch it up, definitely check her out!!
2020.09.24 02:55 preutneukerWSIB Games where your weapons get bloody the more you fight.
So Im looking for a game with good melee combat where your weapon gets bloody. I played and loved mount and blade and really enjoyed seeing my weapon get more bloody by second when chopping down enemies. I also played and loved skyrim. I dont like super ultra hard unforgiving games like dark souls and bloodborne. Preferably also without guns. Also no pixel art games. Theyre very pretty but not my taste for this kinda game.
2020.09.24 02:55 PaperFox07Boo Boo - Story made for all songs (in order)
First off, this is solely my take on each song and isn't any form of me using detective work to uncover where each came from. It was fun to make an interlocking story that connected re-occurring themes, the lyrics, and unique style of the album. If you feel like giving Boo Boo a listen and see how these shoes fit, please let me know what you think. Chapter 01: Mirage : The story begins with the main protagonist giving an introduction. They are describing the new found happiness of success. The timing wasn't perfect and the love life that was recently created has to compete with this pillar. For the first time also they have begun to grow an ego, one that allows them to speak so carefree about their love in comparison to everything else in life. "Oh hello, I didn't see you there", becomes common mindset. Chapter 02: No Show : Because the protagonist was new to success and ego, the journey was short lived. A life that was becoming filled with travel has come to a screeching halt due to an ultimatum. The protagonist's mind is now filled with doubt, they took advantage of "my baby" and are now begging for things to go back to how they were prior. Chapter 03: Mona Lisa : The return did not go well. The protagonist learned that they had helped create a monster, a "Mona Lisa", who has become to involved with themselves to be the same. The Mona Lisa was to good for the protagonist and for most. This new knowledge was blinding to find out, but in an effort of self defense, the protagonist sells the idea to themselves that "there's another one for you". Chapter 04: Pavement : The sales pitch didn’t work, the noises around you are unpleasant. The protagonist is finding themselves becoming desperate to have the love they once had. Life has become a rocky bottom, the moment that led you here was when your love “called you baby”. Nothing has been worse up until this point. Chapter 05: Don’t Try : The protagonist has gotten up, but is beginning to question themselves mentally. Every moment is analyzed to find out if “you were ever cross eyed” and if they deserve this life. Contact is becoming hard to reach between their past love and the mind is becoming an enemy. Chapter 06: Windows : The protagonist has reached neutrality. They are able to stand and come to wonder what it is they want. The “Windows” to the outside show both memories and new beginnings. The Windows shed light on the mistakes made in the past and what not should be repeated in the future. At the end of this process only one choice remains “I gotta let this go”, this path (illuminated by the beautiful piano accompanying it) is the only way to happiness. Chapter 07: Embarcadero : After such a realization, the protagonist feels set free. Everything that their eyes touch is beautiful once again. The world can be enough. Chapter 08: Girl Like You : It’s happened again, the protagonist has found a “Girl Like You”. The sorrow and bitterness that once accompanied life have been shed and a new love has emerged. One that feels gigantic, so much so that care must be taken in order to proceed at the proper pace. “Love is scary baby” is known well to the protagonist, but they are ready. Chapter 09: You and I : Love surrounds the protagonist. They knew that they have found what they have always been looking for. “Mother nature gave” you a lifetime of longing, and “it took a while” to find it, but it is exactly what you imagined. Life seems “to have changed overnight”, the world is so beautiful now. Chapter 10: Labyrinth : This is odd for the protagonist, the ship has gone off course. What was love has now become something very different, a “Labyrinth” that you’re stuck in from “someone who was different”. The burning question of why isn’t the love mutual grows too many scenarios to explore. The strong passion of love must have carry other strong emotions as “shoves” are used to tear down the fortress they had once made. The protagonist has yet to give up. Chapter 11: Inside My Head : What had become one has split in two. The protagonist speeds away from this broken relic understanding what exactly was lost. The world around them becomes casual again, intimacy is hard to come by. They are finding comfort in going with the current, not worried about where it will lead them. Chapter 12: W.I.W.W.T.W. : The protagonist is becoming haunted, the ghost of what they always wanted laughs at them. There does not seem to be any justice with how unfair life has become, “first it was here, now it’s gone”. The ghost is reaching out, making the protagonist confess that they are madly in love with them. The truth that there will never be anything brighter makes them question “what to do”. They are looking for an answer, “thinking too much”. Chapter 13: (Be) : This song is in the perspective of the protagonist’s true love, the one who has recently been haunting them. The illusions are for a reason, the True Love is first stating to “don’t call me back” but “don’t get me laughing”, but internally knows for certain that the two of them are soul mates. The true love ends with confidence in the protagonist's strong will to continue to chase her and that when they come, “don’t hang up”, because there will never be an end for her. Thanks for sticking with me ! Again my thoughts are surely bias from my life, but it is quite fun to thread a story through each song. It makes listening to the album seem more involved.
2020.09.24 02:55 Dailey1234Need help identifying a poster in a scene
Hey, I’m not sure if this is the place for this, but there’s this style of art I keep occasionally seeing, but I don’t know the exact name of it so i can look for more. In the provided clip from the 1st John wick below, at the 0:05 time stamp, there’s a poster on the door right next to the 2 guys. It has what appears to be communist imagery on it, alongside with guns and a somewhat grey color palette (or perhaps I don’t see the exact color, idk). It also appears again numerous times throughout the scene, and I would love to find out what type of genre/art style it is so I could look at more. The art style in question (In my words at least) seems to mix communist imagery (alongside different items like guns) with modernist type art. I’d love to hear if this is a known art style, and if this is just reserved to this movie, then I guess I’m out of luck there. Any help is appreciated. clip I am talking about. spoilers for the first John Wick movie FYI
2020.09.24 02:54 babysherlock91My fiancé sent me a link to his porn.
My fiancé and I just moved into a new apartment. Just picked up the keys today. I wanted to stay home, but he wanted to buy dinner for his friend who had helped us. So I let them go have bro time. He told me he would bring dinner back for me. He said he would send me the menu when he got there. So he sent me a link, alright. And begged me not to open it. It wasn’t the menu. It was porn. Porn of girls 10 years younger than me. Girls I can never compete with. Girls I can never be again, no matter how hard I try. This is why I never wanted to know the type. Never. I never want to know what kind of girls he prefers over me. I never wanted to know who else he was so attracted to that he couldn’t help himself. I didn’t want to know who was worth hurting me for. And now I do. And I can never erase it. From my standpoint, he tried to gaslight me. Saying it was the most vanilla porn, don’t read too much into it, take it for what it was, it’s a process. I know our counselor said it was a process. I know that. And I’ve tried so hard to be supportive. But it fucking hurts. And I hide nothing from him. I do nothing to hurt him. I don’t look at anyone else. He’s the love of my life. He says I’m the love of his but if that’s true how could he knowingly hurt me repeatedly? I don’t understand it. I feel so empty. So ugly. The past month has been the most stressful of my life. I’ve gained weight, worn no makeup, never fixed my hair, never worn cute clothes, and my sex drive has been the lowest probably ever. So that’s it, then. If he doesn’t get enough sex, if I don’t look and act perfect, I pay the price. Why are we supposed to be perfect, dutiful wives/women while men get to hurt us and hide behind addiction? Why do I have to be open and honest 100% of the time, which I am, but it’s excusable when he does it? I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I want to scrub my brain. I want to turn back time before that link was sent. I’ve blindly trusted like a fool. And I feel so stupid. Now I know what girls to worry about. Now I know who he’s lusting after when we’re out. Now I know I’m not even close to what he wants. So now I’m sitting here, crying alone in the dark in my big, beautiful, empty apartment. While he’s working on how he will smooth this over, what beautiful lies he will tell next. If you made it this far, thank you. I just needed somewhere to let it out. I just don’t want to feel alone. I don’t want to feel insane.
Hey everyone, so I'm just posting to get some advice on my pup. He's a large husky almost 11 yrs old and he's been going through some changes the passed few years. It started out with a lump on his leg (the vet said its fluid, but now it looks as if a tiny second lump is on it) and now he's getting stiffer in his movements, and stumbles on stairs at times. I'm not sure if theres any good treatment for this, i try to stretch him out which seems to help for a moment but not long. My second issue is hes started pooping in the house at nights, he gets 3 walks a day one of which is right before we go to sleep but sometimes that doesn't help with the night poops.on top of that this morning after he pooped in the house and I took him for a,walk he had liquid bloody poop which got me all scared ( it was darkish red, not black). Is there any advice on treatments or course of actions. I love this guy and I just want him to get better, in both of these aspects, he seems scared sometimes when I get home and its breaking my heart.
2020.09.24 02:54 SageSpartanRed Dead 2 is on sale on steam for $40, should I pick it up or wait for a better sale?
So 33% off sounds like a really good deal and I've been meaning to play RDR2 for a long time as I LOVED the first one. But, after having to make some large surprise purchases recently I have to be careful about my spending. At the same time my mental health has been off the rails and I think having something to sink my mind into for a little while would be worthwhile for me. So, my question: how likely is it that it'll drop more than this by the end of the year? 33% seems really good especially for a game that's still $60 but I'd be willing to wait if it may go on a better sale in the coming months (though I admit I haven't looked into the price changes/history for it). Thanks in advance!
2020.09.24 02:54 cdubs85Need help with new TV suggestion.
Hi everyone. Looking at getting a new 4K tv. I love Sony TVs and want to stick with the brand. I’ll be doing lots of gaming on it as well. Looking for 55 to 65 inch tv as I don’t have the space for bigger. I would like to spend under 1700$ Canadian. Any help or direction pointing would be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance!
Hello! I'm going to be graduating this spring coming, and I was hoping to find a paid internship for the summer before I leave for college so I can get some experience, but I've noticed they're tough to come by. I'm interested in STEM, specifically Mathematics and Computer Science (probably going to double major in those), so I would love an internship related to that! Does anybody have recommendations I can look into? I'm from the Atlanta, Georgia area, but I'm flexible. If it is out of state for me, I'd prefer it provide housing, but I know that not possible for all of them so I'm willing to hear about anything y'all have to share. Thank you!
I'm looking for just about any combat shotguns with 33% vats hit chance and 25% less AP, 15% Faster Reload, or 15% crit fill. I also have a side interest in Pumps and Doubles so float your shotguns my way! I'm also HIGHLY interested in Un/AP/Sent pieces. Specifically Marine and Urban Scout but I'm interested in anything. I'm also looking for a Van/Luck/Sent or Sneak Urban Scout Right Arm. Lastly, I'm also looking for Magazines! Specifically Guns & Bullets 5 but i'm also interested in Live & Love 3 and Backwoodsman 3. Of course all offers are welcomed and considered! https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1VB9emtGwfe5ThEFxbx868itAdRrs3wJNSstNS-fTJEc/ Any Donations towards my "Every 33% Shotgun" collection with be greatly appreciated AND credited!
2020.09.24 02:51 Lord_ClefspearAhperaitores - Pt 2 of 2
The second half of Ahperaitores. First part may be found here Criticism is always welcome, so be brutal :) --- [[Galactic Standard Timecode 0344-14/50-8/10-145AF, Geosincronous orbit over GB-0068a, Edgaila Expanse]] Had there been any eyes on GB-0068a, or anywhere in orbit, digital, optical, or otherwise, that were capable of tracking a United Terran Navy Loki class destroyer under silent running, they would have seen the sleek, triangular patch of void-blackness break away from the Federation task force formation and arc towards the far side of the moon. The small ship cut through space like a mino knifing through dark water. She pierced the atmosphere on the day side of the moon exactly two hours, thirty minutes after the evening terminator passed over the pirate stronghold. Decibel killers built into her flanks muffled the roar of her passing, and her retro impulse units slammed her to just below the sound barrier long before she reached an altitude where it would have been audible from the ground. Ten kilometers from the target, the Gallipoli went into a sharp spiral dive. She wound down, down, and down before banking up sharply and deploying her slender landing legs. They reached their full extension just as their tips settled gingerly onto the soft loam in the exact center of a jungle clearing barely a meter larger than the ship was, just about two-point-four-nine kilometers from the pirate base. Inside the bay airlock, Mimiala’Vol and the humans of OpsTeam9 had ridden out the atmospheric entry dive in strap-harnesses, the ship’s internal gravity field having been shut down to reduce her sensor profile. On the last leg of the approach, they had detached themselves from their restraints, and stood free in the center of the bay, facing the ramp, hanging onto anchor points and net straps to maintain balance as the ship maneuvered around them. Vol felt the Gallipoli give one final lurch as she touched down. The red light by the outer ramp flicked to green, and the ramp swept down smoothly, letting in the hot, moist jungle air of GB-0068a’s tropical zone. There was no shouting, no barked orders to disembark. The humans simply flowed right out of the bay and into the jungle. Vol followed them on instinct, her powered sabatons thumping as she sprinted after her alien squadmates. About ten yards into the foliage, the squad stopped, held up by a hand sign from Whitmin, and knelt, scanning the trees and bushes with weapons raised. “Blackbird, Eightball. All hands down and clear. Dustoff, dustoff,” Captain Whitmin’s voice crackled over the general communications net. There was a thrum of impulse drivers, and Vol looked back just in time to see the midnight shadow of the Gallipoli lift into the air and disappear into the night sky. When she returned her gaze to the humans, activating her helmet’s built-in low-light assistant, the humans were moving again, disappearing into the jungle. Literally, they seemed to vanish, fade right into the foliage around them. Vol realized that their grey uniforms had shifted color somehow, changing hew to match the same mix greens and blacks as the background around them- The same colors that Paulski had painted her armor, it occurred to her. “Stick ta me, Snake-Doc,” Spears’s voice came from a patch of green not a meter to Vol’s right. The human woman’s face, smeared green and half-hidden behind her own night-sight apparatus, peered out like a disembodied apparition. “Stay low, stay quiet. We don’t think they have patrols out this far, but that’s no excuse ta be sloppy now, is it?” It quickly became apparent that however adept Vol was at fieldcraft (and she didn’t consider herself an amateur by any measure) the humans were...unnatural at it. They were like ghosts. It was all Vol could do to even see Spears as the Chief slithered and flowed through the undergrowth. She had completely lost track of the others. It wasn’t that they were perfectly invisible, but somehow, the green patterned mess of their clothes seemed to blend perfectly into the vegetation. It was a remarkable and rather disconcerting visual phenomenon. And they were so quiet. Vol’s own sabatons made only muffled thumps on the mossy ground as she stepped carefully and slowly, but the humans didn’t even make a sound, even when they were right next to her. Even when she boosted her helmet’s audio pickups, she only got the sound of wind and the chirping of insects. That strange fluidity Vol had seen in the human crew of the Gallipoli display was amplified in these warriors, and it translated into a speed and grace that the darkalan officer struggled to keep pace with. Someone caught her arm, and Vol started. Paulski’s hairy, mud smeared face appeared at her shoulder. “Hold up, Doc,” he said in a nearly silent whisper, audible to Vol only through the comms net. “Squad, Roadkill. Hostile patrol two-oh-clock, eighty meters north-north-west.” “Roadkill, Eightball. How many and where are they going?” Whitmin’s voice hissed over the net. “Top, Roadkill. It sounds like 3 of them, Nshii, moving due west right across our line.” “You can hear that?” Vol asked. “I can’t hear anything.” “Quiet please,” Whitmin said. “Alright, we hold here until they cross our path, then angle north to give them a wide berth. Roadkill, shadow them and make sure they don’t change course.” Paulski gave a “wilko”, which was apparently the human word for “yes” because he quickly ghosted off in the direction of the still unseen enemy. Vol waited in silence, to all of her senses, completely alone in the jungle night. She had a vague feeling of the humans around her, maybe ten to twenty meters in any given direction, but she couldn’t hear or smell or even see them. Can they even see each other? Vol wondered, then, looking at her armor, newly repainted by the humans in their strange eye-tricking patterns, Can they see me? They have to. Otherwise, how could Paulski have found me? And their hearing… It took several minutes before the all clear was given. The trip resumed with special care. Vol paid special attention to step only on soft ground, doing her best to stay, if not as quiet as the humans, than at least as quiet as she could be. The hike had been long, and she noticed her stamina reserves beginning to feel the taxation. How far had they come? A kilometer? A kilometer and a half? In this terrain, that was a long way to have come in so short a time, even with powered armor. “Top, Box-Man. I have eyes on the compound. Watchtower at twelve-thirty. One man with a rifle up top.” “Acknowledged, Box-Man. Rabbit, find your infil. Snake-Doc, move thirty meters to your two-oh-clock and wait for Box-Man. Roadkill, on me. Deploying the hummingbird.” Vol’s “Moving, Top” joined the rest of the team’s acknowledgments. Despite Whitmin’s orders, she found Hao already waiting for her near the point where the jungle ended and the perimeter clearing of the compound started, a flat, open space around the compound’s wall. The wall itself was maybe three or four meters in height, constructed of prefab panels with improvised alterations. In the middle of the visible stretch of wall was the guard tower that Hao had mentioned. An adult dongada was perched atop it, idly gazing at the night sky, lights from inside the compound backlighting it’s blue chitinous hide and the outline of a weapon cradled idly in its arms. “What is the plan?” Vol asked Hao off coms. “Rabbit’s inside already,” he said, “found a place she could climb over. Top’s guiding her to the base of the tower with the hummingbird.” “What is the hummingbird?” “Compact aerial surveillance drone. It lets Top look down and tag hostiles so Rabbit can avoid them and move through the camp.” “Like our Drake’s Eye units,” Vol observed. “Something like that, but a lot smaller. He and Roadkill are set up in an overwatch position. Roadkill will take out that guard so we can move to the wall and find an egress. Probably that door at the base of the tower.” Hao pointed the door out to Vol, who nodded. “White-Rabbit, Roadkill. I have your bad guy,” buzzed over the net, then a second later, “Roadkill, Rabbit, in position.” “Rabbit, Roadkill. Five...four...three...two…” Vol barely heard the meaty sound of an impact, but she was looking in the right direction and saw the dongada’s snouted head jerk violently and the puff of pale purple mist that burst out of it. The body swayed and toppled off the tower and behind the wall. Barely a moment later, the door at the base of the tower was knocked open and Spears emerged dragging the still twitching corpse behind her. As Hao hustled Vol across the clearing to the base of the wall, Spears lay the dongada guard’s body face down in the runoff rut at the foot of the tower, taking a half second to strip his communicator link off of his coat and jack it into her own headset. “Eightball, White-Rabbit. We have ingress and a patch into hostile comms. Moving in now.” Spears nodded to Hao and Vol as they regrouped. “You ready?” Spears aimed the question at Vol. “If I am not, that we came an awfully long way for nothing,” Vol returned. “Let’s hope not. Follow me, stay as low as you can, do not speak unless you’re getting shot at. Box-Man, on our six.” Inside the pirate camp was a dump. Vol thought it would have been too cliche for the set of a holonet serial. Refuse and weeds littered every open space, the structures were cheap, abused prefabs covered in graffiti and mud. Diode lights cast harsh, but patchy islands of white in the darkness. The three infiltrators moved around those islands, guided by Captain Whitmin’s aerial surveillance and Spears’s preternatural senses. Vol could hear pirates around them, often as voices coming from inside prefab buildings, sometimes a few wandering pairs or trios. They chattered in GalCom about gossip, about the Federation coalition over their heads, how long the negotiations would take, whether the Feds would be brazen enough to damn the hostage and launch an assault, or about how their superiors were going to try to cheat them out of their cut of the ransom money. Absolutely none of them seemed worried about the possibility of intruders. Whitmin guided the trio to the central building, an old- very old- colony hub, designed to be dropped from orbit as one piece. From what they could tell, it was the pirates’ headquarters. Their radio transmitter was at its top, and the hostage was in its impact-buried storm shelter. According to the building’s design template, there would be an exterior secondary entrance hatch leading directly to that shelter, and that was their planned entry point for the building. There was, however, a not unexpected complication. “White-Rabbit, Eightball,” Whitmin said. “I have one Anoijan with a rifle guarding the back door. You should see him right under that lamp.” In fact, Spears had already seen the hostile and stopped the infiltration party in a shadowed ally. The Chief reached up gingerly and keyed her communicator, but didn’t speak into it, just letting it buzz once over the network. The humans had told Vol about this. They called it “click code” or “squelch code.” It was a method of using voice communication without speaking. One click meant either an interrogative or an affirmative response, two meant a negative. “White Rabbit, Roadkill, I see yer bad guy but I don’t have a clean shot. Round would go through him and ring that whole building like a fucking bell. You’d have to rush it loud after that.” The line squelched twice. “White Rabbit, Eightball. You got him, Chief?” One squelch. Without any further comment, Spears ducked back the way they had come. Vol began to follow, but Hao flashed her the universal “hold fast” sign. Vol cocked her head at him, but he just grinned back at her and mouthed “watch.” It was only then that Vol noticed Spears had entirely disappeared in that human way Vol was starting to get supremely annoyed by. They waited for what felt like hours, but Vol’s chronometer insisted was no more than ten minutes, when Vol saw what Hao had been anticipating. The guard, meandering boredly around the general area of the door, fidgeting constantly with this or that, wandered a little closer to the edge of the cone of light cast by the overhead lamp post. That was when Vol saw something, a shadow form like a nighttime phantasm, detach from the darkness and ghost up behind the guard. There was a jerk, a hushed gurgle, and Spears had her arm wrapped around the anoijan’s head, and her other hand wrist deep in the folds of muscle around its thick neck. The guard went limp as a rag doll and Spears heaved. The whole thing had taken less than a second, from the first movement to the guard’s feet disappearing into the night. Vol had never seen anything move, let alone kill, that fast. Spears darted around the light and rejoined then, wiping blood off a black knife on her shirt sleeve. “Let’s move,” the Chief said simply. --- Tekliena’Ker scratched idly at the crumbling sheet-plaster of the little basement room the pirates had stuffed him in and, far from the first time, wondered whether he would live to see starlight again. Contemplating one’s own death, he was discovering, was a rather banal affair. In fiction, characters always thought about deep, meaningful things. Loved ones, lifelong dreams, great destinies denied, that sort of thing. But Ker’s mind kept shifting to small things. The net-vid series he would miss the last episode of, the diagnostic he’d forgotten to run on the freighter’s interior lighting system, the breaks he’d never spend looking out at the stars. Ker loved the stars. He loved sitting in the dark, looking out at the universe and seeing light from a billion years ago reaching down to him. They were why he’d taken his sabbatical on a ship’s crew. Everyone went offworld, but usually just to see the Capitol or one of the colonies- Get out into the world and live a little while you’re young! Shipping on an Anoijan freighter around the Expanse? It had the air of danger about it, a story he’d brag about, about flying through pirate infested skies, but he’d never really thought there would be any real danger. Pirate attacks were something that happened in stories, to other people. Now his life rested on the patience of his captors and the willingness of the Federation to pay them. Father had the money. Father would pay it in a heartbeat. But the government had its principles to uphold. And when they threw him down here, cursing about a fleet in orbit...these pirates didn’t seem to be having their way with the situation. All in all, reality had started to seem distinctly unreal. Ker was pulled out of his depressed daydreaming. Was that a noise? There was a long silence and then There it was again, louder, a kind of snap-pop sound like children’s new-year pyrotechnics. Had the guard gotten bored and started throwing rocks or something? There was a thud on the door, then a scraping sound. Ker thought he saw something in the gap under the door, then the lock spun. Ker shrank back into the corner. Some part of his mind knew it wouldn’t do any good, that no matter what, he was at his captors’ mercy, but that part was suffocated by basic, animal instinct. When the door opened, though, it wasn’t the Pirates. Instead, two small people- barely as tall as Ker was- in ugly green and brown uniforms zipped inside, moving like water. And then came a Darkalan Knight. Her armor was that same hideous mix of colors as the smaller beings, but its shape was unmistakable. She was a Darkalan Knight, and the most epic and heroic holo-casts could never have done her justice in Ker’s eyes. She was across the room in two loping strides, and kneeling over him. “Sir,” she said, her helmet’s voice caster giving her a harsh, authoritative bark. In Darkalan, he realized. Not GalCom “I need you to tell me your name.” “I-im Ker!” Ker stammered. “I’m Tekliena’Ker. I’m Darkalan. I was on the ship- the ship when these…” “Alright, Ker,” she interrupted. “I need you to answer a few more questions for me, can you do that?” Ker nodded. “Tell me what the name of your pet sokal is.” “His name is Bara,” Ker said, confused. “What color is he?” “Blue,” Ker said, “He’s blue with white spots on his back.” “Very good,” the Knight said. “Now, I need you to tell me if you are injured. Do you have any pain anywhere? Any deep aches or trouble moving?” While she asked this she was already examining him all over, checking his limbs and torso with firm hands. “No,” said Ker, “I think they were scared to do more than bruise me.” “Look here for me.” She shined a bright light into first one eye than the other, then turned to her companions who had immediately taken up positions by the door. “It’s him.” GalCom this time. “Dehydrated and a little weak but no major injuries. We can move him.” “Switch,” one of the companions called, and it and the Knight changed positions. The small being- Is that a...human?- pulled something off of his comically large pack and thrust it at Ker. “Sir,” said the human, “I’m going to need you to put this on for me. It’s an armored vest. Your head goes through here...now this arm up...good. Hold still.” The human cinched the thing down. It was heavy, and he wondered why he needed it if he had been rescued. “Aren’t the Pirates...didn’t you beat them? Isn’t that why you’re here?” “Not our mission,” said the human, pulling him over to behind the Knight. “Now, this is Snake-Doctor. She’s going to lead you out of here. She’s your best friend. You see this strap? You hang on to that. Use both hands and hang on.” Ker grabbed the strap-like handle on the back of the Knight’s armor. “Good job, kid,” said the human. The other human spoke for the first time, apparently to a communications line. “Eight-Ball, White-Rabbit. We have the Package, exfil in progress.” —- The infiltration team hustled out of the prefab with unseemly haste, like thieves fleeing the scene of a robbery. Well, that is what we are, after a fashion, Vol thought. The Tekliena boy clung to her armor-harness, stumbling along behind her. Dispite the white-knuckle grip he had on her, she still kept an arm on his shoulder, just so they didn’t lose contact. The last thing Vol needed was to have lost the hostage ducking through the prefab camp minutes away from safety after all the effort it took getting here. It was less than 30 meters from the perimeter wall that things went wrong. And, in Vol’s experience, when things went wrong in the field, they went all the way wrong, and they did it quickly. The first thing that happened was Whitmin’s voice over the comms net saying “Where the hell did he come from?” Then she saw the line of harsh yellow light from an opening doorway cut across Spears’s back as she passed. Then confused Nshi clicking. Then Vol’s railgun shot was cutting the Nshi in half. The deafening crack of the shot had barely passed before the humans changed gears. “We’re made!” Spears snapped. “Snake-Doc, take the package and book it for the gate. Move!” “Looks like everyone’s awake now,” Whitmin commed. “Weapons free. Cover Snake-Doc. Roadkill, entry tower-” “I see ‘im, Top,” Paulski cut in. For her part, Vol grabbed the Tekliena boy and started running. Powered armor was less a suit of clothing than it was a wearable armored vehicle. Once it got moving, the list of things that could stop it was very brief. Vol ran right through a plasboard fence like it was tissue, and was in the main thoroughfare of the camp, dragging the boy behind her. The humans were flitting around like insects, firing, throwing grenades into doors and down allies. The pirates seemed to have realized that they were under attack and were starting to spray laser and mag-slug shots seemingly at random. “Please!” the boy panted, barely keeping his feet under him as Vol hauled him in her wake, “s-Sir knight! I can’t keep up!” “Just hang on,” Vol said. “We move or we die.” She slowed just enough to get a firm grip of her own on his shirt. A glebni in rusted flak-plate and holding something lethal looking in its tentacles flew at them from a prefab roof. Even as Vol made to push herself between it and the boy, it’s cephalopoid head exploded. The shot had taken it in midair. “Close one” Paulski commed. “Keep moving, Snake-Doc. You’re almost to the gate.” In fact, she was at the gate. She shoulder-barged through it and pushed Tekliena ahead of her. They stumbled across the moat-clearing with the humans hot on their heels. They hit the jungle treeline like splashing headfirst into dirty water. They kept going, chased by the sound of angry shouts and wild weaponsfire. “South!” Spears ordered. “South to the pick-up point. Top, how fucked are we?” “You pissed them all the way off, Rabbit.” Whitmin’s voice was panting and undercut with the heavy rustling of fast movement. “They’re scrambling in every direction. I don’t think they all know what hit them or which way it went. Me and Roadkill are moving to the extraction point, Eeh-Tee-Ay ten minutes.” “Acknowledged, Top,” Spears said mid-movement as she turned and loosed a burst at something behind them. Whatever it was screamed and died. They kept running. “Is that a technical?” Hao said. “Top,” Spears said, “You got eyes on that big- “EEEEEEAAAAAAAIIII!!” Tekliena stumbled, fell, and screamed. Vol skidded to a halt, her sabatons gouging deep furrows in the jungle loam as her momentum carried her several more meters. Turning, she had just enough time to see the boy sprawled out on the moss, one leg wedged in a crevice under a treeroot, bent at an unnatural angle. Hao was at his side in an instant. She took a step toward them. Then, something about the mass and speed of a dreadnought at full drive slammed into her armor’s chestplate and the world went inside out. --- Ker was half blinded by the lightning shooting up his leg. It was impossible. Nothing could hurt that much. All he knew was that he’d been running, he had put his foot down, had an instant to realize something was very wrong, then he was on the ground and someone that sounded a lot like him was screaming like they’d been murdered. The knight stopped. He saw her turn. Then she exploded. Something hit her, and she was thrown into the air and landed on her back meters away. “Rabbit! Kill that goddamned technical right the fuck now!” The human, the short one that had given him the order to hang on to the knight, was leaning over him and yelling at his companion in jargon. “Shape charge out!” The other one howled. There was a wooshing sound, a clang, and another explosion set Ker’s ears ringing. “Top, Box-Man. Snake-Doc is down. Snake-Doc is down. Bad guys had a heavy rail-driver on a vehicle. Package is wounded.” There was a pause. “She’s alive,” the other voice, the female, said. “Armor’s trashed, but she’s alive.” “Checking,” said the male. “Kid. Hey, buddy, look at me.” The short human smacked him on the face gently, getting his attention. “Kid, your leg is broken. I need you to tell me if anything else hurts, can you do that?” “I-I can’t move!” Ker babbled. Leg broken. If he couldn’t run… “Please! I can’t move! Don’t leave me. I don’t want-I don’t want to die!” “Listen to me,” the human said sternly, firing at something over Ker’s prone form, “You are not going to die. Hear me?” The female ran up, skidding to a crouch behind the tree. “Snake-Doc’s awake, but she’s not mobile. That armor’s clusterfucked. What’s the kid’s story, Box-Man?” “He’s whole, but he’s not walking.” “Go. Get to the exfil. I’ll cover you.” “Wait,” Ker said, “D-Don’t leave me!” “Oh, you’re coming with me, kid. Come here.” The human, Box-Man, grabbed a fistful of Ker’s shirt, another of the inside of his thigh, and heaved with a strength that belied his small, thin frame. The human tossed him over his shoulder, heaved to his feat, and in a flurry they were moving. They were moving very fast. --- Vol popped her armor’s seals. She sat up out of it and got to work undoing the leg fastenings as quickly as she could. The suit had saved her life from the rail-canon slug, but barely, and it had lost its own functionality in the process. She saw Spears firing into the jungle in the direction of something that looked like it used to be a vehicle before someone set it on fire, and Hao, with the Tekliena boy over his shoulders, running past her towards the extraction point. It suddenly struck Vol that for all the quickness that the humans moved with, she had never actually seen them run. Hao was running now, at a flat out sprint. He might as well have been a guided missile for how quickly he disappeared. “Snake-Doc,” Spears said, almost cordially. “Get up here and help me with these arseholes!” Vol yanked her comms-set out of her helmet and wrangled it over her head. She felt exposed and vulnerable outside of the armor, but she followed the humans’ example and tried her best to make speed be her protection. She slammed up behind the tree whose roots Spears was using for cover. “Take this,” the human said, thrusting her carbine at Vol. “Single shots, point and squeeze.” Vol took the black contraption of metal and polymer. The grip disappeared in her hand, but she managed to get a claw into the enclosed trigger. Hostiles were trampling through the jungle. Several of them had taken positions around the burning hulk of the ground-effect vehicle that had blasted her. If they had been confused about where their assailants had headed before, they were getting coordinated now. Vol sighted down the spine of the human weapon and squeezed the trigger. It bucked violently in her hand and the shot spanged off of a rock. She tried again, more meaning to give the enemy an incentive to keep from coming closer than out of an expectation of killing anything. Spears drew a much smaller weapon for herself from somewhere on her body-rig and started popping off shots two handed. “Rabbit, Eightball. Mind your left.” Whitmin and Paulski were suddenly with them, arriving from the left side. Paulsky leveled his long, scoped rifle and let loose a shot that rippled the air through Vol’s crest from three meters away. Whitmin had his hand over his left ear as he slithered between Vol and Spears. “Gallipoli’s just landed,” he said. “Did they make it?” Vol demanded. “Safe and sound,” Whitmin replied. “You and Rabbit fall back.” “No!” Vol said, shocked and afronted that they expected her to run. “What the Doc said, Top,” Spears said, loosing a string of shots into an anoijan that mustered the bravery to poke his head out from behind a tree. “All or nothing.” Whitmin took the insubordination in stride. “Alright. Half a kilometer to the ship. Pop smoke here and on that wreck. Snake-Doc, When we start moving, we run. Don’t worry about the rest of us, do not stop. Run straight to the ship. Everyone copy?” “Wilko, Top,” said Paulski, pulling a cylindrical grenade from his webbing harness. “Copy,” said Spears, doing likewise. Vol nodded. “Five, Four, Three, Two…” Paulski, Spears, and Whitmin clicked off the grenades and let their timers wind down in their hands as Whitmin counted. “Huck em!” The grenades landed in a line, one right in front of their own position, one at the wreck where the enemy had massed, and one in the laser and bullet chewed undergrowth between them. Even as they hit, they detonated in a ripple of *PaPaPapSSSSSSS* and burst into thick clouds of acrid chemical smoke that washed out that whole half of Vol’s horizon in the color of used dishwater. The humans did their vanishing act, and Vol was right behind them. Her feet pounded the jungle floor. Half a kilometer. Half a kilometer through thick jungle at full sprint with wild, blind lasers buzzing through every leaf and vine between her and that ship. She caught glimpses of the others, dark shapes flitting through the trees like blackened lightning. They moved around the jungle’s tendrily fingers. Vol just went through them. Branches, vines, and bushes snapped and tore on her under-armor bodysuit. Her bulk carved her own tunnel right through them all. A human appeared at her side. “Almost there,” Whitmin said. “The ship’s got eyes on-” A laser scorched past Vol’s leg and bored into Whitmin’s hip. The human didn’t scream when he fell. He seemed to seize up, clamping the pain behind a locked jaw full of gritted teeth. He looked more angry than injured. He stumbled, momentum carrying him into a headlong dive. He never hit the ground. Vol’s hand shot out and she had a fistful of his webbing before she even consciously made the decision to do it. Barely stumbling in her headlong rush, she heaved and the human’s light, small frame was in the crook of her arm, then up over her shoulder like a sack. She heard the pop of his weapon, shooting at something behind them. She didn’t look back to check what it was. “Thirty meters!” he shouted at her. “I don’t see it!” she shouted back. “You will.” He was right. Vol broke through into a clearing and suddenly the ramp of the Gallipoli was right in front of her, yawned open like the maw of a great, gulping fish. She ran right up it, and no sooner had she made it three steps than the ship lurched under her, impulse drivers pulverizing the ground below and tossing the little corvette into the air. Vol stumbled, trying to control her topple so that she didn’t land on Whitmin. The ramp clanged closed and suddenly the world was small and dark and quiet. “Medic!” someone yelled, the voice that would have been drowned in the din a moment ago was a ringing echo now. The room got very busy, but Vol didn’t pay attention. She rolled onto her back and just panted for a while. Someone leaned over her and she batted them away with exhausted hands. “I’m...fine…” she managed. “Whitmin...Whitmin’s hit…” “The Captain’s going to be alright,” the someone said. It was a human in white scrubs. He was shining a bright light down into Vol’s eyes which she found very annoying, but couldn’t find the energy to do much about. “We’re taking care of him now. He’s going to be alright.” “He...came back...” she croaked. “Back...for me” “He’s alright,” the human in the white scrubs insisted. “Now hold still.” “The others?” “They made it,” the human said. “They all made it.” Vol closed her eyes and let her head rest on the cold metal deck. Mission accomplished, she thought. --- Debreifings, in Vol’s considered opinion, should fall under the Federation sanction on torture. First, the humans had debriefed her, both separately and with the rest of the team. Whitmin’s wound, while severe, proved to be well within the Gallipoli’s ability to treat. The laser had burned through his hip, boring a hole in a rather complicated bone structure, but while it had come close to hitting a rather important organ (though nobody could explain to Vol what a “kidney” was or what it did) the damage was repairable, given time and surgery. Humans had a remarkable ability to heal, and what they couldn’t heal, they had no qualms about replacing, as Sergeant Spears’s leg would readily attest. When the humans were done with her, She and the Tekleina were shuttled to the Righteous Path with excessive courtesy. Their arrival was heralded with full fanfare. The Ship’s Commander saluted her as she escorted the boy out of the shuttle and along a corridor of knights with presented arms. There was an applauding crowd of crew ratings and a victory speech and talk of commendations. Then the debriefings again. Heavier and more pointed this time. The questions focused less on the pirates, and more on the humans. What exactly were their tactics? What were their weapons’ capabilities? What did the Hummingbird look like and how did it work? What was the effective range of Paulski’s rifle? She wasn’t ignorant of the interests of her people’s security, and she was a patriot. But she found that she didn’t have most of the answers they wanted, and she didn’t mind. The taskforce had launched a full scale assault as soon as the Gallipoli had lifted off. The majority of the pirates had surrendered the moment they realized their leverage had been lost. More than three hundred prisoners had been taken, most of them scattered outside the compound walls in every direction of the compass, all wildly pursuing the “army” that had attacked them. Ship’s Commander Dakverna’Gel did take the time to inform Vol that the assault force had found her armor. The armory-technicians had deemed it salvageable and had begun refurbishing it. Later that day, Vol stopped by the armory to make a request. It is not unheard of for a Darkalan Knight to change their heraldic colors, but it is considered momentous. The Mimialas still wear the blue and white on their armor to this day, with a stripe down the arm of ugly, mottled greens and browns. Fin
2020.09.24 02:51 ThePastyGhost26 [M4F] Maryland, USA or Anywhere - Pancakes are my favorite comfort food. What's yours?
TL;DR: Nerd's nerd seeks comfort food recipes, memes and witty banter. If you decided you wanted to read the long version, this is where I say 'hello'. My name's Chris, and I'm a software engineer currently living in Maryland but about to move to Pennsylvania in February. I figured I'd cast my line in the water because I've realized I have precious few friends that I actually talk to on a daily basis, and I'd like to rectify that. Why the heck should you talk to me? Well, first and foremost, because you want to! But beyond that, if you're into anything even remotely nerdy, I will probably have questions galore to keep the conversation going. I'd love to be able to find someone that I can talk to about both our day-to-day minutiae and also the really deep conversational topics, like how your favorite bedtime story influenced you as a person. A little bit more about me, in bullet-point form:
I don't smoke.
I've been trying to get back to the gym: I just picked up a set of resistance bands to fill in for my normal workout (fencing).
I love love love to hike - the Columbia area has something like 70 miles of walking/hiking trails, and I'd love to find someone who wants to hike them just as much as I do.
Despite my love of hiking, I'm still very much a nerdy homebody with a very small social battery.
I tend to be pretty quiet and reserved overall. If you ask me the right questions, though, I'll happily gush for hours as long as I know you're actually interested.
I penpal, and I'd be happy to handwrite you letters.
I've been using this COVID time to slowly check things off my bucket list. I think I have about 20 more items to go and I'd love to know what's on your list so that I can help you check things off your list, too.
I'm an avid reader. My favorite genres are fantasy and science fiction. I've been finishing up Megan Whalen Turner's "Queen's Thief" series, as well as re-reading Rick Riordan's "Percy Jackson and the Olympians". I started them when I was a kid and just recently realized I'd never actually finished them, so I figured what better time like the present. I'd love to know some of your favorite books, too!-
I'm an amateur game designer who's putting together a couple different games based on things that I enjoy, and I'm happy to talk about them in more depth if that's your thing.
Looking forward to all those recipes and memes! Best, Chris
2020.09.24 02:51 Lord_ClefspearAhperaitores - Pt 1 of 2
I've been a lurker on this sub for a long time now, and finally decided I might as well contribute. First really public creative writing, though I have been doing short stories of various forms for years for my own private amusement. Criticism is welcome, so be brutal :) --- GALACTIC UNCOVERY NETWORK SPECIAL: SECRETS OF THE HUMAN GHOST SOLDIERS Invisible soldiers of supernatural skill. Deadly hunters of sentient prey. Ancient orders of silent warriors For hundreds of standard-cycles, a secret and elite order of swift and stealthy killers have dominated the warrior culture of Human Terra from the shadows. [Dr. Glop’Ga’Mar, xenohistorian and bestselling author: “Imagine an enemy that you can’t see, you can’t hear, you can’t smell, and that can kill you from more than a kilometer away.”] These mysterious fighting units adhere to their own traditions and codes, fighting for the fractious nation-states of Terra with deadly weapons, and deadlier skill. [Sreana the Melodious, former staff member of the Galactic Federation Embassy to Terra: “You never saw one of them unless it wanted you to. One could walk right up behind you and you’d never even know it.”] Now, for the first time on pan galactic networking, we take you inside the strange and secretive world of these elite human warriors. With expert analysis, stunning holographic depictions, and actual first-hand historical accounts, we’ll uncover the fascinating story of… The human Ahperaitores! ==Review posted by Dr. Glar’Ren’Gep, Deen of Multicultural Studies at Capital University 0.1 / 12 “Horribly commercialized sensationalist, over exaggerated tripe! How can you have an entire ‘documentary’ on the subject of a human historical topic and not have a single human interviewee?” --- [[Galactic Standard Timecode 2201-13/50-8/10-145AF, Geosincronous orbit over GB-0068a, Edgaila Expanse]] Medical Officer First Grade Mimiala’Vol keyed the door signal and stood at attention. Almost immediately, the door chimed and opened. An unusually prompt response; command officers usually let their subordinates wait at least half a minute. Mimiala’Vol entered, stood before the Ship Commander’s desk and saluted. “Medical Officer Mimiala’Vol reporting as ordered, Commander,” she snapped off in perfect protocol GalCom “Have a seat, Medical Officer,” Shop’s Commander Dakverna’Gel said, promptly closing his terminal window, granting Vol his complete attention. That only reinforced Vol’s worry. Whatever this meeting was about was critically urgent, and “urgent” never translated to “good,” especially in situations like the one they were all in at the moment. The Darkalan Navy Strike Frigate Righteous Path, along with a joint fleet of nearly a dozen Federation warships were currently blockading an M-class moon. Below them, well-armed and well dug in, was a cabal of pirates. They had hostages and were demanding ransom money. These sorts of hostage situations had become depressingly common in the Edgaila Expanse in recent cycles, usually ending in the ransoms being paid through local star-nation authorities without the Federation as a whole ever even getting involved. This sort of response was new. Something about this was different. Vol took the offered seat, her uniform rustling over her ruddy scales, and attended as the Ship Commander got right to the point. “You’ve been selected for a detached assignment,” he said. “You’ll need ground combat kit, your field medical pack, and anything else you’d bring as a battlefield medic.” “Sir,” Vol said, “Will I be briefed on arrival?” “You most likely will, but I want to tell you myself what you’re being dragged into,” Dakverna’Gel said. “A rescue mission is being staged. You’re on it.” “May I ask why, sir?” Vol ventured. “Why the rescue mission, or why you?” “Well, both, now that you’ve mentioned it,” Vol replied frankly. The ship commander gave vent to a heavy sigh that crackled his thick scales and spoke of harried, sleepless days. “To the first...I expect you to keep this information confidential. We’ve gone to great lengths to keep the identity of the hostage under wraps.” Vol twitched at that. Not hostages. Hostage. Singular. The commander caught it. “Yes, they’ve only got one down there. They only need one when his name happens to be Tekliena’Ker. Yes, of those Teklienas. He’s the son of the great Tekliena’Sol, who has had his teeth on the back of the Darkalan parliament’s neck ever since the Anoijan bulk freighter his son was taking his post-graduation sabbatical with got ransacked by pirates and the young scion got kidnapped. In turn, parliament’s had its jaws on the neck of Federation Navy Command. Thus, the sudden resolve that we’re not letting these scum get away with their mischief any longer. The decision was made very early that we were going to get the boy back and bring his captors to justice. The problem has been ensuring his safety.” “So, a daring rescue plan?” Vol asked. “Exactly,” said the commander. “They know now that they are only safe as long as they hold the hostage, so they don’t intend to give him up for anything short of guarantees that we can’t give. So we need to go get him. The problem is that an assault on their compound may result in the boy’s death. So, the humans have volunteered to do something different.” “The humans, sir?” Vol said quizzically. “I thought they only had one ship in orbit with the taskforce, and a small corvette at that. What could they hope to contribute to a rescue attempt?” The commander gave her a level, evaluating stare. “What do you know about Ahperaitores, medical officer?” Vol’s jaws clicked shut in utter shock. “The- The humans...sent Ahperaitores? Here?” Of course, she had heard of them. Everyone had. The humans’ legendary elite warrior orders had their hands in the very foundations of the Federation. The humans were a reclusive, shadowy power in the Federation Council, and individually, they were marginally below average as fighters, or at least that was the image they themselves presented - they were a notoriously deceptive species. But the legends of the Ahperaitors were second only to higher mythology in tone. “They did. And for the love of the Primordial, when you meet them do not mention that ridiculous Uncovering Network documentary or anything you may have heard in it.” “Meet them?” Vol asked, her protocol slipping. “They’re sending a team in to extract the hostage,” the commander said. “You’ve been selected to accompany them. Parliament signed off on letting the humans recover one of our nationals for us, but only on the condition that we have one of our own on the mission. The reasons are more than politics. The humans aren’t trained in Darkala medicine and the hostage may require emergency medical care on sight. In addition, having a fellow Darkalan face will help keep the boy calm and cooperative. You have the distinctly unlucky honor of being the most senior Darkalan medical officer on hand that is trained as a field combat medic and certified in trauma-victim handling. Therefore, you will be on hanger deck 2 in thirty minutes with your kit and courage.” “I...I understand, sir.” Vol said. “I hope you do, young woman. I truly hope you do.” The old officer’s gaze fell into the middle distance. “I’ve seen Ahperaitores before. I’ve seen them in action. Trust me, medical officer; the legends are wrong in so many ways...but they are deserved.” --- When the task force had arrived in orbit above GB-0068a, it had comprised a single Anoijan frigate that had tracked the pirates’ craft from their disabled and looted bulk freighter. Soon after they had determined the nature of the pirate stronghold on the surface of the otherwise uninhabited moon, a joint Federation flotilla was dispatched. In total, there were now two Anoijan Nimar the Vigorous class frigates, three Nshii Violent class war barks, two Marlaq Glip’Gen’Lars class light cruisers, and an entire four Darkalan Praetorian class strike cruisers. These last were particularly impressive specimens, measuring the better part of two kilometers at the keel, slabbed in indomitable armor, bristling in high yield x-ray laser canons, and heavy bellied with hanger bays loaded with dropships. Next to these gathered behemoths of martial steal, it was easy to miss the human corvette. It was dark, seeming to fade into the background space around it. Its shape was sinuous and lithe, like a hunting beast tight-packed with corded weapon-muscle. But even for all that, its mere hundred-and-thirty meter length and barely visible form made it seem so unassuming and...well, tiny next to the other ships in the task force. The human ship (Vol had learned its name was the Gallipoli, which didn’t translate, so she assumed it was a historical name.) may have been small, but it’s interior space seemed to be so cramped and utilitarian that it made up for it. Partially that could be explained by biology. Humans were smaller and needed less space. But even for them, the narrow corridors and low overheads seemed like they would be claustrophobic. It didn’t even have an enclosed hanger deck. Vol’s shuttle from the Righteous Path had to dock with an external airlock. She was then escorted by a terse, professional human through the cramped corridors of the Gallipoli, wrestling her kit-case along behind her, trying not to decapitate herself on the overhead and practically doubling over entirely to fit through hatchways, all while human crew ratings darted from side to side making room. The terse, professional human left her at a door labeled in blocky human runes that she couldn’t read, but matched the blocky human runes she couldn’t read on her orders, so she reached for a door signal that wasn’t there. She grumbled and set her kit-case down, contorting her hunched frame around to examine the hatch, looking for the controls. That was about the point where the door clanged and swung inwards of its own accord. Inside was a human in very different garb than she’d seen the crew wearing. Rather than a dark blue-grey jumpsuit, this one was wearing a black top that left her arms bare and pants in an eye-baffling pattern of greens and dark browns. She looked Vol up and down with those wickedly sharp eyes that all humans seemed to have, appearing to dissect and analyze everything about her in the space of a breath. Then she turned and shouted something back into the compartment in human with a barking, authoritative voice before speaking to Vol in fluent, if oddly accented GalCom. “Well, get in here and stop clogging the hall.” Vol scrabbled up her kit-case and hauled it and herself through the hatchway. She tried to be careful so as not to trample the much smaller human woman, but she seemed to slither out of her way on her own. Inside the compartment, the overhead lifted a good several centimeters. It still scratched the top of her crest, but Vol gave a rapturous hiss as her spine was finally allowed to straighten. Looking around her, Vol saw a group of four or five humans, all in non-uniform garb, all in very different standards of grooming than she had ever seen on human military officers, and all looking at her. Vol blinked twice, not sure what to do or say. Were these the Ahperaitores? The didn’t look bigger or stronger than any other human she’d seen, but then she’d never seen very many humans at all. Nobody she knew had… “The Captain's through there,” the female interrupted Vol’s thoughts. Vol followed the human’s gesture to another open hatch and, leaving her kit-case in the larger compartment, ducked through. It was a smaller compartment, an officer’s readyroom. The human inside didn’t come up to Vol’s shoulder, a handbreadth under two meters, and he had the same slender, sinewy build that all humans had. He had dark skin, and his hair shaved. Vol wasn’t practiced at differentiating human facial features, but his eyes were hard and intent as he studied a data tablet. Those eyes snapped to Vol like a targeting system locking as she ducked through the open hatch. “I take it you’re the Darkalan liaison,” the human said. He soluted Vol in Darkalan fashion, raising his left arm with the back of the hand facing her, the traditional sign of one armed warrior to another. Vol returned the solute automatically, surprised to see it coming from a human. “I’m Captain Troy Whitmin. Captain’s the rank, everything else is name. I lead Ops-Team-9. You are?” “Sir, Medical Officer First Grade Mimiala’Vol,” Vol rattled off in perfect protocol GalCom. “Can I assume you know why you’re here?” he said. “Sir, I was told we were to attempt a rescue, and that I was to be responsible for the hostage’s immediate care on site.” Whitmin grunted, a not-dissatisfied sound. “You’ll get the detailed mission-plan brief with the rest of the squad. Have you brought everything you think you’ll need for your role?” “My kit-case is in the other room sir.” “I’ll have to inspect it before we drop.” Vol tried to keep her crest from bristling. “I assure you sir, my equipment is in perfect order.” “I don’t doubt that for a second, Medical Officer,” Whitmin said in a placating tone. “The Darkalan Navy keeps excellent soldiers. But this is standard procedure for us with joint operations. We simply like to be...careful when working with other organizations and species.” “‘We’ meaning Ahperaitores, Captain?” Vol said, blaming the edge of the question on her still cooling chollar and immediately kicking herself for it. Whitmin gave her a neutral sort of smirk. “Let me guess,” he said. “Uncovering Network?” Vol’s crest went slack in chagrin. “I apologize, Sir, I meant no offence.” “Oh, none taken,” he said. “Just for future reference, galactic media seems to think that that word is some kind of official organizational name. It’s not. The GalCom translation is ‘operators.’ It’s really just a...sort of job title for soldiers in special operations units like this.” “So there’s more than one kind of Ahp- of...special forces unit?” Vol asked. This was the first time she’d ever heard of a human volunteering information about their species’ inner workings. “Several, and plenty of them are represented back there,” Whitmin said, gesturing to the room behind Vol. “Here, let me introduce you.” Vol backed out to make room for Whitmin to follow her into the larger room, where the other humans were busying themselves with all sorts of equipment and weaponry. He made a sharp whistling sound that stabbed through the air and brought the room to stillness. Vol thought they would have come to attention for their commanding officer, but they seemed not to care for the formality. Weren’t human warriors supposed to be professional? “You’ve all met our darkalan liaison,” Whitmin said and turned to her. “Do you prefer to go by your clan-name or your given honorific, medical officer?” “Vol is fine,” she said, thinking informality was the proper tack here. “Very well, Vol it is. We’ll probably assign you a callsign for radio communications later.” Whitmin started pointing to each of the humans in the room, starting with the female that had opened the hatch for her. “That’s Chief Master Sergeant Mary Spears, callsign White-Rabbit, Yoo-Tee-Enn Sow-Kom by way of the Special Space Service. She’s the chief Enn-See-Oh which makes her second in command.” The female, Spears, was smaller than the males. Vol found that an odd thought, female darkalans generally standing head and shoulders over their male counterparts. She had coppery skin and sun-bleached looking hair shaved short on one side of her head, and several artistic pigmentation marks on her arms and neck. Vol wondered if they were like darkalan scar-etchings or something else. Her eyes were an electric-looking blue. “Second ta God, the Cap means,” she said, and Vol again noticed a lilting note in her accent that hadn’t been there in Whitmins flat inflection. “The big one behind her is Sergeant Gordon Paulski, callsign Roadkill” Whitmin continued, indicating the male with palish skin and what Vol thought might have passed for a bulky frame...for a human. His hair was middle-brown, long enough that he had tied it back into a tail, and accompanied by a second growth of hair curling from his upper lip down the sides of his mouth. “Paulski’s our designated marksman, trained in the Mar-Sok Scout Snipers, but he was from Tennessee before that, so it was more of a finishing-school to teach him not to eat with his fingers and to walk upright instead of on all fours.” Paulski called something in human with a rolling drawl and a smile. It must have been something impolitic, because Spears jammed her elbow into his midsection. Paulski didn’t seem to notice. The captain ignored what would have been a flagrant breach of military protocol in a darkalan outfit and moved on to “Technical Sergeant Hao Yiran, callsign Box-Man. Hao’s our PeeJay. PeeJay is…” “An acronym for a human term,” provided the last of the group, a short-ish male with short black hair and slanted eyes. He was even shorter than the others, but thickly built, which made him seem almost like a juvenile to Vol. “translated, it essentially means ‘jumping rescue soldier.’ I’m our medical specialist.” “That,” said Whitmin. “I’ll make sure he gets you a crash course in the basics in case of emergencies, but you won’t be expected to pull medic duty on any of us. Your job is the hostage. And on that note, Spears, pull up the blackboard. Major Pike just sent me the surface survey and I want you and our liaison’s input on our infil route.” —- The next hour or so was spent with the two leaders in congress over what the humans called the “Blackboard.” It was a holographic display table with an interactive map of the pirates’ base of operations and the surrounding area. Vol was a little disconcerted at the level of detail it showed. If what she was seeing was accurate, the Gallipoli had sensors powerful enough to render details down to the square meter, penetrate soil, rock and artificial structures, and even estimate the positions of biological activity by heat signature. The two humans intermittently peppered Vol with questions about the hostage. What was the physical description of the boy? Did he have any identifying markings? How old was he? How tall? How heavy? What was the average body temperature range for a darkalan male his age and condition? What sort of injuries could they expect him to have sustained? She answered these as fully as she could with her limited information. She provided the identification records her superiors had given her, rattled off the most pertinent medical information she had, she even opened her kit case to show the humans what sort of equipment she would be bringing. When she did, all of the humans had an immediate reaction to her armor. “Top,” said Paulski, voicing what appeared to be a shared sentiment among the humans, “I’m thinkin that’s gonna be big frikkin problem.” “I know, Roadkill,” said the Captain. “I expected this might come up.” Vol didn’t see what the issue was. Her armor was, in point of fact immaculate. Not only that, but it was one of the latest marks of darkalan infantry plate produced. It layered ablative plating, exoskeletal support struts, and a multi-cell battery core powering a shoulder-mounted anti-personal railgun. Very few examples of infantry combat hardware could exceed its performance short of a Praetorian Cavalry powered armor rig. “You expected what might come up, Captain Whitmin?” Vol said. “Quite bluntly, I don’t know what’s wrong.” Instead of answering her directly, Whitmin addressed the room as a whole. “You’ve all been briefed on darkalan ground-war tactics. Heavy plate and powered armor. Big, loud, heavy, even more than normal for Federation member species. We got lucky though, this is one of the more compact patterns I’ve seen. Darkalan officers traditionally paint their armor in their personal arms and colors though.” “And our liaison officer’s colors,” Spears interjected, “are about as hi-viz as a bloody landing strip.” “Hi-viz?” Vol said, unsure how this could have offended the humans. “Clean white and sky-blue tend to stand out visually in a green jungle at night,” said Hao. “This mission is going to require stealth.” “And you believe that my armor will be too visible,” Vol said. “Do you propose I leave it behind?” “Not necessarily,” said Whitmin. “If you’ll consent to it, there’s something we can do about it. We can have one of us take it down to the bay and spray-paint over it. I’ll take personal responsibility for restoring it to original condition or replacing it after the mission.” Vol’s immediate reaction was to deny that she had heard such an insulting suggestion. She was proud of her colors. She had worked hard for the right to wear them, and maintained them diligently for all her cycles as an officer. How could this human suggest she simply paint over them? But, she thought*, he knows what they mean. He understands darkalan culture and tradition, and respects it enough to make his proposal right at his own expense. He wouldn’t do any of this if he didn’t have a very good reason, whatever it is.* Grudgingly, Vol nodded ascent. “Very well. But please be careful that it’s reversible when we are done.” “Thank you, medical officer,” said Whitmin. “Roadkill, take the medical officer’s armor down to the bay and get to work.” “One hillbilly jarhead camo job comin up, Top,” said the hairy-faced human, liberally peppering the sentence with awkward human words Vol had no context for. —- The whole team gathered around the blackboard some time later. The captain and chief master sergeant -“Top” and “Chief '' as Vol had learned the ranks were abbreviated- painstaking layed out OpsTeam9’s plan of insertion. The Gallipoli would make atmospheric entry on the far side of the moon in daylight, then fly across the terminator to deposit the team two and a half kilometers from the pirate base in the dead of night. Vol had imagined that the stealth obsessed human operators would have some sort of tiny shuttle or orbital drop pod rather than bringing their whole ship into the atmosphere, but Whitmin answered her query with “If they have anything down there that can see the Gallipoli, they deserve to shoot her down.” The landing of the ship was unusual, for some reason, but the humans were reluctant to explain what else they may have done to get to the surface. She thought she heard someone use the term “hay-low jump” but had no idea what that could mean. From the landing point, the team had several optional routes on foot to the compound. They all seemed like long treks to Vol, but she supposed that couldn’t be helped given the need for the Gallipoli to avoid detection. Once at the compound, Hao, Spears, and Vol would make entry while Paulski and Whitmin provided cover. The humans had a reasonably good guess as to what room the boy, or The Package, as they called him, was being held in, and the guard compliment around the area. All in all, it seemed as though the humans might know more about the pirate compound than the pirates themselves did. Military intelligence this detailed and in-depth was almost unheard of in the Darkalan Navy. Vol had always heard that the humans were a tricksy and shrewd - some said “underhanded” - people, but she had always thought most of the stories were xenophobic or exoticist exaggeration. She was beginning to suspect that there might be something to them “Are there any questions?” Whitmin asked. Hao raised his hand and received an acknowledging nod from the commanding officer. “What kind of enemy armament do we expect on-site?” he asked. “Intel says mostly civilian grade small arms” Spears put in. “Mostly low yield laser and pellet drivers. They’ve been in considerable money for a while though, so a few of them may have splurged on something fancier. The spook analysissies think atleast a few of them are lugging around plasma or similar directed energy guns. Probably Kim’ra 7s. In any case, we don’t have any sign of anything crew-served or vehicle mounted. These guys board ships for a living, they don’t need technicals.” “Rules of engagement?” asked Paulski. “If it’s carrying a weapon, it’s fair game,” said Whitmin. “But Ess-Oh-Pee for an extraction; we stay quiet and undetected until we have the package in hand, longer if at all possible. It’s a rescue, not a raid.” “Will that be possible?” asked Vol. “Getting all the way into the compound without anyone noticing?” “Trust me,” said Whitmin, “We are the best there is at what we do, and we do it often. Follow our lead, do exactly as my people tell you, and we’ll walk into Hell, snuff all the fires, steal all the brimstone, and be long gone before the Devil even knows we’re there.” --- When the briefing was done, Vol and the humans of OpsTeam9 moved through the cramped, narrow corridors of the Gallipoli, crew scattering out of their way, to the Bay. The Bay, as it turned out, was the closest thing the Gallipoli had to a proper hangar deck. It was about the size of a civilian vehicle garage, and walled in lockers, retaining nets, and anchor points. One wall was obviously some sort of airlock door. A pallet of military cargo was strapped down in the center of the space, along with Vol’s kitcase. The humans wasted no time opening lockers and preparing themselves with the gear and clothing within. They apparently were not bothered by mores of modesty or nudity taboos, simply stripping down to change into their battle gear. Vol mentally shrugged, reasoned that they weren’t darkalan, and took the opportunity to indulge her curiosity. Almost universally, the humans had at least a few of the body-art markings Spears displayed, along with scars of a multitude of severity and origins. Under their clothing, the humans’ forms seemed even more slender and lithe, long muscles visible through their smooth skin as they moved. Vol thought they looked unnatural. Slithery. Creepy. She heard the sound of metal clacking on the floor, and turned to see Spears shuck off her baggy trousers to reveal light sucking matte black metal. Her right leg ended a few centimeters down the thigh, replaced by a spindly looking, but remarkably articulated prosthetic. “What happened?” Vol asked, medical curiosity overriding social carefulness. “A difference of opinion,” the human replied, “between me foot and a landmine as ta the rightful occupant of a certain bit of ground. The landmine won.” “Does it cause you complications in your duties?” “Not after the surgery,” Spears shrugged. “Other than socially, that is. I’ve got kids that think I’m a navy clerk. Mite hard ta explain how Mommy got her leg exploded off from behind a desk.” “You have a family? Children?” Vol asked. “We’ve all got family.” “And you lie to them about what you do.” “Only the little ones,” said Spears. “They aren’t really old enough to understand. Not old enough to ken what it means that me job is to go out into the pitch black places where the monsters live and try to shoot the monsters in the face.” The humans were donning clothing colored in greys, blacks, and other drab colors in a bizarre, eye-baffling pattern that seemed to blend together in odd ways. Flexible boots, equipment harnesses, and gloves went on over this. And finally, the only armor they seemed to possess, vests uniquely rigged for each human to carry equipment and pouches particular to their roles and preferences, along with helmets featuring large optical devices. “Do you not wear any more armor than that?” “Not much point,” replied Hao, sinching a strap on a leg-mounted pouch. “Humans keep all of their vital organs in the upper torso and head. Damage to other parts of the body usually won’t kill us outright. Anything that will kill a human instantly from a hit to a limb was going to kill him regardless of what he was wearing. Besides, the best armor is not getting hit in the first place, and that’s easier with as little weight as possible.” “You mean to tell me,” Vol said with incredulity, “that you can dodge laser fire?” “He means that if we do our jobs right,” cut in Paulski, proffering Vol’s kitcase, “We don’t have to dodge anything.” Vol took the proffered case, set it down and opened it. Inside was all of her equipment, but Vol barely recognized it. Instead of the gleaming white and pale blue, Vol saw drab greens and dark tones of brown and black, patched together in a splotchy, mottled pattern. She picked up the left vambrace, examining it from every angle. “It was a bit of a rush job,” said Paulski. “Only so much I can do with spray paint and a few hours, but it’ll last ‘til the end of the mission. Ain’t nothin’ I can do ‘bout yer size though, so move carefully and...I dunno, think small I guess.” Vol thanked the human for his work, though it made her crest prickle, and proceeded with her own preparation. Darkalan battleplate wasn’t all cloth and straps the way the human “armor” seemed to be. It was good, solid stuff of metal, clasp-seals, and powered servos. Each piece slotted into its neighbors as tight as a crustacean's plated shell. It was reliable, dependable, powerful. When Vol finally sealed her helmet and powered it up, the familiar darkalan script of the heads up display made her feel like she’d awakened a tiny bit of home in this alien world she’d found herself in. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the helmet filtered air. When she opened them, the humans were arming, checking and slinging weapons. It was well known that humans traditionally favored hand-held small arms rather than armor mounted weapons. It seemed odd, a species with technology far ahead of most Federation member nations clinging to archaic weapon forms. It was even rumored that, even though their regular infantry had a reliable laser rifle platform, the Ahperaitores still used solid kinetic guns. And unless she missed her guess, the magazines they were feeding into their pouches were indeed solid slugs. Vol had enough respect for interspecies military security not to pry too deeply into the details, but having been trained in the use of the rail-cannon, kinetic projectiles were a choice she could respect. The rest of the time in the bay was occupied with strange little rituals. Each of the humans paired off. One would bounce up and down on their toes, while the other observed, then they would switch. A “jump-test” Whitmin explained, to make sure that there were no loose objects that could rattle or otherwise give away one’s position by sound. Not that Vol thought there was any reason. The humans were disconcertingly silent as is, unless they were speaking. He invited Vol to participate, and she obliged, her metal sabatons clanging on the metal deck. At Least nothing was loose. Next, the humans all passed around a tin of “warface”, which turned out to be a sort of greenish-brown paste. They smeared this on their faces and necks, painting themselves mottled green like barbarian tribal warriors putting on war paint. Paulski and Hao traded small devices, common civilian media players, then parted to opposite ends of the bay. When Vol asked Spears, the human woman told her that Pauski and Hao were of different nationalities on Terra, nationalities that were culturally very different and historically rivals. Spears said that ever since they had been assigned to the same squad, they had argued the merits of their own culture’s musical styles. Eventually, they had developed the habit of trading samples of their homelands’ traditional music before the start of every mission. Apparently, neither one would yet admit to the other that he really did enjoy what his teammate had shown him. The most solemn, to Vol’s eyes, were the parchments. Each of the human soldiers produced from somewhere a folded paper packet with a line of human runes on one side. Each one, including Whitmin, took their paper and handed it to the commander of the Gallipoli, who had come to the bay seemingly for the sole purpose of receiving these packets. The commander spoke in low tones with Whitmin, then took his leave. Whitmin gathered the attention of his team as the commander disappeared towards the bridge. “We’re starting our entry run,” he said. “Planetfall in twenty. Any problems speak now or forever hold your peace.” No one spoke up, so the captain continued. “One last thing: the votes are in, and our special guest Medical Officer Mimiala’Vol has been patched into the team coms net with the callsign ‘Snake-Doctor.’ Welcome to Ess-Eff country, Snake-Doc.” A round of raucoutry and human cheering went up, and Vol felt a dozen hard impacts on her pauldrons as her new companions clapped her shoulders in congratulation. As though the simple radio callsign were some sort of initiation- a new battle name like the warrior tribes of old. As the humans settled, a new seriousness fell over them, not a grimness, more of an eager resolve. The captain ordered the air-lock opened. The team piled into the cargo airlock, and were sealed inside. End of Part 1 Part 2 may be found here
2020.09.24 02:50 archetype_genesisLooking for 2D artist for fighting game
I'm looking for a 2D artist to help out with the fighting game I am working on. I have a devlog thread here - https://forums.tigsource.com/index.php?topic=68988 I've made a lot of progress in terms of core systems and am starting to reach the point where i can implement the actual characters I want to add. I would love to be able to actually pay but unfortunately I don't have a lot of financial resources to do so. However my main job is in web development, perhaps if you need some website work done we could work out something on trade? If you're interested please send your portfolio to dev at archetypegenesis.com
2020.09.24 02:50 King_RezzSeriously need some advice
Ok, so me (male 28) and the mother of my child (female 27) were together for 5 years and we broke up in October 2018. No cheating, but my depression made me stop caring about her and my child mentally and even in some cases emotionally. No dates and I secluded myself from my family and her family. I was hard to talk to at times and I just stop hearing her cries for help. I looked into other sources attempting to bury or hide it not trying to stress her out about my suicidal thoughts and ignored her and my child for months while in the same household. She'll probably never forgive me, and that's ok, but i also want to forgive myself. After she kicked me out or in her eyes i left (july 2019) because she really started to really dislike me I couldn't and did not want to keep my child where I was staying, so I would go over there and see her and was there finically still. She started blaming me for not helping and because of my credit (paying Bills with my credit cards when she was low on money and signing on a car she got repossessed) I couldn't even get a apartment until I worked on it. calling herself a single mother......hurt hearing that when I was there. Got depressed again because life was just kicking my ass (got sick and couldn't work for months) so i disappeared. Almost ended my life but remembered my child. I was Staying with my dad and one minute he would say it's cool to take a room and keep my kid, and the next I was getting to comfortable and had to leave soon. Imagine hearing all the time how much of a bad dad you are and you aren't shit, and constantly being reminded of it because you cant keep your child. I'm fine now and fully mentally and emotionally well. She's moved on....well I think. She says she has forgiven me and herself for the failure of our relationship but still doesn't like me lol which is fine. Just wanted to be cordial and nothing more. Which is great. I agree. Told me she was in love with someone, then said days later she wasnt talking to someone "romantically" lol. Trying to make me jealous? Who knows, but This isn't a post about trying to get her back.....no. That story is done. I just wanted to know will things get better over time to the point we're just cool if I'm just friendly and help out when and if I can. Should I ask from time to time is she ok or just mind my business? Sometimes I just cash app her money simply out of courtesy she just might need it for herself or our child (maybe its just guilt) . the fact that she is the mother of my child, I want to make sure she's ok, but we aren't together idk if I should or shouldn't (hence why I'm asking for advice), or just back off completely and Just do for my child (female 3)? My mother ( female 55) and father (male 56) didnt get along and I hated it as a kid, so I'm trying to avoid that. It's no secret I still care for her, but I also haven't forgiven myself. Maybe I should just disappear and just co parent? Oh yeah forgot to mention....we were having sex after the break up until recently. Used to sleep over and all. Wasnt often, but it did happen.....may-ish is the last time we had sex if this info helps you give me advice
2020.09.24 02:50 enthusiasticduckGirl who is always so embarrassed of herself. Needing help.
Hi everyone :) I just wanted to know if there is anything I can do to try to improve the terrible way that I view myself? I don’t know if anyone else has felt this before, but I literally feel embarrassed of myself when with others. I feel ashamed that I don’t fit in and I’m a blemish on the group I’m with... it’s hard to put into words. I literally feel sick imagining people’s faces dropping seeing me or those fake laughs and glances at other people they do that kind of say ‘look at this ugly weirdo trying to talk to me...’ Doesn’t help that I have a younger looking face so it primes me to see myself as foolish, naïve and less worthy of being in the situation I’m in/ with other people who I always see as higher up than me. I also have a skin condition which leads to me being red and flaky quite a lot. My body language also feels so awkward - I cover myself quite a bit, whether that’s a hand over my tummy, my hair as a curtain around my face. I feel very insecure and I completely believe that I am ugly. I often cry about it, even though I know it’s vain and personality matters and all that, but it would be silly to ignore the emphasis society gives to having good looks. Even on those rare days when I dress up a little better and feel good I’m still insecure because I’m still ugly but I’m just the best possible version of myself lol. I don’t know if this is normal, I know I have low self-esteem and many do, but to feel so embarrassed of myself? To feel so unworthy and silly... I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t recall any trauma or anything and I love my family etc so not sure why I’ve ended up like this. I’ve always been shy since I was little. I have also been overprotected I guess. Would appreciate any help on how to stop feeling so unworthy and disgusting :( it’s really silly I acknowledge it, but I can’t help putting other people on this super high pedestal and see myself as right down on the floor. I just feel ‘wrong’... sorry for this depressing post Edit: one day I’d like to be in the performing arts too, because it’s always something that has excited me... but my insecurity about my looks and feeling so disgusting is stopping me from even trying it out.
2020.09.24 02:50 LifeWasaWasteland23 [F4M] Online/Midwest - Voice Inside! Looking For My Person
Here's my voice. I recommend listening to it first, or ONLY that. Whichever floats your boat. ;P So hi. I wanted to write a bit as a follow up to the voice recording. Mostly to sort of give some more basics about me that my nonsensical ramblings didn't cover. I'm your pretty standard 23 year old. I like video games (though I play them less and less). I like books (specifically audiobooks because I have aphantasia and it helps) and writing. I love hobbies, so I know a little bit about a lot of things (origami, ukulele, woodworking, knitting, etc). I want to make sure it's super clear: do not message me if you don't want to voice chat. I can't really connect with someone if I don't get to hear their voice. The voice message pretty clearly summed up the vague idea of what I'm looking for so I'll leave it here! Shoot me a message if you think we'd be a fit.
2020.09.24 02:50 Wild_Presentation782The Dress I need
There’s this RLLY pretty kinda badass looking dress on Depop (I saw badass cause even though it looks lovely idk why it gives me killer vibes) and it’s around $200 I LOVE it so much and I only have $100 and I’m waiting for my next paycheck, I’m wayyy too nervous to ask to put it on hold for another 2 weeks so I’m praying that no one buys the dress in that time frame if they do i might as well just give up on everything 🤦♀️ ughhhh it’s so PRETTYYYYYY
2020.09.24 02:50 roottootybooty"PLEASE 😏 HELP 🥺 ME 😾 COMPLETE 💥 MY PM2 🗡️🔪 COLLECTION".... Sale
Timestamp Please if anyone 👀👁️👀👁️ had the remaining 🏃♀️🏃♀️ pm2s let me know 💯👅💥. I have cash and some fat trades not shown.I. Need.These. As.soon.as.possible. PLEASE🙏 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 HERE ARE THE ONLY TRADES I WANTTrades 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 Video Evidence Piranha DNA 🐠🐠🐟🐟[b] lightly carried, never cut with. SV 90 Protech large don [b] never cut or carried. SV 235 Bailout 3v [b] second user, ti scales swap. Comes with original scales/box. SV 230 Crkt psych [c] sharpened, not well lol. SV ⁴⁰ Steel Will Gecko 🦎🦎[b-] carried a few times, few beauty marks. SV 105 spyderco subhilt and lil bundle [b] D/A converted normal subhilt and a normal stock lil subhilt, Never cut with. Not splitting. SV 445 🐟🥶🥶😈😈💦💨🧚🧞⛷️🤽🏌️🏊🚣🌀🌬️🌊🌁 Protech Harkins ATAC 🥇🎖️🏅[b+] never cut with or carried this knife. Pvk custom 24 karat plated ATAC. The detent holding the spring back is on the weaker side, if this doesn't sell I was thinking about asking for it to be serviced. SV 620 SNK sprint native 5 [a++] BNIB comes with goodies. SV 190.03 Kizer soze had done light cutting no visible signs of wear SV 140 Pm2 52100 serr. [b] has patina on the blade never carried. Would love to trade for a lnib exact match + cash. SV 160 Computer 👨💻💻🖥️ [c..lol?] removed hard drive from it, still works perfectly fine. Was lightly used as a work laptop. If this isn't allowed lmk figured I'd try. SV 55 Add-ons Only SV 20 for ti, SV 15 for stock Not looking to budge to far on prices, please read trade interests. As always, y'all late fabulous🥳🤯. Love you all and have a great rest of the week ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍
2020.09.24 02:50 Chako009Why do I change personalities rapidly at random times?
Hi everyone. I am a 19 year old male. As far as my diagnosis goes, I have been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. Basically, I feel like my personality changes randomly and frequently. I always thought it was maybe just the mood changing, but then I realized that it was much more than that. The one moment I'm basically a person who has such a high ego and believes that people should worship me, and go to like places to meet people and be a bit sadistic at times, as in, I like arguing with people because of their reactions at times, and I go and feel like I am a god at times, that people need to treat me like one. I am much more extraverted then, much more impulsive, overly confident etc. And then sometimes, I get a hatred personality, where I just feel like a victim in a world where everyone hates me, and that people should pay for what they did to me. I am much more cynical, and I feel like I am better off without humans, and disregard their feelings, and just have this anger in me. Then I have this empathetic personality, that I care so much for people and help them out as much as I can, and try to do my best to make the world a better place. Then I feel sometimes as a sad person, feeling as like no one loves me, I will never feel love, and feel suicidal, and feel like, I just want to feel love. And then I become this socially anxious and awkward person at times, thinking that everything I say might put them off of me, and get stressed easily about the things I say to people, and am super apologetic. A lot of times it happens on a daily basis that everything changes. Not as in all in one day, but maybe a few in a single day or so. And what is interesting, is that I never get any blackouts when I change, as in, I feel conscious, and remember what I do most of the times (I do have bad memory problems, but not in the sense of a blackout). I do sometimes have this like, as Sherlock would call it usually, "Mind Palace", where I think and debate with myself usually in, but like, sometimes I feel like I see a small boy locked in a prison cell-like cage in like a flashback or minds eye thing, that screams for help etc. As in I feel most of the times that I am falling but don't stop falling. I do not know what is going on with me, and would really like to get someone's opinion about it. I feel like dying at times, like, I just want to give up, and sometimes I feel like I get paralysed at times and have a bit hypertension, and also have these attacks where everything sounds echoeish, everything looks like a slow motion camera, and I start to feel numb and want to tip over at times. I hope I gave enough information. Please let me know if you want more.
'Lookin' For A Love' - The Valentinos ABKCO Music ...
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