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hausofmamadas · 9 days ago

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Until The Day You Don't Come Back

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Pairing: Andrea Nuñez & David Barrón (+ some implied Dinarrón)

Prompt: "All we have are our choices" and Crossroads - for @narcosfandomdiscord Narcovember - #14 Book of Decisions Decisions Decisions

Word count: ≈ 4.2K

Note: shoutout to the homie @rerorero-my-cherry whose discord tonteria, talking about skipping off to Mexico to escape fascism somehow sparked the idea for this fic and I can't even explain how or why😂

TWs: Canon-consistent violence, descriptions of violent acts, smoking

There was no possible universe in which he was brought here by conscience. So naturally, she was dying to know the real reason they were meeting now under this bridge... Andrea gets a mysterious call from a potential new informant one day with information on notoriously corrupt politician and money launderer, Carlos Hank Gonzalez. She agrees to a late-night meeting on the US side of the border, so she can get all the tea, and boy is that tea scalding. (This ended up entirely too long but here you go world.)

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Andrea checks her watch. Almost midnight. The road is quiet, cars passing by every fifteen minutes. The thinnest nail clipping of the moon is out and her informant is over a half an hour late. The lone street light flickering on the overpass above feels like a doomsday clock urging her to cut her losses and go home.

Really, loitering at this fork in the road under a highway bridge isn’t the most sensible idea, not when people were being gunned down in the streets in broad daylight and the cartels were using the bodies of their victims to send telegrams to each other. At least she had enough sense to insist the meeting take place on the US side of the border where her death would at least be investigated should things end badly. Just a few miles from Tecate, she’d found an unmonitored stretch of border the gringos hadn’t fenced off yet a few months ago and had been using it to touch base with informants.

It’s for this reason Salgado is always telling her she’s a clever girl with no sense. And also that if she’s senseless enough not to listen to him, as La Voz’s editor and her boss, he makes no bones about using it to his advantage. And he had - a series of groundbreaking stories about the hipódromo, Carlos Hank Gonzalez, and the AFO were enough to prove her senselessness enough of an asset, no matter how much of a danger it posed. Until the day you don’t come back, he’d note ominously.

But if not her, then who? The job was easier to do if you knew you were already dead. She did. She also didn’t think about it too much. Plus, this lead was too big to pass up. The call with the tip-off had come directly to her desk, an anonymous insider allegedly high enough in the AFO to know all about Gonzalez’s dealings not just with the Arellano family but with Amado Carrillo Fuentes in Juarez; news she wasn’t yet privy to but that made enough sense to catch her attention. And that’s how she ends up on these back-country, dirt roads in the middle of the night.

Of course, she knows it could be a trap too - she’s senseless, not stupid. She knows full well this little rendezvous could be no more than someone making good on a bounty for the head of any journalist from La Voz. She couldn’t even bring herself to revel in the I told you so, when the street edict came down from the AFO after Salgado enacted the policy of removing writers’ names from the bylines, even if she did tell him it was a short-term solution to a long term problem. It was even shorter than they bargained for because within a week of implementing the policy, the AFO had branded anyone who came in and out of that office fair game. Normally she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to retroactively gloat, but this time it didn’t seem fair. Salgado did his best to protect them and it earned the whole staff a scarlet letter. But who’s fault was that really? So she left well enough alone, like she never had an opinion on the matter to begin with.

So yeah, the prospect of this being a trap had occurred to her. More than once. And the longer she sits here, leaning against the hood of her station wagon, checking her watch, the more the possibility keeps rearing its ugly head. Right on cue, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel has her going for the handgun in her waistband and spinning around to greet the void of what she hoped would be empty space under the bridge.

“Hello? Who’s there?” She does her best to breathe, keep calm, as she anchors the gun in both hands, aiming for the shadows.“Dejate ver. Muestrate si no quieres tomarte una bala en el culo.”

A pair of raised hands are the first things to emerge followed by a modestly dressed man with a clean-cut crop of dark hair, dark eyes, and a sharply drawn mustache that gives him the look of a French nobleman caught in the wrong timeline. Her stomach drops several floors and liquifies into a puddle on the ground as it sinks in, just who he is. She’d give anything not to but there’s no eradicating the sense of recognition.

So this is it then. The end of the line.

She’d pictured it just like this. In fact the scene is so familiar, she feels the distinct impulse to laugh at just how much of a cliche she’s about to be. Because as much as she can acknowledge the possibility - meeting a grisly, undignified end, painted somewhere on the streets of a city she’s fought for and loved, just another macabre telegram - she’s also struck by the kind of shame that accompanies shattered hubris. That, somewhere along the way, she mistakenly bought into a brand of exceptionalism she always hoped to avoid, one might call it downright American. Rationally, she’s known the odds, even accepted them. And yet somehow it was still something that only happened to other people.

What a fool. She’d kick herself if she wasn’t about to die. Or maybe … How fast could this guy move? How quick could his hands be? Maybe she’d turn her gun on herself, get a shot off before he could get his out. Take things on her own terms. Not that she can even see a gun. But she doesn’t need to, to know it’s there, tucked in his waistband right at the base of his back.

After all, he is the AFO’s top sicario, David Barrón Corona. One of the most lethal men in Tijuana. Maybe all of Mexico. She’s only ever seen him at a distance, through a telephoto lens or in grainy photographs developed thereafter, but she could recite a list of his exploits from memory like a kid in some perverse spelling bee: the shootout at Christine’s, the airport massacre, the assassination of Ocampo, the shootout at the Belmont cafe. The man’s resume is a mile long and filled with nothing but death.

In her experience, meeting monsters like this tended to be unsettling for how boring and anticlimactic they always seemed to be. He appears no different. Just a man walking on two legs, with two eyes to see, and those eyes aren’t even crazed or rage-filled or brimming with hate. Whenever she came face to face with someone like him, it tended to incite within her a twinge of irritation that they couldn’t do everyone the courtesy of coming with some kind of warning label.

One of her hands drops and she walks toward him, gun drawn as she cocks the hammer and fires a warning shot into the ground next to him with an ease that surprises even her. He barely flinches. It’s obviously not his first rodeo. Which, yes, is to be expected but the stillness of him is still downright chilling.

His posture is relaxed, hands up in an effort to suspend hostilities. She’s decidedly unmoved in her hostility.

“Y’know,” he attempts to reassure her, “if I wanted to kill you, ya estarías en el piso, desangrándote en la tierra,” but it looms more like a threat.

It catches her off guard though, how much softer, gentler his voice is than she expected. It’s almost enough to disarm her entirely until she remembers all the coroner’s reports and crime scene photos she’d come across in her research. His handiwork. Well-executed executions, meted out with such quiet indifference he could’ve been telling them a bedtime story. This is who she’s dealing with.

“O sí? Pues soy yo ya quien tiene la pistola. So start talking, cabrón antes que te dé por el culo,” she flicks her wrist, pointing the gun barrel at the gravel disturbed by the first shot, “with another one of those.”

He chuckles, “Usually when people, civvies especially, say that,” making sure to keep his hands up, careful not to make any sudden movements, “no les creo. Pero a ti? A ti te creo.”

“Arre. So, if you’re really not here to kill me, fuiste tu con quien hablé por el telefono?”

He gives a stiff nod.

Andrea cocks her head to one side, examining him in the flickering street lamp light. He’d be handsome were it not for the vacuum in his eyes, no warmth, no life, yet here he was, breathing and blinking and talking all the same. There was no possible universe in which he was brought here by conscience. With what she knew, he was likely immune to that particular plague. So naturally, she was dying to know the real reason they were meeting now under this bridge, at this dirt crossroads, near the dirt town of Tecate.

“Do I, uh, have to keep these,” he looks right, then left, at each of his arms, “up the whole time?”

She considers the risk for a moment, ultimately deciding to let him but refuses to drop her gun. His hands come swinging down by his sides apparently unbothered by the fact that he remains caught in her crosshairs. Yeah, clearly not his first rodeo. Not even his second. Or third.

He meets her eyes but says nothing and the silence starts to feel like a third party in the conversation that just won’t shut up. Andrea taps her foot impatiently but he doesn’t seem to get the memo that this is the part where he’s supposed to do the talking.

“Alright.” She exhales crossly, rolling her eyes. “What did you want to talk about? On the phone you said something about Hank and Juarez?”

“That’s right.” Barrón takes a few steps closer, hands now clasped together at his waist, no more troubled by the gun than when he was further away. “He’s been working with Amado since he took over. Cleaning his money.”

“I don’t understand. Wasn’t he already doing that for the Arellanos?”

He nods.

“Wait, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he align himself with warring plazas?”

Looking down, Barrón shrugs, “That’s above my pay grade,” kicking a rock across the dirt, dust trailing behind it like a tiny, terrestrial shooting star. “I’m not that high on the food chain.”

She regards him skeptically, brows crinkling.

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, “I can only guess,” seeming to take the cue this time. “He’s probably too high-profile for either plaza to fuck with, so big homie can afford to do business with both. But I doubt Sr. Kingpin Accountant accounted for the heat it’d bring back on him with all the, uh– y’know, scrutiny.”

Grinding her teeth, Andrea snorts. Scrutiny was both a succinct and delightfully vanilla way of saying, ‘global attention thanks to all the bodies of the streets.’ But the implications of Hank laundering money for Juarez were big. He might be playing the plazas off each other, biding his time until a victor emerges, one he’ll be all too happy to chuck right under the bus the minute the political machine decides it needs to offer up its next sacrificial lamb to the gringos. Standing there, trying to put all these new pieces together, Andrea suddenly remembers the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of her flannel and wishes she’d thought to smoke one before they’d started talking. She can’t afford the distraction of lighting one up now, what with having to keep the gun in place.

“Alright, so he’s doing business with both plazas. How the hell do you know this? You said it yourself, you’re not that high up on the food chain.”

He seems to bristle at this, throwing her a sideways glance through half-lidded eyes, face overtaken by a dangerous, far-away look that spooks her even more than the gun at his back. “Why would you need to know that to write your little story.”

Interesting. Something personal, perhaps. She’d get it out of him one way or another. But later.

“Well,” she grips the gun even tighter, knuckles going white and she hopes that by keeping her voice level, he can’t sense how scared she is, “it’s not going in an article per se. But for reasons that I hope would be obvious? I can’t identify you as a source. You’ll have to remain anonymous.”

“You don’t gotta do that on my account.”

Practically gagging on disbelief, she manages to sputter out, “For you? What are you kidding?” before regaining her composure. “I mean– well frankly, you’re a criminal, a killer at that, putting a rival cartel in the headlines, so it’s more an issue of self-interest. Now, I know doing something like this does nothing but put you at risk but my readers won’t know that. So, telling me how exactly you found out about all this would lend you more credibility as a source. O sea significa que podemos confiar más en lo que me has dicho.”

This seems to wound him privately somehow like he’s taken it worse than the bullet she’d fired. But whatever it stirs in him is gone before she gets a chance to interrogate it further.

No less relentless, it is enough for her to ease up on her delivery. “So do you have proof? Something concrete that I can take back to my editor?”

His hand goes in his pocket and he begins digging around for something. Andrea’s whole body stiffens and she takes a step back, arm straightening to retrain the gun on him more decisively. If he notices, he doesn’t show it as he continues fishing around in his pocket until he finally brings out a few folded documents along with a bag of rolling papers. He takes a pre-rolled cigarette out of the bag, popping it between his lips while reaching out to pass her the documents. A few hesitant steps forward, she lowers the gun slowly snatching the papers from his hands quickly before scurrying back again. Her head bobs up and down between watching him and trying to read what’s on the page in front of her.

“What are these,” she flips through a few pages, “business licenses?”

“Among other things.”

She skims the first document and for the first time she feels like this whole thing might not be a trap. Fixing him with the coldest, most I-will-kill-you stare she can manage, “I’m taking a big risk, doing this. No me hagas arrepentirme o te arrepentiras, lo prometo,” she flicks the safety on and puts the gun in her waistband, in front so he knows she still has easy access.

Bowing his head, Barrón agrees, "Noted," cracking a small smile, something akin to respect or maybe admiration and it’s the first time his face displays any emotion. It puts her a little more at ease.

Both hands now free, Andrea combs through the documents, a few loose, the rest stapled together, some with carbon copy backings, and skims for the highlights - important phrases, dates, places, signatures - until she finds a signature at the bottom of a business license for an aeronautic manufacturing company.

“A shell company,” Barrón confirms her suspicions before they’re even fully formed. “Makes specialty parts for small planes. Like Cessnas.”

She flips to the next page, documents showing ownership stakes in the casino at the hipódromo along with two of the Arellanos’ discotheques. Flipping through the rest, it’s more of the same, SEC and CNBV registrations for shell corporations, licenses for legitimate businesses, and share certificates, none of them bearing Carlos Hank’s name but nonetheless tying him to both Tijuana and Juarez by a signature almost as important: Carolina Vera. His lawyer. She was all over these documents.

Speechless, Andrea’s head rises slowly to look at Barrón. When she said proof, she wasn’t expecting it to be this monumental. The cynic in her kicks up, wondering if it isn’t just a more elaborate trap designed to lull her in a state of submission before the jaws snap shut for good.

“It gets better," he says, examining his zip-o lighter before flicking the top back and forth a few times with his thumb.

Which reminds her, in desperate need of a cigarette, Andrea folds the papers up and sticks them in the back pocket of her jeans and then feverishly digs around the pocket of her shirt for her pack. Once retrieved, she flicks her lighter several times, sparks flying at the end of the cigarette in her mouth, until finally a little bloom of flame appears out of the corner of her eye to light it for her. He's a smooth motherfucker, she'll give him that, although strangely, there was nothing smug about it. He brings it back, cradling the flame with his other hand to light his own. After a first drag, Andrea dips her head back, a cyclone of smoke pouring from her lips while she exhales in relief.

“How,” snapping forward again, she takes another drag before asking, voice thick, each word encased in smoke, “does this get any better?”

“I have another source.”

“What? Who?”

“Cristina Palacios Hodoyan.”

“No me digas." The shock has her nearly wheezing the words and her eyes are wide, almost feral with curiosity. “You know where she is?”

He smirks. “Who do you think hid her?”

“What? So– but wait, so you didn’t—y’know. Her sons?”

Suddenly he can’t meet her eyes and she can’t wipe the image of the bridge from her mind - the row of lifeless bodies strung up, punishment para los soplones, whose biggest crime was usually no more than bearing witness to things she never agreed to see in the first place. That Alex and Alfredo were more involved in the extracurricular activities didn’t change the fact that they were just boys.

Perhaps trying to get a read on Andrea or maybe just hoping to fill the silence, Barrón offers, “Everyone assumed- and for good reason. But that time wasn’t me. I was in San Diego, trying t–”

“Save it.” With one look, she skewers him, eyes narrowed, mouth tight, not here for his bullshit. “Vete alaverga con esa ‘that time.’ How many other times was it you, huh?”

Meeting her eyes again like he recognizes his mistake, he responds matter-of-factly, “Plenty,” head held high, no attempt at contrition, false or otherwise.

Still, she’s expecting him to plead his case, so she waits for the explanation, the mental gymnastics, the cognitive dissonance, the rationalization for every single horrific act of violence wrapped up in that plenty. After standing there, watching each other in silence for who knows how long, she realizes there won’t be any of that. And up sprouts the tiniest kernel of respect that she already hates for being there. But she can’t help it. David Barrón could be called a lot of things but a hypocrite wasn’t one of them. She rolls her eyes because christ, who needs heroes when the bar is this high.

She mumbles to herself, “There’s a fire sale and everything must go,” but before he can voice the look of pure confusion on his face, she’s onto the next question, something tugging at the back of her mind since he first stepped out of the shadows of the overpass. “So, what’s in this for you? Why are you telling me all of this?”

Gaze shifting off to the light polluted horizon, he goes quiet. Eventually he just says, “That’s a big question.”

If this was a television interview, the broadcast would’ve been cut for all the dead air between them but she just waits, hoping he might give her just a little more, something to put this whole bizarre night into perspective.

“It’s just—” he shakes his head, “the way I come up—” putting his smoke to his lips and taking a pull so long, she wonders if maybe the question hasn’t short-circuited him a bit.

“Gettin’ into all this,” he waves his hand around at nothing in particular, a party streamer of smoke left behind its path, “wasn’t really a choice for me. Not like how it is here. Now in this new– whatever. Era. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. We were supposed to legitimize. Climb outta this ditch, not dig it deeper.

“This? What do you mean?”

“The game,” he huffs in a moment of frustration, the only emotion he’s let escape so far. “Used to be no civvies, no bystanders, no regular folk. If you was in the game, you get popped on the street, well okay, you knew what you signed up for. But all this other– truth is, man, I’m just tired. Tired of the game, the life, tired of doing all this shit just to be someone’s second choice.”

It was the most he’d spoken the entire time and she didn’t want to interrupt for fear he’d clam up again and go back to nods and one-word answers, but she’d have to start asking some follow-up questions if he didn’t start putting some names to these pronouns.

“I tried to save him, y’know, for her.” He keeps going, face fixed with a thousand yard stare so vacant and icy, he might’ve had the surface of the moon in his eyes. “But I couldn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to. She knows I tried but maybe she knows that too.”

“Hm.” Crossing her arms, one hip cocked out to the side, Andrea examines the end of her cigarette before holding it off to the side and tapping it with her finger. “So the rumors were true. You and Enedina.”

“I thought it’d be different.” Barrón turns back to her, flashing a nihilistic smirk that reveals how broken he is. “But the things she’s asked me to do,” he shakes his head, “I don’t know. The game ain’t in me no more. And this last one, well—”

“This last one?”

“Your editor. He was greenlit.”

It takes a moment to register. When it finally does, Andrea feels like someone’s pressed pause on reality only to start playing it again in slow motion.

“Y— you mean, my—? uh, Salgado? Ramon?

“Pues, sí.”

“You’re certain?”

“Mhm. My next mark.”

“Hijoueputa,” she mutters. “No es posible.”

Stamping his cigarette out in the dirt with the heel of his wingtip, he nods. “Best believe it.”

“Well— so what? Are you still gonna go after him?” Andrea’s getting more panicked by the second, her fingers finding the grip of her gun.

Chuckling, Barrón puts a hand up in gentle protest, “Nah, chill.”

For some inexplicable reason, she listens to him.“Fine. So, what’re you gonna do then?”

”Something I’ve never done in my whole life.”

“What’s that?”

“Miss.”

Andrea appears to take some comfort in this as her shoulders drop, a breath escaping that she didn’t even know she was holding. Remembering her cigarette, she takes a last drag while noting dryly, “You know, you can never go back.”

A blank look from him is the only response she gets.

“If you do that— y’know, miss. The minute I talk to Cristina, the minute I write this, they’ll probably figure out it’s you. You can never go back.”

Barrón just shakes his head, resigned. “No, ma’am.”

“No? What, no? If they find out you’re my source, they’ll kill you.”

“Of course. I know how they’ll do it too.” He says it with a twinge of pride that reminds Andrea exactly who she’s talking to. “It’ll be someone I know. I’ll see it coming. They’ll want me to see it coming. Cause they know I know.”

Despite this reminder of who he is, what he’s done, she can’t quash that kernel of respect that’s been planted. Even if he wanted to atone, he had enough respect not to insult her by trying to. Nor did he feel sorry for himself that he probably didn’t deserve to. It was a display of accountability she rarely saw from someone as morally bankrupt as he’d had to be. Until now anyway. And this makes her feel, in spite of herself, almost sorry for him. “You’re not scared?”

“Sure. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, of course,” she shrugs, twisting the filter of her cigarette until the cherry and remaining tobacco fall out before tossing it behind her. “But I w–“

“But you wouldn’t deserve it. And it’s true, I got it coming. Made my own bed as they say. But I can still be scared. Even if I know, at the end of the day, all we have are our choices.”

Andrea smirks, crossing her arms, looking down at the ground to push some dust around with the toe of her boot, unsure what to say next. When she looks back up, he’s already walking away, hands in his pockets, leisurely like he’s got nowhere to be, back to the shadowy spot under the bridge he came from. She wondered if his car was parked there or somewhere else. Or maybe he’s just some visiting ghost of Christmas past and she’ll wake up from this dream.

”Hey,” she calls out.

Just before he reaches the edge of the void, he spins around on his heels, hands still in his pockets, eyebrows raised, and waits.

“For what it’s worth– well, you do have it coming. But … I hope you find your way to some peace somehow.”

The unexpected happens then. He smiles. But this time it travels up his face all the way to his eyes, lighting them up. It might be as rare as a passing comet. So there are signs of life, after all.

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taglist: @narcosfandomdiscord, @drabbles-mc, @ladygoatee, @rerorero-my-cherry, @narcolini, @ashlingnarcos, @complete-nonsequitur, @tofuwildcard, @bellinitini, @when-did-this-become-difficult

#narcovember #narcovember prompt roulette #narcos mexico #andrea nuñez #david barrón #andrea nuñez & david barrón #narcos mx #day 13 #book of decisions decisions decisions

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mariacallous · 5 months ago

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On June 24, the creators of the popular mobile game Romance Club announced that they had removed the game from app stores in Russia. In their statement, the developers said the decision was a response to a demand from Russia’s federal censorship agency, Roskomnadzor, to remove all references to LGBTQ+ people from the game. Nonetheless, they said, they will continue to release Russian-language updates and to “support” their Russian-speaking players. Meduza explains what Romance Club is and why it drew the Russian authorities�� attention.

Romance Club was first released in 2018. The narrative-based game features dozens of distinct stories in which users play as protagonists (usually women) attempting to build romantic relationships with other characters. Romance Club is the second release from the Moldovan game studio Your Story Interactive.

The game currently offers more than 40 stories that players can choose from, with new ones being released regularly. Most of the stories are not interconnected and take place in different universes and different time periods. One takes place in the world of Dracula, for example, while another involves the kitsune, a mythical fox from Japanese folklore. The game has been downloaded more than 11 million times from Google Play alone.

In May 2024, Russian anti-LGBT activist Timur Bulatov reported Romance Club to the State Duma and Prosecutor General, demanding they block the app for containing “LGBT propaganda.” (Some of the game’s storylines allow their protagonists to pursue same-sex relationships.) Later that month, Roskomnadzor added the game’s App Store page to its registry of banned websites. The game’s Google Play listing also appeared on the blacklist, though both pages remained accessible to users. Roskomnadzor did not publicly provide a reason for the ban.

The game’s creators later confirmed on their official Telegram channel, however, that the ban was indeed due to the game’s content featuring LGBTQ+ people. The developers said it took them a long time to reach a decision about how to proceed; theoretically, they could have kept their game accessible in Russia by simply removing the LGBTQ+ storylines. Ultimately, though, they opted to fully remove Romance Club from app stores in Russia. “In the end, we came to the conclusion that the values of our company and the very essence of our stories, which promote diversity, inclusion, and the freedom to be oneself, make it impossible for us to delete this content,” the studio said.

At the same time, the developers stressed that they will not stop working on the game’s Russian-language version. They said they plan to continue releasing Russian-language updates and supporting their Russian-speaking players, though it’s unclear what this support will entail.

While users expressed disappointment at the game’s removal, many of the Telegram comments and X responses to the company’s announcement were supportive of the decision.

“Sorry, but I’m really happy that they chose ‘Western values’ and that they’ll keep releasing stories in Russian at the same time,” wrote one user. “It emphasizes that they’re on the side of their audience members, not on the side of politics.”

Other users contrasted the game developers’ decision with that of the language learning company Duolingo, which recently removed content that references LGBTQ+ people from its app to comply with Russian law and avoid being blocked.

“I’m trying to understand why Duolingo, which does not earn money from its Russian users, deleted LGBT content to stay out of [Roskomnadzor’s banned sites] registry, but Romance Club, [which earns revenue from in-app purchases], did not,” said one fan.

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arginnit · 8 months ago

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man im struggling so muhc to find a good working crack and i was like "aw fuck it ill buy it then how expensive can it be" LIKE 100 DOLARS TUNRS OUT????? not paying that man sorry id rather get a chinese virus from telegram than spend my hard earned money on that

#wddy

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airdrophunting · 3 months ago

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Notcoin – How to Earn Crypto in Telegram

Let's face it: trends have a habit of fizzling out quickly. We've seen this play out time and time again. If we're being honest, probably 95% of Telegram games are just riding the hype train, offering little to no real value.

But Notcoin? That's a whole different ball game. NOT isn't just a game; it's a philosophy. The developers realized that a simple clicker game wouldn't cut it long-term. So they used that viral mechanic merely as a way to distribute coins. The real challenge was to offer users something more substantial, something truly valuable.

No sooner had the clicker craze cooled off than Notcoin launched the next big thing: Explore-to-Earn. This is uncharted territory in the crypto world. After a successful beta run, they finally dropped the full release on July 11th.

Let's dive deep into what this project looks like today, who might benefit from it, and most importantly - how to make some money.

Getting Started with Explore-to-Earn

Jumping in couldn't be easier. All you need to do is hop into the Telegram bot.

Next up - and we can't stress this enough - link your crypto wallet to the app. Don't sweat it; it's completely safe. Notcoin can't touch your funds without your say-so. It's just requesting info. Any non-custodial wallet will do the trick. The crowd favorites? TON Space and TON Keeper.

And that's it!

The Essence of Explore-to-Earn: A Triple Win

In the crypto world, you'll often hear the phrase "win-win" - a situation where both parties come out on top. But Notcoin? They've upped the ante with a "win-win-win" system. Let's break down how this clever setup works.

The Notcoin ecosystem brings together three key players: Notcoin itself, other Web 3.0 developers, and you, the users. Notcoin's user base has already blown past an eye-popping 40 million. Let's be real - what project wouldn't jump at the chance to showcase their product to such a massive audience?

Here's how the mechanism works in practice:

A crypto project buys a chunk of NOT tokens from the market (usually around 1 million coins). Think of this as their advertising budget.

You, as a user, go through an onboarding process - getting to know their product, following their channels and social media, and completing various tasks. For your efforts, you pocket the lion's share of these tokens.

A smaller portion goes to the Notcoin team. This is how they monetize the project and fund further development of the app.

The third, also small, portion gets burned. This reduces the total supply of coins, potentially driving up the value of NOT tokens.

In the end, everyone comes out ahead:

You pocket tokens for checking out new projects.

Crypto projects tap into a massive audience.

Notcoin turns a profit from their platform.

NOT holders benefit from the token's rising value.

Simple, yet brilliant...

Let's dive deeper into how this mechanism ticks.

Pools

When a new project drops into Notcoin, they kick off what's called a "pool". Think of it as a reservoir of NOT tokens, with two key features:

Pool Size: This is the total number of NOT tokens up for grabs, waiting to be divvied up among users.

Campaign: This is your to-do list - a series of tasks you need to knock out to get your slice of the pool.

Here's how the process of participating unfolds:

You spot a new pool and decide to jump in.

You work your way through the campaign tasks. This could involve following the project's channels, getting acquainted with their product, performing specific actions on their platform, and so on.

Once you've successfully completed all the tasks, you become a full-fledged pool participant.

Now, here's where it gets exciting: As a pool participant, you start "draining" NOT tokens from it. This happens automatically, every hour. You and other participants gradually claim tokens until the pool is completely emptied.

Levels

Your farming speed in the pool depends on your level. There are three levels: Bronze, Gold, and Platinum. During the beta, your level was determined by how many NOT tokens you staked. Now, things have changed.

Those who staked their NOT tokens early (before May 16th) and haven't withdrawn them yet have been granted a permanent level (as long as they keep their coins staked).

For everyone else, it's now subscription-based. You can pay through Telegram Stars, or use your NOT tokens already in the app.

Will the subscription pay off? That's the million-dollar question. For example, over 2 months of farming at the Platinum level, we managed to mine about 10,000 NOTs. Currently, a 3-month subscription costs 9,990. It's a decision you'll have to weigh carefully.

The Evolution of Notcoin

We envision Notcoin evolving into something akin to Steam - a platform connecting products with end-users. This is the unique value Notcoin offers, setting it apart from most of its clones and imitators.

Looking Ahead:

Temper Expectations: While the potential is there, it's clear that initial promises haven't fully materialized yet. Be patient and realistic.

Stay Active: With future airdrops planned, maintaining activity in the ecosystem could pay off.

Watch the Tokenomics: The limited supply and burn mechanism could lead to price appreciation over time, but it's not guaranteed.

Keep an Eye on New Features: The trading bot and NFTs could add new dimensions to the platform's utility and value.

Platform Potential: If Notcoin successfully positions itself as a go-to platform for crypto projects to reach users, it could become a significant player in the space.

Diversify: While Notcoin shows promise, remember it's just one project in a vast crypto ecosystem. Don't put all your eggs in one basket.

The team's focus on creating a unique value proposition - being the bridge between crypto projects and users - is a smart move. If executed well, this could indeed make Notcoin a "Steam for crypto", providing lasting value beyond the initial hype.

As always in crypto, there are no guarantees. The project shows promise, but also faces challenges and competition. Stay informed, engage wisely, and as they say, DYOR (Do Your Own Research).

Good luck!

#web3 #telegram #crypto #earn money online #how to earn money

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availablerichsugarmummies · 3 months ago

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cruptodrop · 4 months ago

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How to make money in cryptocurrency without investment?

There are many ways to earn cryptocurrency without any investment. We can participate in projects that will give us their project coins.

But now we will consider earnings in Telegram. I analyzed and selected 3 projects in Telegram that will distribute airdrops by the end of 2024.

All these projects have been officially confirmed by Telegram.

1. Blum is another popular Telegram clicker that also offers a wide range of earning tasks. Its main feature is the opportunity to earn not only on the completion of tasks, but also on the referral program. By inviting friends and acquaintances, users can receive additional bonuses. Blum is also known for its stable operation and high level of safety. Binance labs also supported the project.

2. Tapswap is one of the most popular clickers on Telegram that offers users the opportunity to earn money for completing simple tasks. It has a convenient interface and a large number of available tasks. Users can earn money for viewing messages, subscribing to channels or groups, and other activities. The official Telegram channel of the project wrote that the listing is planned for the 3rd quarter of 2024.

3. MemeFi is a clicker that is aimed at a youth audience and combines the elements of entertainment and earning. Users can receive rewards for interacting with memes, subscribing to channels with entertaining content, and participating in various contests. MemeFi stands out from other clickers with its unique concept and a large number of fun tasks, which makes it popular among young people.

Thank you for attention!!!

#bitcoin #crypto mining #telegram #money #airdrop #games

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kiolujhy · 5 months ago

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helenstudies · 9 months ago

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10/100 days of productivity

I finally cleaned up my table so that I can take better pictures for my studyblr lmao. Also I'm trying out a new format on this post so let me know what it looks like!

Study

finished hyouka manga volume 11 in Japanese! and I'm starting volume 12. I learned a lot of vocabularies that I wasn't expecting to learn because they went on about the history of the science behind chocolate making.

Work

prepared materials for my chinese and korean classes, which took me three hours.

taught said classes for three hours.

Life

I'm still reading the original novel of Hyouka, which is "the niece of time" in Kotenbu series.

Chatted with a bunch of friends in my tarot telegram channel after classes and tbh it feels so good to just talk about nothing with a bunch of fun-loving women who love and respect you.

Got two cups of takeaway coffee! I'm spending my hard-earned money in the way that makes me happy and no one can take my latte or mocha away from me.

In addition to the coffees, my mom bought me sushi, that is salmon and tuna sashimi. My aunt made one of my favorite dishes. Because they knew teaching two classes is hard for me. I wanted to cry with joy.

Others

I'm trying out a new app called "Do It Now" and it's fun as heck. It is an RPG style productivity app where you level up yourself and honestly, I can't play dnd so what the heck, right?

I'm grateful one of my friends got her friend to sign up for my chinese level 2 class. I only had 2 learners and I didn't feel good. But now I have four people in class and for four people, I can try hard for two months! I love teaching!

To Do List

I need to finish two urgent tarot readings in eight hours. Also several non-urgent readings.

Study Worldview Studies and Health Psychology by today.

Finish reading the book I picked out for my bookclub.

Study pali for the upcoming assignment and exam on 31st march.

#studyblr #langblr #100 days of productivity #chinese language #chinese studyblr #chinese langblr #japanese language #japanese studyblr #korean language #korean studyblr #tarotblr #oracle reader #bookblr #book club #productivity #teachblr

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justforbooks · 1 year ago

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The photographer Paolo Di Paolo, who has died aged 98, documented the renaissance of Italy following the dark days of the second world war, capturing that country’s 1950s and 60s glamour. His star shone brightly for 15 years before he turned his back on photography, but in that time he recorded the luminosity of cultural figures such as Pier Paolo Pasolini, Gina Lollobrigida and Tennessee Williams, as well as the optimism and dignity of ordinary people.

His pictures captured the shift from a more innocent, rural life, in a style that mirrored the neorealism movement in Italian film, as embodied in the shot of three boys on a bucolic hill looking towards the sprawl of Rome. His keen eye recorded the societal tension between the haves and have-nots, but his humanist approach highlighted the elegance of every person, regardless of circumstance. He said: “You might not know the subject but you understand the situation. In every image there is a story to tell … that is my law.”

Di Paolo started out as a self-taught amateur, taking photographs for pleasure with a considered approach. “Each shot had to be a good one. If the situation was not as I had in my mind, I wouldn’t take the picture.”

In 1954, he took his photos to Mario Pannunzio, the editor of the influential weekly current affairs magazine Il Mondo. Pannunzio recognised Di Paolo’s talent, and the photographer found his spiritual home.

He earned money working for other publications, notably Tempo, who sent him on assignment abroad. However, it was on home soil, on the self-titled 1959 assignment for Successo magazine, The Long Road of Sand, that Di Paolo produced some of his finest reportage. He embarked on a road trip along the coast in his Arnolt MG, with the author and poet Pasolini in the passenger seat, documenting Italians on vacation at the dawn of a new era. Di Paolo said: “I was looking for an Italy that looked to the future.”

His intelligence, empathy and discretion garnered trust and allowed him to take many candid portraits of major cultural figures including Sophia Loren applying makeup, Marcello Mastroianni sipping coffee and Kim Novak ironing. He formed a strong bond with the enigmatic actor Anna Magnani and his portraits of her with her son capture, and are captured by, intimacy.

Paolo was born into a poor family in the village of Larino, in Molise. His father, Michele Di Paolo, ran a small shop that sold tobacco and salt and his mother, Michelina (nee Lallo), was a smallholder and a skilled painter and embroiderer. He had five step-siblings from his father’s two previous marriages.

He attended the village school then moved to Rome to complete the final year of his studies at Liceo Classico Augusto, before returning to Larino. During the war he served in the Granatieri (Grenadiers) near his home, but did not see action. Afterwards he began writing for local newspapers, but he wanted more from life.

In 1949, at the age of 24, he left home to study history and philosophy at La Sapienza University of Rome. He intended to return to Larino to become a teacher there, but fell in with a group of young artists that was a hotbed of ideas and creativity, and realised he needed to explore a different path.

He had been making ends meet working at a tourism magazine, and was on his way to their offices in 1953 when he saw and fell in love with a Leica IIIc camera in the window of a nearby opticians. He had found the means with which to express himself.

He resigned from his job and used his severance money to buy the camera. Abandoning his studies shortly before graduation, he threw himself into the new humanist movement in photography. “The strength and enthusiasm that motivated us young people was overwhelming: our happiness was intoxicating.”

However in 1966, with the rise of television and the dawn of salacious celebrity culture, Il Mondo closed. Di Paolo was devastated. He wrote a telegram to Pannunzio: “ Today … the ambition to be a photographer has died.”

The following year Di Paolo photographed the Valentino haute couture show, but he was becoming increasingly disillusioned. In 1968 he went to see a photo editor who wanted him to exploit his society contacts, to get “some spice”.

Di Paolo’s strong ethical sense clashed with this new aggressive style and he refused to be associated with the paparazzi. At the peak of his powers, he hung up his camera and shut away his 250,000 negatives, prints and slides.

He moved to the countryside outside Rome, taking a job as an art director for the carabinieri (Italy’s regional police). Over the next 40 years he produced books, which included his photos of the cadets’ lives, and calendars, for the force. In 1973, he married Elena Marcelli, his former assistant, and they had two children, Michele and Silvia. He lived a quiet life and indulged his passions for winemaking, dogs and vintage cars.

In 1997, Silvia was hunting for a pair of skis in the cellar of her parents’ home when she was shocked to discover his photographic archive. She had no idea her father had been a photographer. She asked him about his work but he was reluctant to speak about it. It would take years of cajoling before he allowed Silvia to bring his work back to life.

Finally, recognition flowed. His first exhibition, Il Mio Mondo, was held at the gallery il museo del louvre in Rome, in 2016. Three years later, the MAXXI museum in the city staged a major retrospective, Mondo Perduto, with an accompanying monograph that is the only collection of his work to date.

Pierpaolo Piccioli, the creative director of Valentino, saw the MAXXI exhibition and, inspired by Di Paolo’s 1967 Valentino pictures, invited the then 94-year-old to photograph behind the scenes at the fashion house’s 2020 spring/summer couture show in Paris.

A documentary about Di Paolo’s life and work, The Treasure of His Youth, by the fashion photographer Bruce Weber, premiered at the Rome film festival in 2021 and is due for release in the UK next year. In May, to coincide with his 98th birthday, Di Paolo was awarded an honorary degree from La Sapienza.

He is survived by Elena, his children and two grandchildren, Matilde and Leonardo.

🔔 Paolo Di Paolo, photographer, born 17 May 1925; died 12 June 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Paolo Di Paolo #in memoriam

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