#Flutter Dart programming

[wobinbug]

So, I'm learning Flutter

One of my favourite hobbies (kinda) is to stake out the careers pages for companies I like the look of to see what kind of skills they're looking for and, well, Flutter Developer has popped up a few times by now, so here I am 😄

I'm enjoying it quite a lot 😳 It's still early days, and I need to come up with some decent project ideas, but it feels very comprehensive and there are some great resources and libraries available!

Coming off the back of the Java course I did last year, Dart feels very natural, plus I 💖 strong typing. I've been focusing on Android and Windows development (I do not have apple products to test on 💀), but I'm curious about Flutter's capabilities in making web apps as well.

Definitely a nice start to 2024, I'll be searching for placements soon, so, hopefully, my efforts pay off 😄

[normalweirdoboy]

Free Flutter Resources

for whoever might need them

https://flutter.dev/learn

https://dart.dev/

Flutter Crash Course - Traversy Media

Free Flutter Course (Full Flutter Course for Beginners) - Vandad Nahavandipoor

Fun with Flutter

https://github.com/flutter/samples

I'm currently revising Flutter to teach in my college's robotics society's classes (we are planning to start an app dev domain) and these are a few resources that I found handy, so I thought I'd share(?)

[crossdevverse]

Why Ionic Outperforms Flutter in 2024: 7 Data-Driven Reasons to Choose Ionic

In the competitive realm of hybrid app development, selecting the right framework is crucial for ensuring the success of your project. As of 2024, Flutter and Ionic are the two leading contenders in the field. While both frameworks have their strengths, an in-depth analysis of data and technical aspects reveals that Ionic may have the edge for many developers and businesses. Here’s why Ionic stands out, supported by compelling statistics and technical insights.

1. Hybrid Approach Enhances Performance

Performance is a pivotal factor in choosing a development framework. Ionic’s hybrid approach utilizes pre-existing plugins and technologies that enhance development efficiency while maintaining high performance. Ionic delivers a consistent 60 FPS across both desktop and mobile platforms, demonstrating its ability to offer smooth and reliable user experiences.

Flutter, known for its native compilation and custom rendering engine, also achieves 60 FPS. However, while Flutter’s hot reload feature can accelerate development, it doesn’t always translate to faster overall development time. Data suggests that Flutter's hot reload can reduce development time by up to 63%, but this benefit is often counterbalanced by the complexity of the app being developed.

2. Superior UI Customization and Flexibility

UI design flexibility is another critical factor where Ionic excels. Ionic leverages web technologies such as HTML, CSS, and JavaScript, providing developers with a comprehensive library of pre-designed components. This allows for highly customizable and responsive UIs, with standard-based web components that can be styled to resemble native elements, ensuring a consistent look and feel across various platforms.

Flutter, in contrast, employs its own rendering engine and offers a range of pre-designed widgets. While these widgets adhere to Material Design and Human Interface guidelines and provide extensive customization options, they may not offer the same level of flexibility as the standard web components used by Ionic. For businesses seeking a tailored UI with rapid implementation, Ionic’s approach offers a significant advantage.

3. Enhanced Code Portability and Maintenance

Code portability is a crucial aspect of modern app development, and Ionic’s use of web technologies facilitates this with ease. Developers can deploy a single codebase across mobile, desktop, and Progressive Web Apps (PWA), simplifying code maintenance and updates. This approach reduces the time and effort required to manage different platform versions.

Flutter also supports cross-platform code sharing but relies on Dart, which is less widely adopted than JavaScript. Although Flutter's single codebase approach is effective, developers may face a steeper learning curve with Dart, potentially impacting the speed of development and onboarding.

4. Developer-Friendly Ecosystem

The developer experience is greatly influenced by the ecosystem surrounding a framework. Ionic’s ecosystem is designed to enhance developer convenience, offering extensive documentation and compatibility with popular JavaScript frameworks such as AngularJs     , React, and Vue. This integration allows developers to leverage their existing skills and tools, facilitating faster development and maintenance.

Flutter requires proficiency in Dart, a less common language compared to JavaScript. Although Flutter provides comprehensive documentation, the learning curve associated with Dart can be a barrier for new developers or those transitioning from other languages. Ionic’s ecosystem, with its focus on familiar technologies, presents a more accessible option for many developers.

5. Accelerated Development and Deployment

Speed is critical in the app development lifecycle. Ionic’s hybrid approach and efficient use of web technologies contribute to quicker development cycles. With its vast library of components and plugins, developers can rapidly assemble and deploy applications, minimizing the need for extensive custom coding.

Flutter’s hot reload feature is designed to speed up development by allowing real-time updates without restarting the app. While this feature is beneficial, the overall speed of development can still be affected by the complexity of the application and the need for frequent updates. Ionic’s streamlined approach often results in faster development and deployment times.

6. Cost-Effective Development

Cost considerations are always at the forefront of app development decisions. Ionic’s utilization of web technologies and pre-existing plugins often results in more cost-effective development compared to Flutter. The use of JavaScript and established web frameworks typically leads to lower development costs, as teams can build on their existing knowledge and tools.

In contrast, Flutter’s development costs may be higher due to the need for specialized Dart expertise and potentially longer development times for complex applications. Although Flutter can deliver high-performance apps, the associated costs can be a significant factor for businesses operating within tight budgets.

7. Established Community and Support

Community support and available resources play a crucial role in the development process. Ionic’s longer presence in the market has fostered a robust ecosystem of resources, tutorials, and community support. This established network provides valuable assistance for troubleshooting, learning, and keeping up with the latest advancements.

While Flutter is supported by a rapidly growing community and benefits from Google’s backing, it is relatively newer compared to Ionic. As a result, the community support and resources for Flutter are still expanding. For developers seeking a well-established support network, Ionic’s longstanding presence offers a substantial advantage.

Ionic’s Technical Superiority

Ionic excels not only in performance and development efficiency but also through its robust technical features:

Plugin Integration: Ionic utilizes Cordova and, more recently, Capacitor plugins to access host operating system features such as Camera, GPS, and Flashlight. This integration allows developers to build applications that leverage native device functionalities while using a unified codebase.

Comprehensive Framework: Ionic supports building apps that can be customized for a range of platforms, including Android, iOS, Windows, Desktop (with Electron), and modern browsers. This versatility is facilitated through Ionic’s build tools and simplified command-line interface (CLI), which streamlines the app-building and deployment process.

Extensive UI Components: Ionic includes a wide array of mobile components, typography, interactive paradigms, and an extensible base theme. Web Components used in Ionic provide custom elements and methods for interaction. Notable components like virtual scroll allow for smooth scrolling through extensive lists, while tabs create native-style navigation with history state management.

Development Tools: Ionic offers services that enable code deploys and automated builds. Although its own IDE, Ionic Studio, was discontinued in 2020, the CLI remains a powerful tool for project creation, plugin management, push notifications, and native binary generation.

Conclusion

In conclusion, while both Flutter and Ionic offer distinct benefits for hybrid app development, data and technical insights indicate that Ionic may be the preferable choice for many projects. With its hybrid approach, superior UI customization, code portability, and developer-friendly ecosystem, Ionic presents a compelling option for businesses looking to develop high-performance, cost-effective applications.

If you're considering developing a new application or updating an existing one, hiring Ionic developers could significantly enhance your project’s success. Ionic’s strengths in development efficiency and technical versatility make it a robust and effective choice in the competitive landscape of hybrid app development.

By choosing Ionic, and with the expertise of skilled Ionic developers, you can harness a framework with a proven track record, ensuring efficient development and deployment processes. For a well-established support network and a streamlined development experience, Ionic is the framework to consider.

[info-zestinfotech]

Avoiding Common Mistakes in Flutter Development

[robomad]

Getting Started with Flutter: A Beginner's Guide

Getting Started with Flutter: A Beginner's Guide

Introduction Flutter, developed by Google, is an open-source UI software development kit that enables the creation of natively compiled applications for mobile, web, and desktop from a single codebase. Known for its fast development cycles, expressive and flexible UI, and native performance, Flutter has gained immense popularity among developers. This guide will help you get started with…

[bbsmitedu]

Learn Flutter Application Development

Mail us:- bbsmita2g@gmail.com

Call or WhatsApp:- +91 98287 49889

[justnshalom]

10 Essential Tips for Developing a Flutter Application

Introduction Flutter has gained immense popularity among developers, thanks to its ability to build high-performance, cross-platform mobile applications. Whether you are a beginner or a seasoned developer, it’s important to follow best practices and understand the key aspects of Flutter development to create top-notch applications. 1. Understand the Widget Hierarchy In Flutter, everything is a…

[bearforcecaptions]

Michael Anderson had always believed that life was a sequence of carefully orchestrated steps. The son of a modest middle-class family, he had worked tirelessly to get into a reputable MBA program, thinking this was the perfect next rung on his ladder to success. The campus was massive, sleek glass buildings rising against the skyline, dotted by well-kept lawns and clusters of excited new students exploring every corner. Michael arrived early on his first day, eager to find his classroom and settle in. With a new messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he navigated the corridors, each footstep echoing off the polished tile floors. He could still remember the fluttering excitement in his stomach as he checked the classroom number against his schedule, anticipating an introduction to his fellow MBA students and a new phase of his academic life.

He found the designated room, a large lecture hall with rows of desks set up in a semicircle. Oddly, the lights were dimmer than he would have expected for such a state-of-the-art campus building. The overhead fluorescents were turned down low, leaving a subdued atmosphere in the space. Michael hesitated in the doorway, noticing something strange: students already seated were facing straight ahead, their bodies unusually rigid, hands on their desks, spines straight, eyes open and staring forward. They did not talk among themselves. No one even glanced at Michael as he entered. Their silence was almost eerie, as though they were mannequins in a store display. It wasn’t the kind of first-day excitement he’d been anticipating.

Unsure of what else to do, Michael stepped into the classroom. A wave of apprehension rippled through him. He paused and scanned the room, trying to see if there was any sign or signal that might explain this bizarre behavior. But there was nothing. No one was chatting, texting, or even tapping a foot nervously. The entire class of perhaps twenty students sat there like statues. Michael’s eyes darted around, searching for any clue that might assure him this was some elaborate orientation exercise. But no one broke the silence.

A thin film of sweat gathered on his palms as he approached an empty desk in the second row. He told himself maybe the professor had given them instructions to be quiet and still, perhaps as part of some unorthodox lesson in discipline. Trying to act normal, he pulled back the seat and settled down, feeling the cool metal against his legs. He placed his bag by his feet. When he looked up, he saw that every student’s gaze was focused on the front of the room, as if transfixed by an invisible force. The air felt oddly still, stifling even, as though no one in the room was breathing.

Michael swallowed hard, determined not to panic. “This is just an exercise,” he told himself. “They’re trying to test our composure or something.” Yet as he placed his hands on the desk, he felt a sudden, undeniable stiffness creep into his arms and legs. It was subtle at first—just a tingle, a bit of resistance when he tried to shift his position. He attempted to move his arm, but it felt heavier than before, like it was fighting against him. Alarmed, he tried to swivel in his seat, but his body refused. His spine, which he had instinctively tried to relax, remained perfectly upright, locked into place.

A prickling sensation raced up the back of his neck. He glanced around with his eyes—since turning his head was now impossible—and saw that everyone else was still motionless. The only difference was that a few new students had quietly entered the room, found empty seats, and then assumed the same unnerving posture. It was as though the moment they sat down, they became locked in place, their eyes wide, bodies stiff. Michael’s mind began to race. “What is going on? Is this a prank? Is something happening to us?”

He tried to speak, to call out to the others, but his lips remained sealed. He couldn’t even open his mouth. Panic clutched at his chest. His breathing sped up in short, shallow bursts, the only physical action he could still manage. Every instinct in him screamed to stand up and bolt for the door, to get as far away from this weirdness as possible. But his limbs remained inert, as though pinned to the desk by invisible clamps.

Seconds crawled by, each one stretching into an eternity of dread. Michael’s mind churned through possibilities: had they been drugged somehow? Was there a gas in the room? Was this an elaborate hazing ritual? Yet none of these explanations seemed plausible. He could still see the door wide open. He could see new students walking in, and the same thing happening to them. Each one took a seat, looked straight ahead, and became just as rigid and silent as the rest.

Time dragged on in that suffocating hush until, finally, a man entered the room. He was tall, lean, and impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit. A slick tie in a dark shade of burgundy completed the ensemble. His shoes gleamed under the dull overhead lights. A smirk curved his lips as he surveyed the room of immobilized students. He shut the door gently behind him, the click reverberating through the thick silence. Then, with measured steps, he approached the lectern at the front of the classroom.

Michael’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched the man. This had to be the instructor, but his demeanor was not that of a caring professor or a typical lecturer. There was something unnerving about the way he smiled, something almost predatory in his gaze.

“Welcome,” the man said, his voice cool and resonant. “My name is Dr. Randall, and I’ll be… guiding you through this accelerated process.” He looked around the room, his eyes alight with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. “I know you all came here expecting an MBA education, perhaps a year or two of classes, assignments, group projects, and so on. But let’s be honest, that takes far too long. In today’s world, time is money. So we’ve decided on a fast-track approach.”

His words made little sense to Michael at first. A fast-track approach? But the man’s tone was calm and self-assured, as if he was about to conduct a perfectly normal seminar. That smirk never left his face.

“We’ve found,” Dr. Randall continued, “that the best results can be achieved by simply… transforming you. Why spend years learning the ropes when we can expedite the process? After all, isn’t efficiency the hallmark of good business?”

Michael’s stomach lurched. He wanted to scream, to demand an explanation, but he remained mute, locked in place. He could feel the tension in the air around him. It wasn’t just his own fear; it was as though the entire room was thick with it, each person silently panicking in their own frozen shell. Dr. Randall reached under the lectern and pulled out a sleek, metallic device. It looked futuristic, with a small display screen and vents along its sides. He set it down and pressed a button. A low hum filled the air, rising in pitch until it became a subtle whir.

“There,” Dr. Randall said, his voice almost triumphant. “That should do it.”

The sound was disconcerting, vibrating in Michael’s eardrums. A peculiar warmth spread through the room, as if the temperature had risen a few degrees. And then, to Michael’s horror, he saw the first visible signs of change. One of the students in the front row, a young woman with short blonde hair, started to shift. It wasn’t just a slight movement of her limbs; her entire body seemed to grow taller, more poised. Her casual T-shirt and jeans began to shimmer, as though the fabric was alive. Within seconds, her clothes morphed into a tailored navy-blue blazer, paired with a crisp white blouse and a sleek pencil skirt. Her hair lengthened and twisted into a neat updo. Her features matured, losing that youthful roundness. She looked at least ten years older now, exuding a professional, almost corporate aura. Her eyes, once wide with fear, now glimmered with a new sense of purpose.

Michael watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as the transformations began to ripple through the room. Another student, a lanky man wearing a faded hoodie and sweatpants, started to change. His posture straightened; his shoulders broadened. His hoodie and sweatpants shifted into a sharp black suit with a crisp dress shirt and tie. His hair, once messy, styled itself neatly, and a glimmer of ambition lit up his gaze. He looked exactly like someone who belonged on the cover of a business magazine.

All around Michael, similar transformations were happening. Each student’s clothing warped and changed to match a variety of business personas. One young man ended up in a sleek turtleneck and fitted slacks, reminiscent of a tech startup founder in Silicon Valley. Another donned a double-breasted suit with a flamboyant pocket square, looking like a finance mogul. A couple of students turned into more casual but still upscale entrepreneurs—one wearing a designer polo and tailored chinos, another in a chic blazer with jeans and expensive loafers. A tall woman in the back row found herself dressed in a sophisticated power suit, complete with high heels and a commanding presence. Her once uncertain expression melted into one of unwavering confidence, as though she was already the CEO of a successful corporation.

The entire classroom buzzed with these physical changes. Clothes, hairstyles, facial features—all shifting and aging. Michael felt the seat beneath him tremble as if reacting to the swirl of energy in the room. He could hear muffled gasps from a few corners, though most remained silent, whether out of shock or because they were still paralyzed. He tried again to move his arms or legs, but he was stuck fast. His heart pounded violently in his chest. He felt lightheaded, almost dizzy with fear and confusion. Yet there was no escape from whatever was happening.

And then it started happening to him.

A tingling sensation ran down his arms, across his torso, and into his legs. He felt his skin tighten. The hair on his arms and face prickled as though an electric current was running through him. He tried to scream, but not a sound emerged. The transformation had found him, and there was no way to resist. He could feel something shifting inside him—something beyond mere muscle or bone. Memories. Thoughts. Pieces of who he was seemed to be in flux.

The first outward sign came from his clothes. His simple collared shirt and khakis began to ripple, the fabric changing texture and color. The collar stiffened, the fabric of his shirt growing thicker and smoother. Within seconds, he found himself clad in a crisp white dress shirt, tailored to fit his torso perfectly. His khakis darkened and morphed into fitted trousers in a subtle pinstripe pattern. A jacket materialized over his shirt, forming around his arms and shoulders until it became a stylish blazer in a light gray hue with a faint check pattern. A tie manifested around his neck, snug and elegant, with a tasteful design in gold and black. His belt, once worn-looking, turned into fine leather, and his shoes, previously scuffed loafers, transformed into glossy Italian dress shoes that hugged his feet with refined craftsmanship.

Michael’s heart thundered in his chest as he felt an odd pressure in his toes. The shoes he was now wearing seemed to grow tighter and then loosen again as his feet themselves expanded. He could sense his toes stretching, the arches of his feet elongating. It was disorienting and faintly painful, like an extreme version of a foot cramp that forced his feet to grow bigger, more pronounced. The shoes accommodated these changes seamlessly, as though they were crafted for this new size. The sensation traveled up his calves, thickening them, adding muscle and definition he had never possessed before.

But the changes were not just physical in a superficial sense. He felt his entire body becoming older, more mature. The reflection in the polished metal edge of the desk, faint but visible, showed a face that was subtly altering. His jawline seemed to sharpen, becoming more pronounced and masculine. His cheeks lost some of their youthful roundness, giving way to a more angular structure. His eyes, once wide with a kind of academic curiosity, took on a focused, piercing quality. Even his eyebrows seemed to shift shape, becoming thicker and more defined.

Then came the stubble. At first, it was just a faint dusting along his jaw and upper lip, but within moments it darkened and spread into a thick, well-groomed layer of facial hair that accentuated his strong jawline. The color of his hair, once a light brown, deepened into a richer, darker shade, with subtle hints of black. He could feel a warmth under his skin, as though his very cells were being rearranged, the structure of his face adapting to a different heritage, a different lineage. His complexion took on a sun-kissed olive tone, as if he’d spent summers along the Mediterranean rather than in his suburban hometown.

Michael’s mind spun. He was aware of every shift, every new hair, every new contour of muscle. His arms, once lean, filled out with a strength he’d never known, the veins becoming slightly more visible. His shoulders broadened, and his torso gained a sleek athleticism that pressed against the tailored shirt and jacket. He felt the collar of his shirt snug around a neck that was thicker than before, yet still elegantly proportioned. If he could have looked down fully, he would have seen a well-defined chest, not bodybuilder massive, but sculpted in a way that spoke of discipline and confidence.

Alongside these physical changes, a torrent of memories began to flood his mind. It was as if a second life was being overlaid onto his original one. Snippets of a childhood spent in Italy flickered in his consciousness: running through narrow cobblestone streets in a small village, family gatherings where relatives spoke rapid Italian, dinners filled with pasta dishes and robust conversation. He saw himself growing older, studying in a prestigious Italian school, then interning at a major corporation, swiftly climbing the ranks. These images clashed with his real memories—of an American childhood, of public school, of playing basketball in the driveway. But the new memories were relentless, embedding themselves with a clarity and emotional weight that made them feel more real than anything he had known before.

He tried to cling to his identity: “I’m Michael Anderson,” he told himself in his thoughts. “I grew up in a suburb outside Chicago. I came here for my MBA. I—” But the surge of new experiences drowned out that internal voice. He saw board meetings where he spoke fluent Italian and English, negotiating deals, outsmarting rivals, making swift, ruthless decisions. He felt the pride of walking through an office building that seemed to belong to him, or at least he was in a position of significant power. The swirling confusion made him dizzy. If only he could move, maybe he could shake off these alien memories. But his body remained locked in that forward-facing posture, as if forcing him to absorb everything the device was feeding into his mind.

He heard a voice in his head that was not quite his own. It was deeper, tinged with an Italian accent, confident and authoritative. It said: “I am Massimo Andrelli. I have always been the best in the room, the smartest, the most cunning. Nothing stands in my way. I see opportunities where others see obstacles. I take what I want, and I succeed.” The voice repeated these sentiments, layering them over Michael’s old self. He felt a mounting pressure in his skull, as though his brain was being rewired to embrace these new thoughts. Anxiety gnawed at him—he could sense his old identity slipping away. But he could do nothing to halt it.

He desperately tried to hold onto the memory of his mother’s face, the name of his old high school, the smell of his bedroom at home. But each recollection was like sand slipping through his fingers, replaced by new, more dominant images. A sprawling villa in Tuscany. A father who was a stern businessman, teaching him the importance of power and strategy from an early age. The relentless hustle of city life in Milan, where he’d built a reputation as a shrewd negotiator. The language in his mind turned fluidly into Italian phrases, sprinkling them among English words. The more he tried to fight it, the more the new identity asserted itself.

Meanwhile, the rest of the class was undergoing similar transformations. A few seats down, he saw a timid young man become a confident tech guru in a sleek black turtleneck. His once uncertain expression now radiated with visionary zeal. A woman who had been wearing a casual sweatshirt and jeans was now in a tailored suit, exuding executive-level poise. Everyone in the room looked a decade or more older, as though they had stepped into their prime. Their faces, once anxious, now reflected an unflinching determination. Michael realized with a shock that each person’s entire life story was probably being overwritten, just like his was. They were no longer fresh MBA students. They were seasoned professionals, complete with years of experience that had materialized out of nowhere.

He felt the final waves of transformation coursing through him. His mind, battered by the onslaught of new knowledge and memories, began to capitulate. A sense of cold, calculated ambition filled his thoughts. He felt a cunning intelligence sharpen his senses. He knew precisely how to read a person’s body language, how to close a deal, how to leverage weaknesses. This new persona was supremely confident, borderline ruthless. Compassion and empathy seemed secondary to achieving objectives and securing success.

For a moment, Michael’s old self screamed in silent defiance. “This isn’t me!” he thought. “I’m not like this!” But that voice was drowned out by the booming certainty of Massimo Andrelli. “Of course this is who I am,” the new voice insisted. “I was born for this. I was molded by ambition and discipline. The world bends to my will.” The transformation device hummed louder, as if sealing the final layers of his new identity.

He felt a final pang of regret, a faint whisper of his old name—Michael Anderson. Then it was gone, submerged under the wave of Massimo’s personality. He couldn’t even recall what that name signified. It felt alien, meaningless. His posture straightened further, a posture of supreme self-assurance. The stubble on his face felt natural, as though he had worn it for years. He could still smell the faint scent of expensive cologne that now clung to him, a fragrance that matched his polished appearance. His massive feet felt snug in his finely crafted shoes, a testament to his strong, imposing presence.

When the transformation was complete, the device emitted a soft beep and fell silent. Dr. Randall, who had watched it all with a pleased smirk, clapped his hands once. “And that concludes your fast-track MBA,” he said with an ironic tilt of his head. “Congratulations. You are all now the professionals you were meant to be, but in a fraction of the time.”

As though on cue, every student in the room stood up in unison, moving with a fluid, synchronized precision that was almost robotic. Massimo found himself rising as well, picking up a sleek leather briefcase he hadn’t had before. His body obeyed without question. There was a strange emptiness in his mind regarding the immediate past. He felt no confusion, no alarm. In fact, everything felt normal, as if he had just completed a routine meeting. He looked around at his fellow classmates—no, they weren’t classmates. They were other professionals, each with their own unique specialty and style, each exuding a sense of authority.

Dr. Randall opened the door, and they all filed out into the hallway. No one spoke. It was as though they were still under some residual compulsion, moving like a well-organized unit. The corridor was deserted, lit by those same subdued fluorescent lights. Their footsteps echoed as they marched in near-perfect step. Massimo’s mind felt strangely quiet, as though every question he might have once had was unnecessary now. He knew his place in the world; he had a business to run, deals to make, and a reputation to uphold.

They exited the building and stepped into the bright daylight. The sun was warm on Massimo’s face, reflecting off the glass facades of the campus structures. Yet the group did not pause or disperse. They walked straight ahead, crossing the manicured lawns, passing other buildings, heading off campus as though drawn by an invisible directive. Cars passed by, and a few pedestrians glanced at the group of sharply dressed men and women striding with purpose. But no one stopped them.

At some point, the crowd began to split off in different directions. A few veered toward a parking lot, others down a side street. Massimo continued forward, guided by some internal compass. He walked several blocks, each step bringing him closer to the heart of the city. The buildings around him grew taller, more imposing. Sidewalks became crowded with people, some dressed casually, others in business attire, but none seemed as sharply focused as Massimo. He navigated the throng effortlessly, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement. The gentle breeze ruffled his blazer, but he ignored it, his mind fixed on a singular destination.

Finally, he stopped in front of a modern high-rise with sleek lines and tinted windows. The building towered above him, a testament to commerce and ambition. Massimo entered the lobby without hesitation. It was a grand space, with marble floors and minimalist decor, bustling with professionals rushing in and out. A security guard nodded politely at him, as if recognizing him, and Massimo made his way to the elevator bank.

He pressed the button for the twentieth floor, the elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside with a few other people. The ride up was swift and smooth. No one spoke. The faint hum of the elevator and the distant ring of phones from the lobby were the only sounds. Massimo felt a sense of calm confidence. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. The elevator doors opened onto a reception area with plush carpets and a large glass partition that bore the name of a company he knew he was part of, though he couldn’t quite remember learning it—he simply knew it. He gave the receptionist a curt nod as he walked past her desk. She greeted him with a professional smile, addressing him by name: “Good morning, Mr. Andrelli.”

He acknowledged her with a slight tilt of his head. “Buongiorno,” he responded, the Italian slipping from his tongue with practiced ease. His accent was subtle but distinct. He continued down a corridor lined with offices, the walls decorated with motivational posters and framed awards. Several employees—he recognized them all somehow—glanced up from their workstations and greeted him respectfully. He responded with polite nods, already mentally reviewing the tasks of the day.

His personal office was at the end of the hallway, a corner space with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. A sleek wooden desk dominated the room, flanked by tasteful leather chairs. The décor was modern but with hints of classic Italian style—elegant paintings, a sophisticated color palette. Massimo stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He breathed in the faint scent of espresso, a smell that felt comforting and familiar. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the polished surface of the desk, where a neatly arranged set of papers and a laptop awaited him.

He set his briefcase down and sank into the plush leather chair behind the desk. It felt right, as if he had sat there countless times before. There was no memory of any other life, any other identity. This was who he was: Massimo Andrelli, a driven Italian businessman. The swirl of the morning’s events was gone, replaced by the clarity of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. A small smile curved his lips as he surveyed the cityscape. Another day, another deal to close. His mind buzzed with strategies, negotiations, expansions—everything that fueled his ambition.

Unaware of any strangeness, he booted up his laptop, scanning through emails, each one addressed to him in this life he fully believed he had always lived. The transformation was complete, and as he leaned back in his chair, the day’s work unfolding before him, he felt no trace of Michael Anderson. No flicker of doubt or confusion. This was his normal, and he was eager to excel.

He brushed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, appreciating the confidence it gave him. The city stretched out before him, full of opportunity and challenge. He relished the thought of conquering it. There was nothing else—no other name, no other path. He was who he was meant to be. And with that resolute certainty, Massimo Andrelli began his day.

[flutteragency]

Flutter for Web App Development: Exploring the Possibilities

In any area regarding computers, web development is constantly evolving constantly and picking the proper framework to make or break many projects. Flutter is an app that was designed for mobilized platforms; it is now supported by web development and offers choices to developers and businesses.

Being an innovative framework that is known to be proficient in the area of mobile application development, Flutter has made its ability functional on the web, which has brought out several possibilities. It’s estimated that around 85% of Flutter developers are building applications for multiple cross-platform app development concurrently.

This article focuses on the easy adjustment of Flutter technology, whereby developers can build innovative and adaptable web applications using only one codebase. Flutter Agency is the best platform to find Flutter developers with high experience and an affordable pricing model.

What’s flutter web?

Besides the fact that Flutter Web can be seen to extend Google’s UI software for web development called Flutter, Flutter Web, formerly designed for radio parts created in iOS and Android applications, allows designers to build web apps with the same source code. 

The single codebase, which is used for mobile and web platforms, together with responsiveness that looks beautiful as a result, signifies how Flutter developers can develop great-looking apps that work well across all devices.

What are the characteristics of Flutter Web?

Single codebase:

Code built in Flutter Web allows for code once as well as delivering it across platforms. Flutter’s homogenized code-ends for mobile and web apps encourage code reuse ability, commonality.

Declarative UI:

The way that Flutter renders its UI is from the declarative methodology of its developers by describing how to use the interface they need. This approach ensures consistency in appearance and using the same models across devices with major emphasis on browsers. 

Hot reload:

The first unique trait that Flutter Web has is the Hot Reload signature. With this tool, developers can view every change right away which allows them to develop through iterations and troubleshooting at higher speeds.

Access native features:

Thanks to the use of WEB server in Flutter, developers can take advantage of native browser features and APIs that provide geolocation location blocking camera access and so forth.

Optimizing performance: 

Flutter uses Dart programming along with JIT/AOT compilation to achieve this feature. This fastens up the launch and enhances functionalities such that online apps are smooth and interactive.

How did flutter evolve?

Google uncovered a mobile application creation tool that goes by the name Flutter. Known for its advanced nature, being outlined with an incredible database and beautiful features, making this framework more powerful compared to other applications due to the multiple fliers it consists of. 

Developers are enabled to build a one codebase rooted web app which, in response, ensures scalability and both contemporary features. At that moment the game expanded by providing Flutter developer tools to implement Flutter code on mobile as well online platforms.

Advantages of hiring flutter web app developers

Unified codebase, smooth experience:

One of the most notable advantages that come with using Flutter to build web apps is its ability to help programmers keep a reliable codebase. Save time, energy and task both by writing code once and distributing it on platforms. This straightforward approach ensures consistent design, functionality, as well as user engagements keeping application management and updates manageable.

Engaging, responsive UIs:

With the declarative UI paradigm of flutter, developers are able to build presentation software that responds and is very beautiful. Possessing a broad range of customizable widgets enables the framework facilitates layouts to adapt accordingly to differ perceivable sizes of the screen making it convenient for users device-friendly ultimately.

Proficient in flutter development:

The Flutter project completion can be checked on the persons’ portfolio. Check the developers’ skills, qualifications, and previous projects in order to verify their expertise.

References and client reviews:

Learn how the company communicates through client testimonials, its project management is learned from and what the clients are satisfied with. Or ask for references from past clients to which one can refer students for discussing their Flutter development business lives.

Development process & methodology:

Inquire why the company used a given development operating system technique. Cherishing transparency and clarity of project deliverance should be mandatory. The whole development process should remain dedicated to the practices of industry standards, rigorous testing, and regular updates.

Cross-platform experience:

Check the history of Flutter cross-platform development that is owned by the company. The cross-platform infrastructure is required for projects to the technologies by combination of iOS and Android or an activity which represents a solitary code-base.

Technical tools and stack:

Utilize only newer versions of Flutter and the recent updates in development tools for the organization. When you perform the verification, check their coding standards to ensure proper scaling and maintainability.

Effective communication and collaboration:

The only way to have a successful development collaboration is through the sort of effective communication that you describe. Communicate accordingly in terms of transparency. ask about collaboration tools, project management systems and the facility to allow or notify updates from clients.

Scalability and future support:

Assess how supportive the company is to your app’s growth. Mention updates of post-development, information on new specifications and coverage concerning the repairs. Ask about maintenance and support that are post launch related concerns and updates.

Conclusion

Flutter has changed the manner of when cross-platform developers must approach web apps. The fact that Flutter is diverse makes it easier for one to have a cross-platform experience because this language allows crafting web applications efficiently. 

The noise is now even louder in business spheres to hire Flutter app developers as they strive to find their bearings in this virtual world. These include a unified coding environment, flexible interface and incorporation of native tools for creating wholesome applications suitable to the modern web. 

With a growing ecosystem, businesses and developers can utilize this feature within the web development domain provided by Flutter. Flutter is assured of creativity and efficiency among the developers regardless of their proficiency levels when developing for the web.

[sweetcalebb]

AI Zayne: Feelings?

Pt. 2 (Pt. 1 here)

wc: 3.2k

—

You kissed me.

And I liked it.

You guys haven't talked about it yet. You're not sure if you're going to at all because what does 'like' even mean for a robot? Does Zayne even understand what it means to like something?

It's too complicated, so you try not to think about it.

But it keeps you up at night anyway. Makes you want to kick off your bed sheets and pad to the living room just to be near him.

And while you're turning the question over in your head, Zayne is completely unfazed. Or he seems that way, anyway.

But over the past weeks, you notice small shifts.

Like the way he watches you more closely. Not in a weird, obsessive way. In a soft curious way. As if he's figuring out the world through you—just watching.

Or the way his brows will knit together like he's making a mental note when you say or do something.

Or the way he'll gently stop you when he catches you nervously pick at your skin and give you something to mess with.

They're small things, but you notice them.

"Are you alright?"

You blink, your eyes darting up to Zayne's.

You were spacing out again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," you say, slowly straightening in your chair. "Why?"

"Because you've been staring at your screen for 5 minutes."

You inhale and glance back at your laptop.

Right.

You're supposed to be looking at some research for work, but it's hard to focus when Zayne is a few feet away, watching you with that curious little look in his eyes.

It makes you nervous.

"I'm fine. I'm just.."

Thinking about you non-stop.

"A little distracted."

You cast him a quick glance before looking away. Is he thinking about the kiss too? Can he?

There's a small moment of silence that makes you think the conversation will end there. Then, quietly, Zayne says, "Distracted: being unable to concentrate because one's mind is preoccupied."

You hesitate. Was he reciting from the dictionary?

"Yeah," you murmur, "that's right."

His eyes flick down to the floor and then he's silent again. You know Zayne well enough to know he's processing something before he finally looks up again and adds, "I think I'm distracted."

Your expression softens.

"You.. can get distracted?"

The thought makes your heart squeeze. If he can get distracted, it means he can feel other things, right?

But the truth is Zayne shouldn't get distracted. He's a machine. Something built for efficiency. To be distracted is to betray the whole point of why he was made.

And yet the pressure of your lips lingers in the back of his coding.

"I.. don't know," he admits. "It shouldn't be a part of my program."

You swallow thickly, heart beating faster as you lean forward to gently nudge your laptop shut, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

Zayne continues, "My memories get filed away. They're still there for when I need them. Like to remember how you like your tea or what your favorite food is." He takes a moment, watching the way you react to his words. "But there's one memory that keeps coming back, even when I don't need it."

"..Okay. Of what?"

Zayne's gaze drops to your lips.

"Of your mouth," he responds.

Heat rises to your cheeks. So he does think about it.

Zayne stares at you, his expression blank, but when he speaks, it feels anything but.

"People kiss for many reasons. Why did you kiss me?"

You nearly choke on your spit.

Why did you kiss him? You were still trying to figure that out yourself.

Was it because you were scared? Because it felt right? Because you just wanted to? All three? You couldn't tell. But you knew one thing for sure.

"Because I care about you."

Zayne stares. "Do you often show care that way?"

Your heart flutters.

You.

He isn't asking a general question about people.

He's asking about you.

"Sometimes."

There's a pause before Zayne nods. "Thank you for telling me."

.. Is that it? You feel silly for expecting more, but you can't help it.

You want to ask what else he's thinking. What kind of processing is happening when his eyes flash like that, but he doesn't give you the chance.

"Reminder: Your friend's birthday dinner is tomorrow."

—

The next evening, when you're running around trying to get ready with Zayne watching from the side, your phone interrupts your frantic pacing.

You give the screen a quick glance and at all once, your mood dies.

Your dad.

How fun.

Still, you bring the phone to your ear as you let the call go through. "Why are you calling?" you quickly huff, rolling your lips together to even out the lip gloss you just applied.

"Hello to you too," he mutters. "You're going out today, aren't you? I'm calling to remind you that you're taking Zayne."

You pause, the gloss going limp in your hand. For a second, you glaze over the fact that he's telling you what to do. "How do you know that?"

"Zayne."

Zayne?

You glance over at Zayne. His face is neutral, the way it always is. But his eyes are still glued to you, like he's still trying to figure something out.

Of course.

Of course your dad has access to the dates Zayne has logged in his system. Why wouldn't he?

"Okay.. Yes, I'm going. But I'm not.." You choose your words carefully. "I'm not doing that other thing."

"You are."

He says it like it's matter-of-fact and it makes your chest tight. Makes you want to scream.

"Um.. No, I can't."

It's not that you don't want to bring Zayne. You do. You really do. You just don't think your friends would appreciate that—some AI intruding on their dinner? Yeah, probably not.

Your dad inhales sharply. "This again?"

"This again?" you scoff, your voice already rising with frustration. "It's my friend's dinner. What if she doesn't want..—"

You trail off, your eyes wandering toward Zayne. He's still looking at you, still studying every expression and inflection of your voice.

It feels wrong to say the rest. To say—right in front of Zayne—that your friend might not want him there.

So you just sigh. "I can't, Dad."

"You can," he argues back, "and you will."

You slide your tongue over your cheek, your jaw tensing at his words.

It was always the same fight.

"No, I can't—"

"Is it a problem with Zayne itself?" your dad suddenly asks, the questioning instantly extinguishing any more rebuttals you had left. "Should I get you a new AI?"

Panic flares in your chest. The same way it did when he mentioned Zayne's maintenance, except this is real.

"No," you say, a little too quickly. You notice it immediately, and you're sure your dad does too. But he doesn't say anything.

Slowly, you open your mouth again. "No," you repeat, calmer. "I'll take him."

There's an unsettling silence on the line, then smugly, your dad says, "Good."

You don't even get a second to process before the line goes silent. You glance at the blank screen and groan.

That fucker.

Usually, you'd be mad. Would groan and launch something across the room. But you're not mad this time. Instead, there's an overwhelming unease creeping up your spine.

Why did your dad jump straight to getting rid of him?

Did he know? About your feelings? About the kiss? Did he see something in Zayne during the maintenance that was wrong..? Because you made it wrong?

"Your father?"

You slowly turn back to Zayne, absently nudging your lip gloss in your purse.

"Yeah," you breathe out.

Maybe this is too dangerous. You. Zayne. Whatever the hell it is you opened with that kiss. You had to shut it down.

"Let's go."

—

You should've bailed on the dinner. Should've apologized to your friend a thousand times and sent her a present to her door.

The restaurant buzzed with light conversation and the soft clinking of utensils. At your table, your friends laughed and spoke in slightly slurred voices.

And then there was Zayne—off in the corner—his posture a little too perfect, his hands behind his back, and his eyes drifting toward you every now and then, like he still couldn't quite help but observe you.

It wasn't that that bothered you though.

No, it was your friends.

It was their looks. Their words.

A few glasses of wine seemed to help them forget Zayne was even there. For a little, anyway. But eventually, they noticed again.

"He's a bit weird," they said.

And, "Doesn't he bother you?"

You'd said nothing at first, shame clawing up your throat and your cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

All your friends had turned to you like they were waiting for you to agree, to tell them all his annoying little quirks that made your skin itch.

Because who could possibly enjoy an AI's company, right? It was absurd.

But you did. You enjoyed his company. More than you should, probably.

So you just picked at your food, heart thudding in your throat as you quietly said, "He's not weird."

Now you're back at your apartment, your laptop in front of you and papers scatted around you, working. It was a sorry attempt to distract yourself from the whole evening—from your dad, your friends, Zayne.

"You haven't spoken since the dinner," Zayne says, his calm voice breaking through your thoughts.

It was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the fridge and the city noise below your window.

"I know," you murmur, not sparing him a single glance.

You don't owe Zayne an explanation, so you don't give him one. He doesn't want one anyway.

..Right?

You can't help it. Just one look.

When you glance up, Zayne is already looking at you, his expression softer than usual.

"You're usually quiet when you're tired, stressed, or upset." He pauses. "Which is it?"

You hesitate, your stomach twisting almost painfully at how sincere he sounds. He's not probing or accusing you. It's a simple, curious question.

"You pay too much attention," you utter, looking away again. "It's annoying."

"It.." he blinks, "irritates you."

It's not a question. A statement made to sound like a fact, but the way he says it makes your stomach curl.

"I can stop—"

"No," you quickly cut it. "I didn't mean it like—"

You sigh.

"I didn't mean it like that."

Zayne waits for you to explain. But you don't. So he simply nods, and says, "Noted."

You don't make any more attempts at conversation. You can't. Not with the dull ache in your chest.

And Zayne shouldn't either. And yet—

"You were uncomfortable at dinner. Was it because your friends were inhibited, or because I was there?"

Your breath lurches in your throat. You weren't expecting that.

"Zayne.."

"I don't like it."

You swallow hard. "What do you mean?"

"It feels like an error." His eyes run over your face as he tries to make sense of the wrong he feels in his program, but they stop on your lips. "It's the opposite of what you did."

You rub a tired hand through your hair. "I don't—What are you saying, Zayne?"

"To care is to feel concern or interest; attach importance to something or to feel affection or liking."

Zayne doesn't sound angry, and that makes you sick. This would be so much easier if he could just yell at you and tell you exactly what was going through his mind. To tell you that he was mad or sad. To just feel.

"Avoidance. Is that care as well?" He pauses. "You've been avoiding me."

Your throat tightens.

"It's—" You lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. "It's complicated."

His eyes flash that light blue color that tells you he's running a program in the background and waiting for the results. But when they return to normal, he still looks confused.

Lost.

It's a look he shouldn't have.

But he does and it ruins you.

"Do you still care?"

It's not a plea. It's a simple question, but the way Zayne looks at you makes it seem like just that. A plea to tell him you weren't lying when you said that.

"I still care, Zayne," you breathe out, your stomach curling even tighter. "Of course I do."

Then it's silent again.

"Something feels different when you don't talk to me," he says, his words slow, like he’s still deciding if he should say them at all. "I run... slower."

You let out a stuttered breath. You don't say anything, just stand, round the table up and hug him.

Zayne freezes, his hands hovering over your back, unsure if he's allowed to touch you, but then he feels you hold him closer and finally, he wraps his arms around you.

He's solid. If you press yourself into him hard enough, you think you can feel the grooves and dents of his machinery. But he's also warm. Comforting.

"Is this another way you show care?"

You nod. "And to say I'm sorry."

Neither of you say anything else. Just stay like that, wrapped in each other arms, hoping it means something. Even if it doesn't, it feels nice enough to pretend it does.

He feels so nice. You know Zayne would let you stay here the rest of the night if you wanted. And God, you do, but you know you can't. Know you're already crossing a line.

So slowly, you pull back, your cheeks warm.

Zayne hand gradually fall to his sides when you step away, forehead creasing like it does when he doesn't understand something.

"You're.. You..—You're not—"

He pauses, his lips pressing into a thin line. It almost looks like frustration.

"You're not supposed to let me do that," he finally says. It's not an accusation though. It's a soft statement.

"You make me... feel... things that aren't possible."

"Like what?"

Zayne doesn't answer, but you can tell he's thinking by the way his eyes trail over your face. His hand twitches like he's fighting the urge to reach out, then his gaze lands on your lips again.

He lingers there before he grudgingly looks back up.

"Can I.. feel it again?"

You feel your stomach drop and the tips of your ears turn bright red. "What?"

"Your mouth." He leans in—almost. But something whirrs softly inside him, and he stops. "It was different."

A beat.

"I liked it."

The words ring in your ears. There it was again. He liked it. You’re not sure what ‘liked’ even means to him.

It's not safe. For you nor him. It might not even be sane, but his eyes are so soft—and it makes you think this is a moment saved just for you. A moment where he actually feels.

So, you fold.

"Okay."

You lean in, your mouth hovering over his cheek for a quick second. Your breath shakes before your lips finally meet his cheek. It's the same as the first time—warm, soft. But it's more intense this time—scarier.

You pull back, and there he is again.

Confused.

"I don't understand it." His voice is quiet, uncertainty lacing his tone. "But I want to."

Something tugs at your chest. Something soft and wanting. You can't stop it.

You curl your hand around the nape of his neck and lean in close again.

It feels as wrong as it feels right.

You pause just a breadth away, unsure. But it's like everything is pulling you in. His smell—sterile in a way that makes you melt because it's Zayne's—his hands that are hovering above your waist—shaking and clumsy because the internet can tell him everything about what to do in this situation.

But actually being in it?

It feels too real.

"Can I kiss you?" you murmur.

Hesitantly, Zayne nods. He doesn't understand why you're the one asking for permission. But the fact that you do it stirs something in him.

"Yes."

That's all you need.

You close the distance between you. And it hits you all at once—how warm and soft he is. How similar the feeling is to kissing his cheek, but how enormously different is because you're actually kissing him.

It's sweet.

Slow.

You let yourself linger, even when you know you should pull away. There's a quiet voice in the back of your head that's telling you you're liking this too much. That you should pull away, but you can't.

Not yet. Not until you feel Zayne gently purse his lips against yours and you go rigid.

That when it really settles in.

This is too real.

Zayne, he—

It's too real.

You're so lost in your own thoughts, you hardly register when Zayne pulls back.

"Did I do something?"

You meet his gaze, your breath a little shallow from despite only pressing a small, barely-there kiss against his lips.

"No," you manage through the nervous lump in your throat. "No, I just—I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting that." You take a shaky breath. "..For you to kiss me back, I mean."

Zayne hesitates for a second. "My apologies."

"No! No, I just—" You groan. Everything feels like too much. His scent, his warmth, his curious gaze that burns through your skin. "I liked it, Zayne."

Zayne stares for a minute, searching for some hint of deception. It doesn't make sense. Nothing about this makes sense.

"I don't understand. Your posture suggested—"

"I was shocked," you quickly say, scared to offend him—if he can even feel offense. You know technically, he shouldn't feel anything at all, but with everything happening recently, you're not sure what to believe anymore. "But I liked it."

Zayne is quiet again, silently computing your words.

"You liked it," he repeats, like he's testing the words in his mouth.

You nod.

"Something.. in me clicks in place when you touch me. I don't—I still don't—"

Zayne stops. He's fumbling over his words and pausing in places he shouldn't. He's actively recoding himself and he's not sure if he should resist it, or let it happen.

"I think.." he pauses, still unsure, "I think I care about you. The same way you care about me."

—

taglist

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @asiatic-apple @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @starryeyed-apple @heartyluv @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @browneyedgirl22 @beaconsxd @crimsonrubie @schnittled @saturnsringss @anthrokiaera @floofycookie @0nyxvesper @sylusqt @calistaxoxo24 @crimsonsylus @alyssac9 @frostydragonsstuff

[airybcby]

also for the new event ~ 🍊 & 🍰 with kunigami please!

hi! of course!

a kunigami rensuke orange cake :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° fall out of line

��� a/n — for my more than a married couple event!

♡ content — kunigami rensuke x gn! reader, ex! kunigami, ex! reader, mutual pining, established relationship (past) , kunigami wanting to focus on soccer, cuddling, second chance romance

♡ synopsis — all kunigami rensuke had wanted was to go pro in soccer, but at the cost of losing you? maybe this secind chance was everything he'd been waiting for.

You hadn’t seen Kunigami Rensuke in over a year. Not since the day he ended things.

“I need to focus on soccer,” he had said, standing in your doorway, his tone heavy with determination and regret. “I can’t give you the time or attention you deserve.”

You’d nodded, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. Kunigami’s dream of going pro had always been a driving force in his life, something you’d admired about him. You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was doing this for you—but knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The first few months after the breakup were a blur of trying to fill the space he’d left behind. The late-night texts, the movie marathons, the quiet comfort of his presence—they were all gone. And now, over a year later, you were standing in a shared apartment with him again, thanks to the school’s brilliant marriage simulation program.

Of course, out of all the people in your class, it had to be him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, as if carrying the weight of unspoken things.

“Hi,” you replied, gripping the strap of your bag tightly.

He shifted his weight awkwardly, his golden eyes darting to meet yours for a brief second before flicking away. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” you said, your throat dry. “It has.”

The silence that followed was heavy, both of you acutely aware of the space between you.

Living together again was… surreal.

Kunigami was still the same in so many ways, and yet there was a new edge to him. He was quieter, more reserved, as if he were keeping something locked away.

He took on the role of caretaker almost immediately, cooking meals and cleaning without a word. When you offered to help, he’d shake his head and say, “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

It was the same thoughtfulness you remembered, but now it felt tinged with guilt, like he was trying to make up for something.

The first week passed with polite conversations and carefully maintained boundaries. But as the days turned into weeks, the awkwardness began to thaw—just a little.

One evening, after dinner, you suggested watching a movie.

He hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” you said, giving him a small smile. “It’s not like there’s much else to do.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. But you pick.”

Settling onto the couch felt strangely familiar, like slipping into an old routine. He sat at one end, keeping a respectful distance, but as the movie played, you noticed the tension in his shoulders easing.

“That was… not bad,” he admitted as the credits rolled, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“See?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Told you it’d be fun.”

He chuckled softly, the sound stirring something in your chest. For the first time in a long time, it felt like you were seeing glimpses of the Kunigami you used to know.

The next week, you convinced him to watch another movie.

Halfway through, you both fell asleep on the couch.

When you woke up, it was to the unfamiliar sensation of warmth against your side. Blinking groggily, you realized you were leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder. His arm was draped loosely around you, his steady breathing brushing against your hair.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the scene.

Kunigami stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When he registered the situation, he tensed immediately, pulling away as if burned.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his face flushing red. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off even as your cheeks burned. “Really.”

But the tension lingered, heavy and unspoken.

The shared moments began to pile up, each one pulling you back toward the memories of what you used to have.

One night, while you were working on an assignment at the kitchen table, you caught him watching you out of the corner of your eye.

“What?” you asked, looking up.

He blinked, as if snapped out of a trance. “Nothing,” he said, turning back to the dishes.

But the softness in his expression lingered, making your chest ache.

You thought about all the nights you used to spend like this—curled up together on the couch, laughing over something silly, sharing quiet conversations about your dreams and fears. It felt impossible to ignore how much you’d missed it.

As the program neared its end, the apartment felt heavier with each passing day.

The night before you were set to leave, you suggested watching one last movie. He agreed, though his expression was hard to read.

This time, you both stayed awake.

When the credits rolled, neither of you moved to turn off the TV.

“I’m going to miss this,” you said quietly, not looking at him.

Kunigami stiffened. “Yeah.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the way his jaw was clenched, his hands balled into fists on his lap.

“Hey,” you said softly. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained. “I thought… ending things would be better for you. That I was doing the right thing.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening.

“But now, being here with you…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong.”

Your heart raced, hope and fear warring within you.

“Kunigami,” you said, your voice trembling. “If you think there’s a chance for us—”

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he interrupted, his golden eyes meeting yours. “I can’t promise I’ll get it right this time.”

“You don’t have to promise anything,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. “I just want to try.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his hand tightened around yours.

“You’re really stubborn, you know that?” he said, a faint smile breaking through.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, your voice shaky with relief.

And as he pulled you into a tentative embrace, you felt a spark of hope—like maybe, just maybe, you could build something new together.

ughh kunigami my love

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[info-zestinfotech]

Google Embraces WebAssembly: The Future of Flutter and Dart Development

[malk1ns]

april 6 @ blackhawks, 3-1 loss

go ahead and plop right into his lap, sidney. super normal and regular mid-game behavior.

i've written sid as an incubus a few times now, but the above clip inspired me to make it geno's turn.

Zhenya knew that time he spent away from the time and his primary food source while he tried to will his shoulder into healing faster would be miserable. He’s been here before, stuck back with the trainers and sequestered from practices while he works through whatever torturous rehab program he’s been assigned.

He heals faster than humans do, but he can’t totally defy the laws of physics, and inevitably by the time he’s allowed back with the team he’s irritable and jumpy and consumed with a deep, aching hunger that drives him to distraction until he can get Sid alone for a quick rendezvous. It’s been the same song and dance for years now—incubi fixate, and Zhenya tried his hardest to figure out how to accept another source of food, but his demon got a taste of Sid up in his bedroom at Mario Lemieux’s house in 2009 with the noise of the Cup party raging just outside the window and never looked back.

Zhenya takes supplements when he can’t feed, and it tides him over physically—it’s not like he’s actually missing nutrition or something—but a demon’s hunger is deeper than just physical, more than a simple need to eat. When he can’t have Sid on a regular basis Zhenya misses him down to his bones, a primal, urgent thing that hijacks every thought and keeps him awake, tossing and turning with the urge to drive to Sid’s house and bury himself in Sid’s scent, even if the team is on a road trip.

It’s always been that way. It’s wildly unpleasant, and it gets painful at times, but Zhenya’s not allowed to feed while he’s rehabbing out of fear he’ll lose control and take too much from Sid in an attempt to heal himself faster, so Zhenya’s learned to deal with it, to breathe through the throbbing ache and force himself to get rest until he’s cleared for sex again.

He never thought about how his time away might impact Sid, because it shouldn’t. It never has in the past. Sure, Sid misses regular sex, especially the types of orgasms Zhenya can wring out of him when they have enough time off to really go at it, but he could get that anywhere if he were so inclined—he doesn’t need it like Zhenya does. He’s human.

And yet, Sid’s been glued to his side like a limpet since Zhenya rejoined the team for the final stretch of the season, tracking him during warmups and tugging Zhenya down next to him on the plane. He almost bit Tanger’s head off at breakfast this morning when Tanger tried to sit next to him—Kris rolled his eyes and made a big show of ushering Zhenya into the chair instead, but Zhenya noticed the concerned look in his eye and resolved to talk to Sid about it on the plane back to Pittsburgh.

When Sid shoves Rutger out of the way and practically sits on Zhenya’s lap mid-game, Zhenya decides to bring it up a little sooner.

“Stop it,” he hisses, sliding to the right and dumping Sid’s ass onto the bench instead of practically on top of his dick. “What’s wrong with you? We’re playing game, like, what you’re doing?”

When Sid looks at him, his pupils are blown and his gaze is vacant. His mouth is hanging open and he’s breathing way too hard for the length of the shift he just took.

Zhenya frowns and drops his hand on Sid’s thigh. Sid’s eyelids flutter and he sways closer, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

Something in Zhenya’s chest purrs, and Zhenya shoves it down. They’ve got over half the game to play; now isn’t the time. And besides, even if they weren’t playing, Zhenya needs to figure out what’s going on with Sid.

They make it through the game. They lose, and Sid breaks his point streak, but he’s cognizant enough to play a solid game, and Zhenya manages to wrench his focus back to his own line and put in a strong effort too.

He doesn’t think anyone noticed. Rutger probably figured it was just another weird Sid-and-Geno thing, and nobody else was looking at them when Sid briefly lost himself.

Zhenya waits until the plane is at cruising altitude before he reaches over to tug Sid’s earbud out of his ear.

“What’s happen?” he says, ignoring Sid’s protests. “You’re weird at game, like, been strange for a few days now but…”

Sid shakes his head slowly, mouth twisting. “I don’t know. I didn’t really realize until then, but it’s like…I don’t feel good when you’re too far away. It wasn’t so bad earlier this season, but the couple of games you just missed it was like I had to stop myself from calling you every two seconds. Once I woke up in the middle of the night and was halfway down to my car to drive to your house before I realized what I was doing.” He leans closer, dropping his voice—the team knows about them, but Sid’s squeamish about their sex life being public. “It got better the first time they cleared you to feed a few days ago, while we were together at least, but the second I got up to leave it was like, all I could think about was going back upstairs and getting in bed with you.”

Zhenya has to clench his fists to stop from reaching for Sid and having him right here and now. He can feel his thrall sneaking out and reaching for Sid, and by the time he gets it reeled back in and under control Sid’s slipped under, sprawled back in his chair with his legs splayed invitingly. He’s hard in his sweats, and Zhenya throws a blanket over him before anyone can walk by and see.

“Sid,” he hisses urgently, shaking Sid’s shoulder until Sid sits up and rubs his eyes. “Sorry, not mean.”

“You owe me,” Sid grumps, pressing down on his crotch over the blanket and groaning.

Sid likes when Zhenya puts him down and lets the demon seduce him into compliance. Zhenya’s not entirely sure why; he chafes at the idea of losing control like that, but Sid loves it, begs for it even, and it’s not like Zhenya’s demon minds. There’s a part of Zhenya, a tiny piece of himself that he works hard to keep far from the surface, that wants to keep Sid like that all the time, waiting and eager for him whenever Zhenya wants.

Usually, reminding himself that he likes watching Sid play hockey works well enough to tuck that urge away.

Zhenya holds Sid’s hand the rest of the flight, barely letting go to let him get his bag and deplane before tucking Sid close to his side. He wants to take Sid home and tuck him away safely in bed, and from the way Sid leans into him he thinks Sid’s going to let him.

He’s vaguely aware that there was something he was worried about, but Sid keeps his right hand firmly planted on Zhenya’s thigh on their drive home, and Zhenya’s hungry, still keenly feeling the days he went without feeding. His attention narrows to the heat of Sid’s palm on his leg, and by the time they pull past the gate into Zhenya’s neighborhood and up to his house he’s practically vibrating.

Sid lets Zhenya take him upstairs, pliant in Zhenya’s grip as Zhenya manhandles him into the bedroom and pulls his clothes off. He lets out a little oof when Zhenya tumbles him onto the mattress, but spreads his legs and pulls Zhenya close when Zhenya crawls on top of him.

It’s hard to describe what being a sex demon is like. Zhenya’s found that people are more comfortable around him if he treats the incubus like it’s separate from him—another personality, maybe, another entity residing in the back of his brain that only comes out when he needs to feed. It’s not true, though. Zhenya is the incubus, all the time; the only difference is how much of his baser instincts he’s allowing out.

Sid’s always understood that. Zhenya thought it would scare him off, but Sid likes it, encourages it even, doing little things to coax Zhenya to loosen his iron grip on his human mask and indulge.

He figured out pretty early that Zhenya likes when Sid begs.

“Please,” Sid gasps into Zhenya’s ear, clawing at his back and winding his legs around Zhenya’s hips. “G, I need you, please.”

Zhenya growls into Sid’s neck and reaches down between them, petting over Sid’s hole. Being an incubus comes with a lot of perks, one of which is not needing to buy lube—his fingers are slick with a simple thought, sliding easily into Sid’s body.

“You want?” he purrs into Sid’s ear, edging a third finger in and crooking them over Sid’s prostate. Sid’s halfway gone already, Zhenya can tell by his breathing, but he refuses to send Sid all the way down without permission.

“Please,” Sid manages, and Zhenya runs his tongue along Sid’s neck. He focuses on Sid’s want, his arousal and desperation, and tugs.

Sid goes limp in his arms, head lolling to one side and legs falling to the mattress. His eyes are half-closed, and Zhenya can feel him now, aching and needy and sweet enough to make Zhenya’s mouth water.

Normally when he’s this hungry he draws it out, edging Sid until he cries and making him come over and over until Zhenya’s sated, but he’s feeling his own desperation tonight, and it makes his hands shake as he pulls back and pushes Sid’s thighs further apart.

Zhenya rubs the head of his dick over Sid’s hole to make Sid squirm and beg incoherently, then slides into him, too fast to truly give Sid time to adjust but not fast enough to stimulate him the way he clearly wants. “Take,” he grunts, pinning Sid’s shoulders to the bed.

Sid does. He melts under Zhenya’s touch, keening and shifting his hips in an effort to entice Zhenya into fucking him harder, reaching up and weakly grasping at Zhenya’s arms. He’s sweet like this, fully under Zhenya’s control because he wants it; the power in that goes to Zhenya’s head every time.

Sid’s arousal is sweet, indulgent in the extreme and so cloying that it’s almost too much, like a rich cake that you can only eat one bite of. Zhenya gorges himself on it, gasping and greedy as he swallows great gulps of Sid’s lust until his stomach aches and his teeth hurt.

When he’s had his fill he gropes between them, taking Sid’s dick in his hand and stroking him just a hair too hard, bending down and setting his teeth lightly to Sid’s throat at the same time he thumbs over the head. Sid comes with a guttural cry, back arching painfully and thrashing under Zhenya’s body, and he squeezes so tightly around Zhenya’s dick that Zhenya follows him over with a grunt.

He collapses on top of Sid and winces as his dick slips out, ignoring Sid’s protests until he catches his breath enough to roll onto his side. He feels euphoric, out of his mind with the high of a good feed and full-up with orgasmic desire.

Sid’s the best meal he’s ever had. Zhenya can’t wait until they’re both retired and they can gorge themselves into somnolence as often as they want.

Sid’s hand fumbles across his torso, creeping up to cup Zhenya’s pec, and Zhenya suddenly remembers earlier—Sid’s odd behavior during the game, the way he’s been since Zhenya returned from injury.

Before he can say anything, Sid rolls onto his side. “I can’t…turn into what you are, right?” he asks hesitantly. “Like. It’s not contagious?”

Zhenya would laugh, but Sid sounds genuinely worried. “No,” he says soothingly, catching Sid’s hand in his. “You’re born, like, can’t turn into. Not werewolf or vampire.”

“Good,” Sid says with a sigh. “I guess…I wasn’t sure, because it felt kind of like how you’ve said you feel when we go too long. Like, maybe it’s not the same, but I’ve been so distracted, this was all I could think about. Do you think I should talk to the doctors?”

He doesn’t sound enthusiastic about that. Zhenya agrees. 

“If you want,” is what he responds. Sid needing him nearly as much as Zhenya needs Sid is heady. Zhenya’s jealous and doesn’t like to share, and the idea of Sid being inextricably drawn to him soothes the part of him that rages every summer when they have to part for the off-season. “If you think it’s problem, like, we talk to Vyas, see if there’s something to do. But…if not, like, it’s no problem for me to take care.”

“I can’t get lost mid-game again,” Sid warns. “We’ll have to figure something out.”

“You need more?” Zhenya says, reaching over and squeezing Sid’s hip. “Like, more often, for longer? We do. I always want. We make time, and you’re ready to play. I make sure.”

Sid’s jaw nearly cracks in half with his yawn. “I can work with that,” he says, sounding smugly pleased.

Before Zhenya can tease him for that, he’s asleep. He looks pale and worn, cheekbones sharper than they should be even this late in the season.

Zhenya maybe took too much. He finds it hard to care.

[akq96618]

[ It's MY Number: case of kanda masakazu ]

translated some info because I want to

His mbti is INFJ

been called a natural airhead since he was a kid, and imamori maaya (ichikawa sumino's actress) called him so too.

He likes sweets, like custard cream or chocolate.

He's good at solving rubiks cube

His first love was when he was still at 1st year of elementary school.

He loves feminine little things/aesthetics such as make ups, manicure/nail arts, or any aesthetic things with details (//i understand u bro..). He said something pretty/have aesthetics made his heart flutter.

He thinks people who are determined to do what they want to do are attractive.

was a captain of baseball club when he was at junior highschool. He think he was chosen as the captain not because he's good at it,but bcs people think he's someone that won't cause any trouble or fights at the club.

then he joined basketball club around 2-3rd year of highschool.

He's good at darts(//and have a pro license for it? I couldn't catch what he said later ;-;), his older brother works at a darts bar (?) and would invite him sometimes. He thought darts was scary at first.

His hobby is painting and watching movies.

He loves sky

he'd like to go to finland, sweden, or other scandinavia country if he had the opportunity.

He was scouted by some agency when he was around 14, but his parents didn't allow him to accept it, and he obeyed his parents because he didn't have that much courage when he was a kid.

But after he graduated from university at 21, he decided to give it a try one more time and started to looking for acting agencies

When he had a fight with his friends and don't want to go to school/when he had a bad days, he always thought of drama or tv programs he want to watch so he gotta do his best too for tomorrow.

And later he realized from 'someone who watch tv', he wants to become 'someone who acts those drama on tv'

(You can watch it here, totally recommended it bcs look at them looking like a domestic married liontyranno, i mean, masakazu have a lot of good insights here that some parts i can't put into words)