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Free-to-Wait
Before I’ve even fully woken up, my hand reaches for it instinctively.
Dizzily, I tug my smartphone out of its charging dock, its display giving way to a wall of missed calls, text messages and emails. But my overloaded virtual inbox isn’t what I’m interested in, of course.
My free-to-play apps are.
Roleplaying apps, city-building apps, puzzle-solving apps. I’ve installed so many gaming applications on my phone that I’ve lost count. To say I’ve waited a long time for this would be a monumental understatement.
Every tap at the screen yields more gems, power-ups and prizes, accumulated in my absence to reward my patience. All the time I’ve sacrificed feels worth it just to see my username creeping back up the leaderboards, those beautiful in-game currencies flowing freely.
But just as each game starts to suck me in, they spit me out. “Sorry, you have run out of energy” read the messages. “You may purchase 50 energy crystals for a price of $500,000.50 to resume playing immediately, or wait for your energy to fully regenerate over a period of approximately 25 months.”
Things weren’t always like this. Gamers used to only have to wait a few hours for in-game energy to replenish, or pay a few bucks. But as mobile gaming evolved, the wait times grew larger and larger, into days, weeks and months. Freemium inflation, they called it.
Had it not been for the invention of hibernation pods, the business model might have died out completely.
My mind is already made up. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I haven’t yet gotten out of my pod yet or set foot in my apartment, something the manufacturers say is vital after lengthy hibernations. To be honest, I hardly care about my legs atrophying anymore.
I just need my games back.
“Ethan, we miss you…it’s been months…don’t you dare go back to sleep…just stupid games…”
Those family voicemails barely faze me anymore. They’re nothing I haven’t heard before—or after—barricading myself in this apartment.
“Just one more sleep” I promise myself as the glass encases me. “Then I’ll finally take a break from gaming, go back to my life.” In this microsecond, I feel a jolt of unmitigated dread. What kind of world will I wake up in 2 years on? Will I wake up at all? Will my games even be here?
Then I’m out like a light.
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Italian Doctors Fooled Nazis by Inventing This Fake Disease
In 1943, a team of ingenious Italian doctors invented a deadly, contagious virus called Syndrome K to protect Jews from annihilation. On October 16 of that year, as Nazis closed in to liquidate Rome’s Jewish ghetto, many runaways hid in the 450-year-old Fatebenefratelli Hospital. There, anti-Fascist doctors including Adriano Ossicini, Vittorio Sacerdoti and Giovanni Borromeo created a gruesome, imaginary disease.
“Syndrome K was put on patient papers to indicate that the sick person wasn’t sick at all, but Jewish” and in need of protection, Ossicini told Italian newspaper La Stampa last year. The “K” stood for Albert Kesselring and Herbert Kappler — two ruthless Nazi commanders.
The doctors instructed “patients” to cough very loudly and told Nazis that the disease was extremely dangerous, disfiguring and molto contagioso. Soldiers were so alarmed by the list of symptoms and incessant coughing that they left without inspecting the patients. It’s estimated that a few dozen lives were saved by this brilliant scheme.
The doctors were later honored for their heroic actions, and Fatebenefratelli Hospital was declared a “House of Life” by the International Raoul Wallenberg Foundation.
The Jewniverse
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Smith & Wesson
Right 23, left 48, right 32.
Michael Bartlett was a good man. A good father. He worked at a deli that his family had built from the ground up. He spent his weekends playing golf and going to the gun range with his friends.
Right 34, left 19, right 21.
Although he had his work, and his hobbies, nothing came before his daughter. She was his entire world since the day she was born, and reminded him of her mother every day.
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The virus.
The virus broke out when I was 11 or 12. My mother, my little sister and I had fled north, where it was colder, the virus could not spread so quickly. I still remember the first reports about the effects of the virus. Pictures of abandoned streets. People in yellow suits removing corpses. A few months later, there were some pictures as the dead began to come back. After that, there was no more television and the news on the radio eventually disappeared.
The virus had killed a large part of the people immediately. Many of those who were immune or could run away from the virus like we did, fell victim to the Returnees, as we called them. With most of humanity wiped out, the rest of society fell apart like a house of cards. We were able to hide for a while in remote forests. I took care of my sister when Mum got supplies.
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Help
Please Lord, help. Please Lord, help. Oh, please Lord, help.
She silently repeated the words over and over as she buried her head into her knees while sitting in the fetal position.
Around Emily was all darkness, the only light a white slit coming from the bottom of the door. Previously, muted phone screens on low brightness had illuminated faces of naive, dismissive peers; snapchats and instagram taking priority over a mundane rehearsal meant for events that were improbable, even seemingly impossible. In past situations, whimsical whispering and muted laughter had alleviated any sense of dread building in Emily. Now, only quiet tension pervaded.
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A cry for help.
“HELP!” A gruff man’s voice weathered by a few too many smokes shocked me awake with a cry of terror. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as if I’d been dunked in a tub of ice. “HELP!” I kicked off my sleeping bag, grabbed a flashlight, and unzipped my tent.
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• Use the hand you write with.
• Make a fist with your thumb outside, not tucked inside. If it’s tucked inside your fist, when you punch someone, you might break your thumb. The thumb goes across your fingers, not on the side.
• Don’t be like in the movies—don’t aim for the face. Face punches don’t usually stop people, and you can miss when they duck their head or break your hand on their jaw. If you want to get away quickly, or end a fight, aim for the chest, or the ribs. If you really want to do some damage, e.g., you’re being attacked, aim for the throat, which will make it hard for your attacker to breathe for a hot minute.
• When you punch, you want to aim and hit with your first two knuckles. Not the flats of your fingers, and not your ring or pinky knuckles, which can break more easily. You can use your weight, if you’re on your feet, to add wallop, and spring into a punch with your feet and torso.
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THE UNIVERSAL MOOD OF UNDRESSING COSPLAYERS.
By AmenoKitarou // AKWIRRU.com // Patreon // Storenvy // IG // FB
I just added the music, it was a must!
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Just some of my favorites from Craig Clarke’s book! Loving these Captain Swan shots! That’s why day 78 of Ruby’s favorites goes to Craig Clarke himself! Thank you so much for all the amazing photos over the last 7 years!
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Exercise In Frustration (1/2)
“I’ve made a decision regarding Emma: I’m going to back off.”
Killian meant the promise. But Storybrooke is a very small town, and it’s hard to avoid the sheriff… who is noticeably preoccupied these days. And getting more than a little frustrated with the far-too-attractive pirate who keeps running into her and refusing to flirt with her.
Season 3 canon divergence, post-Neverland… no Pan, no new curse, just Emma being distracted by Hook despite everyone’s best efforts, much to Neal’s chagrin and David’s confusion. @thesschesthair is at least partly to blame for this. ~3400 words; also on ao3!
Neal knows that the date is going badly when the only thing Emma talks about at any length is how Killian taught her to use a sword on the way to Neverland.
And how he really isn’t like the Captain Hook she read about as a kid.
And how he doesn’t seem very happy to be back here—has Neal noticed?
Neal has noticed, but he thinks that it might have more to do with Killian’s decision to back off than anything else.
Not that the gesture seems likely to do any good. Neal still wants this to work, but he can’t deny that it all feels a little… stilted. Emma is gorgeous, he’s the first to admit it, and he does love her, but he still catches himself thinking of Tamara. Feeling a stab in his chest at everything that happened there.
Maybe he has the wrong expectations, maybe he’s just messed up too much, but it doesn’t feel natural, being with Emma. It feels forced. Like they’re going through the motions, for Henry’s sake.
And maybe, just a little bit, because he doesn’t want to lose to Killian Jones.
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Killian: *making siren noises into the radio*
Emma: Dear God, I actually married a child.
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A storm came and then my fiance started looking under the bed.
I caught my fiancé look under our bed for monsters. I had never seen her do this before. Usually we climb into bed the same old way we always have. Throw off the big pillows. She takes off her shirt and tosses it across the room. I sleep with a shirt and socks on. And we get in. But this time, I suppose she thought I was still in the bathroom but I was behind her and I saw her look under the bed for monsters.
It was the type of look my parents did when I requested, scared and clutching the blanket to my chin. She wasn’t looking for anything. She didn’t get on her knees and start searching. There’s nothing even down there, it’s about half a foot off the ground. She pulled back one flap of the comforter, leaned down and looked – confirmed something – and then crawled into bed.
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The Prince of Egypt (1998)
The 4 minute parting of the Red Sea sequence took 10 animators 2 years to complete. (x)
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Cougars Final Resting Place
Statement by the photographer:
Early April in the Rocky Mountains, the majestic peaks are still snow-covered while the lower elevations, including the lakes and rivers have melted out. I was walking along the riverbank when I saw a dark form lying on the bottom of the river. My first thought was a deer had fallen through the ice so I wandered over to investigate…and that’s when I saw the long tail. It took me a few moments to comprehend what I was looking at…a full grown cougar lying peacefully on the riverbed, the victim of thin ice. I tried to capture the eerie feeling I felt at the time as best I could.
Location: Waterton Lakes National Park, Alberta, Canada
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