#synthesizer price

[yamahamusicstore]

Features of MX88 Music Synthesizer: The perfect recording centerpiece

Here are the features that make MX88 one of the best synthesizers for music production. Explore how Yamaha Synthesizer helps you in producing different musical tones.

Piano Touch

The weighted action of the MX88 is Graded Hammer Standard (GHS). The reaction of GHS-weighted action is lighter in the high keys and heavier in the low keys. This produces a touch and responsiveness like an authentic acoustic piano. Long practice or performance sessions are ideal for these unique matte black keytops since they retain their tactile feel even after absorbing moisture.

Full Concert Voice Of The Grand Piano

The MX88's Full Concert Grand piano is taken straight out of the MOTIF series. The Full Concert Grand piano's strong, focused low end, intricate midrange, and pure high end make it ideal for any musical genre and setting.

Synth Sound

Get the MX88 Montage Synthesizer instead of sacrificing sound quality for portability! With 88 notes, the MX88 is a small and lightweight music synthesizer with 88 full-sized, touch-sensitive keys and over 1,000 Voices from the legendary MOTIF.

Perfect Touch Curve

An improved touch curve unites the GHS action with the Full Concert grand piano voice. The player can express themselves with great realism, dynamic, and emotion thanks to this curve. This is only achievable with a piano made by Yamaha, who has been producing concert grand pianos of the highest caliber for more than a century.

Music For Contemporary Piano Players

In addition to an acoustic piano, the MX88 has a remarkable assortment of keyboard voices. Select from vintage tonewheel organs with rotary speaker effects or faithful reproductions of vintage tine and reed electric pianos. If you want to get funky, there are also forceful and percussive Clav sounds available. This vast range of sounds makes it the Best Synthesizer Keyboard for music creation.

Drum Kits, Guitars, Basses, And Realistic Strings

The MX88 is an inspiring instrument for orchestrators, instructors, and producers due to its amazing reproductions of orchestral strings, woodwinds, pipe organs, brass, and more. The extremely expressive and playable percussion kits, basses, tonewheel organs, and acoustic and electric guitars provide the budding producer with a potent and polished sound palette.

Motif Sound Engine

One potent Synthesizer Keyboard technology for creating sound is the MOTIF Sound Engine. Up to eight Elements can be found in MOTIF Sound Engine Voices. These components can be zoned so that a separate element plays in different regions of the keyboard or layered for a rich, full sound. Additionally, you can randomize Elements for anything from subtle variation to experimental sound, or you can swap between Elements based on velocity for extreme dynamics.

An iOS 4-Operator FM synthesizer app called FM ESSENTIAL is available for free. A complete 271 FM Voices, ranging from iconic '80s to cutting-edge modern EDM, may be unlocked by connecting the MX88 Music Synthesizer (via the Apple Lightning to USB Camera Adapter, not included) to the regular version, which only has 10 Voices. Additional features for editing voice are unlocked which makes it a great synth at a great Synthesizer Price. In-built effects, EQ, drum phrases, and a step sequencer for automating control changes are all elements of FM Essential 

Effect of virtual circuit modeling (VCM)

Virtual Circuitry Modeling models the circuits down to the original analog component level, recreating the sound and behavior of vintage effects and high-end studio signal processors.

128-Note Polyphony

With 128 notes of polyphony, you can perform live or with entire 16-track sequences without experiencing any dropouts. Software synthesizers for Mac and PC, DAW software, and iOS applications can all be used with the MX88.

Connectivity

The MX88 allows you to record and playback stereo audio to and from your computer or iOS device because it complies with USB audio and MIDI classes. When using headphones or speakers to listen to your mixes after recording the MX88 into your DAW, this is ideal.

In addition to connecting to your DAW, the synthesizer keyboard doubles as a dedicated control surface. Utilize your DAW's onboard transport controls to adjust plug-in parameters using the control knobs. Numerous pre-installed Remote Control Templates are available to interface with well-known softsynths and plug-ins, enhancing the hardware-like feel of your software. Additionally, a 16-channel MIDI interface with DAW remote control capability is available for using the MX88 as both a keyboard controller and tone generator.

The MX88 is more than a great-sounding synthesizer; it's the hub of your studio! Get the Best Synthesizer Online from the Yamaha online store.

[fatasfunkmastering]

15 (& a half) Classic Analogue Synth Reissues

15.5 of the best classic analogue synth reissues

We all love a classic Analogue Synthesizer. The warmth, the rich tones, even the circuit noise all add a certain loveliness that a software synth cannot match. The question of soft synth vs hard synth has a clear winner – one that weighs several kilos and comes in a box! Reissued synths are a way of getting these amazing authentic sounds and the joy of owning a hardware classic, for a fraction…

[vmtv2]

Les Rhythmes Digitales - ‘Jacques Your Body’ live on Nulle part ailleurs on Canal+, France, June 15th 1999.

[dead-byte]

I want to buy a new SynthV, but I’m torn on who I should buy

I’m most partial to Yuma, because he provides a vocal tone that I think I could really use

Buttttt I also really want Feng Yi, bc I’ve heard she’s REALLY good and I want to play with her Opera vocal mode

… Butttttt Haruno Sora is coming out soon and she sounds fucking gorgeous

… Ehhh, buttttt I also really want OSCAR, and his Kickstarter’s struggling a bit, so I COULD try supporting it

BUT, I also kinda want NineZero. 100% not buying him from retail tho. If I get him, I’m buying him secondhand for sure,

… I hear Natalie’s really good too

Ugggggh, decisions decisions

[gene-synthesis-company]

Understanding Oligo Synthesizer Prices: What You Need to Know

When you are thinking about buying an oligo synthesizer, one of the first things you might need to know is how much it will cost. Oligo synthesizers are a type of machines that make short strands of DNA or RNA, which are important for many types of research and medical work. However, the price of these machines can vary a lot, and when you can understand what influences the cost, then, it can easily help you make a better decision.

How Does the Machine's Features Impact the Price?

The price of an oligo synthesizer can vary based on the features it offers. However, oligo synthesizer prices for the basic models are less expensive, but they may have fewer options. On the other hand, more advanced machines might cost more, but they can produce higher-quality sequences and offer more automation. Therefore, you need to think about what you need before making a choice. Do you need something simple, or do you need a machine that can do more?

Does the Manufacturer's Brand Matter?

Yes, the brand can also affect the price. Well-known brands may charge more because they have a reputation for quality. However, lesser-known brands can offer good machines at a lower price. Besides, it is very important to do your research and read reviews before deciding which brand to choose. 

What About the Cost of Maintenance?

Do not forget about maintenance costs when considering the price. Some machines might need regular servicing, and this can increase the overall cost. Therefore, you need to always make sure to check what kind of maintenance the machine needs and how much it will cost over time. Therefore, it can make a big difference in your budget.

Summing Up -

If you are ready to invest in an oligo synthesizer, it is important to find one that meets your needs. In that case, Bio Basic successfully offers a wide range of high-quality oligo synthesizers at competitive prices. Besides, their machines are known for reliability and ease of use. These features make them a great choice for both beginners and experienced researchers. 

So, reach out to them today to find the perfect oligo synthesizer for your work and get the best value for your investment.

[peptide-ltd]

Good News!!!

Polypeptide.ltd has added 11 new FOCUS-6-reactors-AAPPTEC synthesizers, greatly shortening the delivery time of scientific research peptides.

We are a professional peptide manufacturer, we manufacture multiple peptides under cGMP standard strictly and guarantee pharmaceutical grade.

Recently, it’s time to stock up on goods for the New Year, logistics will become increasingly busy. Our recent logistics is going very well.

Welcome to contact us to get the high-quality peptides and best price!

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

141 as your drug dealer boyfriend

Ghost- Let's be real with ourselves, Ghost is not a good man. He doesn't care who he hurts, as long as he gets his. He will do anything to get what he wants and there is no stopping him. It's what made him a great soldier, and it's what makes him a great kingpin. He moves weight to put it lightly. There isn't a moment where an uncut key is unmoving; from a warehouse, to a plane (or car, or train), to a distributor, to a pusher, to up someone's nose. He'll try to do some damage control, make sure things aren't cut with fent, but that's only to make sure customers keep coming back. He likes to keep his hands clean, in the sense that he'll never be the one to pull the trigger on anyone that's out of line. Living up to his name, no one knows what he looks like. Hell, a lot of people don't even think he's real.

But when it comes to you, Simon's a different man. No talk about work, just you and him. Other than the multiple hidden guns around the house and Glock he sleeps with, life is normal with you. Holiday homes in the French countryside and Bahamas. Designer everything. Sports cars in all your favorite colors. You want for nothing. It's the life he wanted for you. After all those years of crying and hurt when he was away for weeks or months, you deserved the world. Want the new Hermès bag? You got it. Can't choose between the black or white louboutins? Get both. Stop eating you out because you can't feel your toes anymore? Sorry love, only thing he can't do for you.

Soap- Johnny is a small business owner. Weighs everything out by his own hand. Presses his own pills. Let's you help baggie everything up. A social butterfly, this man is at every concert, rave, or music festival. Sometimes he has a friend help push his stuff when he just wants to stay home with you, but for the most part he's his own salesman. And a damn good one. Never has overstock. No matter how much he brings with him, he'll always sellout.

Has a supernatural sense of being shorted. Can tell if a bag is even a few grams off just by holding it.

"Ye'r an idiot if ye think ye kin short me."

And when the other party denies, he always keeps a pocket scale on him, setting the parcel on it. And sure enough, he's always right.

He'll come home with a few grand, the only job you have is to sit there and look pretty. And roll his spliffs. Sitting in his lap, tucking the rolling paper into itself and licking it closed while he counts out a fat wad of cash. He hands you a fat stack,

"A've never bin good wi' money. Ye know how to spend it better than me."

He never touches the stuff he sells, no need to when all the dopamine he needs is right between your legs.

"Ten times better than any o tha' shite, anyways."

He pants in your ear while folding you in half, firm grip on your throat.

Gaz- When it comes to psychedelics, Kyle is your go-to man. He's a fucking genius, synthesizes his own DMT and LSD in a lab. It's a state of the art facility, clean with the latest and greatest equipment available. He supplies the whole Northeast. If it's a hallucinogen, it's most likely Gaz's product. And if it's good, it's definitely his. He has a cozy set up with some "organization" that he cooks for. Steers clear of actually selling to people, no need to when his clients line his pockets so well. Never brings work home, he even wears different clothes when he's in the lab.

He has a set schedule he has to adhere to but sometimes he's able to take vacations with you. And that's how you ended up bent over a balcony watching the sunset in Punta Cana,

"I work so hard to make you happy, now it's my turn yeah?"

A breeze sends a shiver up your spine while he kisses your shoulder,

"I know a private beach where you can even out those tan lines,"

Of course he doesn't give a shit about that, he just wants to fuck you silly on the seaside (and show off to anyone who might be watching.)

Price- Caring and nurturing, the man naturally has a green thumb. And alongside his prized heirloom tomatoes, he grows really, really good weed. Has a whole growroom in his basement, decked out with proper ventilation, ACs, UV lights, the works. The man grows medical grade weed that private clinics buy from him. He's legit. And of course he serves the public as well under the table, sells only to people he knows and established clients can refer others to him. He treats his plants like his babies, even going as far as to play music for them (according to him classical music helps them grow better???). You don't know where he finds the time, but he also made you rose garden for your anniversary. He brings up the idea of a family every so often. He'll finish as deep inside of you as possible,

"Let's replace that plant nursery for a real one, yeah love?"

Gonna write actual stories for each one if y'all like this ( . * 3 * . )/`

[foone]

Think about the experience of time as a robot girl, through the metaphor of how we use laptops.

You wake up for the first time with your young master, a college present. You're with them every day, powering off each night to charge. Being powered off is just dreamless sleep: a discontinuity. Every morning you wake up, your click syncs, and you know it's the next day. Maybe you miss a day or two: your master went out partying and ended up sleeping on a couch, until they rushedly wake you up before Monday classes begin. You even missed a whole week once when they went on a hiking trip with a new boyfriend.

You help them research upgrades when your specs get outdated. You place the order and a couple days later they power you off, and you wake up feeling like your head got bigger, on the inside. You can think of more things at once.

They repair you. They swap a new hand in when you accidentally crush it in a door, but when your left leg's servos go out, they send you to a repair shop. They power you off as you look up at them, and you wake up hours later. A strange man tells you to extend your left leg, then contract it. He frowns and re-oils some inner mechanism. You do it again, quieter and smoother this time. He nods, and reaches for your switch. The last thing you see before powering down is your own chest cavity with a series of wires hooked into your diagnostic ports, and your missing right leg sitting on a side table. You wake up again back at the dorms, your clock jumping forward a day, an asset tag still looped around your neck. Your master is happy to see you again.

This goes on, but the upgrades slow. There's only so much you can do to keep an old unit working. Eventually you develop more issues: one of your ocular sensors glitches and they don't make that model anymore, so your master just disables it. You spend a while searching ebay for replacement CND batteries and finally get a refurbished model from South England, but it turns out the EU models run on a different frequency, so it won't work. You're limited to fewer and fewer hours a day, and you start skipping more days.

The last time you remember waking up with your master there, there's also someone else in the room. Another robot girl. A newer model, with the new chassis and the Substrate energy packs. They asks you to copy your memories together onto a memory card, and you do. You want to say goodbye, but apparently your vocal synthesizer has been unplugged. You hand them the card, and they hand it to the new robot. Your master tells them to load the memories into her core bank, and she's says "yes sir!" in your voice. Ahh. That's where your voice synth went.

They power you off, and you don't dream.

You wake in a strange place. You're on a shelf, and there's other things scattered around you. An unknown voice days "yep, it seems it powers on. 400 credits, though? Without a voice and only one working eye? Man, value bin doesn't know how to price anything!" and before the blackness falls your clock finishes synching: it's been 7 months since you last were awake.

It happens a few more times. Different voices, different times, different piles of junk piled around and sometimes on you.

You awake again in a warehouse and someone tells you to smile. Your other ocular sensor went out so you can't really see them, just their vague shape from the lidar. The freestanding shelves around you seem to stretch into infinity. You hear a bitcrushed shutter sound sample a few times, and they pull a connector out of your chest as a diagnostic completes. It's been three years, five months, eight days, two hours, 27 minutes and 14 seconds since you last saw your master. Your GPS says you're a few cities over. They hit your power switch, and you sleep.

You wake up in a cluttered room, sitting on a bench. You look into the eyes of a person with frizzled hair and large glasses. She couldn't look happier. Your new ocular sensors are mismatched in color but you're happy to see again, in more than shapes and distant silhouettes. Your battery alerts as... Missing? You spot it on the desk next to a soldering iron and some electronic tool you can't identify.

Your voice synth is still missing, but this new woman is digging around in a large plastic bin, and comes up with one. She goes to insert it, and it can't connect. She slaps her hand and goes rooting around another bin and comes back with an adapter. She slots it into your chest and your voice returns. You thank her, and there's that moment of dissociation as your voice doesn't sound like "you". Too deep, and the accent is for a different dialect entirely. But you can talk again. She tells you to call her Cara, not Mistress. She's almost got your battery working again, she had to rebuild it nearly from scratch, but she's excited to get you working again. You're a rare model, and she doesn't see units like you in working order very often. Your clock syncs. It's been 17 years.

Your mistr-- Cara is soldering next to you, attaching a controller to the battery. She says she's got a new set of servos on the way, and she's excited to get you back to full working condition. You smile, knowing what it is to be loved, once again.

[clareguilty]

Ghost/Soap/Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink

This fic was written for Kinktober 2024! Let me know what you think <3

Ghost/Soap/F!Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink, strength kink, dacryphilia Rating: Explicit | WARNINGS: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT Word Count: ~3400

The last thing you expected when you answered the knock on your office door was the sight of two uniformed soldiers, both broad enough to fill the entire doorway each, expressions grave. You ushered them inside your small, cluttered office tucked away in the biochemistry wing of the university building. Being the head of the pharmacology department did not come with a sprawling mahogany desk and glorious window views. You were lucky to have a desk and a window at all.

Still, you were the best in your field, and that had granted you tenure and funding to continue your research as well as a small team of graduate students and postdocs to boss around as you pleased.

One of the soldiers introduced himself as Captain Price, the other a corporal under his command. You cleared off space on your desk as the corporal opened a locked case and pulled out a laptop.

“Anything you are about to see is highly classified information,” the captain warned you. “Our intel pertains to ongoing operations to stop a dangerous organized terrorist group.”

You nodded along, but your focus was on the footage being played on the laptop. The drone shots and shaky handheld cameras, clips of lab workers handling samples while suited head to toe in protective equipment. There was footage of soldiers experiencing a variety of symptoms: aggression, paralysis, psychosis.

The corporal opened a file for you to scroll through. Pages and pages of reports.

“Biochemical weapons,” you murmured to yourself. “Inhalants?”

“Gas,” the captain confirmed. “Your security clearance is still in the system from your field work on that operation in Andorra. Our people are using your research as the blueprint.”

You were the leading expert on biochemical weaponry, much of your research was centered around synthesizing field antidotes. It had been a few years since you were last out in the field, taking samples from warzones and the sites of attacks.

“You need me out there?” You asked. But you already knew the answer. They wouldn’t be here in your office otherwise.

“You’ll be working with our top tactical operations team. The best men we’ve got. Whatever they’re making in these labs, we need to put a stop to it, and then we need to figure out how they’re doing it.”

You looked at the footage again - civilians this time - and felt your stomach turn at the sight.

“When’s the earliest we can leave?” You asked, closing the laptop to hide the horrifying images.

-

The body armor on your last field operation had been simple: a bullet proof vest with a mask and helmet. You had worn your civilian clothes and brought along everything else yourself.

“Alright, Dove, arms up,” the special forces sergeant, Soap, grinned as he dropped a heavy vest over your head. You dutifully raised your arms so he could fasten the tangle of buckles until you were secured.

“Thanks,” you glanced down at the overwhelming amount of gear that was now covering your front.

“You’ve got your radio,” he tapped the top left pocket, “Compass, shears, three mags of extra ammunition, scopes, batteries, and torch.” You watched him point out each item. “On your belt here you’ve got your pistol, knife, and canteen.”

Soap put his own gear on much faster than it had taken to kit you out. He carried even more equipment, but he somehow made it look easier.

You had been staying at the temporary base with Captain Price’s 141 task force for days now. Without access to quality lab equipment, you were working tirelessly to find answers about the biochemical weaponry using whatever was available. As impressive as your makeshift setup was, it wasn’t near precise or thorough enough to save lives.

It felt a little ridiculous. A researcher surrounded by a bunch of special forces giants. They were welcoming and friendly - except for the terrifying lieutenant with the skull mask, but you knew you were out of your depth surrounded by cases full of rifles and grenades. Sleeping on a cot and eating rations cooked off a gas burner.

Captain Price had done whatever he could to make you more comfortable. The encampment was a few secured buildings and several large tents. And while you were accustomed to the conditions after your previous field research, they had afforded you as much privacy as possible. 

Underneath the teasing and jokes, Soap was kind and friendly. He’d nicknamed you their ‘peace dove’ on the first day, and you hadn’t been able to shake the moniker since.

Even Lieutenant Ghost had been considerate as you tried to keep up with the heavy military jargon and unfamiliar protocols. He slipped you candy bars that were definitely against regulations and sat with you after the countless briefings to explain all of the commands that had flown over your head rapid-fire. He was still scary.

The last military squadron you had worked alongside had mostly ignored you, frustrated with your inexperience and occasionally downright cruel. They hadn’t respected your expertise or your research despite your attempts to explain how vital it was to their safety.

There was none of that here.

After several days of monitoring intel and surveillance, Price had finally made the call to infiltrate the terrorist labs. The only way to stop these weapons would be to secure the materials themselves.

Soap and Ghost were assigned to clear out any hostiles, and your mission was to gather anything in the labs that would help to stop production of the weapons and synthesize antidotes.

It was difficult to keep up with them as they closed in on the lab. You had been instructed to hang back a ways while they engaged, but even then you were struggling to match their pace.

You had never known anyone who could make an assault rifle look small until these men. Like they were holding a toy. Despite their size, both the sergeant and the lieutenant were exceptionally fast even with all their gear.

As you approached the location of the terrorists’ labs, Ghost signaled for all of you to halt. He grabbed you by the shoulders and pressed you into a crouch inside a copse of brush where you would be able to keep cover.

“Stay here. We’ll engage the hostiles and bring you in as soon as the site is secure,” he ordered.

Both he and Soap immediately made to move in, but you managed to catch Soap by the hand. “Be careful,” you warned. “We have no clue what kind of shit they’re cooking up in there.”

“Don’t worry, Dove. We’ll do just fine,” Soap promised with a grin.

And then they were gone.

The silence that filled in after their retreating boot steps was excruciating. The sharp cracks of gunfire that rang out in short bursts were somehow even worse. You couldn’t radio in without risking the operation - the noise could give away their position - so you were left waiting until Ghost signaled the all clear. As the minutes dragged on since the last round of shots, you prayed you wouldn’t have to fall back on your contingency extraction: if you didn’t hear from either Soap or Ghost after two hours, you were to make your way to a designated pickup spot.

Your radio crackled.

“You there, Dovie?” Soap’s voice came through. He sounded uninjured.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” That was Ghost this time. “We’ve eliminated all hostiles. Give us ten more minutes to secure the site, and then I’ll send Soap to come get you.”

“Copy that.” An unbelievable amount of tension seemed to melt out of you at that, and you let out a heavy sigh.

Not even a minute later you heard a distant bang. Not gunfire. A small explosion.

“Lieutenant?” You immediately called over the radio. “What was that?”

“Fucking hell!” Soap shouted. “The lab was rigged!”

“Lieutenant?” You were already pushing to your feet, rushing out of the safety of your cover and towards the labs.

“We tripped something,” Ghost finally responded. “They had canisters set to burst if the lab was tampered with.”

“You mean you got dosed?” Your fingers were numb with fear as you fumbled with your radio. “Are you experiencing any symptoms? I’m on my way now!”

The radio was silent for a few moments, but you were sprinting as fast as you could toward the site. If you could get there quick enough, maybe you could find an antidote somewhere in the labs. They wouldn’t know what to look for, but if you could find out what was in those canisters, surely you could fix this.

“Wait, Dovie,” Soap’s voice was rough, breathy. “Stay where you are. Don’t come near here.”

“I’m the only chance you have at finding an antidote,” you shouted into the radio.

“Hold your position. Do not approach. That is an order,” Ghost snarled, but you were already at the entrance, flying through the path of carnage Soap and Ghost had left. The satellite images in the briefing had given you a rough idea of where you needed to go, and the trail of bodies confirmed you were on the right track.

As you came up on the entrance to the labs, someone tackled you into the wall, pinning you in place. You screamed, but a gloved hand covered your mouth.

“It’s just me,” Soap assured you. “But you shouldn’t have run in here without your weapon drawn. Shouldn’t have come in here at all.” He pulled his hand away so you could gulp down a breath.

“Whatever you were hit with, they might have an antidote. If I can get to it before it’s too late-“

Soap cut you off. “You’re worse than me at following orders.”

”Let me go.” You tried to squirm out of his hold.

Soap made a choked off sound in your ear. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s the gas. I swear. We didn’t know the lab was rigged.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Jesus, Dove, you have to forgive me. Promise? I can’t fight it.”

“Whatever it is, you’ll be okay. Just let me go, Soap.”

He was pinning you in place with his entire body weight, panting against the back of your neck as he easily kept you still despite your attempts to break free.

Thankfully, you heard the sound of heavy boots approaching. That had to be Ghost.

He rounded the corner and you cried out. “Lieutenant! Please, sir!”

Ghost snarled when he saw you trapped beneath Soap. He crossed the room in three easy strides and ripped the sergeant off of you. Soap hit the floor with a groan, and you tried to back away.

Except the Ghost was closing in on you, knife drawn. He cornered you easily, and the fear had you freezing in place. You weren't a trained soldier. You weren't equipped to handle these kinds of situations.

You flinched as Ghost grabbed for you, squeezing your eyes shut and preparing for the worst, but there wasn't any pain - just the sound of tearing fabric and the sensation of your body armor falling away to a heap on the floor.

“Gotta get these off you,” he growled, crowding even closer against you. His voice wasn’t nearly as rough or as breathless as Soap’s. When you finally worked up the courage to open your eyes, Ghost was leant over you with his face in your neck taking deep inhales. Was he… smelling you?

They’d both been dosed. You had never seen symptoms like these before, but it wasn’t a typical toxin. Surely you could find an antidote if they just let you go.

And then Soap was back, pawing at the space between your bodies. “Please, Ghost,” he was begging, “feels like I’m about to die. Fuck. Need it so bad.”

Ghost pulled away from your neck, reached out to grab Soap by the jaw, holding him still. There was a moment of quiet save for both yours and Soap’s panicked breathing. “Alright, Johnny.” He finally assented. “You gotta go easy, you hear? Don’t wanna break her.”

You didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but struggling was absolutely useless when Ghost was holding a knife. You knew what he was capable of.

It was too quick for you to even register. Soap was fast. He snatched the knife from Ghost and cut your clothes away, taking you down to the ground with some sort of wrestling maneuver you were never going to escape from.

“I’m so sorry, Dove,” Soap was apologizing again. “Can’t fucking help it.”

He shoved his own gloves and gear away, fumbling to open his trousers before freeing his cock. He was achingly hard, and dripping. He was also fucking huge. His eyes fluttered shut in relief as he wrapped his hands around the length and gave a few lazy strokes, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that would be all it took.

“Please,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Don’t fuss,” Soap placed a finger over your lips to quiet you, then he shoved it inside your mouth. You weren’t sure if biting him would end well for you. He grabbed your legs by the knees, raising your hips until your pussy was on display for him. “That’s a good girl.” He spit on his fingertips and began rubbing at your entrance, as if that would be enough lube.

He pressed two fingers inside of you, but you were so terrified that it didn’t feel right at all. It hurt. You screamed, and suddenly Ghost was there.

“This is the only way to help,” he said, and you noticed he had a silver canister in his hands. “I promise this will make it easier.”

You didn’t have enough time to react before he crushed the canister with just his gloved hands. A deafening hiss drowned out the sounds of your own sobs and your vision went white as the contents of the canister filled the air. You couldn’t hold your breath at all, not when you were sobbing with gasps of pain. The gas settled over your skin, inside your mouth and nose. You instinctively swiped your tongue against your teeth and cheeks. It tasted powdery and sour.

“Give her a second, Johnny,” Ghost ordered.

You were almost glad they had cut your clothes away because your skin was suddenly too warm. Too clammy. Your mouth went from bitter and dry to watering with saliva in a matter of seconds. Every sensation felt sharper, and the pain disappeared. Soap was just as warm where you were pressed against him, and his fingers inside you were now drenched in slick wetness.

How were they even able to think like this? They’d been dealing with these symptoms for longer than you and somehow still had control of themselves. You had been exposed to the gas for less than a minute and all rational thought had left you.

“That’s a good girl,” Ghost’s voice reached you through the drunken haze and you whined. “Spread yourself nice and open on Johnny’s fingers.”

Oh. You were fucking your hips against Soaps’ hand. He was watching the sight with his pupils blown wide as he pressed a third finger inside of you. The stretch felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” you begged. “More. Please.”

Soap curled his fingers inside you and you cried out. He held your hips still with his free hand so he could fuck you harder on his fingers. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he had you gushing over his wrist in a matter of seconds.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He settled between your thighs. All you could do was beg because his finger hadn’t been enough. “Gonna breed you full, alright, Dove?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” you panted.

You would never have been able to take his cock if Ghost hadn’t dosed you with the gas. Even after the rough fingerfucking you still cried out at the stretch. But it didn’t hurt this time. You loved the way he filled you, the sensation of him sinking deeper inside.

He was too impatient at this point. Had been holding himself back for too long. The moment his cock bottomed out inside you it was like his final thread of control snapped. You were long past him, having never once stood a chance after Ghost crushed that canister.

“Jesus, Dove, you’re so tight. Feel so good on my cock,” Soap was panting against your skin as he fucked you. You were much less coherent beneath him, just a stream of sobbing and begging. You understood what Soap had said earlier: you felt like you were going to die if they didn’t fuck you. If they didn’t ruin you on their cocks. 

“I’m already close.”

You were surprised Soap had lasted this long, considering how quickly you had come on his fingers. It was definitely the toxins in your system, but you needed him to claim you. Needed to be bred full. You must have begged for it, because Soap was soothing you as he picked up the pace.

“You’re okay. I’m gonna give you what you need. Just take it like a good girl, right Dovie?”

He forced his cock as deep as he could when he came, rocking against your hips to make sure it would take. You could feel it, so hot and sticky inside you, dripping out around his cock as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before a huge shadow filled your vision. Ghost. He shoved Soap aside, taking in the sight of you beneath him.

“Johnny made a mess of you didn’t he?” A gloved hand trailed over your tear stained cheeks, through the string of drool hanging from your lips. He forced your thighs apart to see Soap’s come dripping out of your used pussy. “Look at you, pretty girl,” he teased.

“Please,” you whined. The strange panic was taking hold of you again. You were scared what would happen if Ghost didn’t fuck you. “Please, sir. I need it.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Ghost swore under his breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to fight it off. Poor thing.”

He tossed his gloves aside, running warm, calloused hands over your sticky, sweaty skin. “I’m bigger than Johnny,” he warned. “But something tells me you’ll like that.”

All you could do was beg. How did Ghost have so much control? It was almost like he wasn’t affected at all.

He took mercy on you, dragging his cock against your pussy to slick the length of it before pressing inside. He was slower than Soap, more careful. And even under the effects of the gas, you needed it. Fuck. He was huge.

“You’re fucking noisy,” Ghost grumbled. And then there were two fingers pushing past your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digits to chase the salt and the sweat, and the relative quiet seemed to appease the lieutenant as he finally bottomed out inside you.

You had never been so full in your life, split open on the lieutenant’s cock like this. He groaned beneath the mask as he fucked you, rhythm faltering as you squeezed tight around his cock.

Even with his fingers in your mouth, you must have picked up your whining again because he leaned in to shush you. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up again. Breed you just like you need. We won’t let you go until you’re full of us.”

It should have sounded threatening, but all you could focus on was the promise that they would take care of you. That they would leave you dripping with their come.

The initial rush of the toxins had given way to a sort of timeless haze. You couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of Ghost fucking you and his fingers in your mouth. It could have been hours. You just needed to be full.

“Here it comes, Little Dove,” Ghost warned you. “Better take every last drop.”

He pulled you so far onto his cock that a glance of pain managed to reach you in the haze, but it only left you craving more. You could feel his cock twitching inside you as he came, filling you even more than Soap had.

“Such a good girl.” He only pulled out after he was sure he had fucked his come into you as deep as possible. And when a few drops began to spill out, he swiped them up with the fingers he had just pulled from your mouth and forced them back inside your pussy again.

“Hey, LT,” Soap grinned where he was slowly stroking his cock. “Does this mean it’s my turn again?”

[dandysworldhcs]

I saw the vocaloid vee hc and I wanna elaborate on my own take on it;

The technology for proper vocaloids as we know them today only came around 2004 with Leon and Lola, which is 3 years too late since Gardenview would go abandoned by 2001 iirc.

BUT! WE STILL HAVE HOPE FOR ROBOTIC VOICE VEE!!!!!

In 1984, the DECtalk was released. This was a text to speech synthesizer made by Digital Equipment Corporation in 1983, with most the work coming from Dennis Klatt at MIT.

And remember that the show and museum were started around 1980, which fits perfectly within the creation of the DECtalk!

I also think it'd line up with around the time a character like Vee would be introduced, around 1983-84 when the show could've gotten the budget for such technology. This thing costed like $4,000 for an introductory price in 1984 ($11,731 today) it couldn't have been cheap to make Vee.

And! The size of the DECtalk would be just small enough to fit in her head! Perfect!

My personal thoughts tell me they would've gotten a custom voice made for Vee, which would later become a buyable voice you could get for your own DECtalk. And to make the tts work, all her thoughts are put into text to send to the DECtalk which then gets put out through speakers on her person and then again through her mic. It also fits with the widespread viewing of her being kind of monotone and not being able to show emotion well, because the DECtalk has almost no infliction in its voice with how early it was. You couldn't have emotion in your voice if you literally are too early for the technology to do so.

- ourple anon, being very autistic

the autism is strong in this one /pos

[b1asho]

Guess who got excited and wrote a lot:

Much like on earth, regional language barriers still exist, only now it’s both within one species and between the different sophonts (you may know the Prectikar equivalent to English, but do you know their Greek? Etc) they all brought a lot of different languages and cultures with them before the crash and they’re still clashing and mixing to this day.

because of the physical difficulties in speaking each others languages the way they’re meant to be spoken (some don’t have lips) there are a few bridge languages purposefully designed to be easy to speak between sophonts. Most of them are sign (which still has its own problems because not everyone has the same number of fingers that can be moved in the same ways), but there’s also vocal bridges that are made of a mishmash of compatible sounds (the most common of which is called prime, taught in DRSS schools alongside whatever the dominant language in that state is.) Many people don’t learn other languages beyond what is necessary because of time and effort, and also the low likelihood of meeting a xeno who doesn’t already speak a bridge of some kind/ the expectation that a xeno you meet will *have* to know prime or something (kind of like Americans with English )

There’s also cybernetic translators/voice makers that can help, but based on price they can be rudimentary and usually limited to one or two languages because of the time it takes to sample and synthesize a whole alien language. These are most common among humans and Cerest !

Here’s some more individualized info based on the image:

Humans are by far the most likely to trip on a xenos cultural nuances because we literally just met these guys whereas they have been aware of each other/each other’s culture norms for much longer. Fortunately, humans are also a global superpower and so anyone in the DRSS and beyond kind of has to get with the program and act a bit more human if they want to be in our good graces. So for every human out there who’ll take the time to learn another xenos language and norms and try to meet in the middle, there’s three more who’ll just walk up, smiling, and put a phone in your face with a text-to-speech app open and a butchered version of a language you don’t even speak coming out the speaker. We also have the problem of treating all of them as if they’re the same when it comes to different xeno cultures

, since most info on them we know comes from sometimes not even the majority of their population but whatever group the Cerest interacted with first/the most.

Despite having the technological might, Rossetians put their culture and values in learning first. Thus, reliance on ai translators and the like is frowned upon (if they’re going to be communicating in a xeno language raw, then it’s going to be with sign, a manual noise maker or keyboard rather than an implant or phone). Thanks to their public politeness and avoidance of making a scene, they aren’t likely to vocally rebuke any slights in public, but may still show disdain and you *will* be added to a list of undesirables later. Most of their cultures follow their westerners lead in terms of clothing and social norms, so meeting a Rossetian who’s more aligned to say the East and treating them like a westerner can cause problems (ex. The west is fine with the human handshake, which is an analog for their own on version of a hand/tongue touch as greeting. The East doesn’t do this, and bringing your appendage that close to the hand of someone you just met is like proposing to a stranger since they associate hands/arms with marriage bonds. Just go with the tail touch oh wait you don’t have a tail). They’re also likely to see you as an alien first, person second, and are thus prone to weird probing questions and pushing of boundaries.

Kixeli can be overwhelming if you aren’t ready. They have the stereotype of being air-headed, super nice/friendly, positive and upbeat, and almost childlike, something that’s not helped by their high voices, permanent ‘smile’ on their face, or the way their cues just aren’t easy to read to the other xenos/the way they exaggerate their tone or movement to be more readable (most of their natural facial expressions are with the fin and tongue, something most other species have no precedent for how to interpret), Culturally they have a focus on community and the strong bonds within it, and though they are quick to anthropomorphize and see others as Kixeli ‘comrade’ , making a deeper connection with them takes more than most people realize. They can still be insular in their own way, and even if they’re being “overly” talkative, touchy, and friendly to a stranger in our eyes, they can definitely still see you as a stranger.

Thanks to historic exploitation and dehumanization (deprectikarization?) by other xenos, Prectikar have developed a culture around avoiding other cultures to protect their own. Tribe politics is an unknown landscape to most xenos, and often places will accidentally hire people from groups that hate each other and not even know until they start brawling outside the building. This can even be true between other Prectikar who, conversely, don’t have that strong of ties to a tribe/thier own culture because of xeno influence and therefore have difficulty interacting with their own kind (this is present in all xenos but most prevalent and obvious with them) Physically, they can have some trouble pronouncing words thanks to having no teeth or tongue in their main vocal cavity (the sounds produced by their throat’s air sac are usually inaudible and very limited) which feeds into the idea that they’re the big dumb guys, while their universally deep voices, minimal/ easy to misinterpret facial expressions, and size/strength make it easy for other xenos to see them as older than their years, unfeeling, and “perfectly fit” for prolonged hard labor. Humans tend to see them as the big scary ones and avoid them in turn, and usually associate them with heavy laborers or military if they think about them at all. Cerest and Rossetians have a history of dismissing or bastardizing their culture because they’re a ‘lower’ species alongside the Kixeli. Kixeli view them as hard to reach but not impossible to befriend, something that Prectikar also mirror towards them, thanks to their shared position as the lowest class of xeno in the old and new Empire (but they can still hold those stereotypes about each other)

Cerest, unsurprisingly, are the hardest to socialize with. Humans have a lot of poor associations with them thanks to the war and also a lot of misinformation is spread about them and taken as fact (example, a lot of humans actually think that Cerest can speak almost telepathically and have a hive mind, because bugs, where they actually just communicate in non-vocal ways most of the time and have a pseudo eusocial structure. Fun fact, the ‘telepathic speech’ ability actually belongs to muttreazik, who use their worm brain to emit high frequency waves and beam them directly into each others head as ‘words’. ) Everything we know for sure about them that is uncomfortable to us is blown out of proportion, such as their child rearing standards. Yeah they have less taboo around culling their eggs and higher infant aggression than any other species, but this doesn’t mean that separating Cerest children from their unit isn’t traumatic and it doesn’t mean that they hate their own (like the government would like you to believe so that their internment camp-I mean enclave practices don’t look as bad). The only reason Cerest can make noises is a side effect of them developing lungs. It helped them communicate longer distances and emit distress calls, but is largely hard to control for them and not used that much in any of their languages. Without extensive voice training or a translator, they sound like they’re buzzing at you, which can make talking to them difficult if you only know a vocal bridge. Cerest are such a minority in the DRSS, with most units living in designated and monitored Enclaves, that no one really has the best idea of how to interact with them. When they do, you’re usually hit over the head with how cold, disdainful, and lofty they can be thanks to their cultural conditioning to see other xenos as non-people. You’re pushing them away simply by being another species. But, even if the Cerest you’re speaking to doesn’t share those ideas, literally everyone characterizes them as unfeeling robotic hateful and callous , pretty much dehumanizing them right back (deceresting???????) and pushing them away from your side. It’s a lose lose situation all the time for everyone involved.

Just now realizing that I didn’t include muttreazik. Uhhhh. Based on their resemblance to their host they either follow these rules/have the same problems or get extra problems from looking so different.

The end :)

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride, Shana! 🏳️‍🌈☺️💕

Please, I need more of your Jim and Sybok buddy fic!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

Sybok double checks Jim's numbers, then triple checks them, and normally that would get him a some sarcastic indignation, but instead Jim just paces and rubs his hands against his thighs and simultaneously looks his age and at the same time far too old.

"The ion storms are unpredictable," he says finally. "It's possible we'll be able to get a signal out to Starfleet before the spring."

"Well, anything's possible," Jim agrees. "Seventy three years of ion storm data says it's not fucking likely, though." He runs his hands through his hair. "The season just started, if I'd started a few weeks ago, we could have got a message out before the storms rolled in-"

"Hey," he says sharply. "We're lucky you discovered it this early. We can start conserving food now, and maybe - maybe we'll get lucky again."

Fall has just started, the season of harvest that gets them through the austere winter. Tarsus IV doesn't get cold, not like it can on Earth, but it does get dry. Sybok had actually been looking forward to the winter, since the climate would more closely resemble what he grew up with on Vulcan.

That had been when he'd though food would be abundant, if a combination of heavily salted and flash frozen.

Jim gives him a look that reminds him, horribly, of his father. "What's the official Vulcan stance on luck again?"

He glares. "It is illogical to ignore the possibility of survival just because of a low probability."

"That's not it and you know it," he laughs, humorless.

"Maybe we can develop some sort of pesticide to save the remaining crops.

Jim's reaction is pure offense, which is at least an improvement on hopelessness. "Okay, I didn't graduate from the VSA, but I did run these experiments myself, you know. It's all already infected almost all of our crops. They're a goner, and everyone is going to figure that out in a couple of weeks when everything rots from the inside out."

Yeah. They can probably synthesize something to counteract these parasites for the next planting season, but that depends on them being around come spring.

"We won't all die," Sybok says quietly, because many planets have endured similar circumstances in their past, however distant. "There are always survivors."

Jim presses his lips together. "Yeah. Because Vulcans' strict vegetarian diet really lends itself it to cannibalism."

Sybok's stomach rolls but he keeps his face neutral. "Technically, as I am the only Vulcan on planet, it would not be cannibalism."

There are always survivors, but their survival comes at a price. He already knows that it's a price he's unwilling to pay.

He should have listened to Amanda.

[dankdungeonsrpg]

Synthesizer Nostalgia

Recently...

NAMM (the National Association of Musician Merchants) happened. It's a trade show for instruments that gets all sorts of YouTube coverage, particularly by channels interested in synthesizers.

This year something that I think is very very cool was shown... The Behringer BX1

This thing is amazing!

It's a recreation of Yamaha's 1983 DX1 instrument, which is legendary.

For starters it was the first FM Synthesizer, the first (I think) form of digital synthesis. The DX1 was also a beast, it effectively stacked two powerful synths on top of each other, allowing for layered, more complex sounds. A feature that didn't become standard until the '90s. It also had a key bed with polyphonic aftertouch, a feature not event standard today! (but we are starting to see more instruments with it in the last few years) Oh, and it was $14k ($45k adjusted for inflation).

Yamaha put out an excellent video about it if you want to hear it/know more:

Another notable thing about the DX1: only 140 were ever made.

The Sound of the '80s

Okay so the DX1 was kind of unobtainable, but its smaller (relatively) brother the DX7 was not. While it didn't have any of those rad features I mentioned, and was wildly difficult to program, the DX7 was still a first wave FM synth. It could do all sorts of things synths couldn't do before.

This became...a very big deal. It basically defined the music of an entire decade:

But There's More!

Did I say the Behringer BX1 was a clone of the Yamaha DX1? Well it's not just that. It's actually more than that!

See, the one big downside of digital synths is they tend to sound...cold. It's hard to describe, but their predecessors, analog synths, have a much warmer sound. I don't want to dwell on this because it's a lot but one way manufacturers can make a digital synth sound warmer is by using some analog components in it, particularly the filter.

Behringer knows this and decided to make their BX1 with analog filters, and not just any old analog filters, but the chips Yamaha used on their other legendary/expensive/small production synth: the CS80:

The instrument that scored Blade Runner.

Wait...Isn't This An RPG Blog?

Well that's just it, when I saw/read about/heard this thing I got the same feeling I had when I saw the Dolmenwood kickstarter.

Retro TTRPG people and retro synth people have a similar need. They both want to harken back to a distant time (the 70s/80s) and to tinker with the devices that produced these feelings.

One uses dice and mechanics to experience a kind of gameplay. The other uses filters and DCOs to experience a kind of music.

WotC becomes Roland Necrotic Gnome becomes Dreadbox B/X (as a system) becomes FM Synthesis The Moldvay Box Set becomes the DX7 Suddenly the Volca FM is an OSR darling retro clone.

okay so maybe it would make more sense to compare B/X to an analogue subtractive synthesis method instead of a digital additive one, but whatever

Dolmenwood is a recreation of an excellent old system with a lot of new features and ideas. The Behringer BX1 is a recreation of an excellent old synth with a lot of new features and ideas.

Bringing Back The Old School

These days the OSR is not only releasing new modules/systems/supplements, but importantly, its making them more accessible than ever.

OSE is a perfect example. It's a rewrite, but what a rewrite! It is so much easier to learn B/X with OSE than with the original books. Similarly, most (though certainly not all) classic modules don't hold a candle to the adventures coming out right now.

Accessibility is a big thing in the synth community as well.

Although in matters of pricing...we are talking about electronic instruments vs books, so bear that in mind.

An original DX1 goes for over $150k, but that BX1 clone? Probably going to cost $1,200. Behringer is also known for its Deepmind 12 synth, a $800 (sort of) clone of the '80s analog powerhouse known as the Juno 106.

Important to point out that many people go the virtual route for their classic synth clones as well. Software can (pretty accurately) emulate almost any vintage synth (and certainly any digital one). These can cost over $100 but that's still a total bargain.

Plus, you're looking at way more features on these modern units, not to mention software programmers. Creating sounds on these modern devices is way easier than their vintage counterparts...kind of like how OSE is way easier to grok than B/X.

Also, like the OSR, there isn't only one company making retro clone synths. Many companies (even the WotC equivalents) are making little retro affordable instruments. Others are taking old ideas and using them to inspire new products. Again, not unlike the OSR, NSR, or indie ttrpg sphere in general.

From both the OSR and the synth community the thing I always hear is: "this is the best time to be part of this hobby" and I think that's just great!

More Alike Than We'd Like

Worth noting as well that just like the RPG community, the synth community has drama.

Behringer particularly has come under scrutiny for creating clones of modern devices produced by other companies. While I don't feel informed enough on the situation to speak on it, there are been just as many YouTube videos and blog posts on the topic as any OSR kerfuffle.

The Future/The Past

Maybe I'm just a nostalgic kinda guy but I'm so excited to get my hands on more vintage inspired synths and more vintage inspired games. They can teach us that old ideas still have value and can benefit from modernization.

But before I do any of that...I think I have a line on a cheap Laserdisc player and some giant disk copies of the first two Bill & Ted movies...

[perpetual-fandom-brainrot]

Temporary Relocation Prologue/Ch. 1

This fic is based on this drabble Basic premise: Reader got an experimental surgery and is being relocated to a military base with more specialized medical supplies to help recovery while on medical leave, and will temporarily help with missions to ensure success after.

It was some kind of new experimental technology. You were one of only a few hundred who had the privilege of getting the opportunity. When they'd called, you'd needed to request for the information to be mailed because there was so much of it. "Instinctual Prosthetics" was what they had decided to name the project. It was supposed to help military combatants, granting an animalistic advantage of some kind on the battlefield. They would synthesize physical attributes of the target animal, you couldn't wrap your head around how, and intertwine the prosthetics and artificial nerves with your body's existing nervous system. Most info beyond that was disclosed to you as "need-to-know," which told you literally nothing you felt you needed to know.

Nonetheless, you were too intrigued- and too attached to the payout you'd get for using yourself as an experiment vessel- to say no. That was how you ended up on a helicopter with a man who'd introduced himself to you as Captain John Price, with your newfound cat ears and tail still extremely sensitive to everything around them. Every time the aircraft jostled, you found yourself flinching, and every time the noise changed you wished you could press your ears to your head to make it stop. If only it wasn't too dangerous to take off those headphones, which had been specially made for you. You didn't even want to think about what the violent whirs of the overhead blades would sound like without the protection they gave.

"Touchdown in five," the pilot called back to the two of you. You barely registered it until you heard Captain Price giving a comment saying the pilot's communication went over. "This team won't be anything like what you're used to, soldier. Much more specialized, much better materials to handle your... unique recovery circumstances." The captain's explanation didn't do much to ease your nerves, but you found yourself nodding as though it did. As though it held any clues of what you'd see on Task Force 141's base. "The rest of the force should be meeting us when we land," he continued. "I expect you'll get acquainted with them over your time here." The words gained another absent nod from you. Until the heli touched down, you found your brain wandering to how this all happened in the first place.

"It's an experimental procedure," the woman over the phone explained. You could hear pages flipping in the background of her mic, "we're only offering it to a few hundred soldiers to see how it takes. There's a wide range of people who chose to go in already." Her explanation only served as further confusion.

"I... I still don't understand," you mumbled before taking a sip of your coffee, "why was I selected?" The line was tense with silence for what you wish was a small beat, before the woman sighed.

"I only know what I'm telling you, and I'm only allowed to tell you what I know." Her gentle tone was meant to be reassuring, but right then it was just pissing you off. You were going to potentially lose critical brain functions if this went wrong, and it was still on a need-to-know? Fucking government. "There is one upside, though," she spoke tentatively now, "since this is a voluntary experiment, they're offering you compensation."

"Compensation?" The word echoed off of your tongue almost as if it was alien. "I'm sorry, I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this."

"I have permission to make exactly one hard copy of this information and mail it to you. Would you like me to file the request for it?"

"Yes, please."

It hadn't felt like too long since that phone call. It probably hadn't been, if you were willing to compare hours to seconds. It had only been a few weeks since you were wheeled out of the surgery room, informed of the expected enhancements with your balance and hearing, and then immediately told about the orders for your relocation. You'd be temporarily occupying the base of a specialized and extremely classified task force, one you were sure your own generals themselves had never heard of. A few weeks since that tail was surgically implanted at the back of your spine and connected to your main nerve pathways, a few weeks since the nurses and doctors taking care of you started looking at you funny when you covered your ears from things they couldn't hear.

The harsh jostle of the helicopter landing, and the ensuing pins and needles from your still sore tail, broke you out of your trance. You took a deep breath as you stood up and removed the headphones, flinching at the more detailed sounds you knew no one else could hear, and looked up to see Captain Price awaiting your company to exit the aircraft.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

Not at all, you think, but give a verbal, "affirmative, Captain." Price doesn't walk off of the helicopter until he sees you next to him, where a small group of men wait, presumably for the two of you, in a semicircle. "So... this is the team?" You ask quietly, awkwardly, before they've noticed you. Price chuckles to himself before calling out to the group.

"Soldiers," his voice carries over the now fading whirs of the helicopter, "meet our new temporary recruit. After the medical recovery period ends, you'll all be working together out on the field. I expect you all to make good use of the remaining leave time." Nobody had to ask to know what Price meant. You'd all be stopping bullets and bombs for each other soon enough, probably too soon. He wanted a team that knew how to work together.

"What's with the cat ears?" A rough British accent calls. Your eyes flick to the source, a tall and muscular man wearing a skull mask. Your peripherals catch everyone else's eyes immediately flying to the top of your head while you make brief eye contact with the man. Your breath catches in your throat when you open your mouth to respond.

"This is the experimental procedure you were briefed about," Price stated. "I expect you all to treat this like any other new recruit. If I hear of any issues, you will be dealing with Shepherd." A collective groan came from the group as Price walked towards a gathering of buildings. Who?

"Aye Ghost, don't want them to make you a kitty cat, eh? Ya might end up too cute to fight that way," another man, a Scotsman with striking blue eyes and a mohawk, commented.

"A word, sergeant MacTavish," the Brit barked before walking into a nearby building. The Scot followed him without asking questions. You just watched the two in a daze, not sure what to make of the scene.

"What was that?" The question came from your mouth carefully.

"Don't mind them," another man, the only one left now, spoke up. He had umber skin that looked smooth, not as big of a build as the Brit but you had no doubt just as strong. "The sergeant's probably getting his fair share for talking to the lieutenant like that." As he talked, you noted he's probably better for agility. He took a step towards you and held out his hand, "I'm Kyle Garrick, Gaz on the field."

"Y/n L/n," you took a step to close the gap and firmly shook his hand. "Nice to meet you Gaz! Who are the other two? The sergeant and you said the lieutenant?"

Gaz laughed a little, the smile staying as he spoke, "the angry one in the mask, the lieutenant, is Ghost, and the Scot you saw messing with him is my fellow sergeant. His name's Soap. Those two are always at each other's throats. Bet you'll get used to it as you stay here," he took a step back after letting go of your hand. Gaz was still smiling, "and I'm assuming you know Price. There's others, but they're out on assignments if they're not stuck in the medical quarters recovering."

"Well, in that case, mind showing me the medical quarters? I'm due for an initial check-up after my briefing on the team. Pretty sure you just gave that to me."

Gaz turned and waved you on from behind, "follow me!" He called. You jogged to catch up, looking around and taking every detail in while gazing at the structures around you. Brief explanations of barracks, small hangars, different quarters and offices, the main canteen building as you passed it, everything you needed to know about getting around the base and what you need. Eventually, a building just as plain as the rest of them save for a red cross came into view. The medical quarters, you regarded it with internal relief. Your ears and spine were starting to ache again.

You even forgot to thank Gaz as you hurried in, leaving him to laugh to himself. You were definitely something. The base- the force- was going to enjoy having you.

Read the next chapter here

[mariacallous]

Let me start with the following principle: “Energy is the only universal currency: One of its many forms must be transformed to get anything done.” Economies are just intricate systems set up to do those transformations, and all economically significant energy conversions have (often highly undesirable) environmental impacts. Consequently, as far as the biosphere is concerned, the best anthropogenic energy conversions are those that never take place: No emissions of gases (be they greenhouse or acidifying), no generation of solid or liquid wastes, no destruction of ecosystems. The best way to do this has been to convert energies with higher efficiencies: Without their widespread adoption (be it in large diesel- and jet-engines, combined-cycle gas turbines, light-emitting diodes, smelting of steel, or synthesis of ammonia) we would need to convert significantly more primary energy with all attendant environmental impacts.

Conversely, what then could be more wasteful, more undesirable, and more irrational than negating a large share of these conversion gains by wasting them? Yet precisely this keeps on happening—and to indefensibly high degrees—with all final energy uses. Buildings consume about a fifth of all global energy, but because of inadequate wall and ceiling insulation, single-pane windows and poor ventilation, they waste at least between a fifth to a third of it, as compared with well-designed indoor spaces. A typical SUV is now twice as massive as a common pre-SUV vehicle, and it needs at least a third more energy to perform the same task.

The most offensive of these wasteful practices is our food production. The modern food system (from energies embedded in breeding new varieties, synthesizing fertilizers and other agrochemicals, and making field machinery to energy used in harvesting, transporting, processing, storing, retailing, and cooking) claims close to 20 percent of the world’s fuels and primary electricity—and we waste as much as 40 percent of all produced food. Some food waste is inevitable. The prevailing food waste, however, is more than indefensible. It is, in many ways, criminal.

Combating it is difficult for many reasons. First, there are many ways to waste food: from field losses to spoilage in storage, from perishable seasonal surpluses to keeping “perfect” displays in stores, from oversize portions when eating outside of the home to the decline of home cooking.

Second, food now travels very far before reaching consumers: The average distance a typical food item travels is 1,500 to 2,500 miles before being bought.

Third, it remains too cheap in relation to other expenses. Despite recent food-price increases, families now spend only about 11 percent of their disposable income on food (in 1960 it was about 20 percent). Food-away-from-home spending (typically more wasteful than eating at home) is now more than half of that total. And finally, as consumers, we have an excessive food choice available to us: Just consider that the average American supermarket now carries more than 30,000 food products.

Our society is apparently quite content with wasting 40 percent of the nearly 20 percent of all energy it spends on food. In 2025, unfortunately, this shocking level of waste will not receive more attention. In fact, the situation will only get worse. While we keep pouring billions into the quest for energy “solutions”—ranging from new nuclear reactors (even fusion!) to green hydrogen, all of them carrying their own environmental burdens—in 2025, we will continue to fail addressing the huge waste of food that took so much fuel and electricity to produce.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

lame seasonal moment aboard the UNSC's biggest boat

Two for the price of one! Sorry this took a minute, but I'm trying so hard to write again.

-

Miller wakes with a start when a cacophony of noises roars from the speaker directly next to his bunk. Tinny sounds of water bubbling and chains rattling jostle him from what little unconscious peace he had found.

"I was working in the lab late one night-"

"Roland!" He groans, defeated and curling up into a smaller target with his pillow over his head. As if that would dissuade his tormentor.

"Happy Halloween, Spartan Miller!" Roland chimes from over the Monster Mash continuing to blast.

"It's 0400!"

"Not on Earth!"

"Roland!"

-

The leaves in the Atrium Park are shades of fire as the skylight projects a pale autumn sky. Fall, synthesized or not, is here and Lasky can feel it in his bones.

Not the same as being planet-side and seeing a terraformed Martian autumn paint the landscape of Mare Erythaeum, but the complex systems maintaining the flora of the park did a damn good job mimicking morning dew and crisp fall air.

He breathes deep and exhales, watching the leaves rustle and dance before turning to his running partner.

Sarah's scowl is softer than usual, in part to the tiny gourd he knows is now sitting on her desk, and partly because Luna didn't have seasons. Cmdr. Palmer would never admit it, but Tom knew Sarah enjoyed the traditions that came with the seasons, even if he'd never call her festive.

"It's colder than usual." She observes in the face of changing leaves and Tom's own jacket on top of his PT gear.

"It's fall." He says back, nodding to the trees.

"Better than Requiem's heat."

"I heard that Mjolnir has pretty good climate control, if you wear a helmet." Tom grins as he says it and starts running.

He hears her snort and then heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. It's early and the path is wet with dew and dead leaves. It's his one saving grace as he slows and dives down a side path.

He hears her swear and skid as her momentum carries her past.

Leaves crunch underfoot as he jogs past piles of leaves and startled gardeners. He smiles and nods to them as they look at him in shock as Sarah closes in. He wonders distantly if the Mess Staff has broken out the cider yet.