#despite there being zero indication of the sort. like it all looked normal its just that h/p were evolved

[perenlop]

still kinda bewildered at that one time people were sharing that youtube clip with jellicent calling out espeon and umbreon's romantic relationship and instead of the more normal and natural conclusion of "oh that means they were intended to be a couple" people were like "what the fuck i cant believe the PSMD promotion team accidentally promoted incest?"

[writingforfishes]

Hicvember: Royal and Library

I have zero idea how to write royal shit. I don't know any history and am only drawing from the feel of other shows that have royal history things in them. (Like...Jane and the Dragon...you know...the mature ones.)

So, please suspend every belief and I hope my writing style doesn't get in the way of being able to read it. I wrote in a way that seemed...I dunno...royal or something?

Meet Winston and Steepe.

CW: Talk of weight, talk of seeming womanly being an insult, self-deprecation, implications of oral, implications of a hand job, insinuating same gender couples not being accepted, sort of a weird romance novel vibe to be honest??

The archival library was dimly lit by torches. The windows, which normally let in light, were dimmed by the night outside of them. The stars and celestial bodies offered a dim glow permeating the archives, but not enough to illuminate them to what was needed when sorting and restoring.

It was the middle of the night. Usually, the stout young man who inhabited the hall wasn’t up so late, but he was charged with restoring a royal family parchment for show tomorrow and, if not for a particularly annoying bodily interruption he’d have had it done by now.

So, in lieu of the drying ink he’d so far restored with on the parchment which sat on the table across the room, he did busy work until his body gave him permission to continue his assigned task. He only hoped it didn’t wait too long to stop its infernal jerking which prevented him from having a steady enough hand to paint and write by.

Winston was not who anyone in the society he lived in would call a handsome man. If he were a king with his round soft shape and his 5’6 frame he might’ve been lauded despite his physical attributes. His plumpness might have indicated wealth or health of some sort. But in his case, Winston’s physique led to very little but being called “womanly” for his soft curves and pale coloration which was prone to blushing.

Honestly, though, a great number of women in Winston’s life made that derisive title more honorable in his mind. His mother and sisters proved to him the intelligence and strength of females. He was proud to hear his form was one to be compared to people who seemed to him to be in many ways superior to men, despite the obvious insult it was meant to imply.

Winston’s mother had sold him to the palace he now worked as an apprentice. He didn’t blame her, and she wasn’t absent from his life completely. He simply wasn’t created to work the way other men did. And, fortunate for him, he was clever and learned quickly. As a child, the archives and writing had been a bit of a savior and a respite to him. And to know he was providing for his family in some way was all the better for it.

None of that mattered now, though, as he searched the shadows in one of the aisles for the ladder he kept to reach the higher scrolls so he could sort them into a better way of organizing, as he had been doing with his spare time these past few days. But as his body’s jolts became faster in the frustration he was experiencing, it became even more difficult to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. If only he were just a few inches taller, though.

The guard could hear him from yards out. Olive skin stretched into a smile as he met the doorway to the library. Great gulpy squeaking told him where the archivist was. The sounds were coming from the shadows where the torch light didn’t hit. The annoyed muttering accompanying the rest was amusing and would’ve been more so if a shiver didn’t hit his body as the squeaks got faster and harder.

“I heekulp! hope you’re ne-eep-ever charged to heeulp!-to be a sp—spy, Steepe,” Winston groused after hearing the heavy boots on the stone floor. But he grinned, too. Perhaps too widely. The archivist hoped the flush to his face would seem more from the effort before than emotion.

Winston looked up at the taller man, an unlikely ally in the castle but one who had developed into something more fairly quickly in their friendship. Of course, neither one would talk plainly about their relationship. Speaking in subtleties and implications was the most which would be accepted by the others in the castle.

This is not to say there weren’t plenty of other relationships like theirs, defiance of the accepted gender pairing, but they were handled in much the same way. You knew but you didn’t say. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked.

“Hmm,” Steepe replied casually. “Perhaps I wanted to be heard.”

The guard watched as the top of Winston’s large belly bounced a few times, the fabric clinging to his pudge in a way that made Steepe clear his throat. Winston scoffed at his reply causing a high HEEURK! to erupt from him. He put his hand on his chest with a breath. That one had hurt a little. Perhaps he deserved it, though.

“They’re quite hard today, Winston. Jolting your...entire body around quite a lot,” Steepe teased mildly.

“Mmm hee’ulp! and you hee’ulp! standing there hilp! enj-hng’ulp enjoying ilp! my pa—pain! Heeyurp! Oh dear,” he said as he rubbed his belly with a frown as it continued to bounce below his hand as the hiccups quickened.

“Hopefully not too much pain, dear,” Steepe said as he dropped the act for a moment and closed the distance between them worriedly.

“No no heeulp! It’s not t—too bad. Hng’lp!-hilp! Guh! Just ner-ERP!-ves, I think,” he said quickly, though he appreciated the strong hand on his shoulder. He’d have preferred to have it elsewhere on his body, though. He felt his face flush again.

“If that were true, my dear Winston, you’d have them all the time,” Steepe noted.

“I do h-hu’ip!-have them quite fre-ngk’up!-frequently though heengk! you must admit!” he said.

“I may have noticed…” Steepe said, trailing off.

“I bet heenk’up! you have! Emmp!” Winston said but huffed in frustration and rubbed his tummy again.

Steepe’s cheek and neck darkened as he looked down and took a gulp of a swallow to contain himself. The largest hurdle in the depth of their relationship, once they admitted their feelings, was revealing how much it moved the guard to see Winston in such a state. The fluster it caused him was tantamount to lust.

It was lust. It was primal and Winston was more than accepting of his odd preference. Though he had mistaken Steepe for not finding the archivist attractive except for those little spasms leaving him to declare his desires for Winston for more than just his...unfortunate nervous quirk.

The guard didn’t lie when he said he found Winston attractive. The short fair ginger man with delicate eyelashes and a beard framing his round cheeks was, in Steepe’s mind, breathtakingly handsome. And Winston claimed much the same of the tall, broad, dark man Steepe was. Winston had never once been intimidated by him. He was curious more than anything. And his wit was so sharp it took Steepe by surprise. But Winston was even more surprised when he learned Steepe was just as clever, if not quite as learned and smart as the archivist. But they kept up with each other quite well...in more ways than one.

“I can...offer assistance with those pesky interruptions if you’d like,” Steepe offered shyly. “I know you have much to do tonight, and it would be no good for you to be tired out at the presentation of the scroll.”

Winston looked a little sheepish for a moment. But at his head being tossed back roughly at another hiccup he decided to let his misgivings go. He didn’t want to use the man, but he also knew in many ways he was happy to be of service as Steepe was using him, too. And the dark-haired man did have a way of curing which was especially delightful for them both.

So, tucking away in a well-worn corner of the library, starlight their only illumination through a small window, the two disrobed and cuddled together before Steepe commenced with the cure.

“They are...very hard tonight, Winston. Are you sure they don’t hurt you at all?” Steepe asked as he cushioned his hand on the other’s belly.

Steepe felt the power of Winston’s chest caving in at the same time his belly popped, jiggling in the aftermath just slightly. The guard could even hear the thump of air displacement throughout his belly and chest and the slight slosh of whatever he’d consumed earlier.

The hiccups had sped up again for obvious reasons. Winston shrugged.

“A lit-HEEP!-little hee’urp! Oh. Per-erp!-haps a heeyup!-a little more th-hngk’up!-than a little,” Winston admitted.

The cure was unconventional. It initially increased the magnitude and speed of Winston’s hiccups with the excitement it caused. He never imagined he could have someone give him such powerful arousal and completion with just their mouth. He hadn’t even known it was possible. He’d never had schooling in such things. And, yet, Steepe had been eager to teach him. And Winston had been eager to learn.

As usual the apex of the experience lead to the cessation of the inconvenient spasms and, as usual, Winston thought it was only right to return the favor, though he was less confident with his mouth than his hand. Steepe didn’t seem to might the inequity, though. And, with the guard being already so aroused the act of favor returning usually didn’t take long at all.

“You have them on your belly, too,” Steepe muttered in afterglow.

“Hmm?” Winston asked as he looked down at his belly with a concentrating frown.

“The freckles. I’ve never noticed it before now,” Steep said. How hadn’t he? Perhaps the star and moonlight illuminated them more clearly than the other times.

“Oh, they’re everywhere, I’m afraid. I’m positively covered in them. A gift from my mother and grandmother, I’m told. Ginger hair and these spots everywhere,” he said in mild derision.

“I like them,” Steepe said in a small voice.

Winston looked up at him and leaned against his chest as he did.

“I don’t know why. But then, aside from your unconventional attraction, I don’t know much why you like me. But I won’t argue with it too much lest you might realize your mistake,” he said as his eyes watched the other man as if seeing a dream.

“I hope you might one day believe my desire for you is more than my odd fixation and that you, merely as you, are enough to attract me to your countenance,” Steepe said as he rubbed circles on Winston’s stomach.

Winston sighed and took a bigger breath before letting it out.

“Perhaps just you believing it will have to be enough. For now, I must redress and finish restoring the royal family before my light and candle depletes or burns the whole place down, one or the other,” Winston said wryly.

“Mmm, I suppose I’ll let you do so. The rest of the guardsmen are probably-oh who am I kidding? They rarely notice me when I’m there let alone if I’ve left my station. But I suppose I should do my duty anyway. Besides, I am protecting the royal records, of a sort, by protecting the royal archivist from his own body’s betrayal,” he gruffed.

“Here, here!” Winston agreed.

And, with that, the two dressed and parted ways with lingering touches. Steepe’s brown eyes lingered on the Winston’s wide hazel ones. One final look before they continued their duty to the crown.

[dokidokivisual]

Gochiusa BLOOM episode 9 impressions

Previously: 8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1

That’s right, the long-awaited review of episode 9 is finally here! I haven’t managed to finish it last week and kind of lost motivation since almost nobody reads these anyway, but there we go. Not sure what I’m going to do with the remaining episodes at this point, maybe I’ll combine 10 and 11 together? 

The episode starts with a flashback from Chiya and Sharo’s childhood which shows the origin of Anko’s crown. The scene is “shot” in widescreen aspect ratio, a technique that I don’t remember being used before in Gochiusa anime, such as during the previous Chiya/Sharo flashback in Season 2 Episode 9.

I’d like to bring the attention to the opening shot of flowers, which are periwinkles (Vinca major). As you might know, Japanese media often uses the flower language, or hanakotoba which assigns specific meanings to various flowers. The meanings of greater periwinkle are “pleasant memories” and “childhood friends”, which seems to apply rather well here. In fact, if you see a shot of flowers in an anime, there’s a very high chance they have a relevant meaning in hanakotoba.

Of course I couldn’t help but look up chamomile as well, and its meaning seems to be “patience in the face of adversity”...

It seems that Chiya has now lost the crown, but it’s honestly surprising how it stayed on Anko all this time considering he has been carried away by crows and dropped from the sky more than once. Also, I feel like revealing the crown is lost so early in the episode deprives the viewers from being able to spot it on their own, just by seeing crownless Anko in various scenes (as has been done in the manga chapter).

In Chiya’s class there’s an election for picking the candidate from the class for the student council president position. The only two people competing are Chiya and the class president (who doesn’t have a name and referred to only as Iincho). In a surprising turn of events, Chiya gets 16 votes versus 14 votes for the prez (refer to the tally mark chart in episode 3 review), which means there are at least 30 people in the class.

Imagine losing a popularity poll to Chiya. The prez is a tragic character...

Cocoa volunteers to be Chiya’s “producer”, but Chiya calls her “First Lady” which totally means she wants to marry her. By the way, it was Cocoa who nominated Chiya for the election, which I don’t think is mentioned in the anime. In general, this particular chapter has been rearranged rather heavily for the adaptation with things happening in a completely different order, so it’s quite interesting to compare the two versions.

For example, when we see Chiya coming up with the names of various student committees, it seems like a completely natural and Chiya thing to do. It’s hard to believe that in the manga, it is Sharo who comes up with the idea of renaming all the committees. In fact this particular Chiya/Sharo tête-à-tête is not in the manga at all. However it’s an important scene to establish Sharo’s feelings towards Chiya’s presidential ambitions and she doesn’t seem too happy about them, in fact she doesn’t even congratulate Chiya.

Next we have another anime-original scene where Chiya goes to accessories store (from episode 6) to find a replacement for Anko’s crown. It should be pointed out that the design of the crown itself is not completely arbitrary. It features a moon crescent, which symbolizes night (the last character 夜 of Chiya’s name) but is also associated with Arabic world. The closest thing to Anko’s crown I could find is this heraldic crown of the King of Egypt. Anyway, this is also a reference to Chiya’s name, namely it being derived from Japanese name for 1001/Arabian Nights 千夜一夜物語 (Sen’ya Ichiya Monogatari).

Meanwhile Rize is trying to change image to be more like a college student, notices Chiya and asks to make her an adult (phrasing?). As a result, we get an appearance from Rize’s alter-ego Rose for the first time since season 1 episode 9.

The interesting thing about Rose is that despite being featured in only a small number of chapters, she gets a mention in Rize’s character blurb in Manga Time Kirara MAX until this day. It literally takes like a third of her character description!

Anyway, this scene is just a prelude for the adaptation of chapter 2 of volume 7 which is named after a Rize character song  鏡合わせのアンビバレット. In the song, Rize tries on outfits in front of a mirror and tries to convince herself that it’s still her. The illustration for this chapter also shows Rose as a mirror image of Rize.

We see Sharo looking through a bookstore window, which I think also appears in the following episode, and this is a foreshadowing that she works here too. The bookstore is named “Dreamy Books” which is seen later in the scene.

Chiya and “Rose” appear and at first Sharo doesn’t recognize Rize, and only does after Rize points a finger gun at her. Well, it’s not like there is anyone else in this town having purple hair or anything.

By the way you might notice that compared to the last episode the characters are dressed much more warmly, which reflects the fact that it’s already December. Looking back at the scene in episode 8 where Rize and Chimame cross the bridge at night, it’s quite shocking how lightly they’ve been dressed there.

Chino and Cocoa come by, and recognize Rize as Rose. It’s lampshaded that the last time they’ve seen Rose was more than a year ago, so it’s quite impressive that they still remember her, as well as her promise to visit Rabbit House (in s1e9 she only visits Ama Usa An). Rize thinks it’s a good chance to “infiltrate” Rabbit House to see what the others think of her when she’s gone.

Rize’s infiltration goes relatively smoothly until Maya and Megu barge in and immediately recognize her. Chiya manages to get them to play along in time, however Megu makes up a ridiculous backstory painting Rose as a ballet kempo practitioner who fights an evil organization.

Aoyama Blue Mountain also backs up Rose’s existence, by mentioning that she is in her literature club and also does food reviews. She gives Rize a cheat sheet which seems to parody the tendency of food reviews to describe food as “melting in your mouth” (for example wagyu beef).

Later Rize ends up having a conversation with Chino where she reveals that Rize’s been taking more days off than usual and it gets lonely without her. She has also started lazing about in the sun, just like Cocoa does, which wouldn’t have happened if Rize has been around upholding the discipline. In the anime Rize doesn’t really react to this, but in the manga she seems a bit disappointed in Chino.

This scene is a callback to the very first episode of the show, where Rize pretends she can’t easily carry these bags of coffee beans, because they’re too heavy for a “normal girl” according to Cocoa. Soon after, Rize’s cover is blown after she reacts to an intruder who is just Takahiro.

It turns out that Cocoa has already recognized it’s Rize. One thing that Cocoa and Rize have in common is that they change hairstyles a lot compared to the other characters, so it makes sense that Cocoa would not be fooled by a simple hairstyle change... or would she? Shortly after Cocoa has a realization that Rose has always been Rize, which makes her feel really stupid... until she finds that Chino is still completely in the dark about everything. Maybe Chino has propagnosia, or inability to recognize faces? Anyway, Rize is quite supportive about it and asks Chino if she’s ok if she does image change in the future.

But there’s still one more twist in this chapter, since Cocoa’s sister Mocha makes an appearance! Considering she appears in the opening, this season hasn’t really done anything with her yet. But it turns out it’s just Cocoa in a wig (why does she even have a Mocha wig???), nevertheless she successfully fools Rize and Chino for a second. Maybe the last episode of the season will have real Mocha (I’m assuming she won’t be in the Christmas arc).

And we’re back to the student council election storyline. The “sandwich” composition where one story “wraps” another seems to be used a lot this season. In this case the stories have almost zero relation to each other so I don’t know why the episode had to be structured like this.

Chiya’s election poster (aside from Cocoa’s scribbles) follows a traditional Japanese election poster design, featuring a closeup photo of a politician, her name and a slogan (which implores you to vote like a shiratama dumpling for some reason). I feel like a poster like this prioritizes the looks of a politician over their policies or whatever, but maybe there’s some sort of election law that these posters have to follow.

Cocoa and Chino also wrote letters of endorsement for Chiya, although Cocoa’s was mostly written by Aoyama and was basically a food review. Chino not only made Chiya almost explode from praise, but also presented a verbal takedown of Cocoa on the fly. Later, Chiya makes a passionate speech trying to emulate Rize, but maybe Chino should’ve written that too.

Next I’d like to point your attention to the name of the dish that Chiya made to celebrate the occasion:

Aki no sora (in the autumn sky) Todoroku oto wa (a thundering sound is) Omedetai (auspicious)

If you count the syllables, you’ll find that it is actually a haiku. and it even includes a kigo (season word, “autumn in this case”). The final line is a pun, as tai indicates the presence of taiyaki (a bean paste filled cake shaped like a bream fish) in the dish.

Another anime-original scene appears to flesh out the episode’s “moral” and show how Ama Usa is where Chiya really shines. A bunch of old ladies (who seem like they starred in a Kirara manga a long time ago) enter the teahouse to celebrate the birth of a 5th grandchild for one of them. Cocoa also helps Chiya, donning the Ama Usa uniform once again. 

Chiya sprinkles gold dust on her dish, doing her best “salt bae” expression. Pure gold is inert and as such can be safely eaten. In Japan, gold leaf is even added to tea, which might explain why Chiya has it.

As everyone is about to go home, Chiya’s grandma appears through a rarely-opened sliding window and offers some manju as a treat. In the anime this is how Sharo eventually discovers the lost Chiya’s crown, which her grandma uses as a hairpin (the hairpin functionality explains how this crown doesn’t fall off Anko). Surprisingly she doesn’t appear at all in the manga chapter, and Sharo just randomly finds the crown “outside”.

By the way, the text on the manju box says “congratulations on winning the election”, which might’ve been a bit premature.

Sharo goes to return the crown back to Chiya, and Chiya repeats Cocoa’s reaction from part A, which sounds like breakup song lyrics. This dialogue wasn’t in the manga in either scene and I think it was included to somehow tie the two parts together, and make the inability to notice something obvious that was around you the whole time the unifying concept of the episode.

For Chiya the crown was the symbol of ambition, and her dream to become the director of Ama Usa An and conquer the world. Sharo has a lot of drive to work multiple jobs, but doesn’t seem to have a goal she aspires to. When she finally gets an opportunity to move up the ranks, by becoming a student council president, she declines it. Living side by side with Chiya forever (zutto issho) seems to be the extent of her ambitions. Sharo feels betrayed by Chiya being ready to “leave” her and spend more time with student council than at her own restaurant.

After the ED we see the conclusion of this conflict. Sharo sees the preparations for celebrating the winner of the election, and begrudgingly congratulates Chiya. We see Cocoa, Rize and Chino helping out, but Sharo wasn’t even invited...

But it turns out class prez was the winner, after Chiya has declined the nomination. She probably had all the posters and speeches at the ready just in case, and didn’t have to prepare at all. In the manga, this is also where she returns Sharo’s uniform that she borrowed back in episode 4.

Meanwhile Chiya and Sharo have a talk and agree that it was the best for them to decline their nominations and they should stick with what they have. Not sure if that applies to Sharo though, she wasn’t really shown to be “shining” but more like “barely getting by”. There was also another reason in the manga for Chiya to agree it was the right choice: Chiya’s classmates totally trashed her menu names, which means they probably wouldn’t like her committee names either. Most of the classmates dialogue was cut out in the anime though.

So that was episode 9 and all that’s left for this season is a 2-episode Christmas arc and the season finale. Hope you enjoyed this review and until next time!

[southwindstories]

Dear diary,

Its not unusual for me to come back to my tumultuous home in the Maelstrom and find a visitor. Its not even uncommon for me to have never met them before. Its one of the few ‘safe’ resting spots in the whole storm system, and its rather spacious. I’ve got spare rooms and platforms a-plenty specifically set aside to give traveling ponies who get stuck in the current or even native storm-loving creatures a place to seek refuge for a bit. So when I stepped inside and found a coat on the rack, I wasn’t concerned. Until I found the owner. As I’m sure I’ve vented about in here before, Lucky Stars and I have very different work ethics when it comes to the weather of Equestria (specifically that I believe in doing ones job well and she doesn’t seem to believe in doing ones job at all). She’s been the North Wind of Manehattan for just over a year now, and the city has never had as many weather problems as it currently does. I couldn’t even begin to guess at the condition it ended up in when I went missing for a month, as its usually me cleaning up after her messes. And despite my numerous complaints to Canterlot’s North Wind about the situation, mom has never given any indication that she planned on doing anything about it. Its always baffled me. It was as though Lucky had carte blanche to screw up the whole system. So when I found her hiding out in my storm, I was immediately on guard. I figured shes got to be here to take clouds, because shes messed up a requisition too badly to risk reporting. Or shes trying to hide from some major catastrophe she caused in my absence, or something equally dangerous and/or annoying. I was somewhat taken aback to discover she’d actually quit. Before she was given the North Wind post by mom, Lucky was a model in Manehattan.  A gorgeous one at that; I was actually a fan, though not a ravenous one. She’d been photographed and featured by Photo Finish, published in high Canterlot style magazines sporting pieces by Hoity Toity, all sorts of public appearances.  Her career was, by all rights, in full swing. And then she up and quit one day. She visited Canterlot, chatted with mom, and I found myself cleaning up the first of her many mess-ups a week later, completely baffled at how she’d ended up in the North Wind chair. It wasn’t until today that I got the rest of the story. As it turned out, Lucky had been talking to my mother for years via mail correspondence, ever since they’d met at a fashion show and connected during the post-production social. I’d never known, apparently it was a somewhat secretive thing so as to keep it out of the focus of local presses. Lucky had wanted a friend to talk to she could look to for support. Apparently, modeling had been somewhat less glamorous behind the curtain. Ludicrous hours, abusive managers, and no family support to speak of. I hadn’t known she was an orphan. It, like many other things, had been kept out of her newspaper editorials lest it somehow diminish her public image. Most of her money was leached away by her dishonest management, and what little she did have, she couldn’t access unless she went through them to get it. In short, she was right and truly stuck. A little over a year ago, she took wing for Canterlot with nothing more than the hope of escape through her hidden connection with my mother. She arrived at her doorstep and begged for work anywhere that could keep her out of the reach of any hidden legal retribution she wasn’t aware of. Being a normal weather pony doesn’t get you that sort of protection, but Cardinal Winds are protected under the Crown, and tend to overrule most domestic contracts. There was only one spot available, and mom chose to take a risk and hand over the Manehattan North Wind position to somepony with zero experience, in the hopes that she could do well enough to skate by and stay safe at the same time. In hindsight, it was a stupid decision. But its probably the same stupid decision I would have made, given the circumstances. Ever since then Lucky has been trying to get the hang of a system she has exactly zero knack for whilst simultaneously worrying about thugs in dark alleys. And skate by she has, by the skin of her teeth, with no shortage of reluctant assistance by myself. But when I went missing a month ago her safety net fell through, and it became apparent just how out of her element she truly was. She knew my mom couldn’t bring herself to fire her, so a week ago she quit of her own accord rather than continue to drag Manehattan down. She’s been hiding out in here ever since. I had never heard this story before today. Lucky had apparently insisted that it be kept under wraps, and with it all laid out on the table I found myself forced to reconsider my opinion of her. That she seemed genuinely pleased to discover I was alive was shock enough, I’d kinda thought she’d shown up to claim the place as her own. I feel a little bad having jumped to that conclusion, in retrospect, but I had my reasons. She needs new work, and she doesn’t know where to start looking outside of Manehatten or Canterlot, where she doesn’t dare risk it. I’ve…somewhat reluctantly agreed to bring her with me to a few places so we can figure out what she’s actually GOOD at, as she’s never really explored her true talents outside of modeling. I’m concerned about it: Most of my disagreements with Lucky were due to work performance, but we’ve forged a bit of a history of dislike that will be difficult to get past, but I believe her story. It answers a lot of questions, and explains a lot of things I’ve seen and couldn’t piece together.                                            

That or I’m just a damned sucker for a pretty mare that needs my help.

[godzilla-vs-kong-vostfr]

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🔮 THE STORY 🔮

Sci-fi is like dream, aside from stories in this classification utilize logical arrangement to explain the universe that it requires place in. It for the most part incorporates or is focused on the assumed impacts or repercussions of PCs or machines; travel through space, time or imaginary worlds; outsider living things; hereditary designing; or other such things. The science or innovation utilized may or probably won’t be completely explained on; stories whose logical components are sensibly point by point, well-informed and viewed as generally conceivable given current information and innovation are regularly known as hard sci-fi. Writing that objectives posses, criminal associations that give a degree of association, and assets that help a lot bigger and more specialized criminal exchanges than an individual criminal could accomplish. Criminals will be the subject of a few motion pictures, especially from the period somewhere in the range of 1930 and 1960. A restoration of criminal sort films happened since the 1990s with the blast of hip-jump culture. Dissimilar to the sooner hoodlum films, the more current movies share comparative components to the more established movies yet is more in a hip-bounce metropolitan setting. An experience story is around a hero who excursions to epic or removed spots to perform something. It could have a considerable number of other classification factors included inside it, since it is an open type. The hero incorporates a mission and faces hindrances to get to their objective. Additionally, experience stories as a rule incorporate obscure settings and characters with valued properties or highlights.

At first proposed as a classification by the makers of the pretending game Children of daylight, dieselpunk alludes to fiction propelled by mid-century mash stories, predicated on the style of the interbellum period through World War II (c. 1920–45). Like steampunk however especially observed as a the ascent of oil power and technocratic discernment, fusing neo-noir factors and sharing subjects more clearly with cyberpunk than steampunk. Despite the fact that the striking quality of dieselpunk as a classification isn’t totally uncontested, portions which range from the retro-advanced film Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow to the 2001 Activision computer game Return to Castle Wolfenstein have been recommended as quintessential dieselpunk works of fiction. A style when an entertainer acts before a live crowd, talking straightforwardly to them. The entertainer is generally alluded to as a comic, professional comedian, professional comic or simply a hold up. In stand-up parody the entertainer ordinarily discusses a relentless progression of amusing stories, short jokes called “pieces”, and jokes, which comprise what’s regularly called a discourse, routine or act. Some professional comics use props, music or sorcery stunts to improve their demonstrations. Stand-up satire is regularly acted in parody clubs, bars, neo-vaudevilles, schools, and theaters. Outside of live execution, stand-up is typically circulated monetarily by means of TV, DVD, and the web. like customary activity; instead of utilizing hand drawn pictures, stop movement films are made with little puppets or different articles which have their image taken regularly over a grouping of little developments to make liveliness outlines. Models are The Nightmare Before Christmas, Coraline, and Corpse Bride.

🔮 COPYRIGHT CONTENT 🔮

Copyright is a type of intellectual property that gives its owner the exclusive right to make copies of a creative work, usually for a limited time.[1][2][3][4][5] The creative work may be in a literary, artistic, educational, or musical form. Copyright is intended to protect the original expression of an idea in the form of a creative work, but not the idea itsDemon Slayer the Movie: Mugen Train.[6][7][8] A copyright is subject to limitations based on public interest considerations, such as the fair use doctrine in the United States.

Some jurisdictions require “fixing” copyrighted works in a tangible form. It is often shared among multiple authors, each of whom holds a set of rights to use or license the work, and who are commonly referred to as rights holders.[citation needed][9][10][11][12] These rights frequently include reproduction, control over derivative works, distribution, public performance, and moral rights such as attribution.[13]

Copyrights can be granted by public law and are in that case considered “territorial rights”. This means that copyrights granted by the law of a certain state, do not extend beyond the territory of that specific jurisdiction. Copyrights of this type vary by country; many countries, and sometimes a large group of countries, have made agreements with other countries on procedures applicable when works “cross” national borders or national rights are inconsistent.[14]

Typically, the public law duration of a copyright expires 50 to 100 years after the creator dies, depending on the jurisdiction. Some countries require certain copyright formalities[5] to establishing copyright, others recognize copyright in any completed work, without a formal registration.

It is widely believed that copyrights are a must to foster cultural diversity and creativity. However, Parc argues that contrary to prevailing beliefs, imitation and copying do not restrict cultural creativity or diversity but in fact support them further. This argument has been supported by many examples such as Millet and Van Gogh, Picasso, Manet, and Monet, etc.[15]

🔮 ADAPTATION 🔮

Sarah Paulson is my top choice, yet this film isn’t her best. I trusted that months for this will come out and I’m left asking why I was so energized. The trailer parted with everything. You knew the entire story before it even began. There was practically zero character improvement and everything just felt like it was 0–100 with no pacing at all. Likewise, the cosmetics office for Sarah’s last look-the hellfire would you say you were folks on when you thought of this? I really snickered when I saw her. It was an alright film. One that you’d be pissed on the off chance that you burned through cash on. Nothing new, normal, worn out acting. Additionally, no one realizes the proper behavior an asthma assault. This film had so many plot openings that it seemed like a parody. The mother can simply take an infant from the clinic? She harms her little girl for quite a long time and no specialist actually sees this during her regular visits? How did she manage the postal carrier’s vehicle? No one minded the postal carrier was absent? For what reason did the girl never get one of the numerous sharp or gruff articles around her and hit her mother? The mother leaves all her significant reports in a container sitting out and marked? For what reason would she tie up her girl’s wheel seat and not her girl? This is the means by which the entire film goes. The main redeemable nature of the film was Sarah Paulson’s very frightening acting. Likewise, this story has been done so often. I would not burn through my time watching this. Run is unsurprising and not extraordinary. The acting is phenomenal, while the story is fair. The story makes a magnificent showing of being exciting, yet it chiefly doesn’t go anyplace. I knew all that planned to happen despite the fact that I knew nothing. Nonetheless, There was one scene I appreciated where Clare says, “you need me.” The acting was only exceptional in that particular scene. In general, it’s a one time watch that you’ll most likely fail to remember. This is another film on Hulu by Aneesh Chaganty (and co-composed by Sev Ohanian), following up their realistic presentation Searching (2018) with a spine chiller including a mother and her 17-year-old little girl brought into the world with a few confusions (arrhythmia, hemochromatosis, asthma, diabetes, and most effectively loss of motion).

I will say that it’s conceivable this film is superior to I preferred it, yet in the event that so it would be for its coordinating and acting, and less so about the composition. I felt like there were openings all over the place, and maybe an excess of is tossed at us too early for us to appropriately think about the characters and their circumstance. This sort of film has been done previously, absent a lot of new added to the table short the wheelchair perspective. There were a ton of components set up for what might have given a more grounded finishing conveyance and punch, yet the greater part of those beats were one-note and spent prior in the film as opposed to associating a solid inward weaving as Searching had the option to do. I went in visually impaired, and it’s possible better that I did given that the trailer is fairly uncovering. I don’t think it had a sufficiently high roof in any case to overshadow any wild absence of desires I previously had. My solitary desire was in the possession of the makers, and the most saving grace this film will probably have on crowds is I expectation they become mindful of Searching and see it sooner or later… which is the thing that I expectation the greater part of all of you can detract from this. That was my #1 film of 2018, and Run will tumble to the wayside as fairly convincing yet totally forgettable. The story and pre-assembled relationship just needed more squeeze once the credits rolled. This film was average, best case scenario. Try not to accept individuals giving it 8 or 9. The plot has been seen ordinarily, it was excessively unreasonable, and the closure failed. They attempted to showcase it as a loathsomeness/spine chiller however nothing about it is exciting. It’s a dramatization completely. I will say however, the entertainers did astounding with what they were given. Sarah Paulson was her standard sDemon Slayer the Movie: Mugen Train, great, not honor commendable. Be that as it may, Kiera Allen truly captured everyone’s attention. She made the film (which delayed for what seemed like 2 hours) watchable. In the event that you appreciated The Act or have nothing else to watch, give it a go. What’s the point of messing with this poop. It resembles a low lease endeavor at a spine chiller yet you definitely know the closure. The faltering endeavors at tension are more irritating than anything. It’s a terrible lifetime film to be straightforward. Furthermore, I like lifetime motion pictures! It’s additionally excessively coordinated, the music is exhausted and the acting isn’t incredible.

[danfanciesphil]

too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

The television is on, but Dan muted it some time ago. He’d tried to watch a weird Swiss documentary on sustainable farming, but the language barrier had been too difficult, even with subtitles, mostly because Dan kept getting distracted by the swirling patterns of the enormous snowflakes outside the large balcony windows. He’s curled in a beanbag chair, clutching a mug of hot chocolate that tastes slightly too weak. His eyes are fixed on the outside, his view of which has been largely obliterated by the storm. It’s unforgiving, and harsh, and totally surreal, being up here in the thick of it.

Driven mostly by the idea that he’ll probably never experience anything so wild and dangerous up close again, Dan finds himself moving to the balcony doors. He opens one cautiously, and immediately the agonised howl of wind screeches through, bringing with it a slice of paralysing cold. Before he knows it, he’s stepping out onto the balcony, his shoes tamping down the thick layer of snow. He shudders, immediately immersed in an icy blanket; he can’t see two feet in front of his own face. He knows the tables and chairs must be out here, silently stood waiting out the extreme weather, but they’re invisible amongst the flurry of snow.

Dan stands there for as long as he can stand it, marvelling. In the instant before he heads back inside, he imagines he hears, on the cry of the winds, a man’s voice, low and soft, like crushed velvet. He pauses, ears straining, to see if it will repeat itself, but it doesn’t. He feels a twinge in his chest; it had sounded so close.

*

Dan wakes up in his beanbag chair, gazing disorientedly at the pulsating static of the TV in front of him. He checks the clock on a nearby wall, which reads 10:14pm. He must have dozed off. Bleary-eyed, he unfurls his tight, cramped limbs from the chair and stands, then starts hobbling around the mezzanine to switch off lights and lock doors. The blizzard is going stronger than ever; he’s starting to wonder if it will ever be calm again.

He already locked up downstairs, so Dan just decides to head up to bed. His ankle is slowly feeling less excruciating as time ticks by, but it still takes him an age to make it to the top floor. As usual, he pauses in the hall, listening out for any sounds that might indicate what Phil is up too, whether he’s died of pig-headedness or possibly starvation, but there’s nothing. Only the thin strip of light under his door that presumably means he’s still awake.

Dan gets ready for bed slowly, his impromptu nap having made him sluggish and worn. As he brushes his teeth he stares at the bath, remembering how he’d laid in it last night, and what he’d done. It seems an age has passed since then, and also like it could just as easily have been tonight.

He climbs into bed, sure he’s tired enough to slip straight back into unconsciousness, but the howling outside of his window is verging on a scream. Dan fears for the glass, which rattles precariously in its pane. He lies back on the pillow, wide awake but almost delirious with tiredness, and with the slow, creeping dread of his own ominous sadness inching closer with each second. He can feel the tears on their way, and just hopes that the storm will be enough to drown them out, as Phil surely won’t be in any mood to play soft music tonight, judging by his earlier hostility.

Just as the moisture crests the rims of Dan’s eyes, there’s a knock on his door. Dan’s head snaps towards it, stunned. He waits, wondering if it could somehow have been a noise of the blizzard, projecting across his room. A minute passes, and the knock comes again, not loud, but somehow insistent in its slow, even pattern. Bemused and still half-asleep, Dan swings his legs out of bed, and limps over to the door.

On the other side of it is Phil. Dan blinks in surprise, then wonders who he had been expecting. Possibly nobody, given that he’s only half sure he’s not dreaming.

“What?” Dan asks.

There are faint frown lines nestled into Phil’s forehead, below the flop of his fallen quiff. He’s also wearing glasses - squarish black frames with ‘Dolce and Gabbana’ written on the arms. Dan is momentarily thrown by the sight of him in spectacles, and thinks that in an odd way they complete him, that they seem as if they should always have been there. He’s got what Dan assumes are pyjamas covering the rest of him, though they’re long-sleeved and made of an expensive, starchy material that doesn’t look particularly comfortable.

“Come for a drink,” he says, croaky and quiet. Then he starts moving back towards his room.

“Um,” Dan says pointedly, loudly. “No?”

Phil stops, turns. “Come on,” he says, like this will persuade him.

“Why would I want to come for a drink with you?”

One of Phil’s shoulders shrugs towards his jaw. “S’not like you’re sleeping.”

Dan wants to roll his eyes, but doesn’t think he has the energy. “So what? You just assume I’d prefer to hang out in your room while you verbally abuse me?”

Phil runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “Dan-”

“No,” Dan interrupts, hackles rising. “I have to deal with you bossing me around all day, but I’m off duty right now, so I-”

“If I try and go to sleep I’ll just end up jerking off thinking about you again,” Phil says, wearily, like that wasn’t an utterly absurd thing to say. Dan’s eyes widen; suddenly he feels more awake than he has ever felt in his life. “Would you just… come on. The storm’s keeping us up anyway.”

“I…” Dan tries to say, but Phil is already disappearing back into his room.

For a good twenty seconds, Dan is proud to say he is able to keep himself rooted to the spot in his open doorway. He attempts to calmly, rationally do a methodic replay of that conversation, and to substitute various likely things Phil might have said, or meant to have said, instead of what Dan heard him say. Palms about to pour rivers onto the hotel carpet, Dan is, unfortunately, stumped. So, for lack of a better sense of judgement, he blunders into the hall, then pushes Phil’s door, which is ajar.

Dan has only seen the room from the hall before now, but as he steps inside, he realises even that only showed a fraction of it. Mona sometimes refers to this room as the ‘suite’, which Dan had assumed was just her way of indicating it’s the nicest room they have. Now, Dan sees it truly is like a small apartment, complete with a seating area, flat screen TV, a small kitchenette with a microwave, mini-fridge and stove-top, and of course a huge four-poster bed. He also glimpses an ensuite bathroom, but only through the sliver of the almost-closed door. The most eye-catching features of the room are the windows near the bed, which are enormous and imposing, stretching from floor to ceiling. There are some thick, weighty-looking curtains hanging either side of them, wide open, so the roaring blizzard is an unsettling and rather present third character in the room.

Phil is in his small kitchen-y area, reaching into one of the cupboards. Even from here, Dan can see that the only items filling the cupboard are bottles of liquor. He watches Phil pull out a bottle of whiskey.

“What’s your drink?”

“Uh,” Dan says, trying to think of the least pathetic answer, given that he detests most spirits with a passion. “I don’t really...”

Phil’s mouth twitches. “What about a gin and tonic?”

Dan’s shoulders sag in relief. He can tolerate that, at least. “Sure.”

Awkwardly, Dan shuffles a bit further into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. He watches Phil dig in the freezer drawer of his mini-fridge for ice, which Dan can’t help but think is an unnecessary luxury to have given that they live in ice-world. Phil pours Dan’s drink, then sloshes a decent amount of whiskey into his own glass, no mixer.

Something tugs at Dan’s more prudish nature as Phil swipes the drinks from the counter without screwing the lids of the bottles back on, or closing the cupboard door. Still, Dan doesn’t say anything, just accepts the drink Phil hands him, and follows him to the armchairs clustered around a coffee table, which is littered with unopened mail, Phil’s macbook, and a lot of coffee mugs.

They sit opposite one another, listening for a few minutes to the sounds of the storm desperately trying to break through and join them. Mostly in an attempt to shatter the awkward spell, Dan’s finger taps against the side of his glass. All of a sudden, Phil sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

Dan blinks. “You are?”

Phil tips some whiskey into his mouth, then wipes it with the back of his hand. “I feel like I should explain why I sometimes come across sort of…”

“Dickish?” Dan supplies, already tired of this conversation. “Save your breath. You’re a spoiled rich brat whose lost all sense of manners to anyone without a title.”

Phil’s mouth twitches again; he sips more of his drink. “People used to say I was nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, you mentioned. You were a real gem back in the day.”

“I was sweet, people said. And funny.”

“What happened to the sweet part?”

Phil smiles. “So you think I’m funny?”

“Of course that’s the part you zero in on.”

They share a look that Dan doesn’t really understand, despite being on one side of it. Phil slings one leg over the other. “I can’t be sure, but I’d guess that my sweet side was beaten out of me somewhere in the midst of the rigorous Royalty training.”

An image blasts into Dan’s mind: Phil sat at a table with masses of silverware in front of him, being showed the salad fork by a Lordly gentlemen in a tux. “Like in the Princess Diaries?”

Phil snorts. “Not quite.”

Dan waits, sipping a fragrant and startlingly delicious gin and tonic, for Phil to elaborate.

“It’s like you’d imagine, but way worse,” Phil says after a moment’s pause. “My accent was wrong, so I had six months of voice coaching to strip the Northern out of me. Didn’t entirely work as I’m sure you’ve noticed, but you should’ve heard me before. I sounded like Peter Kay.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s only the tip of the iceberg,” Phil says, grimacing. “I learned how to bow, how to eat properly, how to address people, how to let Nikolai walk ahead of me into a room. I was told what I’m allowed to publicly like and dislike - music, cinema, art. Nothing too controversial, nothing too political. My favourite band used to be Muse.”

Dan’s mouth drops open. “But you said-”

Phil just shakes his head. “They’re not on the okay-list. I have to pretend I don’t ‘care’ for them. Matt Bellamy is ‘eccentric’ and ‘unpredictable’, apparently.”

“That’s…” Dan shakes his head. “Who’s on the okay-list?”

Phil shrugs. “I only remember a few. Ed Sheeran. Michael Bublé. The Beatles- though they’re on thin ice.”

Something of Dan’s horror must show on his face, because Phil laughs.

Reeling, Dan says, “so, they told you how to act, what to like, what to say…”

“And there were the physical changes, obviously.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

Phil taps a fingertip lightly on the bridge of his nose. “Used to have quite a bump here.”

The hand holding Dan’s drink slowly lowers. He tries not to be too obvious about peering. “You’ve had plastic surgery?”

“Just the nose job.” Phil is fighting a smile at Dan’s expression. “But I also got a whole new wardrobe, teeth whitening…” he tilts his head to the side, thinking, “oh, and eyebrow and eyelash tints of course. I had black hair when I met Nikolai, dyed myself, but I’m more gingery naturally. He wasn’t having that secret get out.” Phil chuckles to himself, bitterly.

“Fuck me,” Dan breathes, then blushes. To avoid garnering Phil’s reaction, he downs the last of his gin and tonic - the expensive gin is going down a bit too easily. “I don’t know how you put up with it.”

“By expelling all my rage on unsuspecting hotel attendants,” Phil replies in a murmur just loud enough for Dan to hear.

“Oh,” Dan says. “Right.”

“I’m not making excuses for myself, Dan,” Phil says, standing from the chair. He wanders over to the kitchenette and plucks the bottle of gin and the bottle of whiskey from the counter in one, large hand. “It’s just…” he walks over, face contorted in a frown, and refills Dan’s glass - no tonic, this time. Once he’s refilled his own, Phil sits back down, and looks at Dan. “I got used to the idea of being alone up here. Or at least that I wouldn’t have anyone I could be… close to. The guests always leave, so I barely speak to them. There’s just no point in getting to know people that will be gone in a few days.”

Dan opens his mouth to point out that the guests aren’t the only people up here, but Phil gets there first.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “Mona and Louise are great. But they’re older, and kind of… work for me, or make it seem that way.”

Dan’s struggling to put himself in Phil’s obnoxiously big designer loafers, but he thinks he might just about be on his way to eventually understanding. If he really tried. “And then I showed up?”

Phil nods, something like guilt flashing over his features. “Before you came there were a string of people that had your job. They did it poorly. Eighteen year olds wanting to be ‘chalet girls’, elderly men wanting an easy, slow-paced job in the mountains. They were all here for about two weeks and couldn’t hack it. But you…”

“Stayed.”

Phil nods again, distant. “Yeah.”

“Can’t pretend it hasn’t been tempting to run back to reality at times,” Dan says; he’s suddenly growing very warm. 

This conversation feels like he’s walking on the icy surface of a pond, hearing the splinters of it breaking whenever Phil speaks. He glances at the window, wondering if the storm might be dying down, but it’s just as fierce as ever. He must be growing used to the noise. The window pane rattles and shakes, as if reminding him of what lies just beyond.

“I’m ashamed to say,” Phil continues, “that I hated you for staying. I still do.”

Unsure of how to respond, Dan simply stares. 

"You hated me,” Dan echoes. It’s not fair, he wants to say. I didn’t even know what I was doing wrong. 

“You had freedom and opportunity and a life,” Phil explains. “Friends, university, the ability to walk to the corner shop and buy an ice cream whenever you wanted. Do you know what I’d give to have that again?”

“It’s really not that simple,” Dan says tightly. 

“No, I know,” Phil leans back in his seat, sighing. “It never is. But you’re so young, and irritatingly cute. I just look at you and get pissed off, thinking about what you gave up.”

There’s an adjective in there that’s unlike the others. “...cute?”

Phil cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t act dumb, it’s unbecoming. You know you’re pretty.”

Dan blanches, the heat in his cheeks swelling. “Um… w-what?”

“Really, that just makes it even worse,” Phil says ruefully, sipping. “I got used to the idea I’d live in forced isolation up here, wallowing in my unhappy marriage and never experiencing any kind of attraction again. But you…”

Dan begs, silently, desperately, for him to finish that thought. But he doesn’t. His tongue, unscrewed by four fingers of gin, pushes the next words out of his mouth, mostly because he feels like he’ll explode if they’re kept inside. 

“Before,” he blurts, “in the hall. You said… did you say…”

Slowly, Phil’s eyes refocus on him, and a smile spreads over his mouth. “Hm?”

Dan swallows more gin, then places the glass down so it won’t be obvious he’s shaking. “Do you really, like, think about me. When you… when you…”

“Yes.”

Dan isn’t really sure which answer would have been preferable. “That’s… strange.”

Phil laughs. “Stranger to do it in the bath.”

Mortification whips through Dan from sternum to gut - surely, no. Surely life isn’t that cruel.

“Fun fact,” Phil says, still smiling. “Our bathrooms share a wall.” Dan’s eyes close, and he prays for the storm to finally break through that damn rattling window and sweep the two of them away. “I picked a really good moment to pee last night…”

“That was…” Dan tries, floundering. “It’s not what you think.”

“Relax,” Phil says, as if Dan could possibly ever be in with a chance of relaxing again. “I did exactly the same thing two minutes later. Possibly less.”

There’s a volcano erupting in either of Dan’s cheeks. He grips the arm of his chair tightly, avoiding Phil’s eye. “You just… you caught me off guard. Kissing me. It was so…”

“Dumb,” Phil finishes, though that was not the word Dan had in mind. “I know. I’m sorry about that. Wasn’t… planned.”

“So why’d you do it?” Dan asks, voice barely a whisper.

Phil shrugs; Dan can just about see the movement in the corner of his eye, given that he’s focused resolutely on the carpet. “I was a bit drunk. Inhibitions were M.I.A, and all that.”

“Does that mean... you want to kiss me all of the time, but you just usually are sober enough to stop yourself?”

“God, no,” Phil says, letting out a laugh so abrupt that Dan’s skin sizzles in humiliation. “Most of the time I want to kick you in the shin. But occasionally…”

He trails off, but Dan doesn’t need him to finish the sentence. Occasionally, for some mad, inexplicable reason, Dan is apparently irresistible to the man in front of him. The information won’t settle properly into his brain, so it floats about in the membrane, distracting and beguiling.

Suddenly, Phil yawns. It’s such a perfect segue into running away that Dan almost weeps. “I should get to bed,” he almost shouts. He’s feeling more than a bit tipsy, worsened by the quickening of his pulse; hie eyelids are drooping, and his limbs drag as he moves, though he feels hyper-alert. “Thanks for the, uh, apology and everything, I’ll see you in the morning-”

“You should sleep here.”

Dan stiffens, dragging his eyes up to meet Phil’s. “Sleep… where?” Gently, Phil inclines his head towards the enormous four poster; Dan turns to stare at it, already intimidated. “You want me to sleep in your bed?” he squeaks. “With you?”

“It’s massive. You could roll over twice and never touch me.”

“But why?”

Phil gets slowly to his feet; his joints click as he moves, but somehow he manages to look graceful about it. “Look, Dan, the way I see it, we could both go back to our separate beds, lie awake listening to the horrendous storm until you start bawling your eyes out and I start… using other methods to lull me to sleep.” Another eruption of lava in the volcanic region of Dan’s face spills over, and he tries not to squeak indignantly. “Or,” Phil continues, and Dan, traitorously, latches on, “we could do the mutually beneficial and probably inevitable thing, and sleep here together, under controlled conditions.”

“What do you mean ‘probably inevitable?” Dan demands, heart thumping wildly. 

Already his mind is there, in the bed beside Phil, letting their body heat seep between them through the shared bedclothes, listening to Phil’s quiet breaths, the twitches of his body as he dreams... He shakes his head forcefully, trying to expel the weird fantasy; it doesn’t help much, he’s still longing for it, desperate to say yes, yes, yes, for a reason he cannot explain.  

Phil doesn’t answer, just arches one sculpted eyebrow and waits. Dan chews his lip, attempting to mull this decision over with the appropriate amount of common sense. Given that he’s two strong G & T’s in, and bone tired to boot, it’s not going well. On one hand, sleeping in the same bed as a married man, especially one he doesn’t even like, is bordering on madness. But on the other, Phil is completely correct that there’s no way Dan could get to sleep alone, now that he knows precisely what Phil would be doing in here - whilst picturing him, no less.

“I’ll even play music for you,” Phil goads, acting the Saint; he’s wearing that irritating smile he seems to save just for Dan, like he’s already won.

Damn it. “Whatever, fine. But we’re on separate sides. No, like, cuddling.”

Phil pulls a face, then reaches for his phone. “As if I’d try that with your bony frame. I’d probably wake up bruised from all your pointy limbs.”

“You might still wake up bruised if you don’t shut up,” Dan mutters, then realises the sexual interpretation of that statement. 

Luckily, Phil says nothing, just taps something on his phone screen, and then in a beautiful cresting wave, music swims through the air. Phil pockets his phone again, then walks around to switch off some lights. Dan stands gormlessly, watching him gather glasses and half-heartedly tidy up, until finally he heads over to the bed and climbs in. 

“Water’s fine,” he says, removing his glasses and patting the covers beside him.

Dan hesitates, but quickly decides it’s preferable to be beside Phil in the bed, where the other man’s short-sightedness will likely make him just a shapeless blur, than to be dithering in the middle of the room for Phil to scrutinise. He moves slowly and awkwardly to the other side of the bed, ankle stiff and unaccommodating, then pulls the covers back, and slides in. Phil is, mercifully, correct. There are acres of space between them, even though Dan is acutely aware of their proximity. It’s somehow worse that Phil seems completely unbothered by the peculiarity of this arrangement, and doesn’t even pay Dan much attention as he settles into a more comfortable sleeping position.

“Night, then.”

“Uh, night,” Dan replies, and Phil reaches out, and switches off his bedside light.

In the silence that ensues, Dan can feel the liquid awareness they have of each other soaking into his skin. He wonders if he should turn over, face away from Phil and squeeze his eyes closed, listen to the sweet sounds of the music and will himself into unconsciousness.

Before he can move, Phil speaks. “Dan?”

“Mhm?”

“I… probably shouldn’t have said that stuff about, y’know… jerking off to the thought of you.”

A lance of something akin to embarrassment, but tinged with a sharper, more electric pulse, shoots through Dan’s pelvic region. “It’s, er, fine. I won’t, like, leak it to the papers if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Yeah, thanks. But I meant… if it made you feel weird-”

“No, uh, I don’t… I don’t mind-”

“You don’t mind?”

A very low string instrument, possibly a cello, begins weaving a slow, gradual crescendo through the melody. 

“Um.” 

His heart is racing, and he’s lost track of what he’s even saying. He should shut up, he should roll over and shut up, but his mouth is unstopper-able when alcohol is involved. Plus… there’s something about being so near to Phil but not actually able to see him that makes him almost tolerable. Without his smug smile in view, it’s even possible to pretend that he’s just a reasonable, young, attractive man. A man that lies in this very bed sometimes, conjures up an image of Dan’s face and-

“Dan?”

“No, I don’t mind,” Dan blurts, glad of the shroud of darkness obliterating his highly-pigmented flush from Phil’s ridicule.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I just did it right now?”

Is it too late to back up? “Uh… no. Do what you want.”

In the next second, it becomes painfully clear, due to Phil’s responding stunned silence, that he’d been joking. The cellos increase in number; possibly there are some double basses involved. 

“Let me get this straight,” Phil says, voice a bit hoarse suddenly. “You’re telling me that you would be totally fine with me indulging in some self-love, right here beside you.”

Dan shrugs, face on fire, then remembers that Phil cannot see him. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“Even though I’ve previously told you,” Phil continues, because apparently the gods don’t grant prayers of sudden and unexpected meteors ploughing through the roof, “that I’d be thinking about you the whole time?”

“None of my business,” Dan manages, then presses his lips together in a vain attempt at shutting himself the fuck up.

The ensuing pause is weighty and brimming with Phil’s utter astonishment. Some high strings are audible now, slicing through the darker, deeper sounds; the sound of them set are making Dan’s pulse quicken. There’s a bit of shifting, and the mattress wobbles, jolting Dan. Confused, Dan turns his head, able to make out the shape of Phil on his back, wriggling around beneath the covers. He’s about to ask what the hell he’s doing, and then, like a switch flicking, it becomes painfully, excruciatingly obvious.

Phil’s breaths start soft and shaky, like tiny gasps and sighs, regulated by the slow scissoring of the violins. As if they’re a guide for his movement, he times the pump of his hand to their rhythm, and Dan drowns in the knowledge. It’s entirely dark in this room - Phil’s blackout curtains are an unexpected revelation - but the longer Dan stares at Phil’s profile, the more his eyes adjust. The more he looks, the more he can pick out - Phil’s sharp, bump-less nose, the convex curve of his parted lips, the shudder of his chin as he draws jittery breaths. His shoulders are out of the covers, and his right one moves deliberately, up and down as the crescendo builds, working the hand he has wrapped around his-

“Ah-hh,” Phil shudders on an exhale; at this point, Dan is so light-headed from the lack of blood reaching his brain that he thinks he might pass out. All he hears are Phil’s breaths, intermingling with the agonisingly gradual build of the song. He’s definitely pacing himself to it, must know the dips and troughs of this piece; perhaps he’s even done this before, as Dan has listened right next door.

Instead of rolling over, instead of fleeing or doing anything remotely sensible, all Dan can do is fixate on the sight in front of him - a sight that nobody, not even himself twenty minutes prior, would ever believe was really happening. Just as he’s certain he’s about to burst into flames, Phil rolls onto his side, and those eyes, somehow still crystal clear even in the darkness of the night, lock onto his.

“Fuck,” Dan says inadvertently, under his breath.

A sudden burst of percussion splashes into play, and Phil speeds up the movement of his hand. “Say something else,” Phil says, voice desperate as Dan’s never heard. 

Dan is too hard to dare consider refusing, so just remains rigid as his mind flounders- words? What are words? He stares straight into Phil’s glazed eyes, able to only think of one. “Phil,” he says, like he’s in agony. “Phil.” 

“Dan,” Phil whispers back. By now the crescendo is almost at its climax. Dan has heard enough classical music to know that soon, the peak of the refrain will crest, and it will slow, then peter away. He wishes it wouldn’t. He wishes, fervently, that the song would never end. Phil’s eyes flutter closed, and it’s awful. Dan can hardly bear for the sight of those blue whirlpools to be stolen from him. “Dan,” Phil says again, and it’s more beautiful than any song Dan’s ever heard.

The music swells into a brief cacophony, like a wave crashing over them, soaking their skin, their hair, the sheets. Phil shudders, hard and violent, lip caught between his teeth. He makes little noise, but his breathing is erratic, and then he rolls onto his back, and slackens. The music seems to loosen him, limb by limb, until he is boneless, ragged. 

Beside him, Dan lies stiffly, so aroused he can’t think, can’t speak, can’t move; as Phil is drifting to shore, Dan is still far out in the midst of the ocean, slipping under the salty water with each breath he draws. Is this the end of it? Is Phil expecting Dan to just roll over and go to sleep after watching that?

“Night, then.”

Apparently yes, that’s exactly what he’s expecting, the git. Dan bites the inside of his cheek, trying to guess how many hours it will take to will away his powerful erection, given that he can still hear the echo of his name in Phil’s voice as he came. The song isn’t over; it continues dragging sweet, soft notes across Dan’s mind, keeping him lucid. There’s no use playing with an alternative solution to Phil’s apparent desire to just leave things there. Phil might be a willing exhibitionist, but Dan certainly is not.

“Okay,” Dan whispers, surrendering to an agonising and likely sleepless wait for morning to come. “Night.”

(Chapter Ten!)

[lbibliophile]

Freak Powers

Dudley’s birthday is always a special day, but this year it has just gone from bad to worse. First there was the missing present, then there was the snake. Now there is a strange woman, with a strange letter, and a claim that threatens to turn the life he has known inside out.

on AO3 2262 words

Dudley glares at the TV. This is not how this day was supposed to go. It is supposed to be his day, his birthday, but this year it has just gone from bad to worse. First there was the missing present at breakfast. Then the freak had to join the visit to the zoo, and made that snake almost eat him. Then there was the aftermath of that, first at the zoo then at home. Now his Dad’s stormed off to the pub, his Mum was too shaken to cook his proper birthday dinner, and his whole evening is ruined. His day can’t possibly get any worse.

A knock sounds at the front door.

“Duddikins, can you please get that. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dudley grumbles, but hauls himself to his feet. It’s not like he was actually watching the TV anyway, and if it’s a salesperson maybe he can yell at them.

As it turns out, it’s not a salesperson, or if it is, she’s not like any he’s seen before. The first thing he notes is her odd tartan suit, then the grey hair pulled into a tight bun – she’s old, but not old-old. He catches her stern gaze, shining from behind rectangular-framed glasses.

“Dudley Dursley, I presume?”

He gapes at her for a moment. She knows his name?

“Um, yes? Wait, are you here for my birthday?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. Or at least, on a related topic. Are your parents about?” He shrugs.

“Dad’s out, but Mum’s here. Muum!”

Finally his mother comes bustling over, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“Yes? And what do you want?”

“Ah, Mrs Dursley, Petunia. Professor McGonagall.”

She peers at the older woman.

“Do I… know you?”

“We met only briefly, many years ago, however we had a mutual acquaintance. But tonight, I am here on business. If I might come inside to talk to you and your son?”

His mother pauses for a moment, then agrees, settling them in the sitting room before returning to the kitchen to make tea.

Dudley stares at the woman, awkward silence growing.

“You said you were here for my birthday?”

“Indeed. I work at a school, and offers of admittance are traditionally delivered to prospective students on their eleventh birthday. Your mother might have mentioned it; Hogwarts?”

“That’s a funny name for a school, never heard of it. Besides,” he puffs up proudly, “I’m going to Smeltings. Just like Dad.”

Professor McGonagall smiles thinly.

“While I’m sure… Smeltings… would be lovely, Hogwarts caters to students with certain special skills. Tell me, has anything strange ever happened around you, particularly when you are upset or angry? Something you can’t explain?”

Startled by the question, Dudley pauses to think, memories trickling into his mind. Getting frustrated trying to reach a packet of biscuits on the shelf and having the box slide forward into his hand – but surely he just stretched a little bit further. Throwing a tantrum, and having things fall off a shelf on the other side of the room – but it must have been just his feet making the floor shake. Playing Harry Hunting and knowing exactly where his cousin is hiding – but the freak is just predictable like that.

Before he realises it, his thoughts are led into a new set of memories. Harry Hunting again, but his quarry vanishes, only to reappear on the school rooftop. A dropped glass shattering on the kitchen floor, then the shards flying back together and reforming in Harry’s hand. His cousin making a strange hissing sound as a snake slithers through a window that moments ago was filled with glass.

“No, never. That was always Harry.”

Even as he speaks the memories continue to unroll, the scenes detailing the consequences that inevitably followed such incidents. He remembers his father, face purple with anger, throwing his cousin into his cupboard and locking the door. He remembers his mother, shouting about the boy’s freakishness and ‘not in this house, don’t you dare’. He remembers just a few hours ago, and the sound of leather hitting flesh, punctuated by his cousin’s cries of pain.

The blood drains from his face. The freak deserved it, of course, after all he is just that; a freak. But this woman is trying to say that he is a freak too. He backs away from her and her life-destroying letter, shaking his head in denial.

“No. No, it can’t be. I’m not a freak, I’m not. That’s Harry, not me. He’s the one who does the freaky stuff, I’m normal. Mum, please, you have to believe me! I don’t do that stuff. It’s a trick, all that freak’s fault. You have to tell dad that it’s not me, I’m not a freak. I’m not! Never! Not a freak!”

Minerva watches in shock as the boy before her launches into full blown hysterics. She has seen a variety of reactions when muggleborns discover magic, but never something like this. And this was supposed to be an easy visit. A brief thought niggles at her mind and she wonders how Harry Potter fits into this view of magic. The pitch and volume rises and she winces, the light above flickering as the boy’s magic swirls through the room. The letter in her hand starts to vibrate and her eyes widen as she sees the name, one moment reading Mr Dudley Dursley, the next, Mr Harry Potter, and back again. She is drawing her wand, trying to think of the best way to calm the situation when it suddenly stops, the eye of the storm. Then the magic is moving again. Draining from the room, not back towards the blond boy collapsing on the ground, but away, leaving him an empty void to her senses.

Appearing in the doorway, Petunia stares at her son for a moment, lying on the floor, then spins to face her.

“You! What have you done to my Dudders? How dare you! You freaks are all the same, using your freaky powers to push around us normal people. What did you do to my son? Tell me! Undo it!”

Realising her wand is still raised, Minerva waves it at the woman, sending her to lie unconscious beside her son. It is not strictly ethical for her to use magic in such a way, but something is not right, and the woman’s screeching is not helping her to think.

First things first. She casts a diagnostic spell on the boy to make sure he was not harmed by his outburst. Elevated heartbeat, now slowing back to normal, slight bruise where an elbow hit the floor, magic levels… She reads it again. Zero. After a display like that she expected some magical exhaustion, but not to such an extent. Even muggles have some latent power, absorbed from their surroundings, but this boy seems to be actively rejecting it, forcing it away.

She looks down at the letter, somehow still held in her hand. The house address is the same as before, but the first two lines have changed.

Mr Harry Potter The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Only two lines, but the implications… The fact that Potter’s name has replaced Dursley’s. That he apparently spent the previous night sleeping in a cupboard, of all places. That, despite the commotion, he has not yet revealed his presence in the house, although the wards indicate he should be here. Something is not right here; she is missing something.

But there are more urgent matters to attend to before she can focus on finding Potter. She can still feel the last of the Dursley boy’s magic draining from the room, clearly being drawn towards something. And she had better find out what it is. Because with such a strong concentration of magic being uncontrolled like this, it would be far too easy to overload even a previously magical object. And trying to clean up the mess of the aftereffects of that is more hassle than she really wants to deal with. Particularly if she has the opportunity to help stabilise the power and nip any problems in the bud. Of course, if it is a human drawing the magic – either deliberately or unconsciously – it all depends on who and why.

These thoughts in mind, she focuses on her magic sense, following the fading trail back into the front hallway and towards the stairs. Starting to climb, she pauses. The magic is not going up the stairs, but into them. Or rather – she peers over the banister, seeing the expected door just below her – under them.

Walking around to face it, she frowns at the padlock securing the bolt. Depending on what is stored under there (cleaning supplies seems like the most obvious answer, or spare linens), perhaps it is simply to keep out inquisitive ten-year-olds. Merlin knows she understands the challenges inherent in that, but it obviously can’t be that effective if Harry was able to sneak in there last night. However, regardless of its effectiveness on small children, a simple padlock is no barrier to a fully-trained witch on a mission. A quick alohomora, and the padlock snaps open. It is the work of a moment to unbolt the door and swing it open.

Oh.

She sees at last what her mind had been picking at. The source behind all the little hints of not-right.

Yes, there are cleaning supplies on shelves against the back wall, but there are also battered trainers lying on the floor. And the worn blanket is not folded away, but spread over a mat on the floor. And on the ‘bed’… Well. Apparently the lock is not to keep a pair of children out, but to keep one particular child in.

She must make some sort of noise, because the figure curled on the blanket tenses, messy dark-haired head rising from where it was buried in thin arms. Her breath catches as green eyes (so familiar, but not) meet her own. They are red-rimmed from recent crying, the evidence dried on his cheeks. A movement causes his ratty and overlarge t-shirt to slip and she sees the reason for his tears; a swollen red welt curling forward over his shoulder. From the grimace as he moves, it is one of several.

“Harry?”

It is no more than a whisper, but the child takes it as a question, nodding and ducking his head.

“Yes, ma’am. Who- ?”

He cuts himself off, but the half-spoken question is enough to start to drive her brain back into gear. Shocked and worried, she retreats into her familiar Professor persona.

“I am Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” She sighs mentally at his blank look. Given what happened earlier, she doesn’t know why she should be surprised, but it appears that he will need the full Muggleborn introduction in addition to an overview of his specific circumstances. “Hogwarts is a school for learning magic.”

“You can’t say that word! And besides, m- that stuff isn’t real anyway.”

“Let me put this another way. Have strange things ever happened around you, particularly when you are angry or upset?”

“Of course, but that is just my freakishness. I try not to, honest! But it just happens.” Suddenly he gasps. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, a moment ago. Really! But the air got all buzzy, then it sort of filled me up, and I didn’t mean it to, I swear!”

Minerva grimaces slightly. Well, that answers several questions - including where the Dursley boy’s magic went - but it opens the door to a whole slew of new ones.

“That ‘buzzing’ feeling is magic. Hogwarts will teach you how to control and direct it, so you know exactly when and how it is working.” She pauses for a moment, then nods decisively. “Normally, school starts on the first of September, however given the range of circumstances, I believe it would be best for you to gain a head start before the beginning of term. Gather any personal items you wish to keep; you will be returning to Hogwarts with me for the rest of the summer. There is much work to be done, familiarising yourself with your new world before your classmates arrive.”

Leaving the confused – but smiling – boy to his packing, she returns to the sitting room. Looking at the woman still collapsed on the floor she takes a deep breath, struggling to control her emotions, then waves her wand once more. Perhaps she should have just left her there until the official Obliviators arrive, but she feels unable to leave without some comment, and better it comes in the form of words than a curse.

Petunia’s eyes flutter, then open fully, fixing on the witch’s glowing wand-tip.

“Mrs Dursley,” Minerva’s voice is pleasant, but does not quite cover the steel and icy anger beneath, “I apologise, for the intrusion. It appears that you do not in fact have a magical child residing with you at the present moment. My condolences to you and your son. I and Mr Potter shall take our leave.”

A final twitch of her wand, and Petunia falls unconscious again, Minerva already turning away. She collects Harry from the hallway, small and battered bag clutched in his arms, and they walk out the front door.

Some hours later, a pair of strange robed figures appear, the missing family member in tow. They wave around sticks of wood, then depart; leaving memories muffled in their wake.

Dudley’s final gift on his eleventh birthday, is forgetting.

[steverhodes39-blog]

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The Future of Mobile App Development

The portable application industry is a thrilling region to watch out for. It has become massively throughout the last decade and almost certainly, it’ll keep on doing as such. What does the fate of versatile application improvement hold? What would we be able to expect, given the present status of the business and with information on how it has advanced in the course of recent many years?

We see five rising patterns that we think will bear their weight sooner rather than later of portable application advancement.

1. Cross-stage and Cross-gadget Development

With regards to portable stages, we will in general default to iOS, Android, and to a lesser degree, Windows Mobile. Indeed, even as iOS keeps up with its solid grasp on the top-of-the-line market without any indications of relinquishing its exceptional position, Android looks for global control through gadgets accessible at lower value focuses. Windows Mobile, albeit developing, isn’t sufficiently developing. We’ve arrived at an obvious impasse in the stage wars. It doesn’t look like there’ll be another contender surging soon of versatile application advancement.

Then again, cell phones are taking things for a twist. What commonly rings a bell when we consider cell phones are iPhones, iPads, one of the various Android gadgets, for example, the always famous Samsung telephone, or Google’s own scope of Nexus telephones and tablets. Notwithstanding, Android gadgets alone range from more than 18,000 unique sorts in the year 2014, as per a review held by Open Signal.

Making applications that work effectively on numerous stages and gadgets is by and by a torment that won’t be permitted to endure. Despite the fact that there is nobody’s size fits all way to deal with portable application improvement, we’ll be seeing an ascent in cross-stage versatile advancement apparatuses. As HTML5 advances and develops, the eventual fate of portable application improvement will likewise utilize it to construct half-breed versatile applications that function admirably across various stages and gadgets.

2. Mobile App Development for the IoT

The fate of versatile application improvement isn’t just with regards to our cell phones and tablets any longer. We’re going solidly into a time of distributed computing fueling Smart-Everything and one wherein our shrewd gadgets don’t just live in separation. Versatile application advancement for the Internet of Things will be considerably greater soon, despite the fact that current endeavors aren’t paying off yet.

With the rising prominence of Android Wear and the tasteful 2015 passage of the Apple Watch into the savvy market, we’re seeing a shift away from telephones and tablets. We’ve just barely begun to take into genuine thought the genuine capability of wearables. However, wearables are nevertheless one of the item classes in which IoT houses.

We’ve seen instances of other IoT items like oneself driving a vehicle by Google, the Nest indoor regulator, the Ring that controls everything, the refrigerator that peruses your tweets, etc. As gadgets begin to settle the score more interconnected, the chance for programming to increase the value of these brilliant gadgets turns out to be ever more prominent. In the end, the opposition between these gadgets will be for the most part dependent on which has the best quality programming. This is the place where the fate of portable application advancement turns into a mine of chance.

This examination by Vision Mobile distributed recently on the condition of versatile application improvement uncovers that about 53% of portable designers are chipping away at IoT projects, with the majority of them doing as such as a pastime or side venture. Portable engineers hoping to get an early ride on this impending wave into the eventual fate of versatile application advancement ought to investigate IoT projects.

3. Tools for Developers

Designers building apparatuses for engineers to assemble yet more instruments? Sounds like a nerdy form of the film Inception, besides with the cast of the Big Bang Theory. The eventual fate of versatile application improvement will see more engineers building-specific apparatuses for designers. The market of portable application advancement apparatuses is now giving indications of expanded development. Useful assets, particularly cross-stage devices that make it simpler for designers to fabricate portable applications, are well on the ascent.

There are outsider apparatuses for pretty much every progression of a versatile designer’s work process, from cloud workers to application investigation. One of the current hotly debated issues being developed instruments to observe is MBaaS or Mobile Backend as a Service. A somewhat new model of cloud administration that empowers engineers to associate and deal with the back-finish of their portable applications through the cloud, MBaaS is a popular quickly developing business. Doubtlessly, we’ll be seeing a greater amount of it is the fate of versatile application advancement that is probably going to be for the most part determined by the cloud.

Another future pattern is the advancement of more intelligent portable profound connecting apparatuses. Albeit not a curiosity in itself, it’ll be energizing to perceive how versatile profound connecting will change the client experience by better interfacing various gadgets or potentially stages, and empower us to find new applications through significant substance on the web.

4. Fast Development

The fate of versatile application improvement will zero in on shortening the existing patterns of creation. This goes connected at the hip with the ascent of outsider instruments that are intended to diminish the dreary work really performed by portable designers today.

With a huge number of applications being delivered each year, the portable application industry turns into a test of skill and endurance. Organizations are unendingly pushing to dispatch applications at the earliest opportunity. Splendid application thoughts must be acknowledged before instead of later because of a paranoid fear of some other contender topping off the market hole before you arrive.

The manner in which we approach versatile application advancement will likewise change with time. We’ve seen it as of now with lean systems, lean UX, and the accentuation on prototyping, testing, and learning prior to building. We’re beginning to work in runs, to approve our items as ahead of schedule as conceivable to accomplish the most extreme addition and negligible loss. The fate of portable application improvement will just see further refinement of such strategies and philosophies on quicker and better advancement cycles.

5. Going Global

Worldwide re-appropriating for portable application advancement will likewise ascend in the coming years, driven predominantly by lower creation costs and the work on nature of administration and improvement presented by organizations and designers seaward. As per a report by ContractIQ, versatile application designers in the US charge a middle of $150 each hour contrasted with roughly $35 in South America and Eastern Europe.

Almost certainly, many have joked the well-known saying that ‘What you pay for is the thing that you get, recommending that lower portable application improvement expenses must be less fortunate quality. Notwithstanding, it is progressively normal information that South American and Eastern European portable engineers are truly fit for delivering quality work, with numerous displaying their first-class abilities on GitHub.

The eventual fate of versatile application advancement will likewise see an ascent in portable applications that assistance to work on the financial status of creating and arising countries. As cell phones become a piece of day-to-day existence for a larger region of the planet, it is without question that versatile innovation will change the social and monetary parts of life in the worldwide creating world. For example, a 2014 UNESCO concentrate on proposed that portable innovation could assist with handling ignorance and further develop schooling in non-industrial nations. Internationally, we anticipate that there will be a push for more versatile applications that could assist with saving day to day routines and work on the nature of lives in agricultural nations.

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The greatest chances to be found in the eventual fate of versatile application improvement will be endeavor applications instead of customer applications. Why? Basically, it’s simply much harder to extract cash from the shopper. Organizations, then again, are much more able to leave behind their money if the item guarantees them more noteworthy efficiency and diminished general costs.

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It's now called 'CAUTIOUS CUDDLING' in this mad new world

PEOPLE in England are looking forward to hugging loved ones, dining inside restaurants and fleeing the UK for their overseas holiday.

But when Boris Johnson urged Brits to indulge in "cautious cuddles", the baffled Huffington Post admonished, "for hug's sake, it sounds like a mid-noughties indie band!" When will hugging be allowed? "Cautious" hugs are officially back on from May 17, with the Prime Minister leaving it up to Brits to decide if they want to embrace family and friends. Mr Johnson said current data indicated it might also be possible to scrap the "one-metre plus" social distancing rule. If so, this would greatly increase flexibility for businesses to increase capacity. Downing Street said in a statement: "People will be urged to remain cautious about the risks that come with close personal contact such as hugging, as we know this remains a direct way of transmitting the disease.” As part of the May 17 changes in England, people will be free to choose whether to stay two metres from family or friends, meaning they can once again hug and shake hands. Mr Johnson warned during his speech on May 10, 2021: "This doesn't mean that we can suddenly throw caution to the winds. "We all know that close contacts such as hugging is a direct way of transmitting this disease," .

The PM, Boris Johnson, is marching towards unlocking EnglandCredit: PA What are the risks? Those who have received at least one Covid jab will be less at risk, with people receiving two vaccinations the most protected. Officials have suggested that people consider getting tested for coronavirus before hugging. Brits are also advised to wear face masks or ensure a room is well ventilated before completely ditching social distancing measures. The Covid-19 alert level in the UK has been downgraded after a "consistent" fall in cases, hospital admissions and deaths. The four chief medical officers of the UK have said the threat level should be lowered from "level 4" to "level 3", thanks to the success of the jab programme and social distancing restrictions. This means that the epidemic is in general circulation, but transmission of the virus is no longer deemed to be high or rising exponentially.

The PM said: "I urge you to think about the vulnerability of your loved ones - whether they have had a vaccine, one or two doses, and whether there has been time for that vaccine to take effect. "Remember outdoors is always safer than indoors. And if you are meeting indoors, remember to open a window and let in the fresh air. "Keep getting tested regularly, even if you don’t have symptoms, so you don’t spread the virus without knowing it. "And whatever you decide, I must ask that you continue to follow social distancing when not with friends and family, including in workplaces, shops, pubs, restaurants and other settings. "We only have to look at the very sad situation in other countries to see the lethal potential of this virus, and we must continue to fight the spread of variants here in the UK. "While we have no evidence yet to believe these variants are completely vaccine resistant, we must remain vigilant. "So please remember hands, face, space and fresh air." What is a cautious cuddle and how should I hug others? Asked what "cautious cuddling" means, mental health minister Nadine Dorries told BBC Breakfast with a laugh: "I don't think you can cautiously cuddle." Concerned Sage scientists have warned that embraces should be kept to a minimum, and Brits should avoid face-to-face contact as much as they can to stay safe. Professor Cath Noakes, who sits on Sage, has urged caution ahead of the relaxation, saying that too much hugging could "perpetuate" the further spread of Covid. Gurch Randhawa, a public health expert at the University of Bedfordshire, spoke to ABC News in the US about the government's potentially confusing messages. He said: “It is no doubt tempting to relax social distancing, offer the glimmer of a much needed hug, and lift restrictions on international travel, but this could be a big mistake at this stage of the Covid-19 pandemic. “As a minimum, the government should be advising only those have received both vaccination doses to be hugging each other, and even, a short hug, with faces directed away from each other to minimise risk of Covid-19 transmission." What is a cautious cuddle? Paul Hunter, a professor of medicine at UEA and an expert in infectious diseases, gave HuffPost UK these tips: - Hug people you live with: “If you live with someone or are in the same bubble then you have been able to hug them anyway, so don’t stop now and hug them however you and they want.” - No rampant hugging: “If you don’t need to hug each other, then don’t.” - Don't embrace everyone - Jabs aren't a 100% guarantee:“If both of you have been vaccinated then the risk of transmission is actually very low but not zero.” - 'Side hugging' is safer: Keep your faces away from each other so that you are "not re-breathing each other’s air". Can I hug my fully-vaccinated granny? If you want to embrace each other, you can from May 17 - but remember that some people are more vulnerable to Covid than others. Officials have suggested people should consider getting tested for coronavirus before hugging. They've also recommended we wear face masks or ensure a room is well ventilated before ditching social distancing measures. The PM set out a new approach to tackling the virus, giving people greater responsibility for their own choices on whether to observe social distancing with friends and family. Using our own personal judgement, from May 17 we are able to decide whether to hug our grannies - remembering that even if both sides are fully vaccinated, the risk from the coronavirus is not fully eliminated. Dr Mike Tildesley, from the University of Warwick, a member of the Scientific Pandemic Influenza Group on Modelling (Spi-M) urged people to "act responsibly" when restrictions are lifted further. He told BBC Breakfast: "I think it's actually very important for our mental health and wellbeing that we can hug our loved ones, but to me the key message is, if and when this comes in, we need to remember that the pandemic hasn't gone away. "We are still a few steps away from normality, so it's really great that we can hug our loved ones, but what we need to remember is we need to be a little bit careful." He added: "The key thing for me is what we want to avoid is hospital admissions going up and people dying going up. "And if we can keep those out of the low levels they are, then hopefully this resumption of hugging can be done safely and we can proceed again to the June 21 relaxation."

It's been a long time between hugs for grandparents and grandkids during the pandemic Credit: Getty Dr David Nabarro, special envoy on Covid-19 for the World Health Organisation, urged Brits to maintain social distancing and keep using face masks. He said: "Please be really careful, maintain that physical distance of between one metre and two metres, especially indoors, and don't forget to wear your face masks because that really can give extra protection. "It's these simple things, but all done together that will really make the difference as to whether or not future spikes are huge or future spikes are small and easily contained." Professor in Medical Microbiology Sally Jane Cutler told Times Radio: "I think we have to be very conserved about who we choose to hug. "Personally I'm going to restrict my hugging to family members and not beyond." The Duchess of Cornwall, 73, has revealed she enjoyed “half a hug” with her grandchildren, despite this being forbidden until the official easing of restrictions from May 17. When asked if she had been able to do that more recently as Britain continues to reopen, Camilla replied: "I am doubly jabbed so we’ve had a sort of half a hug. “It has been so lovely just to be able to see them again and talk to them. “Telephones and machines and these Zooms are fine, but nothing is ever the same as being able to give somebody a good hug.” Are handshakes allowed? As part of the May 17, 2021, changes, people will be given the choice whether to remain two metres from family or friends, meaning they can once again hug and shake hands. In March 2020, after the coronavirus had established its terrifying presence in the UK, Mr Johnson declared that it would not stop him greeting people with a handshake. Days ahead of ending up in intensive care, battling Covid, the PM also said that he had shaken the hands of everyone at a hospital where infected patients were being treated.   Read the full article

[giftofshewbread]

Prophecy Prospectus 2021

This year, one of the most tumultuous of American history, is at a close. While we think on the birth of the Savior at this Christmastime, the looming, dark clouds of 2021 foreshadow days just ahead that appear menacing. I think it good to think aloud at this point about what might lurk in the distance, overlaying that future with the template of God’s prophetic Word. That’s the only prism through which to view matters with any hope of ascertaining insight.

The presidential election of 2020, despite declarations by no matter the accounting system, remains unsettled in the national, political sphere and the spiritual realm. The battle goes on and is centered within Ephesians 6: 12—as is obvious to those who use that biblical prophecy template mentioned above.

I find the following excerpt, taken from what I consider to be a relevant article, to at least begin to summarize things as they’re shaping up for 2021 and beyond.

In terms of the economy and the American social situation, 2020 is definitely one of the ugliest years on record, there’s really no way around it. That said, I get the impression that many in the public are operating under the assumption that we are about to cross over the peak of the mountain and it will be all downhill from here on. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

All eyes have been focused on the pandemic event, and the thinking is that once the pandemic is “over,” the crisis will be over and everything will go back to normal.

But, as the globalists have been telling us since the outbreak began, the world “will never go back to normal again”. It’s not because of the pandemic, mind you, it’s because THEY won’t allow things to go back to normal. The “great reset,” as the World Economic Forum calls it, is meant to go on for many years. And, the globalists intend that every aspect of our lives be changed into something almost unrecognizable. (“If you thought 2020 was bad, watch what happens in 2021,” Brandon Smith, presented by Tyler Durden, Zero Hedge, December 12, 2020)

The author says that the reset planned by the globalists—bringing all nations into their desired new order by requiring that all join their one-world economy—won’t work. It is, he believes, destined to fail. What worries him, he says, is that a devastatingly serious or total collapse will cause a major depression. He says that breakdown is well underway. It has been initiated, he says, by international banks and central banks through massive debt creation and inflationary stimulus measures.

The stock market—which, he says, has seen the Dow at a record 30,000 lately—is not the thing to look at with regard to how well the American or world economy is doing.

But I don’t wish to get into the weeds on the economy; it’s not something I’m familiar enough with to delve into here.

However, fringe economists (those other than the well-known pundits on TV) have long surmised that it’s just a matter of time before the economic dam bursts and the economies of nations come crashing down. America will, they believe, suffer the greatest of all implosions.

My own thoughts continue to be the same as expressed in my series of ten articles written at the end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011, “Scanning a Fearful Future.”

I write in the series that I don’t believe Bible prophecy predicts a huge economic collapse taking place at the moment God next catastrophically intervenes into wicked human conduct upon the earth.

That conclusion is based on Jesus’ words in Matthew 24:36–42 and again in Luke 17:26–30. The Lord plainly prophesies in those passages that it will be business pretty much as usual at the time of the Rapture.

He has to be speaking of the Rapture, because He indicates that people will be buying, selling, planting, marrying—doing all the things of normal activity on earth. If He were describing the time of His Second Advent (Revelation 19:11), things would be so bad that nothing normal would be taking place.

We know that, at the same time, it will be like the days of Lot. The world will be totally debauched, with every sort of evil going on. It will also be like in the days of Noah (Genesis chapter 6): Violence will fill the whole earth.

We, of course, have all of the above taking place right at this moment. The “seas and waves” of Luke 21 are roaring. This refers to the peoples who are in turmoil around the world. Protests, riots—unrest of increasing magnitude—are taking place globally. And pestilence in the form of locusts and other sorts, along with a global pandemic of COVID-19, makes the Luke 21 prophecy by the Lord jump out at the observer of Bible prophecy.

Yet, it is business as usual.

If America collapses economically, the entire world will follow. The global economy is so intricately linked to the dollar and to the American economy that the weight of its fall would cause a fiscal earthquake.

This will happen, I have no doubt. This is the conclusion reached in the series I mention. It will happen when Christ calls the Church—all believers—to Himself in the Rapture.

Jesus said that, like when Lot was taken out of Sodom, that very day, God’s judgment will begin falling. The Rapture will be the beginning of the Lord’s Day. The economies of the world will crash.

So we come to the crux of the article: the “prophetic prospectus” for 2021.

Regardless of electoral results or ramifications, Jesus has indicated that things will be business as usual, while at the same time, societies and cultures will be corrupt, vile, violent, and evil, just like in the days of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Globalism will be advancing, it’s easy to believe, as Satan prepares to institute his man of sin. However, God has promised that when the man of sin is on the verge of being revealed to the left-behind world, God the Holy Spirit, indwelling the Church, will restrain the evil Satan wishes to inflict.

That is what we see happening right now, as we’ve watched the wickedness unfold day by day, hour by hour, over the past years, months, and days.

The prophecy prospectus, I strongly suspect, includes more of the same. The battle in the high places of Ephesians 6:12 will continue, with God’s restraining hand doing His work to hold back descent into total evil.

Suddenly, then, in the “twinkling of an eye,” Jesus will shout, “Come up here!”.

To see what happens then—from that moment of Rapture until God fulfills all prophecy—read Revelation, beginning with chapter 4. No matter what’s in store for 2021, the “prophetic prospectus,” if you’re a Christian, is glorious!

—Terry

[gwgamesterm1]

Researching and Implementing Wall-running

Games that use Wall-running:

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order:

It was playing Jedi: Fallen Order that I actually had the idea to implement wall-running into my game. I feel like moving from place to place in many games, especially exploration games, can become rather stale since it doesn’t take much player engagement to wander around. Adding a wall-running mechanic creates more opportunities for the player to interact with the game, it also raises the skill ceiling with less skilled players being able to engage with the mechanic while more skilled players can perfect their technique and make traversal more efficient.

In the game wall-running acts as a skill that you earn after the tutorial planet and is used constantly throughout the game. Besides the obvious use of level traversal, the mechanic is used with different player abilities to find hidden areas and collectibles, yet another way to keep the player engaged and paying attention to the world around them.

Function wise the mechanic sticks the player to the wall and propels them forward for around two seconds before the player eventually starts to give into gravity.

Despite the game being in the third person, I'm fairly sure it functions in a similar manner to the other games in this list and could easily be implemented into a first person game.

Mirror’s Edge:

Mirror's Edge is a game entirely based around parkour and finishing levels as quickly as possible by finding more efficient paths. Due to it's approach to gameplay and its focus on traversal, Mirror's Edge's movement system is refined to practical perfection.

Compared to many other First Person games that incorporate parkour mechanics, the movement in Mirror's Edge feels very weighty and realistic; where other games would give you perfect control in the air and allow you to jump 15 feet vertically, in Mirror's Edge you bairly get off the ground from a standing jump and all your moment is carried over from before you jump. It's a very physics heavy system. All this makes the game's movement rather clunky in the hands of someone who doesn't know what they're doing, and extremely fluid in the hands of a skilled player.

While I really like the game's movement system and find it rather enjoyable, I want my own game's movement to be a lot more fluid and user friendly, as well as being a lot faster.

Titanfall:

While Jedi: Fallen Order inspired me to add a wall-running mechanic into my game, it is Titanfall that I derived the mechanic's function from. Titanfall's movement is similar to Mirror Edge's, but throws the realism out of the window.

You play a pilot with a jump jet that allows the player to jump relatively high as well as granting them a double jump. The movement feels like its built to be accessible, where players are able to pick up the controller and easily move across the map with just a few minutes of practice.

Since the game is a First Person Shooter, it makes sense that the wall running wouldn’t be the main source of challenge and difficulty for the player, it’s mostly a means for traversing the map which means the movement itself doesn’t have a particularly high skill ceiling. The progression in skill actually comes from combining other actions with the wall running, like shooting; it’s surprisingly difficult to have good aim whilst running on a wall and is immensely satisfying when you’re first able to get your first kill while quickly zipping across a wall.

Titanfall actually have an interesting feature that I haven’t seen in other games that use wall running and that is actually the ability to reverse direction. In most game’s once you start to run on a wall, you’re locked in and can’t change your direction without first getting off that wall, but in Titanfall, all you have to do is look behind you and your direction is changed with only a minor decrease in speed. I really like this part of Ttianfall’s movement system, it gives the player just bit more control that other game’s just don’t, though it wouldn’t exactly mack sense to be able to do this sort of redirect in Mirror’s Edge for example because you’re not some super soldier with a jet pack holding them to the wall.

Coding Wall-Running:

The wall-running mechanic that I added to my game works by constraining the player’s movement along the Z axis and adding a forward force whenever the “Wall Detection” collision detects an overlap with a tagged wall.

First of all, a capsule collision needs to be added to the player’s blueprint and with it’s collision preset set to OverlapAllDynamic, this will be used to actually detect when the player is touching the wall, so the scale of this detector collision needs to be slightly bigger than the player’s block collision.

Next we actually need to enable the ability to constrain the player’s movement to a specific plane and this needs to be enabled from the beginning, so we need an event BeginPlay to trigger the Set Plane Constraint Enable.

This first section of the code is used to detect whether the overlap collision of the capsule is interacting with a wall that is tagged for wall running and if the player is in the air, together these two conditions make it so the player can only run on specific walls when they jump at it, instead of accidentally triggering the wall running condition whenever they walk past a wall. This part of the code also sets a vector that will be used to propel the character forwards when they start running on the wall. A boolean that indicates that the player is alos on the wall is set to true, this is used in branches later in the blueprint to check if the player is still running on the wall.

A timeline is used to determine how long the player can run on the wall, the duration of such varies across video games that use the mechanic, for example in titanfall 2 you can run on the wall for around 5 seconds, while you can only run on the wall for 3 seconds in mirrors edge.

After the timeline I created a branch to make sure the player was still running on the wall, there is another branch which was originally used to make sure the player was holding down a button, but i decided to remove that condition since I found it to be too finicky. Next I used a gravity scale node to set the player’s gravity to zero, this maybe a little redundant since I’m constraining the player’s movement along the Z axis, but it’s nice to have just in case. After setting the gravity, I used a Set Plane Constraint Normal node with a Z value of one, this meant that it was impossible for the player to move up or down whilst attached to the wall. Finally, I used an Add Force node, using the player direction multiplied by a float as the force input, this propels the player forwards when they interact with the wall.

The last thing that needed to be done in order to make the wall running to be fully functional was to give the player the ability to get off of the wall. The part of the code that allows the player to disembark is essentially the mirror opposite of the code that allows the player to jump onto the wall.

Rotating the Player During Wall Run:

I needed a way to visually signal to the player that they were running on the wall, most games do this by tilting the camera to the side and since this works pretty well, so I thought I’d follow suit.

The beginning of the rotation script is very similar to the beginning of the actual wall running script, using a collision to check whether the player is in contact with a tagged wall while also being in the air. The difference in the rotation is that it uses two small box collisions, one on each side of the player.

A timeline is used to determine how long it takes for the camera to rotate and the timeline’s track is used for the lerp’s alpha, this is part of the code because it was rather jarring for the player when the camera suddenly snapped to an angle, so the lerp is there to give it a transition. 

Now we need values to actually lerp between, I encountered a problem with the original method that I used that caused the camera to snap to a Y value of 0 whenever the player would run on the wall; this happened because I was using the actor’s rotation values, but since the actor’s rotation always stayed at zero, the camera’s Y would use that value. To get around this I set the Camera’s Y rotation as a value with an event tick so it was constantly being updated.

Since I was only using the camera’s Y value and the X and Z of the Actor, I needed to break the lerp’s A input into separate values, which can be done by righting clicking the input and clicking Slit Struct Pin. To get the lerp’s B input as well as the rest of the Z value for the A input, I got the actor’s rotation and used a break rotator to split up the values, then got the actor’s Z rotation and combined it with the camera’s Y rotation with a Make Rotator node, I then changed the X value of the Make Rotator and these values then became the Lerps B input. Finally I used the the Lerp as a rotational value of a Set Control Rotation

Encountered Issues:

Most of the issues I encountered were with the rotation part of the script, like I mentioned before I had a problem where the camera would snap forwards whenever the player engaged the wall running mechanic. Thankfully I found a work around for this with the help of Sam, considering it was the most noticeable and jarring issue.

Another annoying problem that I encountered was the fact that whenever the player character experienced an overlap event that wasn’t related to a wall the player could run on, like a box trigger for instance, it would reset the character’s rotation and the player wouldn’t rotated when they next ran on a wall after the overlap. I found that this was caused by the rotation timelines using the start from beginning and reverse from end, so I just switched it to the regular start and reverse.

This one maybe less of an issue and more me not noticing that I selected the wrong option, but I noticed that you run on walls for as long you wanted, when in fact you were meant to fall off after a certain duration of time. I realised this was because I’d accidentally set the timeline that controls the wall run duration to loop.

Another issue I encountered, yet again caused by the player’s rotation, is that sometimes the rotation wouldn't reverse and I’m still unsure as to what is causing it or how to fix it. I’ll have to take another look at the blueprint to see if I can determine the root cause of the issue.

Comparing the Wall Running:

[jiminwreckedme]

Fragments

| 1 | Chapter 2

Member - Yoongi x reader

Genre - Angst, Fluff, (future) smut

Word count - 4K

Summary - In a world where humanity was overruled by science, where everything not ordinary was shunned, where sympathy was an abstract concept, you found him. He, who was extraordinary in a way the world could never see. He, who did not want to become who the world wanted him to be. He, who was called Min Yoongi.

But your job? You job was to break him. To make him into something more ‘decent’ from the ‘unwanted creature’ he was seen as. Your job was to make him fall before what the world wanted. Not fall for him yourself.

But you see, human nature is funny.

It does exactly what it’s not supposed to.

Remember how Min Yoongi could make eye contact with you for at least a minute?

Now he wouldn’t even do that.

4 days of your deadline were over, leaving you with a mere 17 days more and your progress with him so far?

Zero.

Walking into his room and you slammed the door shut behind you today, harder than you intended to. He startled, caught off guard, momentarily looking up to catch your eye and then quickly looked away like he always did. Letting out a barely audible sigh, you clenched your fist, controlling your irritation at his actions as you proceeded to do your usual set of chores during your sessions with him. After placing the order for his food, you searched for the first aid box in the mono-colored cupboard of his, stacked with plain white shirts and pants. His attires were as boring as he was.

Sometimes you wondered if this man really was fragmented. He showed no signs of one, always simply sleeping around or working on something in the computer. That computer. That god forsaken computer made you too curious. You had, at many instances, tried to access the history of the device to see what was it indeed that Min Yoongi so seriously and dedicate worked on but there was strangely, never any history available. Not just the computer, even the service providers, from whom it was impossible to hide any activity done on the internet, did not find any evidences of what Yoongi actually relentlessly kept searching about. Either he was extremely intelligent and brilliant with computers to keep all his activity untraceable or he didn’t really work on it and just stared at the blank screen the whole day. Somehow, looking at Yoongi’s behavior the past few days, the latter seemed more plausible.

You walked back, sitting next to him on the floor as you reached out for his wounds which were getting worse day by day. Initially it was just scratches, or purplish blue patches on his arms but now there were cuts and gashes, open and bleeding painfully. You could only imagine how much it stung when you dabbed alcohol cleaning his wound, but you refused to let your face show any form of reaction.

Neither did his.

But somehow today as you placed your attention on his wounds you could feel his attention on you. Maybe he was confused because you weren’t behaving like your usual self. Normally, you would express your thoughts, tell him off for never taking care of himself, apologize profusely when you thought the alcohol stung him, gently blow air over his wounded areas so he would get relief. He was getting none of that today. Instead you were incredibly quiet, nothing close to gentle and far from being nice to him.

When you were done you silently got up, received the food that was delivered  and slammed it on the table to catch his attention with no words and all actions. His eyebrows arched in surprise as he slowly got up but you chose to simply ignore him, walking straight past where he stood to flop down his couch, flipping through the channels of the TV nonchalantly. Yoongi stood for a good whole minute blinking confused, his tongue licking the insides of his cheek, lost in thought. More like in confusion.

But he didn’t say a word as he took his seat at the head of the table, sitting behind you, facing your back, yet oddly you could feel his stare fixed on your figure. You, however, didn’t look at him because what was the point? He would resume his usual indifference and look away as soon as you met his eyes anyways. And today you didn't want to lose any bit of the attention he was giving you.

After days and days of talking to him, pleading him, being concerned for him, suddenly, without an indication or warning, you stopped, not bothering about him, hoping it would distract him, grab his attention, make his lose that strange stance that he so stubbornly carried around. And it worked. Yoongi, whether he admitted it or not, was affected by your indifference.

You should have thought,  ‘Ha, serves him right for showing someone who was caring for him, so much unnecessary attitude’ but instead something was poking your subconscious, making it more and more difficult to maintain this facade by the minute.  It would have been much easier if you had tried this 4 days ago. It was hard to be indifferent to him after you saw him like that the other day.

So broken, hurt and in unbearable pain.

4 days ago, you walked into Yoongi’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking absolutely shattered.

When he heard footsteps he looked up at you, his eyes pleading, a single tear running down his face. No. That was the only word he would repeat. Again and again and again. Each time he said it, it was worse, more heart wrenching, more desperate, more scared. You rushed to his side, standing before him, gathering his face in your palms to wipe his tears with your thumbs.

“What’s wrong Yoongi?” you asked softly, reading his face. “Why are you-”

“I promise I’ll behave.” he said holding your wrists. “Tell him I’ll behave. Tell him I won’t do it again. ”

“Who Yoongi? What are you talki-”

“Please. Please not today.” His eyes met yours, his grip tightening painfully around your wrists. “It hurts too much. It hurts.”

“No one is going to hurt you when I’m here okay? Hush now. Don’t-”

He cut your words as he wrapped his arms around your waist suddenly, resting his head against it as though he was hiding from someone. You ran your hands, soothingly against his soft hair, shushing him with gentle voice.

“Okay okay, it’s okay. Calm down. No one is coming Yoongi.” he shivered against you, not in cold but in fear you realized. What had happened? Why did silent, composed Yoongi all of a sudden become so scared and defeated? This couldn’t be….. another of his fragments?

You somehow didn’t want to know. Right now nothing was more important to you than pulling him out of his trauma, his pain, something which somehow you couldn’t bear. Unhooking his linked arms from behind you, you gently helped him lie down on the bed, pulling the sheets over him under which he continued to shake uncontrollably, his movements only slowing down in response to your gentle act of pushing the hair falling into his face back with a rhythmic softness, lulling him to sleep. As you ran your hand over his eyes, urging him to shut them, he held onto it, asking you not to leave repeatedly, until he slowly fell asleep with you sitting by his side.

And from that day on, he stopped meeting your eye. Maybe he was embarrassed, maybe was shy now. Whatever it was, it was making things harder for you. He had already been so distant and withdrawn, now he was practically unapproachable. You had tried all these days, throwing yourself at him shamelessly, despite his lack of response. Now it was time to try something new, the exact opposite - indifference, no matter how hard it was, no matter how guilty it made you feel. Because end of the day, Yoongi was just another patient, which meant you had certain obligations towards him which you had to fulfill. Obligations which did not take your emotional stances into consideration.

A crash made you jerk at its suddenness as you turned around to see Yoongi who had dropped his juice all over him, looking at the stains on his white shirt sheepishly. He looked up, his lips tightly pressed against each other, sitting as he wondered what to do. But beneath the guilty look on his face, you sensed the way he looked at you. Like he expect you to approach him and help him out. Was he doing this to get your attention? If he was, you weren’t going to let it work. You simply turned back to the television screen ignoring him and he stared at you with an expression that was definitely disbelief. After a considerably long time he sighed as he got up, walking to the cupboard behind him taking a fresh shirt to change into. With a swift motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and you saw after a long time, from the not so visible reflection in the television screen, the scars that were etched across his pale back.

You could only wonder how they appeared because they did not look like wounds due to an accident of any sort. They were definitely placed there, like they were made, meant to hurt him. They seemed almost like….whip marks.

Did these marks have anything to do with why he was so scared of the other day? The person who made marks across his back? Who was that man he was so frightened of? What after all was Min Yoongi’s story because one thing was certain.

There was more to know about him. There was more to him than being made of three fragments. A clue about his past may be the one thing that could help you. Yes that’s it. You needed to find the mysterious puzzle pieces of his past to figure all of this out.

And that’s exactly what you were going to do.

There was something about the countryside that always made you feel energetic. The tall dancing grass, the bright sun that didn’t affect the children running around in the fields, the birds that sang melodies like the soothing agents of nature. The countryside was a place to be. You sat in the car feeling the cool wind carrying the smell of wet soil, caress your face. You hadn’t seen the countryside in so long. Not since you left your house.

Your eyes fell on the green meadows that kissed the azure blue sky far away in single curve. The harmony they existed in set examples for people to learn from but you knew that was not their reality. You knew they never even touched, running miles and miles together reaching out for each other, but never meeting. Some stories were like that. Running parallel, but never becoming one. Some heartbreaking stories.

“This is the address Lady.” your taxi driver tapped impatiently on his wheel breaking you from your reverie, prompting you to quickly swipe your card in his machine. He muttered a thanks and zoomed away leaving you standing alone in front of a small residential area made of clustered farm houses and cottages. It reminded you so much of home, that it was hard to look at. But you had to control yourself. You were here on official business, not to lament on your sorry story. You were here to find out about Yoongi and today you were not willing to go back without some sort of lead in his case.

You looked at the address you scribbled on your paper from his case file. This was the correct colony, yes. Now all you had to do was find house number 23.

Walking through the busy streets lined with cobblestones, you admired your changed environment. Being so used to the dull grey walls, and bright white coats and blinding lights of the institute, this change was like a breath of fresh air. The people sitting on the armchairs outside their houses were beginning to look at you curiously as dogs started to bark as you walked by the gates, making you feel strangely foreign in such a homely environment. You shivered a little, glad the iron gates weren’t open.

Where was plot number 23 though? You looked around and just around the corner spotted plot number 19. Ah. 23 would be somewhere around there. That was it. Once you met his family and talked to his parents, you might just get a much required clarity. 19, 20, 21, 22……..when your eyes fell on the place you had set out for, you let out a gasp.

This wasn’t a house. It was a ruin. A burnt down ruin. The charred remains of the house stood against the reddening sky like a skeleton. The wind whistled through and the light barely reaching through the twisted plastic and metal that had once been furniture and electronics. Among the houses that looked like they were lined up for some beauty pageant, this stood like a thick scar that had no intention of ever healing. Whatever took this place down must have had an unholy temper.

You slowly pushed open the gate, making your way through the black grass and even blacker mud. What had happened here? How did it happen? The inhabitants of the house, were they alright? Opening the doors of the house, careful not to make frail structure fall apart, you stepped into the ashes, looking at the photographs, household possessions, things that must have held so many memories, all crumbling to insignificant dust. You picked up the half burnt photo frame curiously that was resting on tea table.

It was a family of four. A pretty woman stood in the center with her hand resting on her husband’s arm who was glaring at you with a grim face. There were two children, a boy and a girl, maybe around the ages of 7 or 8 sitting on two chairs in front of their parents. The girl was looking somewhere else, to the side of the photo at whatever there might have been there that fascinated her. Or that she pitied. The look on her face was longing, like she wanted to do nothing more than run out there towards whatever was waiting for her. The boy had hair like Yoongi’s that was falling into his eyes, his cheeks full of color, his smile contagious.

Was this Yoongi’s family? But he looked so different to them. While all 4 of them sported slight tans, rosy cheeks and fuller bodies, Yoongi was more pale. A deadly pale, lean and white, as though the sun never saw him. If this was his family, why was he not in the photo?

You fished out your phone, clicked a picture of it and placed it back in the exact same location, not intending to disturb any more contents of the already troubled house. As you walked further in, observing the ruined place, you tried to imagine what might have once been here. A happy family having their food together on the now scorched dining table, bedrooms in which siblings must have ran around and played together, a small backyard that was once probably full of life now as lifeless as the whole house was. You could only pray that Yoongi’s family was safe, as you walked deeper into the catastrophe more and more frightened by the horrifying aftermath of the fire. As you wondered, standing in front of what looked like and children's bedroom, why there were only two beds when the family clearly had three children, a strange odor caught your nose. Something that smelt like burnt meat.

You walked towards the source of the smell, covering your nose slightly, your face scrunched up in disgust and stopped at the door which seemed to lead to what looked like a basement. Whatever this smell was, it was coming from there. But what could possibly be in the basement which was the source of such a horrid smell? Pushing the tiny door open with your usual curiosity you walked down the narrow stairs that were leading into a pit of darkness, making you quickly turn on the flashlight of your phone. You pointed the white light around what looked like another even more scorched bedroom with a bed and a closet and things of that sort. Why would anyone possibly live in a basement where the only light entering seemed to be from a hole in the wall all the way at the top, from which you could see the tips of the burnt grass in the backyard. Descending further, you explored the room, trying to take in each detail until the light shone on strange pile of something unrecognizable on the floor right in the center. 

Around the mass that was maybe 5 feet long, was a white chalk mark as though it was outlining a…a…a body.

Eyes widening in horror, you felt sick inside, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you stumbled back tripping against the wooden stairs, immediately raising yourself and rushing out of the basement and out of the house, each step causing your stomach to tighten and ache all the more. You kept swallowing, and your throat kept clenching, but no matter what you could not stop the warm feeling rising through your chest. Then you could taste it at the back of your mouth and you buckled over, throwing up in the black bushes outside, holding your heaving chest with your hand for support.

The image wouldn't stop replaying in your head. A body. A human’s body. The charred remains of a burnt body. You could feel nausea threateningly rise up your throat again. Unable to take it anymore, you hurried out of the compound closing the gate behind you clumsily as every inch of trembled in horror and walked back straight into an unknown man.

“I’m sorry.” you said hurriedly as you looked at the things you had knocked out from the old man's arms. You wanted to help him pick it up but your body wouldn't allow you to do anything that meant staying here a second longer. Not after discovering that.

“Careful my dear. Are you alright?” the old man was looking at you concerned. You looked at him, still breathing heavily through your mouth, shaking your head. No you weren’t. Of course you weren’t. There was no point lying.

But before you knew it the overwhelming sense of nausea took over you and your knees gave away as you fell onto the cobblestones, everything before you turning as black as the ashes that were starting to haunt you.

“We reached.” The young boy hit the brakes in front of the looming, tall towers of the Institute.

Opening your eyes, you stretched a little pointlessly, trying to lift the invisible weight on your shoulders. “Thanks Jin.” you said opening the door giving him a warm smile. “Tell your father too that I’m grateful for his help.”

“It’s okay, that’s not a big deal. You take care of yourself and don’t think about that house too much.” he shot you a worried look.

“Yeah, thanks.” you stepped out closing the door the car behind you.

The car went forward, took a turn and was about to leave, when it stopped next to you. Jin lowered his window and his voice. “And be careful with Yoongi, Y/n. He’s too dangerous.”

“Yeah.” you said your voice leaving you like a croak.” I will.”

Jin smiled at you reassuringly and sped off down the lane, disappearing into the darkness. The moon was the brightest thing in the sky, making you feel a little more at peace away from that dreadful place. Min Yoongi was about to lose his peace of mind now.

You walked down the aisles of the institute, heels clicking loudly in the silence as you made your way to his room.he whole while the old man, Jin’s father’s story was still ringing in your ears - “Murderer.”, “nearly burnt the whole colony down.”, “madness beyond what was imaginable.”

The last few hours after you gained consciousness in Jin’s house was unimaginable. Each second of the story his father narrated threatened to rob you of your senses again.

You reached Yoongi’s room pounding the door with your fists ignoring that it was 11 at night and the world was probably dead asleep. You didn’t know if Yoongi would open the door or not, but you were ready to bang on it the entire night, even kick it open if required. The patients in the neighboring rooms began waking up and poking their head of their doors at the ruckus you created without even basic courtesy. The guards on the floor rushed towards the noise but you signaled them threateningly to leave and they obeyed because never before had they seen you so furious. Exactly when you were this close to trying to kicking his door open, Yoongi finally opened it, looking dazed at your uproar. You shoved him inside making way for yourself, slamming the door behind you.

He staggered at the impact of your push and without giving him the time to recover you held him by the collar of his shirt with both your hands, earning a thoroughly shocked reaction from him.

“You, Min Yoongi, are a miserable, unworthy excuse of a human. How dare you! How dare you create a scene in here everyday about wanting to be set free after all you have done? How dare you refuse to get treated when you know the kind of things you can do?”

He gripped your wrists, confused, trying to pull himself away from you, but you only held him tighter. You weren’t going to let him have his way. Not today.

“You miserable, undeserving, filthy human being!” you could see anger flare in his eyes at the words you hurled at him but you didn’t stop. “I’m ashamed of myself to have wanted to help you! I’m ashamed of myself for having wasted 18 days of my life on someone as worthless as you! I’m disgusted by the kind of human being you are. And don’t you dare open your mouth and justify yourself now or I might just kill you, you murderer!” you screamed, your anger rising uncontrollably.

Yoongi had enough. He pulled both your wrists roughly away from his shirt, breaking the buttons, tearing the material and his voice left him in a low growl, as you struggled to break free from his grip around your wrist. “Enough.”

“Oh no point talking now! You dare, Yoongi, dare to desire to be set free after you saw what you can do. Dare to try to bring down the walls everyday refusing to be tested even though you know what a walking catastrophe you are!”

“Enough.” he repeated, voice not changing as you tried not show the pain or desperation that you were feeling to free yourself from his unbearably strong hold.

“No I’ve had enough with you!” you continued shouting at him even though your hands were becoming numb. “You murdered your best friend you evil thing! You burnt down your house trying to eradicate the evidence. You nearly killed your sister! Your own blood!”

“ENOUGH.” He raised his voice, impossibly loud, slamming the door behind you as he pushed you against it, pinning your struggling arm behind your back. Your body arched up against his, your faces impossibly close as you felt the intensity of his gaze almost burn a hole through you.

“Without knowing what happened, you have no right to talk.” every word he said was a  threatening growl, sending shivers down your spine, making you lose all the confidence that you walked in with.

“Then tell-”

“Get out.” he snarled letting go your hands causing you to stumble, only then realizing that he had held you up against him a few inches above the floor. You opened your mouth to say something but he punched the door behind you again, this time his skin ripping at the impact, blood starting to flow down his knuckles. “GET. OUT!”

Wordlessly you obeyed, fearing his anger, as your hand reached the handle behind you, and you stepped out, slamming the door shut. Turning around, your wide eyes only saw the cold metal door which was now marked with the imprint of a fist, protruding from the faultlessly even surface. You staggered back a couple of footsteps, hitting the wall behind you as you slid down, still unable to comprehend what just happened.

The anger in his eyes, the strength in the arm that held your wrists leaving marks of his fingers, his voice which still rang through your ears. You needed a minute to take it all in.

You had just seen the last of Yoongi’s fragments.

[aridara]

Part 2 of my reply to @literally--hitler​. To recap: I’ve asked people who defend the Nazis’ right to “free speech” -

Can you name one single group (a workplace, a political party, a website, an entire culture…) where hate speech and harassment was permitted because “FREEZE PEACH”, that did NOT quickly became overrun by bigotry, with said bigotry getting more present and more aggressive? 

- L--H wrote a bullshit answer, and I’m replying to it.

Part 1 is here.

...marxists who advocate for violence against huge portions of the population get a pass.

"Stalinists". L--H meant "Stalinists".

And since bigots - especially Nazi and alt-right-leaning bigots - love to label any opposition as “cultural marxism”: no, this isn’t enough to make me hate all left-wingers.

it doesnt even do much about actual neo-nazis...

Unbelievably, L--H got one thing correct.

& only occasionally focuses on anti-sjws & alt-righters who have gotten too popular instead.

Let me guess three names of such anti-sjws and/or alt-righters that got banned for being “too popular": cultureshift, takashi0, your-uncle-dave.

By the way: the alt-right is literally steeped in and/or colludes with white supremacists, anti-semites, Neo-Nazis, Islamophobies, homophobies, white nationalists, and anti-feminists.

& yet, for all the toxic aspects of tumblr & for all we joke about what a “hellsite” it is, those people are in the minority.

I seriously boggle at this part, because L--H has just spent painting multiple groups as raging bigots that go completely unstopped, and that therefore should be opposed... and then deny it to be a problem. Like, pick one - either it’s a problem, or it isn’t.

Here's the thing: Tumblr took a long time implementing a decent reporting and blocking system; in that time, guess what happened?! The bigotry steadily increased, with bigots continuing to spread lies about, threaten and attack their targets, and driving said targets to leave the website. Even though the "report" function is still mostly useless except in the most blatant cases, the block function helped a whole fucking lot in cutting the bigotry away from its targets. Hell, just by judging by how the bigots turned from "If you don't like what I'm telling you, just ignore me" to "If you block me, you're a coward" indicates that they do know that the blocking is a tool that actually helps the victims of bigotry.

& of course thats how it works. most people arent neo-nazis or “kill all men” types. or do you think they are?

That's not what I've said. I've said that bigots, if left unchecked, tend to drive away everyone else. This isn't rocket science.

I’ve cutted out the rest of L--H’s paragraph, since it was, in my own words, "someone having sex with a strawman of their own creation”. I hope at least it was consensual.

inb4 “muh third reich”. shut up & read some actual history on the subject. the nazis didnt come to power by civil debate. they came to power because violence had been normalized as a part of politics at that point in german history.

Question: how, pray, did the bigotry of Nazis became normalized?

Answer: Because Nazis were allowed a platform DESPITE their violence; the Nazis then used said platform to normalize their violence against minorities such as Jews and the disabled, and allow it to enter the institutions.

Here, have a couple of articles on the matter.

now, just to put what this assclown is asking for in perspective, lets take a look at some of the things that have been called “hate speech” recently, since hes already pulled the “muh slippery slope dont real” argument:

criticizing of the actions of a protest movement (womens march, blm, antifa)-

This tidbit was accompained by pictures of a couple of tweets from “Jon Jafari”, where said Jon literally referred to multiple pacific mass protests of an U.S. President as an "insurrection". Not "protest", "insurrection".

Note that L--H seems to believe that declaring the women’s march - which was absolutely pacific (mostly because the police has more problems justifying violence against a group mostly composed by white women, than justifying violence against a group mostly composed by black people) - to be an “insurrection” is absolutely A-OK. That confirms it: bigots don’t take offense to oppressed people protesting their oppression in the wrong way. They take offense to oppressed people protesting their oppression in any way, including “Could you please not do that?”.

Not to mention that it doesn't matter that, regardless of the fact that Trumaraparaparapompappah was democratically elected*, he still is a masssively racist and bigoted individual with zero self-control towards any attack to his ego. (*: Despite the fact that he lost the popolar vote by the biggest amount in history.)

criticizing a large, powerful political movement (feminism)-

This was accompained by a slice of an article that called out Sargon of Akkad for his relation with the Alt-Right. Feminism isn’t mentioned anywhere in said slice.

The "alt-right" is steeped in neo-Nazism. Hell, its founder Richard Spencer believes that White people need to take back America via "peaceful ethnic cleansing*" and once published uncritically an essay named "Is Black Genocide Right?"**, among other things. (*: There has never been a “peaceful” ethnic cleansing in history.) (**: According to said essay, the genocide of black people does have positive points.)

As for Sargon of Akkad, despite having some genuinely progressive and/or liberal positions, also pulled shit like claiming that racism and sexism do not exist in the West despite any evidence of the contrary, or supporting the harassment campaign GamerGate.

numerous political speeches on college campuses, including by a speaker who has specifically denounced white nationalism

This specifically refers to Milo Yiannopolous, who is a fucking transphobe who tried to appease to neo-Nazis multiple times. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, swims like a duck, quacks like a duck, but claims to not be a duck, it's still a fucking duck.

a man wearing a medal his father was awarded for resisting soviet occupation of hungary

So, I've actually checked this one, and apparently people assumed that Gorka was a Nazi sympathizer on the basis of the following:

The medal is the Order of Vitéz, or Order of the Valiant. During the WW2 period, there had been a schism in the Order, with some members opposing the Nazis and others collaboring with them.

Gorka is a far-right-leaning Islamophobe.

He explicitly stated that he and the Trump staff will keep using the "fake news" accusation - regardless of whether those news are actually false or not - until the media stops attacking Trump.

offensive jokes, or more accurately, jokes that someone took offense to, since taking offense is a choice-

This coming from someone who takes offense at "down with cis". Nah, dipshit, if the audience doesn't laugh, it's because you made a shitty joke.

But anyway, this tidbit in particular is about Disney deciding to sever ties with PewDiePie after he made a video where he paid two unsuspecting guys to make a "Death to All Jews" "joke". Because apparently, private companies have no right to decide "Nah, we don't want to do this anymore" even if they have no legal obligation to actually "do this". </sarcasm> Newsflash: "right to free speech" is not "right to force a private person/company to give you their platform".

having a livestream with the wrong sort of person

I honestly have no idea what L--H is talking about, mostly because they do a fucking shitty job at gathering sources. But given the levels of honesty so far, I guess it was something along the lines of "X had a livestream with Y who is an asshole; people pointed Y's assholery to X; X doesn't care".

actually enforcing the current united states immigration laws

I'm counting this as a double lie. First lie: Trump didn't enforce the current US laws, he made new laws on top of the old ones (which, I remind you, are already one of the strictest immigration laws in the entire world). Second lie: L--H is assuming that those laws were reasonable. They weren’t -  those laws were massively bullshit* and have been rightfully declared uncostitutional.

*: Some examples of said bullshit: If you were already in the system and asking for a visa or a green card, but didn't get it yet, you're fucked. If you got a visa/green card, but no US citizenship yet, you're fucked. If you had a double citizenship where at least one country is one of the banned ones, you're still fucked. It doesn't matter if you never ever saw that banned country.

supporting the current president of the united states

Here's the thing: Trump is racist, sexist, and overly bigoted. That was evident well before the election, and was made abundantly clear during the electoral race. Which means that anyone who willingly voted for Trump belongs to one of these categories:

Knew about Trump's bigotry, and thought it was a point in his favor. These voters were bigots.

Knew about Trump's bigotry, and thought it was a point against him, but still voted for him because of the other stuff he promised. These voters were willing to ignore blatant bigotry in order to get a President that they liked.

Knew about Trump's bigotry, but thought that he only did so because “he only does that to convince people to vote for him”. These voters were willing to vote for someone who thought being a blatant bigot was justified. Also, these voters had no idea whatsoever what Trump's "real" policies were. If you couldn't trust Trump when he said bigoted things because "he only said that so that people will vote him", then you couldn't trust Trump when he said "reasonable" things, because he might've done that solely so that people would've voted him.

Didn’t know about Trump’s bigotry, despite it being absolutely evident and documented. These voters were massively ignorant.

sharing pictures of a cartoon frog

This ones refers to Pepe le Frog. Specifically, it refers to when Wendy’s reblogged a Pepe meme without realizing it was connected to the Alt-Right. It almost certainly wasn’t done because Wendy’s is neo-Nazi, but sure as heck their staff didn’t bother to learn about the meme.

Fun fact: that the Pepe le Frog meme is now absolutely connected to alt-right movements is not up to debate.

drinking milk

How niceexpected of L--H to not give any context to whatever the fuck they're saying. Unfortunately for L--H, I am not nice to bigots, therefore I’ve decided to give said context:

Some white supremacists think white ethnic identity has a geographic, historical correlation with the body's tolerance for milk — specifically, the production of the lactase enzyme that allows humans to break down lactose. On 4chan, the internet's hate speech hit factory, one anonymous poster laid this thesis out using the following graphic from a study in Nature, showing hotspots of where certain populations have higher milk tolerances. The discussion thread also contained references to seemingly benign academic studies of "Lactose tolerance in a Slavic population," conversations about whether modern industry has tainted the purity of milk, and several milk-based poems about white pride.

There are numerous threads where white supremacy claims milk-drinking as a new staple of ethnic purity. Source: 4chan

When the brigade of trolls at the LaBeouf installation were accused on camera of racism by Paperboy Prince, a famous Washington Wizards fan and entertainer who has since become a top target of 4chan derision, they claimed it was actually a stance against the "vegan agenda." Judging from the eugenicist rhetoric across online hate speech communities like 4chan and 8chan, it appears that the "vegan agenda" is a potential proxy term for conspiracy theories about a globalist Jewish agenda. But given the sheer mass of alt-right accounts spewing out calls of "Down with the vegan agenda," it could refer to any number of right-wing targets. The whole milk-chugging, anti-vegan narrative is complicated by a number of factors, not least of which being that Adolf Hitler was possibly vegetarian for a short time, or that there are many places in Africa where milk is a dietary staple. Then again, white racial purity is a fragile pseudo-science, so trying to find a sound explanation is a tall order anyway.

...& if you think no journal out there will publish an article about how a famous person is sending secret white supremacist messages by drinking milk because that famous person said something they disagreed with, or because it was a slow news day, you clearly havent been paying attention. not being interested in a crappy looking remake made you a sexist last year.

Not liking a remake solely because there are now women in the main roles does make you a misogynist. Deal with it.

making a video sarcastically depicting yourself as a nazi to mock the fact that people keep calling you a nazi

No, people called out PewDiePie because he thought that making Holocaust jokes was funny. By the way: do you think the Holocaust to be funny?

...and then we have this gem:

[A snippet of an image that states "Apologies can camouflage messages that may still be received and celebrated by hate groups, the Southern Poverty Law Center says."]

that just says it all. apologies are hate. war is peace. freedom is slavery. ignorance is strength.

Fun fact: there is no trace of that quote from the original source (supposedly, the SPLC). Which means that is quite likely that quote was completely made up, and L--H believed it to be a real thing that the SPLC said. Congratulations.

I’ve cutted out the last paragraph, which can be summed up with "Insults, insults, insults, and a drawn picture of a vomiting girl for some reason".

[bangkokjacknews]

It's now called 'CAUTIOUS CUDDLING' in this mad new world

PEOPLE in England are looking forward to hugging loved ones, dining inside restaurants and fleeing the UK for their overseas holiday.

But when Boris Johnson urged Brits to indulge in "cautious cuddles", the baffled Huffington Post admonished, "for hug's sake, it sounds like a mid-noughties indie band!" When will hugging be allowed? "Cautious" hugs are officially back on from May 17, with the Prime Minister leaving it up to Brits to decide if they want to embrace family and friends. Mr Johnson said current data indicated it might also be possible to scrap the "one-metre plus" social distancing rule. If so, this would greatly increase flexibility for businesses to increase capacity. Downing Street said in a statement: "People will be urged to remain cautious about the risks that come with close personal contact such as hugging, as we know this remains a direct way of transmitting the disease.” As part of the May 17 changes in England, people will be free to choose whether to stay two metres from family or friends, meaning they can once again hug and shake hands. Mr Johnson warned during his speech on May 10, 2021: "This doesn't mean that we can suddenly throw caution to the winds. "We all know that close contacts such as hugging is a direct way of transmitting this disease," .

The PM, Boris Johnson, is marching towards unlocking EnglandCredit: PA What are the risks? Those who have received at least one Covid jab will be less at risk, with people receiving two vaccinations the most protected. Officials have suggested that people consider getting tested for coronavirus before hugging. Brits are also advised to wear face masks or ensure a room is well ventilated before completely ditching social distancing measures. The Covid-19 alert level in the UK has been downgraded after a "consistent" fall in cases, hospital admissions and deaths. The four chief medical officers of the UK have said the threat level should be lowered from "level 4" to "level 3", thanks to the success of the jab programme and social distancing restrictions. This means that the epidemic is in general circulation, but transmission of the virus is no longer deemed to be high or rising exponentially.

The PM said: "I urge you to think about the vulnerability of your loved ones - whether they have had a vaccine, one or two doses, and whether there has been time for that vaccine to take effect. "Remember outdoors is always safer than indoors. And if you are meeting indoors, remember to open a window and let in the fresh air. "Keep getting tested regularly, even if you don’t have symptoms, so you don’t spread the virus without knowing it. "And whatever you decide, I must ask that you continue to follow social distancing when not with friends and family, including in workplaces, shops, pubs, restaurants and other settings. "We only have to look at the very sad situation in other countries to see the lethal potential of this virus, and we must continue to fight the spread of variants here in the UK. "While we have no evidence yet to believe these variants are completely vaccine resistant, we must remain vigilant. "So please remember hands, face, space and fresh air." What is a cautious cuddle and how should I hug others? Asked what "cautious cuddling" means, mental health minister Nadine Dorries told BBC Breakfast with a laugh: "I don't think you can cautiously cuddle." Concerned Sage scientists have warned that embraces should be kept to a minimum, and Brits should avoid face-to-face contact as much as they can to stay safe. Professor Cath Noakes, who sits on Sage, has urged caution ahead of the relaxation, saying that too much hugging could "perpetuate" the further spread of Covid. Gurch Randhawa, a public health expert at the University of Bedfordshire, spoke to ABC News in the US about the government's potentially confusing messages. He said: “It is no doubt tempting to relax social distancing, offer the glimmer of a much needed hug, and lift restrictions on international travel, but this could be a big mistake at this stage of the Covid-19 pandemic. “As a minimum, the government should be advising only those have received both vaccination doses to be hugging each other, and even, a short hug, with faces directed away from each other to minimise risk of Covid-19 transmission." What is a cautious cuddle? Paul Hunter, a professor of medicine at UEA and an expert in infectious diseases, gave HuffPost UK these tips: - Hug people you live with: “If you live with someone or are in the same bubble then you have been able to hug them anyway, so don’t stop now and hug them however you and they want.” - No rampant hugging: “If you don’t need to hug each other, then don’t.” - Don't embrace everyone - Jabs aren't a 100% guarantee:“If both of you have been vaccinated then the risk of transmission is actually very low but not zero.” - 'Side hugging' is safer: Keep your faces away from each other so that you are "not re-breathing each other’s air". Can I hug my fully-vaccinated granny? If you want to embrace each other, you can from May 17 - but remember that some people are more vulnerable to Covid than others. Officials have suggested people should consider getting tested for coronavirus before hugging. They've also recommended we wear face masks or ensure a room is well ventilated before ditching social distancing measures. The PM set out a new approach to tackling the virus, giving people greater responsibility for their own choices on whether to observe social distancing with friends and family. Using our own personal judgement, from May 17 we are able to decide whether to hug our grannies - remembering that even if both sides are fully vaccinated, the risk from the coronavirus is not fully eliminated. Dr Mike Tildesley, from the University of Warwick, a member of the Scientific Pandemic Influenza Group on Modelling (Spi-M) urged people to "act responsibly" when restrictions are lifted further. He told BBC Breakfast: "I think it's actually very important for our mental health and wellbeing that we can hug our loved ones, but to me the key message is, if and when this comes in, we need to remember that the pandemic hasn't gone away. "We are still a few steps away from normality, so it's really great that we can hug our loved ones, but what we need to remember is we need to be a little bit careful." He added: "The key thing for me is what we want to avoid is hospital admissions going up and people dying going up. "And if we can keep those out of the low levels they are, then hopefully this resumption of hugging can be done safely and we can proceed again to the June 21 relaxation."

It's been a long time between hugs for grandparents and grandkids during the pandemic Credit: Getty Dr David Nabarro, special envoy on Covid-19 for the World Health Organisation, urged Brits to maintain social distancing and keep using face masks. He said: "Please be really careful, maintain that physical distance of between one metre and two metres, especially indoors, and don't forget to wear your face masks because that really can give extra protection. "It's these simple things, but all done together that will really make the difference as to whether or not future spikes are huge or future spikes are small and easily contained." Professor in Medical Microbiology Sally Jane Cutler told Times Radio: "I think we have to be very conserved about who we choose to hug. "Personally I'm going to restrict my hugging to family members and not beyond." The Duchess of Cornwall, 73, has revealed she enjoyed “half a hug” with her grandchildren, despite this being forbidden until the official easing of restrictions from May 17. When asked if she had been able to do that more recently as Britain continues to reopen, Camilla replied: "I am doubly jabbed so we’ve had a sort of half a hug. “It has been so lovely just to be able to see them again and talk to them. “Telephones and machines and these Zooms are fine, but nothing is ever the same as being able to give somebody a good hug.” Are handshakes allowed? As part of the May 17, 2021, changes, people will be given the choice whether to remain two metres from family or friends, meaning they can once again hug and shake hands. In March 2020, after the coronavirus had established its terrifying presence in the UK, Mr Johnson declared that it would not stop him greeting people with a handshake. Days ahead of ending up in intensive care, battling Covid, the PM also said that he had shaken the hands of everyone at a hospital where infected patients were being treated.   Read the full article