#liber can make them into a marketable plush

[everwisp]

omg he bows

[wishcamper]

Cassian Appreciation Week Day Two: Hair

Happy @cassianappreciationweek! Here is my first offering for Day Two: Hair. You can read it here or on ao3.

Enjoy!

My Sweetest Downfall

A Nessian re-telling of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah, set during the first war for human liberation.

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to sex trafficking

Art by Terry Strickland

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down Yeah, we couldn't destroy a single one And the history books forgot about us And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once "Samson”, Regina Spektor

She was the most beautiful female Cassian had ever seen.

Woman, rather - the rounded edge of her ear had been what caught his eye, entranced by the freshness of her face, the self-possession of this human woman weaving through the sea of fae in the lower markets of Adriata. All visions of using his shore leave to drown himself in wine, blow all his wages at the tables, and bed as many females as possible vacated his mind the moment her blue-gray eyes met his over the heads of the crowd, the exact color of an Illyrian sunrise.

She belonged to one of the pleasure houses, as evidenced by the copper bands at her wrists and throat, likely one of the more expensive ones gives the fine silk of her gown, the glint of her golden brown hair braided about her head like a crown. He searched for days until he found the right one, coming across her at last at the Golden Thread. He wasn’t even really sure what he wanted, just to be near her, to feel the heat of her body, the thrum of mortality under her skin.

More than anything, he wanted to understand that tug in his chest, the pull that urged him to crash himself to the ground for her, even if it reduced him to rubble.

—

He was a force of nature, wild as a winter wind yet gentle as the crush of petals under bare feet, a mountain of a male whose waters ran deep and smooth.

And in spite of it all, she still had to break him.

She pushed down her guilt, her disgust at the task before her. They’d been all over each other for a week, stealing moments in hidden coves, remote beaches, even once behind a corner stall in the market when the vendor was away. Despite having paid for her, and handsomely, he seemed to want only what she gave freely of her time, her body. What he wanted lay beneath, he said, a chance to listen to the symphony of her human heart for however long she’d allow.

That same human heart condemned her, left her helpless to the forces of power and control that bound her tighter than any ropes ever could.

The stories of him in battle had spread across Prythian long before his arrival in the great Summer city, of the Illyrian foot soldier who razed armies with his deadly dance, blessed by the Mother herself. Enalius reborn, they called him, and the Lord of Spring wanted him eliminated in neutral territory if they were to have a chance at winning the war. Ten thousand gold marks they'd promised to her if she could find the source of his power.

She knew she condemned herself with this cursed bargain, much less her people, but there was no way around it. She’d never make enough with her body to free her family, to protect them from the ravages of the fae without the riches they dangled in front of her.

And so when he slipped through the lavender curtains of the Golden Thread, she hoped to hate him. Prayed he’d be despicable, possessive and brutish like the other males, head swollen large enough so just a single pinprick could deflate it. Instead, that first night he came to her plush, dark chambers she found a tenderness that stunned her and knew this would be so much more damning than she’d ever imagined.

He was willing to sacrifice everything for human freedom, he told her in the wake of their joining, dark curls clinging to his brow. The shame consumed her knowing he’d fulfill that promise, even if his martyrdom would come not on the daybright battlefield as he imagined, but rather with the breathless gasp of a knife in the night.

For the next week he worshiped her body in their beachside bungalow, ran his fingers over and under the copper cuffs as if he’d rip them off with his bare hands.

“And how would one shackle you, Lord of Bloodshed?”

“No bonds can hold me, sweetheart, save for those given by the Mother.”

He promised to smuggle her out between presses of his lips against her skin, or else to buy her freedom, to win the whole damn war by himself if that’s what it took. She only smiled and called them beautiful words, nothing less, nothing more. At night when he slept, she lay awake tracing the fresh scar cleaving his eyebrow, the lines of tattoos swirling over his chest and arms.

Make a bargain with me, he said, hazel eyes sparkling with something too painful to look at for more than a moment, like staring into the sun. Tell me what makes you so strong, she said, tell me what gives you the power of ten males, a hundred. She watched her warrior spar with his own heart, and though he denied her in the end she felt a relief in it, that they could have one more day, one more night with none to witness what bloomed save for the stars, the moonlit sea.

She’d ask him twice more, she told him, and he grinned in a way that broke something in her, something she could never repair.

In the cradle of seclusion, long-buried hurts began to emerge, the throes of pleasure giving way to tears that flowed like wine. He held her pain like a bird in his hand, stroking her jagged edges gently. Unafraid of what lay within her, the blink of her mortal life.

Why do you touch me so?, she asked, and he ran a hand up her thigh to the crook of her waist, following the path his mouth had blazed before they’d collapsed in satiety. 

She asked him the second time in the cove off the beach, the one he’d flown her to on those resplendent wings. The white sand floor glowed under turquoise water, casting his body in an unearthly light, their echoing moans giving way to laughter that ricocheted off the rock, through her chest. He told her of his days training, the foolish arrogance of his youth before it was shattered by the war. She shared a memory of stealing sweets from a shop when she was a child, the rush of her first taste of sugar, of the successful con.

“And is victory always sweet for you, siren?”

Mostly not, she told him, and a challenge sparkled in his eyes, one that made her blood go hot. She forgot for a moment why she was there, the trap at the center of the maze, and let him fly the long way home, skimming the waves with her fingertips as they chased a pod of dolphins playing in the surf.

When they returned, he disappeared for a short time while she bathed, stepping back through the leaning door frame as she was toweling off, arms laden with gifts from the market. That night she claimed her victory in all the ways she wanted to, the Lord of Bloodshed under command of his interim queen.

“Please,” she begged the Spring lord through the mirror he’d given her, the forget-me-nots in his golden hair either a cruel jest or devastating providence. “Please spare him. Take his power but do not take his life.”

The High Lord laughed in answer, and the guilt stretched her to the point of breaking, her skin a dull hide drying in the sun. “It seems the hearts of human sluts are as open as their legs.”

She knew he felt her sadness, her fear when he returned from a swim in the ocean, salt glittering on his wings like diamonds in the sunset glow. He lifted her into his arms and retreated to the bathing chamber, showed her where to touch them to bring him to his knees, to make him fall apart with her name on his lips.

Ask me, he said, ask me once more.

“No.”

“Why not? Have you given up on me, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t want everything that came with her, she told him, wouldn’t desire her if he knew the wickedness of her heart, the crumbling ruins of her soul.

“How can I prove it to you?”

Her fingers clutched at his shirtfront, begging him to stay, to run, to see the deception at her core.

“Tell me the source of your strength. Tell me what gives you the power of ten males, of a hundred. Show me your weakness and I shall show you mine.”

Her faithful lover brought his forehead down to hers, resting it lightly, drew her hand up to bury it in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“If my hair is cut, I lose my strength. I am as weak as any other until it grows long again.”

She grabbed a handful of it in her fist, pulling his head back sharply. But he only looked at her with that sun-bright devotion, the passages of his heart open to her to walk through as she pleased. She decided to leave a footprint there, the barest trace. Hoped it was enough for him to remember.

“I have a daughter to the south. She does not know what I am. All I do is for her.”

Something like understanding passed through him then, but she didn’t get the chance to question it for he captured her mouth with his own, sinking her down into the deep waters where only they lived, borne along by the current.

Moonlight glinted off the shears where she hovered over him hours later, praying for him to wake. To grab her wrists and throw her against the wall, or else to kiss her desperately and fly her as far as those wings could take them, past the edge of the world.

But he did not wake, and instead she cut each lock from his head, the thread in her chest ripping violently with each traitorous snip.

—

They paraded him through the temple in chains, the jeers and taunts hitting his back like a volley of arrows. The warrior god shackled like the slaves he so foolishly defended, reduced to the bastard-born nobody he feared lived at his core.

He found her at once among the crowd assembled, her beautiful face broken with agony, and even though he knew he should hate her the space where his anger lived felt hollow. The absence of her was more devastating than any of the whips that lashed at his back, the blunt blows to his chest, his legs.

His power gone, the feeble call of it sluggish in his veins, he could only watch as they brought the ropes forth. They lashed him to the great column at the center that held up the ceiling, painted with scenes of resplendent High Fae, their faces cold and cruel. He tried to tell her to go, to run, but he was too weak to speak, knew from the way she clutched the collar at her throat she’d never leave while he was still alive. He only hoped she’d be far enough away to miss the worst of it.

I’m sorry, he said as best he could, feeling the imprint of her body on his skin, in his bones. I’m sorry I couldn’t save us from this. I’m sorry I didn’t know until it was too late.

Hazel eyes lifted skyward, a prayer to the Mother on his dry, cracked lips. With a great heave he twisted, rammed his bound fists into the pillar he leaned against, ripping apart the world.

Stone rained down and there was screaming everywhere, thick dust pouring into his lungs and he waited for the crush, the flash of pain before it all went quiet and still. In the long tunnel of time he hoped to return as a tree somewhere in a quiet wood, to feel her sit in his shade, or else to be a clear pool she drank from, the splash of him over her face washing her clean.

And all at once he was shoved aside, a great boom echoing somewhere overhead, soft hair tickling his face, soothing his heated cheeks.

He opened his eyes to find her body splayed over him, taking the blow of the stone that would’ve been his death. A shimmer of gold disappeared into the dust engulfing the ruined temple, and he felt the pull in his chest begin to break, ever-reaching and grasping at the building darkness.

“Don’t go, sweetheart. I didn’t get enough. I want more. We should’ve had more.”

This brave human woman, his mate, her body broken and bleeding, reached a hand up and touched his face lightly, pain and love in her dawn-colored eyes.

“I’ll find you in the next world, the next life. I promise. And we will have time.”

A fierce, burning pain seared along his scalp. He heard someone shouting, felt a wave of night-dark power sweep over him before oblivion dragged him under, stealing the only thing he wanted, one last memory of her face.

But all he was left with were the spikes of an eight-pointed star on the crown of his head, the only remnant of her final words, his failures. Their future snatched away by the greed of death, the indifference of fate.

Five hundred years passed, and Cassian searched every face for hers, heart leaping at every flash of golden brown hair, every knowing grin in a crowded market. He’d almost given up the day he stepped into the Archeron manor when he saw her glaring across the room at him, when that thread in his chest yanked so violently he thought he’d been shot by an arrow, straight through. She didn’t remember him, of course, but he could’ve sworn a flicker of recognition passed through her, the past lingering in the core of their bones, woven into their skin.

And he knew in that moment, more than he’d ever known anything, that he’d rip every hair from his head for her. That no matter what war he had to win or building he had to shatter, he’d free her from the shackles of the world, from those in her heart, her mind. 

That they would have time.

---

Thank you if you got this far! I'm pretty proud of this one so I hope you enjoyed aka it didn't hurt too much. Shoutout to all the other awesome creators putting out amazing work this week. There is so much more to come!

[welovenissan]

The 2022 Nissan Patrol’s Best Features

The 2022 Nissan Patrol is a rugged off-roader with jaw-dropping power and safety features.

Most SUVs are front-wheel-drive crossovers with a decent ground clearance to handle city duties and optional all-wheel-drive that allows them to explore the beaten path. However, only a handful of vehicles can be called classic SUVs in recent times. One such car that has gained iconic status and offered extreme ruggedness and multiple utilities happen to be the Nissan Patrol.

In some markets, the Nissan Patrol also known as the Nissan Armada; however, they are essentially the same vehicle. The luxury car offers classic boxer proportions that associate with an SUV, along with a 4x4 system that gives the driver enough confidence to drive beyond the horizon, and the vehicle is also powered by a big V8 engine.

The Best Feature Of The 2022 Nissan Patrol: A Mammoth-Sized Engine

Most SUVs, crossovers, or even compact SUVs are known to have a small turbocharged engine to produce tremendous power and be fuel-efficient at the same time. The Nissan Patrol takes an entirely different approach to this as it got powered by a 5.6-litre V8 engine producing over 298 kW and 560 Nm of torque. The engine is mated to a 7-speed automatic transmission, as this is the only powertrain available for the Patrol. The car also comes with a drive mode selector that can send the power either to the rear wheels when in city use or to all four wheels while driving on the road to obtain maximum traction. Although the weight of this off-roader is slightly high, about 900kg, the performance numbers seem to be pretty good. The car can make a 0 to 100km sprint in just 5.8 seconds and also boasts a top speed of 209 km/h. However, one of the drawbacks of the off-roader is the fuel efficiency factor, as it returns a combined fuel economy of 15L/100km. On the other hand, the ladder on-frame construction of the vehicle gives the chassis as much towing capability as up to 3855kg. Overall, the car has a very smooth and plush ride quality as it comes with 18-inch wheels as standard, and the range goes all the way up to 22-inches; the ride of the vehicle is fairly good even on the low-profile tyres.

A Spacious Cabin Area

The Nissan Patrol has a length of 5,3m and a wheelbase of 3 m, thereby liberating a lot of room for the passenger compartment. The utility vehicle comes with three-row seats as standard, wherein all three rows get climate control functionality and ample knee as well as headroom. The vehicle can also accommodate up to 8 passengers, but the boot's capacity drops when all rows of seating are up. The overall cabin quality is exceptional, and it is also well-insulated from the outside world. Most of the materials used in the vehicle happen to be of premium quality, and all the tangible panels are either made from soft-touch materials or got covered in leather. The vehicle also has a huge 12.3-inch infotainment screen, which has all the basic functionality one expects from a modern-day car. Android Auto and Apple CarPlay can be operated wirelessly and are offered as standard on all vehicle trims. The higher models of the vehicle also add in goodies like a wireless smartphone charger and a 13-speaker Bose audio system. The top trim of the vehicle also has a rear entertainment package, which features two 8-inch screens for the rear passengers.

Multiple Standard Safety Kits

Every trim of the Nissan Patrol provides standard safety and driver assistance features. The vehicle comes with standard autonomous emergency braking, Lane departure warning, and Lane-keep assist. There is also the inclusion of blind-spot monitoring and rear cross-traffic alert along with a 360-degree parking camera, all as standard even on the lower trims.

The 2022 Nissan Patrol is a renowned name, as the legacy that has been built by the brand kept the name tag for over 70 years. The vehicle picks up right where its predecessor left and makes things even better for its owners by providing many safety kits and tremendous power figures. 

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Info shared by https://nissanenthusiast.wordpress.com/2022/11/26/the-2022-nissan-patrols-best-features/

[terushimooo]

you know, my brain really only can think of like. what if the old guys can't get it up? well, we have strapons for that. a pretty young thing sitting in an old man's lap, riding that strap while whispering filthy, humiliating things. idk which coach would like that sort of shit but that's all my brain's got for the moment

PONY

Washijō x F! Reader

W/c: 1.4k

C/w: massive age gap, the elderly, gross old man seggs, strapon, femdom, anal (m), infidelity (since apparently he’s married, smh), ball slapping, degradation (m receiving), very brief mentions of rimming and anal fingering 

A/n: Okay, but the way I instantly accused Roco of sending me this — loool. Thank you, thank you so so much. I have almost never felt more uncomfortable and disgusted, while also feeling incredibly liberated and inspired.

Big shout out to Emi @temptemi​ for making this comeback so epic, and editing this beautiful piece of art.

If there’s one thing Washijō’s known for, it’s his dedication to ideals. It’s his devotion to perfection.

These stringent choices and unrelenting decisions are prominent in his everyday life from the produce he carefully inspects in the markets, to the players he scouts for his teams. Washijō is nothing if not thorough.

So it comes as no surprise when these peculiar and specific standards of excellence also apply to the women he allows into his marital bed.

“C’mon you big baby, you can take it.”

“No, no I— I can’t.” Washijō begins to cry, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks as wrinkled hands grip tightly around the cotton spread of his mattress. 

“It’s too much,” he whines. “Can’t— can’t take anymore, please.”

His sagging eyes turn to meet yours, “please,” he begs, “please no more.”

You grin at his struggling, at the way his frail body writhes beneath your own. A jolt of pleasure slithers up your spine as you watch your lover tremble on his favourite, extra-thick silicone cock. 

When you fail to hear his safe word, the one you agreed on just moments prior, you know he’s lying. You know he’s just a little cock hungry slut desperate for more of your length up his unprepped ass.

His wife won't be home this weekend, a fact he made you very aware of when he cornered you in the school’s equipment room, when he forced your body up against the brick and ran his filthy hands along your flesh. 

Even worse was when he pressed his lips against yours, his pungent, slimy tongue coming out in sloppy and unpracticed strokes. 

Come over, he teased.

It’ll be fun, he promised. 

And you never doubted him. Not for a second. Not when he pushed the thick dildo discreetly into your bag. And certainly not when he slipped the leather harness out from his grasp and into yours.

You chuckle as the toy he so eagerly gave you slowly slides even further past his tight ring of muscles and into his stretched, torn-up hole.

“Such a shame,” you tease as a wide smirk spans across your lips. You bend over his shaking form, pressing the plush of your body against his ageing skin and running a moist tongue along the shell of his ear.

“I thought you were better than this,” you taunt, hot breath dancing across his skin. “I thought with the way you coach your boys, forcing them to comply with almost inhumane demands, you’d be tougher than this. I didn’t know you’d be so… pathetic.”

Washijō opens his mouth to respond, probably wanting to answer back with resistance. With nothing but bratty incoherence and sugar-laced sarcasm. Instead of a snarky response, all that leaves the coach's mouth is high-pitched, pathetic whines. 

“Damn, baby.” You moan at his squeals, at the waterfall of tears that continue to fall onto the bed as you hump your elder with rough and ruthless thrusts. “I thought you were respected.”

You wrap your fist in his thinning hair, bringing his drooling head up from the dampened sheets.

“Was I wrong to think that?”

Washijō’s beyond words. 

Every answer he gives you is a series of moans and wails, disgusting and pathetic cries. Your face scrunches up in distaste. 

With an audibly irritated sigh, you shove his head back into the bed, his whimpers quickly muffled by the pile of pillows resting beneath his blubbering mouth. A satisfied grin finds its way to your lips at the strangled cries that fill the air. 

Your baby sounds so much better like this, struggling under your touch—just as he should be.

In a moment of empowerment, you reach your hand down, roughly groping and slapping at his tense and aching balls. 

You laugh when he cries, when he tries to curl his body in on itself. His broken pleas to stop mean nothing as you feel his cock throb even harder in your hand, as it leaks against the stained sheets of his bed.

“What would the boys think if they saw you like this? Ass up, hole stretched, cock leaking and hard beneath your flabby body as a young, pretty little bitch railed your ass like a fucking prostitute?”

It takes everything you have not to burst into a fit of laughter at the pathetic whimpers that leave the old man’s lips. You can tell how desperately he wants to prove himself—that he’s not the weak old man you think he is. You know how badly he wants to please you.

But how can he when his tiny, scrawny little dick only gets hard with a finger up his ass? When he only gets stiff with your tongue circling his puckered hole, or you thrusting your cock past this entrance? 

You shake your head to yourself. Washijō will never be able to please you so long as he needs your cock shoved against his prostate.

But that's okay, you think to yourself. He gets you all the connections you need in terms of thick, fat, college boy cocks. You’ll happily fuck this dirty old man in return for the younger, much more fertile protégés he provides. Besides, this makes for one hell of a story at all your sleepovers.

A sick sense of malice spreads through your limbs as you take in the blubbering, desperate form beneath you. Through the high-pitched wails, you can hear him cry out for more, to stop, to go deeper, to pull out. 

Slick builds between your legs as you watch this old man try in vain to regain his focus. 

A loud slap to his jiggling ass brings you both back to the present. 

 Are you going to behave now, coach?” Neither of you miss the venomous lith that drips forms your tongue. “Didn’t you promise you were going to be good? That we were going to have fun?”

“Y-yes, I—”

“Then you can take it, right?”

You don’t wait for his response. You don’t need to. 

The grunts and frantic movement of his sagging body tell you everything you need to know. He’s close. 

Your dirty old man is about to bust his crusty, ashen load all over his rancid and unwashed sheets. He’s about to cum all over the bed where his wife tries feebly to make his limp and tiny dick come to life. 

Almost nothing brings you more pleasure than shoving yourself deeper, burying your cock all the way into his twitching, gaping little asshole. 

Almost.

Just as his screams become hoarse, as his face scrunches up in bliss, and his back arches up utter in euphoria—you stop.

Washijō panics beneath you, hips thrusting in an attempt for any kind of friction, body trembling on the verge of an orgasm, and tears mixing with snot as they stream down in pent-up frustration. But he gets nothing. Nothing except your body pressed tight against his own. Nothing but a thick toy shoved up his throbbing asshole.

“Giddy up,” you tease, laughter bubbling from your mouth and spilling out onto the flustered and embarrassed older man as you stretch upward, as you slap your hand against his wrinkly, bony ass.

“YEEHAW!” You squeal, arms flailing up in the air, body acting out the crude gesture of horseback riding. Not that anyone notices, but you very expertly act out lassoing your horse. 

As you ride your trusty steed, you can't help but admire the age spots sprinkled along his body, comparing them to the spots on an appaloosa* horse. The fact that hair grows from a particularly large mole near the crack of his ass just adds to the fantasy. 

“Annnd canteerrr**!!!!” You cheer. “Faster, FASTER! GOGOGO!”

You expect to have more fun with Washijō, you expect to keep him riled up and desperate beneath you. What you don’t expect is for him to quake uncontrollably, bucking his hips wildly and thrashing around like he’s twenty again.

And you certainly don’t expect the sound that leaves his lips, the repetitive, high-pitched whinnying wheezing past his lips.

Now you really can’t keep it in. You’re in hysterics as you ride him harder, as you pull his hips against yours—as you fuck his ass with your thick, stocky horse cock.

As you watch him tightening against your length, you can’t help but get one final jab in.

“You gotta go faster if you wanna cum, pony.”

GLOSSARY:

* Appaloosa: A horse breed best known for his/her/their spots. 

** Canter: A very fast gait/speed of a horse

Disclaimer: this, and this whole fic, is meant to be a joke... and Emi enabled me! <3

[schmidtchristmasmarket]

This holiday season, many Americans will tour historic mansions in the Southern United States that are beautifully decked out in traditional wreaths, garlands and mistletoe for Christmas.

At Mount Vernon, George Washington’s Virginia mansion, tourists are promised candlelit tours and a “festive evening” of refreshments, 18th-century dancing and more. Visitors can even meet a re-enactor playing Martha Washington, America’s First Lady.

At the state-run Hofwyl-Broadfield Plantation Historic Site in Brunswick, Georgia, promoters promise attendees a “magical experience” during the holiday event, learning how “Christmas was celebrated on a Southern rice plantation during the 1850s.”

What these tours teach is how rich white Southerners once celebrated Christmas: singing Christmas carols, dancing, drinking the cider brew wassail and enjoying refreshments or formal meals.

Few make a serious effort to tell what Christmas was like for the enslaved workers at these plantations before the American Civil War.

What’s missing?

When the black historian Brandon Byrd visited Belle Meade, a mansion in Nashville, Tennessee, for its Christmas tour a few years ago, he was shocked that the slave community and their harsh realities were barely mentioned. Instead, he reported, the tour guide mostly related “stories about the white men, women and children who woke up to Christmas in the mansion’s plush bedrooms.”

By the American Civil War, nearly four million slaves in all toiled in the southern states, and about a million lived as servants in mansions and as field hands on large plantations with 50 slaves or more. They did almost all the grueling household and field labor that kept these places going, often sleeping and cooking in primitive cabins and working in unhealthy conditions under the threat of the whip.

In fact, the historic mansions hosting Christmas tourists never would have been built without the profits generated by slave labor. The grand Nottoway Plantation and resort in Louisiana, which traditionally puts on a Christmas event, was constructed just before the Civil War by some 155 slave workers.

Fictional tales and memoirs

In researching my 2019 book “Yuletide in Dixie,” I discovered that many historic plantation and mansion sites are reluctant to talk about slavery at their Christmas events. This is partly because administrators want to avoid topics that might make paying guests angry or uncomfortable.

But the omission of black southerners from these holiday tales also stems from pervasive myths about slave life at southern plantations before the Civil War.

For a long time, many people got their ideas about slavery at these places from memoirs, novels and short stories written by white southerners after the Civil War. These stories, now outrageous for their racial stereotypes, not only justified the institution of slavery, they also made it seem like all enslaved people had fun on a southern plantation at holiday time, dancing, singing, laughing and feasting for the holiday season, just as their masters did.

Susan Dabney Smedes, a white girl who grew up on a Mississippi plantation, published a memoir in 1887 called “Memorials of a Southern Planter” that made slave Christmases sound like wonderful times. Smedes wrote about how slaves wore their best clothes for Christmas, played a word game called “Christmas Gif’” with their white enslavers and drank eggnog their master made for them.

In a fictional tale published in the “Century Magazine” in 1911, an enslaved carpenter named Jerry even turns down the freedom that his master offers him on Christmas because he likes his life as a slave so much, and especially the Christmas present his master specially picks out for him each year.

Many of these memoirs and preposterous short stories and novels about happy slave Christmas experiences were so popular that they were republished in new editions over and over again from the late 1800s and early 1900s until, in some cases, the present.

Smedes’s “Memorials of a Southern Planter” was regularly republished for a century after its first appearance.

Many Americans got falsely pleasant images of slavery and especially slave Christmases from reading these works, and these wrongful impressions not only affected how the public thought and still thinks about slavery but, more specifically, how site administrators at southern historic mansions and plantations planned their Christmas programs.

Whipped and sold on Christmas

I read many documents to find out how slaves actually spent their Christmases. The truth is deeply disturbing.

On the one hand, the majority of enslaved people did get some them time off from work during Christmas, as well as feasts and presents. Some got to travel or to get married, privileges that they didn’t get at other times of the year. But these privileges could be withdrawn for any reason at all and many slaves never got them at all.

Slavery was a brutal system of forced labor to enrich those same owners. Even over the holiday, masters kept the power to punish slaves. A photo taken during the Civil War shows a man who was whipped at Christmas. His back was covered with scars, showing that when masters punished the people they held in bondage, they often did so brutally.

There were other cruel forms of punishment. On one South Carolina plantation, a master angry at an enslaved woman he suspected of miscarrying her pregnancy on purpose locked her up for the Christmas holiday.

Masters sometimes forced enslaved workers to get drunk even if they did not want to drink, or wrestle with each other on Christmas simply for the amusement of the master’s family.

ikewise, I learned in my research, slaveholders bought and sold plenty of people over the holiday, keeping slave traders busy during Christmas week.

Escapes and panics over slave rebellions

It is revealing that many enslaved black southerners also chose Christmas as the time to try to escape to freedom, despite the difficulties of traveling in cold weather with few supplies.

The famous black liberator Harriet Tubman, for example, helped her three brothers enslaved in Maryland to escape bondage over Christmas in 1854. Obviously, slaves like the Tubman brothers greatly resented their enslavement, or they would not have agreed to leave.

Evidence shows that many slaveholders knew their slaves hated their condition. Although the U.S. never had a major Christmas slave rebellion, southern whites frequently panicked over frequent rumors that their slaves planned to revolt over the holiday. They armed themselves, conducted extra patrols, banned black people from the streets of cities and executed or whipped slaves whose behavior they thought was suspicious.

Panics over Christmas rebellions took place frequently. They were, at times, confined to a state as in Charleston, South Carolina – then a British colony – in 1765. Or, they could spread in the entire American South, as one did in 1856. As I found in my research, Christmas revolt panics continued all the way through the Civil War.

These panics made Christmas a bad time for many slaves, who passed their Christmases in great fear that they would be rounded up and killed.

What’s changing

Some southern historic plantations and mansions are beginning to include a more accurate history of slavery in their presentations of the past.

Montpelier, the Virginia plantation of U.S. president James Madison and Monticello, the famed mansion and plantation of Thomas Jefferson, for example, have been making efforts for several years now to work more accurate presentations.

Yet another onetime slave-owning president’s preserved site, James Monroe’s Highland, likewise is striving to provide a far more comprehensive look at the enslaved people who once lived there and the conditions they experienced.

There are signs that such changes are taking place elsewhere too. In 2013, for example, the Ben Lomond plantation in Virginia featured in its holiday programming the tale of how enslaved people murdered the place’s owner over Christmas. That same year, Montpelier, once home to President James Madison, asked its interpretors at Christmas to explain to visitors that whites living nearby were afraid of violence by Madison’s slaves.

Christmas programming, however, is changing more slowly than programming at other times of the year. That is because many would like the holiday event to be a fun one.

But a public acknowledgment that slavery was immoral, horrific and resisted by its victims in the form of more sensitive and informative Christmas events at historic mansions and plantations might just be a step toward racial reconciliation in the U.S.

Read more of A Christmas Blog or Shop Now at Schmidt Christmas Market

Licensed from https://brewminate.com/slave-lifes-harsh-realities-erased-in-christmas-tours-of-southern-plantations/

[thesunkenblog]

Black Horror and Narratives of Suffering

In their sanguine smears of crimson across the silver screen, horror movies have always painted impressionistic images of metaphorical real-life anxieties; our recreational fears bed down closely with the cultural conditions of the moment in which they were conceived. However, in such coded terms, audiences often consume these sign systems uncritically; it isn’t groundbreaking to draw parallels between Godzilla and nuclear anxiety, B-movie 50-foot women and the midcentury atomic age, or vampire resurgence and the 1980s AIDS epidemic, but the social conditions these movies are mapped onto are not typically on the moviegoer’s mind as they kick back buckets of searingly salty popcorn and cower behind plush seats in the dark of the theatre. Herein lies black horror's didactic value as a medium that helps to illuminate historical and modern issues within the overt fabric of its narrative and imagery -- black horror isn’t hiding what it’s talking about, and black audiences are invited to participate in the catharsis of seeing their own fears on screen in hypothetical situations without the burden of witnessing real-life violence. 

Or are they? As we enter into the study of black horror in a moment of black horror renaissance and national racial tension, we must consider the political implications of replicating brutal racial trauma in a venue largely taken to be recreational entertainment. The very inclusion of black characters in a genre formerly exclusionary, abusive, or maligned is striking, and global voices are raising in choir-praise for the nascent popularity of black horror; creators like Jordan Peele are broadly celebrated as bringing authentic black life (and death) to screens at last, and historically contextualized shows like Lovecraft Country (2020-) are praised for pulling no punches about the true horrors of racism through the ages. A history of social symptoms in black myth and reality surface in a multiplicity of themes: the legacy of slavery and subordination, the appropriation and coveting of black culture and bodies, interracial relations and tensions, black intuition, complicit white liberal culture, isolation, othering, the inheritance of trauma and domination, and the consequences of difference, to name just a flinching few. 

The question of authenticity and responsibility in narrative, though, is hard to grapple with after such a long history of absence from -- or reckless “representation” within -- the genre. Diverse stories, depiction, and creators are critical to making media space for blackness, and it is a chief value of entertainment to stoke these ideas and start these conversations at times when viewers have their guards down -- folks are more receptive when they're kicking back, suturing with the screen, and watching TV than when they're doomscrolling through the exhaustion of the day's fraught tensions in the news -- but we must ask if the underpinning of every single black story with the narrative-important presence of trauma induces plot exhaustion, threatens to retraumatize black audiences, and ultimately denies imaginative diversity in the content of black stories. (Many black critics have cited the same issue within the onslaught of Important Race Movies popular in the Academy in the contemporary theatre, and we can turn the same questions of not frequency or longevity of representation but content to black horror, as many critics appraised the inescapable slavery narrative in the same ways.)

Should we be concerned with the privilege of escapism in the horror genre? White audiences see their fears reflected in horror, yes, but much of the popcorn-appeal for blockbuster scares is the opportunity to be voyeuristic to others’ poor choices and dire circumstances -- horror may teach us about ourselves and help us to unpack our own anxieties, but it is also frequently described as an exercise in comparison. Yes, you just lost your job, but watch this teenage waif get chased by a machete-wielder for 96 minutes; it could be worse. An element of disconnect lets horror viewers enjoy terror on screen at the characters’ expense when they do not relate too closely to them; Jaws seems a little less scary if you live in a landlocked state, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre seems a little less immediate a threat to you if you live in Manhattan. The savvy horror fan leans on a reassuring mantra: I would never run upstairs. I would never turn my back on the dead-but-not-really-dead body. I would never leave the weapon lying out in the open. I would survive this movie.

White audiences leave the anxiety they experience on the behalf of black characters subject to black horror in the theatre as the house lights come up; black audiences enter and leave with the fear of relation stuck to them like spilled soda laminated onto the soles of their shoes. The modern black horror character shares in a smart black sensibility and intuition for danger that growing up in a culture that necessitates a survival mindset creates: black characters often do everything “right,” but still suffer brutality. The black horror fan percolates in an unsettling mantra: I would run out of the house early, too. I would grab the baseball bat early, too. I would do the same as he did. I know my aunt, uncle, dad, brother, ancestors, contemporaries did the same when it happened to them. I know what the police lights in the rearview mean, and it’s not the relief of help arriving in the last ten minutes of the movie. I know what this terror is like -- not just terror like it. I might not survive this movie. I might not survive my movie.

You wanted representation? Up on the screen -- that’s you. That’s personal. 

What does it mean for violence toward black bodies to be commodified via the media industry, often consumed by non-black eyes who walk out of the theatre with no repercussions, especially at a time when virality of brutality towards black lives is more visible than ever, forever shared and looping across digital spaces? Black horror has often re-created thematic violence in detail, but in the trend to take it further in pursuit and daylighting of historical injustice, real blood has intermingled with stage; Lovecraft Country recreates scenes from the Civil Rights archive in one-to-one scale, and in a recent-of-this-writing Lovecraft Country episode, the death and funeral of Emmett Till is wound into the narrative directly. Is it responsible for horror to borrow the blood of our ancestors for its fictional worlds in such a literal manner? Where do we draw the line? When is it exploitative? Exhausting? Empowering?

Trauma narratives are critically important stories to tell -- warts and all -- but if fiction media is a place to be inventive and especially a place for the potential escape for black audiences into a narrative world where they can see themselves on screen in an entertainment setting, we must ask what it means for your inclusion onscreen to see all of your stories rooted in the very real social abuse inflicted on your lived experience. Much of black social identity is bruised with this  shared experience and history of social trauma, but by recreating this in creative media with few exceptions, are we mandating that our stories must be about suffering? It is worth asking if the very act of a representation in media that showed us living our lives -- even our fears -- with no acutely racial repercussions or menace would be just as -- if not more -- subversive. 

Of course, these questions aside, art doesn’t have a singular purpose, and if it did, it would not be entertainment and ease; this is an idea horror knows well, and discomfort is often productive. Black horror is not just a place for reconciling and affirming black fear in a controlled setting. It also functions as a teaching medium -- a vehicle for fear and empathy, horror coded with many real issues and lived experiences like Jordan Peele's Get Out (2017) or Us (2019) is a masterclass in conveying the consequences of otherwise abstract social injuries. Peele’s works, among others, resist the trappings of performing blackness as a narrative product for white audiences to consume. While Hollywood has gradually introduced more black bodies on screen over the years, they have often been failingly voyeuristic in nature, puppeted for the consumption of non-black audiences and relying on aforementioned distance and narrative device or on exploitative "correctness" for the purpose of letting white moviegoers indulge in recreational "wokeness" for the duration of the runtime. Black visions from black lenses for black eyes are always inherently revolutionary, to this end. Peele's impact in criticizing the "post-racial lie" of the Obama era spoke truth to power in symbols entertaining and cathartic for black audiences and cut a wide swath of space for black creators to come in proving a viable market for black horror that resists personal and narrative stereotype by modeling representation after wholly gestalt black lives -- not MacGuffins or monsters for white protagonists. Modern black horror has also provided black viewers with narratives of the possibility of survival, displaced from the realities of personal consequence, allowing a freeing of the genre to be both thrilling and reflective -- coping mechanism and entertainment. White audiences are confronted by this black lense when they are not “in” on the terror, accosting them in unexpected ways and inviting viewers to empathize with Black characters as human and to experience embodied terror on their behalf through the horror medium -- a strikingly effective mode of cinematic empathy.

Celebration and criticism are, of course, not diametrically opposed to one another; these arguments exist in tandem within the discourse. Going forward, we must continue to grapple with the positivity and power of this generic shift while staying critical of the black horror canon at large. We must see the theatre as not a Sunken Place unto itself but a space open to representation, reconciliation, and imagination. 

. . .

Blog #1 - AFAM 188 FA20.

[kittensinsocks24]

Observations and facts on the Boss Baby netflix series from someone who painfully sat through 4 episodes last night with friends

The theme song is a discount Lonely Island-esque sounding rap which you are forcibly subjugated to every episode, which contains lines such as “boss boss boss baby boss boss” and “I run this house, I rule this crib”

Within the first episode it is canonically shown on the love-scale or whatever that people in this hellish Boss Baby universe people apparently only love their spouses a little more than a bird, with dogs, cats, and babies ranking supremely over, yknow, your life partner in that order

Boss Baby’s never-before-mentioned-or-introduced superior has the eyes of a L’oreal model and extremely plush kylie jenner lips. you cant stop staring at them even though the grotesqueness of his design compels your better nature to look away 

The rigging on everyone is understandable lower quality which is to be expected but it genuinely feels at times like you’ve been strapped down and forced to watch a loop of a dancing baby ecard from 2012 somebody sent you out of pure spite

The rendering also being lowered in combination with the aforementioned rigging results in it often times feeling like you’re watching a sick pantomime of a boss baby chapter book by several people with decently recreated Boss Baby VRChat models: it looks close enough to boss baby, but something indescribable within the very thread of the production feels uncanny and wrong 

I have no idea who hired some of these voice replacements and its been legit ages since we ironically streamed the movie but even I can tell that the girl baby and the mom legit sound nothing like they should 

Diet Dr. Perfect (TM) replacement Alec Baldwin sounds like an amateur changeling fae spirit’s first test by its superiors to try and replicate somebody, in this case alec baldwin, but yet it feels so devoid of warmth, charm or charisma it instantly sets off your fight or flight response 

The boss baby film was an obvious dark herald of evil changes to come in the animation industry and wholly unnecessary but it was ultimately harmless for children and had a soft warm charm to it with both the aesthetic and tone. This, however, has taken a complete tone shift and feels cold and angry. Legit, nearly every episode has some sort of spiteful takeaway or jokes at the expense of real life groups, Boss Baby himself is both much crueler to his coworkers and family and violent overall with lines like a giddy delivery of “Beat it like it owes you money!” and being shown on-screen to knock a man out forcibly over the head twice, and everyone else in-universe just seem much more vindictive and cold than in the film 

Speaking of which it legit feels like one of those anonymous baby boomers who writes in to the paper to complain about millenials and society wrote some of these episodes. Nobody ever shuts up about the free market, couples who decide kids aren’t for them are both portrayed in a doofy idiotic light and in-universe are the secondary antagonists because lord forbid anybody in this country abstain from parenthood for their own personal reasons, and that “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your brother was a.... liberal” joke comes after the main character suggests to boss baby that a particularly tantrum-prone child isn’t inherently worthless and is perhaps misunderstood, suggesting by-proxy that showing mercy and basic human decency for others is weak and somehow for liberals only i guess?????????

every cat model in this show looks like a littlest pet shop figurine

The main boy is either 2 times the height of boss baby or three times the height and it varies wildly. For example, the boy is roughly 3 babies high in a normal situation, but during one episode where they’re in the vents, and a baby takes up roughly half the vent height, he is shown not crouching or even crawling standing fully upright normally in the vents and is now only about 2 babies high. I dont know how you go that off model with, yknow, pre-rendered 3D models. 

who fuckin knows what decade this is set in anymore 

The whole thing about the first boss baby movie was that if you joined a family you didn’t get any more magic Youth Milk (TM) or whatever and couldn’t work for the company. Boss Baby joins the family yet not only is he still working for some reason but the kids he was working with in the first movie which were more or less implied to just be normal infants he was aligned with for the mission but not direct employees of the baby company (as they all had parents and lacked the hyper-intelligence of boss baby) are now retconned to all be working with him, I guess, which just raises questions again about how the system works when supposedly if you have a family you can’t work for the baby company because the two are (were?) mutually exclusive 

the lady who voices hollyhock from bojack horseman makes her debut in this as a character eloquently nicknamed Vent Baby who’s homeless and continually staples her shirt to her desk so she can lean her chair back and not fall over.

That’s all I got. 

[blushingfantasy]

Spring dressing has become what we could depict as controversial this year. What is this weather currently? Upon returning from the dazzling city of Vancouver, which was in the midst of Spring, with their cherry blossoms in full bloom; I was thrown straight into the winter blues in Alberta, wearing my well adored Canada Goose Trillium Parka.  I found it difficult to decide which articles of clothing I should keep accessible to me, as change is constantly occurring. However, something that remains stable are accessories. I am a firm believer in luxury and modern pieces that can be worn every single day. This is the reason that I have partnered with JORD Wood Watches.

JORD Wooden Watch- Frankie Series Ebony & Gold 

JORD Wood Watches uses hand-crafted raw material- wood to create their timepiece, redefining design. The natural woods, which they use to carefully craft their pieces include: Maple, Bamboo, Koa, Zebrawood, and Sandalwood. JORD watches have a scratch-proof “blue film”, which enables you to carry on with your daily venture carefree.

 JORD Wood Watches story behind the brand stems from three vital contributors: Journey, Experience and Telling More Then Time.

Journey- JORD is run by artists, designers, marketers, and miners. These diverse individuals have the ability to collaborate and spend their time creating, considering, maintaining not only their dreams, but their well respected customers.

Experience- JORD reached out to me to find out my perspective on their designs.  I responded that I would totally be interested in exploring their luxury wood watches because they fit my beliefs of what an accessory should be in one’s wardrobe. Here we are! Disclaimer: This is a payed promotion. I only support brands in which I legitimately use and credit them.

JORD Wooden Watch- Frankie Series Ebony & Gold 

 JORD creates an emphasis on creating timepieces that are modelled after a contemporary lifestyle. JORD values sustainability, efficiency, and experimental living. Their vision for the company is to create a timepiece, which rather than individuals having to be at a certain destination and somewhere to be, they have somewhere to go. JORD creates a lavish experience with every single decadent piece in packaging that is perfectly placed upon arrival. Your luxury wooden watch will arrive to you in a sleek little black box with the name on the bottom right corner, along with a sizeable wooden case for your JORD watch with the J engraved on top of the case. Inside the wooden box, you will be introduced to your contemporary timepiece placed around a plush tweed like pillow with the logo on the bottom right corner. Under the luxury wooden watch/plush tweed like pillow will be a towel for cleaning purposes, as well as a guide to your timepiece, and a conditioning oil. You will also receive extra links for your wooden watch, since every individual has a unique preference on how they desire there timepiece to lay.  All of these small characteristics incorporated in your package ensures you keep your timepiece in tiptop shape! JORD has mastered the experience of a luxury timepieces. JORD offers a 12 month warranty on all their timepieces, as well as engraving on your timepieces for more of a personalized attribute!

Telling More Then Time- Time is often invisible to humans in the world today. We are never fully present in the moment and this is what JORD recognized as a brand and is striving to change. JORD admit that the value of a watch is not used for identifying how much time has passed, rather being fully aware and less on autopilot. JORD wants individuals using their luxury wooden watches the ability to make time count. Making time count is a mantra, we can all utilize in our daily lives, particularly right now.  JORD understands the significance of making your moment substantial down to the second. JORD honours your watch telling more then just time; it shares those small little victories with you!

I endorse JORD Luxury Wooden Watches, as they are natural and green. There is a remarkable effect once this watch snaps onto your wrist. There are countless styles of timepieces all crafted with attention to detail, so you will want to head over to their website to gain some perspective.

JORD gifted me the Frankie Series Ebony & Gold Luxury Wooden Watch. 

The Frankie Series Ebony & Gold wooden watch resembles sophistication, minimalism, and elegance. I strive to attribute simplistic aspects within my wardrobe and my daily life. This JORD wooden watch not only goes with my aesthetic, but my lifestyle. This wooden watch strips away what is unnecessary- embellishment and puts the emphasis on what truly matters; a simple effortless place to make time count and create memories within the moment. Time is something you cannot get back. You can find refinement with the ease in the ultra thin case as well as relish in the undeniable comfort of the straight line strap. The face of the Frankie Series Ebony & Gold wooden watch, offers a simple view- allowing you insight of the importance of wearing a watch.

Features- sapphire crystal glass, deployment buckle with push buttons, case width: 45mm, case thickness: 10.5mm, lug ends: 55mm, band thickness: 18mm, band length: 160mm

Movement- Ronda Normtech Caliber 763, display: hours – minutes – seconds, jewel bearing: 5 jewel, tuning fork type: quartz crystal, frequency: 1.5 V, accuracy: -10/+20 seconds /mo, battery: silver oxide No.364 (equiv), drive system: 2-pole stepping motor

Finish & Care- The natural ebony is hand finished and pretreated with tung oils. The Frankie is splash-proof but should not be submerged in water (3 ATM). Lemon or orange oil extract is best for cleaning the natural wood. When storing this timepiece, avoid extremely hot, cold, and excessively dry/humid environments.

I have partnered with JORD to host a giveaway for all of my loyal readers and followers! One fortunate winner will get $100 in an online credit to spend on anything they desire from the online store. Simple head over to the link to enter this giveaway- click me!

We will announce the winner of this giveaway on Monday May 20th at 11:59pm.

If you don’t win the grand prize, don’t fret. JORD was liberal enough to give every participant $25 in online credit just for entering. So give it a go! You’ll get $100 or 10% off at the very least. Good luck everyone!

Take a look at the men’s and women’s watches here! Which one would you want to win?

SHOP MEN’S WATCHES SHOP WOMEN’S WATCHES

This post is sponsored by JORD Watches. This complimentary product was sent to me for review purposes, and all opinions are my own.

Makeup: Stylist at  The Glamoury Parq Vancouver The Glamoury @theglamoury Martha Camara @martinacarolina Hair: Stylist at  TopKnot Beauty Room @topknotbeautyroom Aubrey Bonnah-Vink @hairbyaubreybv Eyelash Extensions: Esthetician at Prép Beauty Parlour   @PrépBeautyParlourVancouver  Kei Yamakawa  Location: Yaletown Vancouver, British Columbia  & Small Victory Bakery | Bread & Coffee  Outfit Details:  Kit & Ace  Okakie  Canada Goose  Tiffany & Co.  Links of London JORD  Photographer: Samantha Chan  @THESAMANTHACHAN  http://www.thesamanthachan.biz/

Women’s Watches: JORD’s Approach To Clean, Classic and Minimalist Timepieces. Review and Giveaway. Spring dressing has become what we could depict as controversial this year. What is this weather currently?

[memsmedic1]

A different part of Asia 05/29/17-07/01/17

Back in February, just after the Iraqi army and coalition forces had liberated eastern Mosul from ISIS and initiated the West Mosul offensive, I had contacted the Academy of Emergency Medicine (AEM), a Slovakian NGO, and requested information on what was required to volunteer with their organization. I sent in the required documents, but not a peep did I hear back from them afterwards, so I figured that it was a no go- plus I am so busy with M-EMS that I didn't think I would be able to volunteer with them even if I was accepted. So I was completely taken by surprise when on Thursday the 25th, on our second to last day of EMR training in Myawaddy I received an email from AEM stating that not only had I finally been checked and approved, but that if I was available there was currently an urgent need for medics to treat escaping civilians as well as the soldiers fighting ISIS. The only problem was that I knew I wouldn't be able to take that much time off on such short notice so I didn't even get my hopes up. However, the month of June was when we had planned to teach a large EMR course up in northern Myanmar, and because of multiple setbacks in that area we were forced to cancel. So now we actually did have an entire month where we weren't scheduled for anything major. When I mentioned the opportunity at our post-training team meeting on Friday, Myanmar EMS was excited about the prospect and volunteered to sponsor my time to make the mission happen pending finalization of a couple of scheduling issues with the AREMT. So now I was excited! I spent an agonizing weekend not knowing what I was going to do, but finally Sunday night we received the confirmation that assured I would be able to go! Monday the 29th I purchased my ticket and started getting packed. Tuesday morning though I woke up and found an email canceling my ticket with no explanation so I had to quickly go through the entire ticket finding process again and was able to find a replacement that wasn't too expensive and only pushed my flight back by one day. (Which is amazing because for some reason there aren't too many flights headed to Iraq!) Thursday, June 1st I woke up super early to make it to the airport on time for my flight. Some of my team were traveling to Thailand to take care some banking business (Myanmar's banking system is Byzantine) and show our school property to a potential buyer so it worked out perfectly for them to drop me off at the airport on their way. The first leg of the journey went from Yangon out over the Bay of Bengal, straight across India, and over the Persian Gulf to Doha, Qatar. The airport sits right on the water and the end of the runway is actually a seawall so I felt like we had taken a wrong turn and were on final approach to Saint Martin before we actually landed and I could finally see that we were in the middle of a sandstorm that was partially obscuring my view of the skyscrapers and sand dunes! Inside the airport everything was extremely plush and lavish, there's an entire mall inside with every exclusive retailer in the world seeming to have a storefront. There's Mercedes, Ducati, and Lamborghini showroom models for sale and raffle scattered around, and if you're interested you can buy gold bars or coins in any of the jewelry stores! After a 3 1/2 hour layover, I boarded another almost empty flight that flew me northwest over the Persian Gulf towards Mosul and ISIS. The destination for this flight is Erbil, the capital city of Iraqi Kurdistan, a fully autonomous region in northern Iraq about 90 km from the city of Mosul and a major staging ground of the Battle for Mosul that has been underway now for the better part of a year. At first after crossing into Iraq the terrain was flat, bone dry, and arid desert, but the farther north we flew the more rugged and mountainous it became. Eventually I started to see trees on the higher hills and finally we started flying over snow covered mountains! Shortly after leaving the mountains behind we began to prepare for landing. Instead of beginning our descent a couple hundred miles away from our destination, we remained at nearly cruising altitude until we flew over Erbil. Then the pilot flew in a figure eight pattern while dropping us down towards the runway. We descended so fast that I felt like I was training for a trip to the space station while nearly levitating under my seatbelt! In the airport I went through customs and then took a shuttle to the civilian meeting point where I was picked up by Oliver and Sven, who run AEM operations in Iraq. After introductions they took me to their main base in Erbil. This is in what used to be a very nice mansion but it's been neglected for a while now and is surrounded by mostly abandoned and run down compounds. After we got there I was introduced to Monir, another paramedic who had arrived last night. Oliver gave us an orientation talk and then we went to the market to buy whatever gear we didn't already have with us. By this time it was 0130 for me with time change so I went to bed. In the morning we loaded up and met with Pete and Walter from Global Response Management to form a convoy on the 90 km drive to Mosul in Nineveh province. I was even allowed to drive one of the Toyota hiluxes in the convoy! After leaving Erbil we drove northwest through the desert passing countless checkpoints and places in the road where at some time either a large dirt berm had been across it and recently bulldozed through or where the road had been mined and the craters filled in with dirt. The closer we got to Mosul the more damage there was. Houses completely riddled with holes, burned out, or with blast damage. Finally ahead of us we could see the smoke over the city and as we stopped at the last checkpoint before crossing the floating bridge over the Tigris River we could hear the fighting. After arriving in western Mosul we stopped along the side of the road as refugees flowed by going in the opposite direction, a Predator drone circled overhead, and one of ISIS' Dushka heavy machine guns intermittently barked out strings of epithets a half mile to our left. We had stopped in this prime location for our mandatory security briefing:...Don't talk to the jihadi's...don't get shot or exploded...Don't run outside and wave at unidentified drones...If there's a problem run in that direction... Etc. Afterwards we struck off towards the Iraqi Special Operations Forces (ISOF) forward operating base 1 and 3, which were combined after they sustained too many losses to operate separately. They are stationed in a couple large abandoned houses just west of the Old City. Along the way we had to drive within 700 meters of ISIS around the outskirts of ISIS controlled Old City. Here we dropped off a truck full of supplies as well as Monir to help reinforce two paramedics and several Iraqi medics who are already staffing this trauma stabilization point (TSP) co-located with ISOF. As the name implies, a TSP is located as close to the fighting as is safe and is where front line injuries come for stabilization so they can survive the trip to various field hospitals located several kilometers farther away from the front where they will receive additional stabilization or definitive care. Then we continued on to ISOF 2's FOB where Walter and I would initially be stationed with a team of several Iraqi medics and two Americans, Chris and James, at a second TSP that AEM is staffing. ISOF 2 is based in an old mosque just southwest of the Old City and had been an ISIS stronghold up until less then 2 months ago when this block was liberated. ISOF are US trained, urban warfare specialists who are engaging ISIS in close quarters, sometimes in hand to hand combat as they work in cooperation with the Iraqi army and the various militias and coalition forces to liberate the maze of alleyways and neighborhoods of Mosul's Old City inch by bloody inch. The challenge that makes this so difficult is that the streets of the Old City are so old that they are too narrow for tanks, Humvees, or even pickup trucks so all the fighting must be carried out via drone or other air strikes or dismounted, on foot. Also, ISIS refuses to let civilians leave the war zone and tries to shoot anyone who does, currently holding approximately 180,000 civilians (6/2) as hostages for their own enjoyment and as human shields, preventing coalition forces from simply razing the entire area to the ground. We threw our gear into the library aka bunk room and started introducing ourselves to the ISOF medics who were there at the moment. Before we even finished this our first patient came screeching up to the front gate in the back of a Humvee. An old man had been attempting to flee the Old City with his family when he was spotted by a sniper and was shot in the flank which also fractured his pelvis. We quickly stabilized him as much as possible and then called up one of the ambulances donated by the WHO and staffed by local volunteers to transport him to the hospital. It is amazing how all the civilians here in the neighborhood around the TSP and in all the liberated areas, many of whom escaped from the Old City only within the last week or two, are attempting to pick up their life where it was interrupted by ISIS. While many houses have been completely destroyed and thousands of homeless people are making their way to relatives homes or the IDP camps, even more are staying behind to begin the daunting task of rebuilding their lives and city. Some people are opening up their market stands and other businesses again, others are repairing damaged buildings and plastering over bullet holes, and city employees are repairing water, power, and sanitation infrastructure and clearing away as much of the rubble as possible. There are IED's camouflaged everywhere in the liberated areas, as well as unexploded ordnance, broken glass, disabled vehicles, and craters in the roads either from air strikes or IED's. Many roads are still barricaded on purpose to deter ISIS from driving their never ending supply of VBIED's (vehicle-borne improvised explosive devices) past the siege of Iraqi and coalition forces and into the liberated areas of the city. At first our patient volume was fairly low with just a few soldiers per day and the majority being civilians. The most common civilian problem was symptoms resulting from observing Ramadan which is from May 26 through June 24 this year- dizziness, weakness, tiredness, syncope, and kidney failure from not eating or drinking all day and then eating loads of salt and sugar at night. During the day the temperature rises to 115-119 degrees Fahrenheit and everybody is chronically dehydrated. Next most common problem is injuries resulting from exploding IED's- burns, shrapnel, head injuries, soft tissue injuries, "danglies", and amputations. Anywhere ISIS occupied for any length of time (all of Mosul) is infested with ingeniously disguised explosives. Candy bars, coke cans, toys, microwaves, refrigerators, faucet handles, livestock (we saw both a chicken bomb and a donkey bomb), doorknobs, and pressure plates under the tile floor running to a claymore built into the wall and plastered over are just a few of the items ISIS rigs to explode when families try to return home. Every day the sounds of the fighting echo in the background of everything we do. The sharp ringing and cracking of small arms fire that occasionally sends a bullet ricocheting off the wall of the mosque, deep heavy whumping of coalition air strikes and ISIS mortars, brrrrrrrrrrrping of A-10 Warthogs strafing insurgent positions, and the chest resonating kaboom of the occasional VBIED that would cause the curtains to jerk and the doors to shake and send up a massive fireball into the dusty sky became so normal that we hardly noticed them any more. After 10 days of working at ISOF 2 being on call 24/7 Walter and I took our truck and convoyed with Oliver and Sven back to Erbil to rest for a couple days and bring back supplies for the TSP's. In addition to sleeping and washing clothes we enjoyed exploring the city of Erbil which happens to hold the distinction of being the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world! You could probably say that we were all pretty exhausted and happy for a respite from the constantly "switched on" mode of the front but occasionally it went too far. One day while we were back in Erbil a huge shipment of medical supplies arrived at the airport for us and Oliver and Sven went to pick it up with one of the trucks and a cargo van. Unfortunately it was stuck in customs and wasn't accessible that day so they came back home. After getting back they realized that they had both ridden back in the truck and forgot the van at the airport! That very next day Monir, who had come back a day after me from the other TSP for a quick break also, went to get food from a great little restaurant close by and not only could he not find the shop, but when he walked back to where he thought the truck was parked it was gone! After frantically searching for it everywhere without success he got a taxi back to the house and told Oliver. Oliver and Sven took the keys and went to do a quick drive-by before calling the police and found the truck sitting nicely parked and locked within sight of the restaurant! After the break when we returned to Mosul Walter and I were assigned to staff ISOF 1 and 3 along with Monir, a paramedic named Anthony who was the team leader and a nurse named Steve, because two paramedics from Australia had arrived to volunteer for a while and were placed at ISOF 2. The Australians were very friendly and fun to hang out with. They were super health oriented and tried to work out on the roof of the mosque two or 3 times per day. It was extra funny because after just 2 days they both got violently sick from the food or water or both and had to go back to Erbil for a while to recover! Working at ISOF 1 and 3 came with a couple perks. For one, the ISOF medics here weren't as incompetent and tried to be proactive when treating patients. For another, there's a kitchen and a cook here so food doesn't have to come from ISOF headquarters! Only downside is that we have to keep our heads down behind the low wall on the flat roof because ISIS snipers have a clear line of sight to this position. On Wednesday the 14th ISIS rushed the front line and launched a counterattack with 7 VBIED's and approximately 100 men. At least 23 ISIS (aka Daesh) were confirmed killed and the rest were pushed back into the Old City. Casualties were plentiful and were divided up over several TSP's. On Sunday the 18th the Iraqi army and coalition forces officially announced a new assault on the Old City after almost a week of fighting at a standstill. This lull had occurred because one of the regiments of the 9th division had become bogged down while clearing their assigned section of the the Old City and everyone else had to stop their advance and wait for them to catch up again. Because there are so many players assisting in the Battle for Mosul, there are huge variances in training and proficiency and effective communications between everyone is sometimes lacking. Now that everyone is back in place the Iraqi army is confident that this is the "final chapter" in the Battle for Mosul that has been dragging on for almost a year. On the 22nd we woke up to discover that during the night the 844 year old Great Mosque of al-Nuri, from which Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi had announced Islamic State's so called caliphate on July 4, 2014, had been blown up by retreating jihadists. 😥 The Great Mosque is where the world-famous 148 foot tall leaning al-Hadba (the hunchback) minaret had been before it was also destroyed. Our TSP had been close enough to this piece of history that we could clearly see the black flag of ISIS flying at its peak. As the coalition continued gaining back ground from Daesh our TSP's at ISOF's forward operating bases started getting farther and farther away from the front line, which meant that anyone injured in the fighting had a longer way to come to reach medical care. So one day Oliver, Sven, and I went to find a new building to use as a stabilization point. After driving down the main road a little over a mile we found a water purification facility with a walled compound that would work great for us once it was de-mined. Unfortunately, the very next day it received several direct hits from a 120mm mortar and was completely destroyed. We then made contact with the 16th division of the Iraqi army who had a small first aid station set up in a carpentry shop a couple hundred yards further back from the water plant. They had three army medics working around the clock treating dozens of soldiers and over 150 civilians per day with almost no supplies. When Oliver asked Major Ahmed if we could bring in some medics and supplies to work with them the Major almost started crying. So starting the next day AEM started staffing medics at 16th division including myself, being sure to keep some volunteers at ISOF 2 and ISOF 1 and 3 to maintain coverage. Although some civilians just can't take it anymore and try to escape before the army recaptures their house or street most wait because one of the things ISIS enjoys the most is shooting men, women, and children in the back as they try to escape. Those who are liberated or make it to the Iraqi lines and searched and questioned and then walk down the road right past our TSP on their way to a family members home or an IDP camp. If they were shot or wounded by an IED on their way out of the Old City we would treat them and send them to the hospital via ambulance. There were also many patients with old injuries that we would assess and clean, and we treated hundreds of patients with life threatening dehydration. When the civilians were uninjured, we would simply greet them as they walked by, celebrating with them if they were happy and consoling them if they were sad. And there was always work to do assisting other humanitarian agencies in passing out food and water to the starving, malnourished children and their families. If the TSP was relatively quiet we would sometimes go and pick up loads of elderly, sick, or injured civilians in our ambulances or the large open freight trucks that the UN funded NGO 'Muslim Aid' uses to haul in food and water for the refugees passing our TSP and haul away dead bodies. This helps take some of the load off the Iraqi army who have evacuated hundreds of the injured on their armored Humvees either sitting or lying on stretchers tied to the hood. On the 23rd our position was overrun with overzealous reporters who had found out about our TSP and all the refugees fleeing down our road as the army pushed in opening escape routes and were trying to get stories. We banned them from the critical patient side of the carpentry shop and kept on working as best we could. After an hour and a half however, we began coming under mortar fire and all the journalists quickly started leaving. The army intelligence officers who worked with us at the TSP sniffing out disguised Daesh and their families discovered that one of the reporters had been hosting a live news broadcast and ISIS had used it to work out our location. Those reporters won't be coming back. They quickly called in coalition air support to locate the source of the offending projectiles and after several air strikes that were close enough to set off car alarms and rattle all the metal doors up and down the street everything was back to normal. Across the Tigris in east Mosul, which has been a liberated and semi- functional city for the past 5 months, three suicide bombers blew themselves up in a residential neighborhood in retaliation for the increased pressure they are feeling from the offensive, killing 5 and injuring 19 others. The next day on the 24th Major Ahmed received intel that we had a suicide bomber of our very own who had made his way through the army lines disguised as a cripple and was targeting our TSP. We quickly shut everything down and went to evacuate when Monir realized that he had lost the truck keys! We waited for several tense minutes until Pete arrived from ISOF 1 and 3 and we all piled into the back of his truck and called it a day! A total of 5 suicide bombers infiltrated the city that day and later that night we were woken up to care for some of their handiwork. On the evening of the 25th I was just relaxing after a suspiciously quiet day when I started hearing shouting and extra shooting and then convoy after convoy of Humvees, MRAPS, and M1 Abrams tanks screaming past the TSP away from the direction of the Old City. When I went up to the roof and looked around the entire city to the Southwest of our position was nothing but smoke and fire and shooting. It turns out several dozen Daesh had slipped past the Iraqi army's siege around the Old City through a series of "rat holes" (holes punched through the walls of interconnected houses as well as subterranean tunnels) and launched a massive surprise counterattack after popping up just on the the other side of ISOF 1 and 3 where I had been working that day. They lit houses and cars on fire and then began fighting their way back towards the Old City and us attacking Iraqi and coalition positions from behind. For a couple hours we were within line of sight of the new front line and I could see ISIS muzzle flashes and angry red tracers cracking through the air past the TSP. As you can imagine we were busy that night as panicking civilians tried to evacuate and fled in all directions without rhyme or reason, some fleeing east toward the Old City and some west towards the new offensive with cows and flocks of sheep and goats all mixed in. After the army got organized and started pushing back the offensive quickly crumbled and by midnight victory was declared although there was a thorough house to house mop-up in the morning. The last 3 jihadis involved in the counterattack who weren't killed barricaded themselves in a house holding a family of 14 hostage. After an 18 hour standoff 2 ISOF snipers were able to get in position to shoot two of them and the third was overpowered by his hostages. Before the army could move in the family opened the front door and tripped a claymore placed by the 3 Daesh to deter an attack on their position. Five family members were rushed to our TSP in critical condition and after doing what we could to stabilize them they were transferred to Mosul General. On June 29th, my last day in Mosul, the Iraqi army recaptured the destroyed Great Mosque where the iconic leaning al-Hadba minaret had once stood. This was met with great happiness by Iraqi army and citizens alike as a symbolic victory over ISIS in Mosul. That afternoon I had to tell all the medics and soldiers I'd lived and worked with for the past month goodbye, then I left Mosul and drove back to Erbil to clean up and pack so I would be ready to leave the next morning. In Erbil also I had to say goodbye to many friends that I had met and spent time with over the last month. Afterwards Sven dropped me off at the airport and after barely catching my flight I flew back to Doha, Qatar, and then on to Yangon, Myanmar arriving at six o'clock in the morning on July 1st. Volunteering in Mosul for this month was an amazing experience, making lifelong friends and memories. Even though there were so many sickening and twisted things happening while I was here I was able to help a little and make a difference for a lot of people and I am hoping to come back again sometime!

[laurlovescookies]

Kadam Week Prompt Six: The Boy in the Well, Part 1 of 2

- Kurt meets Adam’s ex-boyfriend and realizes that he may not have cornered the market on bad relationships.

Soooo, I noticed that there are no horror genre Kadam fics. (Which is ironic, because I’m terrified of even the corniest of scary movies.) So I thought I’d give it a go. This is a fic wherein Kurt and Adam meet while Kurt’s still in high school, shortly before A Very Glee Christmas.

This fic features a morally-ambiguous Adam (to put it mildly.) I know that seems anathema to the Kadam fandom (because Adam is so sweet and easygoing) but I wanted to try it just the same. And also to challenge myself to write outside my comfort zone. ^_^

Adam’s jerk boyfriend is mentioned in this story, but he doesn’t actually make an appearance, for reasons you’ll soon understand if you decide to keep reading.

Warning: Dark fic. Um, Not really any graphic stuff (and no sexual content), but there are some un-jolly shenanigans just the same. Adam is by no means a threat to Kurt, but the same is certainly not guaranteed for some other parties.

*whispers* Run like hell while you can.

-O-

The slithery-dee,

He came out of the sea,

He ate all the others

But he didn’t eat me.

The slithery-dee,

He came out of the sea,

He ate all the others

And he only spared me. –Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, Adapted

-O-

He staggered through the brush, wading through knee-high, frozen snow. But however far Kurt got the man’s screaming still rang in his ears, and there was still the sound of dry leaves and branches being crushed not far away as the black silhouette ploughed after him. It sang, mocking and singsong, although taut around the edges with obvious fury:

“OLLY-OLLY-OXEN-FREE!”

By now the snow was glittering under the stars like a threat. It was scarcely light enough besides to see his own hand inches away from his face, and he kept smacking into trees and getting tangled in branches, liberally scratching him. Again he felt for his phone in his pockets, and again scrabbled at empty space. He’d dropped it. His one lifeline and he’d dropped it.

His ragged breathing appeared in the frosty air in puffs that swam over his face as he hurried downhill, slipping more than once and soaking himself. He forced himself up and running again, heart beating so painfully in his throat and blood pounding so prominently in his ears he wondered that they hadn’t given him away yet. The moon and stars watched through the trees as he swallowed the cries for help that he knew would only kill him in the end.

“DON’T MAKE ME DRAG YOU OUT, YOU DIRTY LITTLE FAGGOT, DON’T MAKE ME COME FIND YOU!”  

However deep he went, Dave’s voice was not getting any further away, and he was clearly following the evidence Kurt could not erase in the snow drifts. He stopped cold and looked round, clutching at a searing stitch in his side. He knew immediately it was no good throwing Dave off track with a false trail—it would only slow him down.

Chest heaving, the young man went deeper, mind blank with futility and hot with terror. He choked on dry sobs, his clawing hands angry-red, aching and burning fiercely.

“I’LL KILL YOU! GONNA RIP THIS KNIFE THROUGH YOUR ASS AND FUCKING CUT YOU!”

Better to give up now—it was the only left to do, besides hanging himself with his coat—he had his pick of trees, none of which he could scrabble into, however—but his treacherous feet kept moving automatically as he crashed through several bare branches. No good, no good, no good, was the mantra his slipping feet kept crushing through the snow.

Kurt tripped over a tree root, and his vision briefly turned white as he fell for the third time, this time feeling an awful pop in his ankle. There was a brief, horrible split second before the pain fully registered that he understood that he’d been hurt badly before he hit the ground. Pain lanced its way up his ankle, throbbing madly. Voice catching in the lump in his throat, he lay crumpled and winded, wet hair falling messily over his face. Any moment now there would be Dave and his knife and he would tear out his throat and it might be a relief, compared to what else the man might like to do. Especially because he’d shown a proclivity towards assault before.

He screwed up his face and moaned.

It also meant leaving his father alone, harming the only friends he’d ever had, possibly even the boy he crushed on, regardless of how he treated Kurt in the end. Strange how evident that was on the cusp of dying. He pressed his bitterly-cold hands against his mouth to restrain the primal shriek of despair that rattled inside his ribcage like a pinball.  

After some time—he couldn’t tell for how long—he rose again, dripping, glowing with cold and hurt, and hobbled forward. There was a retaliatory stab of pain in his ankle with each step, as if he were the mermaid in the original Hans Christen Anderson story.

Gritting his teeth, a fine sheet of sweat on his brow despite the extreme chill, he managed ten steps before he was forced to clutch a tree for support, every inch of him crying for release as he shakily limped away again, spotting a fallen branch. He quickly broke it into an adequate staff, limping with the birch over his shoulder as he came into a small clearing.

Dave’s shouts and intermittent curses had faded somewhat, but he couldn’t have got away so easily. Perhaps the darkness protected Kurt somewhat, but it wasn’t yet late enough.

Kurt came to a stop before a yew tree, sagging against his support, face deathly-white. Gasping, he looked up to find a small well. The weathered, cracked stone and splintery wood looked positively ancient, but maybe it meant there were buildings somewhere not far away. And inhabitants.

Tasting his heart in his throat, Kurt staggered forward, plunging deeper into the heart of the forest. By now the branches had grown so thick and so clustered overhead he couldn’t see the moon or stars anymore; he was running near-blind.

Kurt’s path narrowed into a thicket-tunnel, and he forced himself to crawl through it, previously throbbing hands rapidly losing feeling in them as they slapped forward against the snow. Dave was still yelling what sounded like lewd promises in the distance, but they sounded more distant now.

Not as distant as Kurt would’ve preferred, however. Maybe this pass would be too big for Dave to lumber through.

The inky tunnel eventually began expanding around him, and soon Kurt was able to shakily rise, wincing as he put some pressure on his injured ankle. Chest heaving, he hurried on, falling and rising upon a gently-sloping hill, nearly rolling down upon it twice as he hauled himself up.

It was then he came upon a house. His breath hitched.

It was an enormous, Victorian beauty, pillared and with pale green shingles lacquered so distinctly even in the night Kurt could see they looked like scales. The roof and dilapidated window panels were a dark slate, and upon the roof and ground floor there were iron fences. Somehow they managed to look both delicate and threatening, the intricate, spindly spirals in the metal belying the sharp arrowheads atop the fence. Kurt squinted at it, struggling to breathe.

Had the light been improved, Kurt would’ve been able to fully recognize the weathered loveliness and hideousness of the house. Clearly it had been elaborately designed, with two small towers constructed into its frame.

But with the panels scattered on the snow about it like missing teeth, the faded paint, the splintered wood and the fact that the distinctly-unwelcoming looking place seemed sunken into the snow, it had a foreboding feel of neglect. Had Kurt not been so frightened, he might’ve sensed how the whole place had a stale taste to the air.

But as it was, not even Kurt cared to appreciate aesthetics as he rushed towards the house, rushing past the old gate, which stiffly opened, creaking in his wake.

Kurt ran faster than he ever had in his life, the pain nearly unrecognizable in the face of overwhelming adrenaline. He slipped twice along the way—the stony pass was icy beneath the snow.

He had to drag himself to the door, pounding furiously. “Hello? Hello, is there anyone here? Help! Help me! It’s an emergency!”

Somewhere Dave bellowed his name. Tears dashing down his face, Kurt frantically hammered the door with both fists.

“Please, please, please open up, he’s going to kill me,” he cried, hot tears splashing on the door. “He’s come to murder me and I’ve got nowhere else to go, no phone, so please—“

The dark windows suddenly lit up like jack-o-lantern eyes, painting the outside yellow. A second later Kurt yelped as the door he’d been leaning against disappeared and he crash-landed on a thick plush carpet. Two hands immediately touched his shoulders and he instinctively recoiled, looking up with terrified eyes.

A young blond man was stooping beside him, visibly concerned. The door was shut—the stranger must’ve opened and closed it in a hurry. He withdrew his hands slightly, pale blue eyes wide.

“What happened?” He asked urgently, trying to heave Kurt to his feet. The boy hissed with pain through his teeth and the young man nearly dropped him in his haste. “Oh, oh, you’re hurt—“ He stared incredulously at Kurt’s face, and Kurt wondered wildly if he looked as bad as he felt. “—you really are hurt, you look like you got into a fight with a bear—“

“Please,” Kurt whispered again, tears continuing to fall despite his shock. He couldn’t stop babbling, everything that he’d kept silent for months slipping out from his crumbled defenses: “All I wanted—all I wanted was for him to leave me alone, he kept torturing me every chance I got because he assaulted me, and I left and I just wanted it to be over, but he—he found me—“

“Shhh. Shhhh.” The young man tentatively looped one of Kurt’s arms around his shoulder. This time the latter tolerated the contact, and Adam’s eyes closed for a brief moment.

“The door is locked.” He pointed toward the door with his foot. “And I have a gun.” Kurt flinched, partially out of the insinuation and from guilt over the shuddery wave of relief that passed over him at the words. He normally objected gun ownership. “No one is coming to hurt you, I promise.

“It will be alright,” The young man soothed as he and Kurt stiffly went forward, Kurt dazedly allowing himself to be led. “My name is Adam. Adam Crawford.” He turned to look at Kurt. “You can explain once we get you down—easy, easy now, you look dead on your feet—“ And while Kurt barely took in anything of his surroundings, he felt himself gently lowered on a sofa that sank beneath him. Adam tentatively let him go, muttering beneath his breath as he hurried away, “Water, hot water, bandages, and ice—“

Kurt’s head sagged back against the sofa, and he took in the background with a mite of curiosity. There was a small brass chandelier with glass bulb-frames that looked as if it’d recovered in an antique shop. There were two small chintz armchairs sitting near a beautiful mantle, beneath which was a fireplace. It was surrounded by two enormous shelves filled with leather-bound books with beautiful, peeling good lettering on their spines.

There were delicate tables scattered around the room, and velvet curtains with tassels hung heavily before the windows; he was grateful the drapes were drawn. The wallpaper was a discolored, intricate floral pattern that looked vintage. There was a cabinet filled with delicate-looking teacups, and on the heavy-looking coffee table before him was a glass decanter and two cups. His brow furrowed as he took in the grandfather clock ticking dutifully in the corner and its swinging pendulum. There were some embroideries hanging on the wall beneath glass. Kurt vaguely remembered his grandmother’s home before she passed away.

His eyes fluttered shut and open as he heard Adam’s footsteps approach, and the young man approached him with a tentative smile, bearing a small tray and steaming bowl. “I like your home,” he couldn’t help but say quietly as Adam set the tray on the table and knelt beside him. “Very 1950’s chic.”

“That’s what mother was going for,” Adam said, sounding amused as if enjoying a private joke. He dipped a small hand towel into the hot water and wrung it out. “She always liked to keep it just so. It was my Grandad’s before he died. Sorry—this might hurt a bit.”

Adam prized Kurt’s boot and sock off the swollen ankle, and the pale boy dug his fingertips into the sofa arm and suppressed a whimper. Adam gave him an apologetic smile as he examined Kurt’s puffy, bruising ankle.

“I’m not a doctor, but if you can still flex it—can you flex it? Oh, good. Then it’s likely a bad sprain.” He wrapped the hot towel around the wound and Kurt watched him with eyes filling up again, so grateful he couldn’t speak.

“Thank you,” he managed at last. Adam looked at him, brow furrowing.

“You’re soaked. Can you take off your coat?” Kurt would’ve blushed, but no color rushed into his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get your furniture wet—“

“Nonsense. I just don’t want you to catch your death.” Kurt shed his soaking coat in an instant, and Adam took it away.

The sound of a snap made him jump, and he turned to look at a roaring fire which had certainly not been there before.

“Oh, you have an electric fire,” he said as Adam returned. Kurt thought the fireplace looked like wood-burning one, but you could make anything look like anything for the right amount of money.

Adam looked startled, and then chuckled as he stooped beside Kurt again. “That’s a relatively new addition. This house is historical, so the city of Lima can’t raze it. Not that anyone would care to, anyway—this place is in the middle of nowhere.”

“The middle of nowhere in the middle of nowhere,” Kurt murmured, and was pleased when Adam laughed. Adam had a nice laugh, and for the first time he noticed the taller man had an English accent. A little color did return to his face as Adam poured what smelled strongly of anti-septic into another cloth, and leaned forward to dab it on his face. It stung fiercely; he must be raked raw. “Sorry, sorry. Have to clean these.”

“Does it look bad?”

“What are you apologizing for? And yes, it really does, love. I’m sorry.”

“I can do it if you want.”

“No, pay no mind.” Adam applied a bandage to his cheek, cupping the other to hold Kurt’s face steady. He prayed the latter didn’t feel it burn.

Adam slowly withdrew, reaching for a glass on the table which was filled with something dark and pushed it into Kurt’s hands. Kurt took it at once, too distracted to remember that it had been empty seconds before.

“Now, drink this. It’ll warm you up.” He sat beside Kurt and looked at him expectantly. “Drink this and start from the beginning.

“Whom are you?” Kurt’s eyelashes brushed his cheekbones. He took a sip of the maroon contents a little and coughed at the dry tang of wine, which he’d seldom tasted.

“What’s happening? Who’s chasing you and why?”

“Kurt Hummel.”

Mind racing, Kurt hesitated out of sheer habit, and began.

“I came back from school to spend winter break at my home.” He said sadly, thinking of how worried his father must be at this point. He’d certainly broken curfew by now, and if Dave wouldn’t kill him, Burt would.

If Kurt could stand to tell him the truth. Burt might have another coronary then and there.

“It was snowing outside and so beautiful…it’s been a few years since I had a white Christmas, so I thought I’d go out for a walk on the nature trail a few miles away.” Several miles away by now. He would’ve frozen to death had Dave not got him, had Adam not saved him. Another rush of gratitude. “It got darker faster than I expected.” He closed his eyes, remembering the scene vividly as he’d headed towards his car. “I needed my phone to light my way back to the parking lot.” His fingers tightened in the sofa again. “But there was no one else there, no one but s-someone waiting for me.”

Kurt had to take a few deep breaths, and Adam put a consoling hand on his arm. Smiling wanly at him, Kurt went on:

“His name is Dave Karofsky.” The name felt like something acidic. “It’s because of him I had to change schools, he was—he—“Kurt fumbled. “In the parking lot, he asked me if I’d told anyone that he’d—“ He couldn’t say it. “And I said no. He said ‘Good,’ and then he drew a k-knife from his pocket. He said he was going to cut my tongue out for in-insurance. I ran because he was blocking my way to my car.”

Adam leaned close and Kurt felt like something contaminated. But Adam slipped a finger under his chin and made him look up. “Why was he hurting you?” He said, so gently it made Kurt want to cry again. “If you don’t mind my asking?”

This was dangerous, because Adam might throw him from the house any second, but he owed Adam the truth.

“Because I’m gay.” Kurt bit the inside of his mouth as Adam stared at him. “And I was out at school, and he wouldn’t let up on the bullying, until I confronted him.” He shook his head, so weary he could scarcely hold it up. “I confronted him, and he wound up k-kissing me.” He shrank from the memory, but it followed him. “I didn’t want it, I pushed him away, but he said he’d kill me if I told anyone.” A tear slipped down his face, and Adam thumbed it away, still watching him acutely.

“I didn’t. And I didn’t tell my dad…all of the truth, I couldn’t, he has a bad heart, but he tried to get Karofsky expelled. And failed. The school board took his side. So I just changed schools. Like I said, I came home for the holiday.” A lump rose to his throat again, threatening to burst. “And—“

Adam pulled him into a hug, a tight one, and Kurt squeezed back just as hard, burying his face against the other’s boy shoulder as Adam whispered to him. Kurt was too far away to understand much of it, other than that it was kind, comforting, and beautiful.

Adam pulled back, eyes overbright and with a tremulous smile of his own.

“You know,” He turned to look at the flames, expression inscrutable. “I’ve never met someone whom just…came out and said that before.” He gazed at Kurt again, expression wistful. “Certainly it’s not something I’ve managed yet.”

Kurt frowned, confused. “Come out and—“ His eyes widened. “You…”

Adam nodded, exhaled in a short puff. “Yes. Though I’ve never told my parents. It—“ Now it was Adam’s turn to struggle. “You already know, I’m certain, how hard it is.”

“…you can’t tell them? At all?”

“I never could. Not if I wanted to stay in this house.”

Kurt’s heart broke not for the first time tonight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Adam hesitated, and then slowly took Kurt’s cold hand in his own, squeezing it. Kurt squeezed back, feeling the tips of his ears burning. “Do you know for sure?” he couldn’t help but ask anxiously. Adam looked down at his lap. “That they wouldn’t…accept…”

“One hundred and ten percent,” Adam said offhandedly, though there was a slight tremor at the end. “My parents have made it perfectly clear to me what they think of homosexuals.”  

“What’s that?”

“That they should be gassed.”

Profoundly disturbed, Kurt allowed his head to fall against Adam’s arm—under any other circumstance he would not be so forthwith coming, but he was so vulnerable at the moment he couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry again.”

“You really don’t need to apologize so much, dear.”  

“Are they…are they here tonight?”

Adam looked at the flames writhing again, back at Kurt’s head pressed against his arm. “No. For better or for worse, it’s just you and I. They’re away…quite often.” He snorted near-inaudibly. “And I’m afraid they took the car with them.”

“When will they be back?” Kurt asked hesitantly. “And do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Something in Adam’s eyes flickered. “No siblings. My parents are actually out of the country right now.” Adam grinned weakly. “They’re on their own winter holiday, and I’m on mine. It’s peaceful enough here and I can do all the reading I like, but it’s felt like a very, very, very long holiday, mind you.”

“…I’m…”

Adam poked Kurt playfully on the nose. “I’m going to start charging you money every time you say that. I have enough food to last us through a nuclear holocaust and life in a post-apocalyptic society.”

That wasn’t very reassuring to Kurt. The sentiment must’ve registered on his face, because Adam added, “Even if they were on their way home as we speak, they certainly couldn’t get very far with all this snow. You were right; I’ve not seen so much in years.”  

Suddenly Kurt remembered his own situation, and felt remarkably stupid for having briefly forgotten it. But he’d been so excited to meet another (sane) queer person, and had felt genuine pain for Adam’s situation.  “Do you have a phone? I need…”

He was faced with the awful truth; Karofsky couldn’t be allowed to threaten anyone else. “I need to call the police. Or at the very least my dad, and let him know I’m okay.”

Adam’s face fell a little at that.

“I’m afraid…we do not. Have a telephone, I mean.”

Kurt’s mind wiped itself clean with a blinding-white panic.

“How do you…” he began, and the concept was so utterly alien to him he didn’t know what to say. “Your parents left you here alone without a phone? Not even a cell phone?”

“…I don’t have a cell phone. We did have a phone once, but it was disconnected. And no one ever really bothered to replace it.”

“But you have wii-fi,” Kurt heard himself say feebly. “And I can still send a message to the authorities via email—“

“I’m afraid not. I don’t have any of these things.”

This was so utterly unbelievable and ghastly Kurt didn’t want to believe him, but as Adam steadily held his gaze and looked so genuinely apologetic, he understood with no small amount of dread that Adam was telling the truth. He inhaled a sharp breath, which didn’t seem to reach his lungs…

“Kurt? Kurt, breathe.”

Adam put a steadying hand on Kurt’s back as the smaller boy’s chest started rapidly heaving up and down, spots looming in front of his vision. “Look at me.”

Horrified, he just barely managed to obey, and Adam shushed him. “Hold your breath. Hold—I know, I know, it’s hard, but it will be alright, hold, that’s good, hold, and slowly release. Very good. Another. And again. Remember, slowly. And a bit deeper than that, from your diaphragm. That’s good. You’ve done a fantastic job tonight, Kurt. Call it intuition, but I suspect anyone else in your situation would be dead by now. There we go. Have a bit more wine.”

Shakily Kurt obeyed again, profoundly relieved that someone else was more or less in charge for a change because he was on the verge of falling to pieces. Breathing unevenly, he took a small sip of wine, and then another, savoring the warm bloom in the pit of his stomach. “There really isn’t…you really don’t have wi-fi at all?”  

Adam hesitated again, and then drew a wet strand of Kurt’s hair back. “No.”

“…any neighbors nearby whom do?”

“I’m afraid not, Kurt. This house was built by my granddad to be a summer home far, far away from his business partners at the logging firm he owned in Lima. Otherwise they were forever calling him for help and advice even when he was on holiday…I think that’s why my gran disconnected the phone to begin with. No one else has bothered building out here, and believe you me, I’ve searched.”

He got up and went to look out the window. Kurt wobbled as he stood again in alarm.

“What are you doing? Close them! He might see you!”

“Not in this snow, he won’t,” retorted Adam as he pulled back the curtain a bit more so that Kurt could see. The younger gawked, and wondered faintly if what he saw now was proof of the existence of a all-powerful, omniscient deity. Although whether or not said deity loved or hated him tonight remained yet to be seen.

Enormous, fat snowflakes, the kind that looked like they belonged in a snow globe, were tumbling from the heavens in torrents so quickly it looked like a white, sparkling blur at times. The wind was rising, whistling, and while Kurt’s spirits lifted slightly with the knowledge that an incoming blizzard might deter Karofsky from pursuing him, it would also strand Kurt here.

For whom knew how long.

He swayed. He was in the middle of the wilderness, with no phone, no internet, no neighbors, his car miles away and concealed near a forest no one was likely to visit anytime soon. Not in this weather. Only Adam’s soothing admonitions that he remember to breathe kept him from another full-scale panic attack. How many could he have in one night?

He closed his eyes, the full implications washing over him. He hadn’t told anyone where he had gone this evening. Karofsky certainly wouldn’t divulge that Kurt was missing because he’d tried to slash him open. His mind raced with panic; Burt’s heart would give out. And what would Finn and Carol do, if their brother and stepson never came home? Finn would call the Glee cavalry, that was certain, but again, Kurt had told no one he was, and certainly no one knew he was a tremendous distance away now. Even he didn’t know where he was.  

And his swans…they’d been at the mall together just a few hours ago, laughing and catching up in the food court, tossing fries and blowing straw wrappers at each other. All they’d know was that he’d vanished off the face of the earth. Possibly for days, if what the morning’s forecast said was true.

It was a selfish thought, Kurt knew, but would Blaine even care that he was gone? He didn’t want to answer that one.

“Where’s my coat? I should go, while I have the chance.” he said faintly, opening his eyes again. “I…I have to make my way back, before it gets too bad…follow the tracks I left before they disappear tonight”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Adam said at once, letting the curtain fall again. “And sit back down, Kurt, you can barely stand.”

“I managed before.”

“Barely! It’s a wonder you escaped at all from that menace!”

“…do you have a snowblower? I’d accept a dog sled team at this point.”

Adam’s eyes told him before he’d finished speaking that it was hopeless. “It’s already looking terrible out, and I’m not about to let you go into a storm, hurt and with a maniac out for your blood.” Adam gave him a pitying look, but shook his head in a firm no. “I’m sorry, Kurt.”

Kurt knew Adam was right, but that didn’t stop him from nearly toppling to his ground like some stupid Victorian woman with the vapors and why did he feel so effing fragile tonight when he’d made it a point for so long to be strong? Even when he’d been physically sick in the mornings with fear over going to school, he’d hid it. Now he couldn’t stop feeling as weak as if there’d never be anything again.

The back of his knees hit the couch and he fell back upon it, burying his face in his hands. It didn’t seem like such a bad trade-off for not being killed, but snowbound. He was snowbound, for goodness knew how long. Christmas was in three days, and this was the first one he would spend with a brother. Would’ve. His mind swiftly attacked the thought.

It was very possible that he wouldn’t survive in any case. Not if Dave found them…

A second later Adam was standing in front of him again, thumbing away the fresh wave of tears. “Whatever it might mean from someone you’ve never met—I won’t allow him in, and I certainly won’t let him harm you.”

Adam pulled him into an embrace and allowed Kurt to cry heartily into his shoulder.

[deniscollins]

Admissions Scandal: When ‘Hard Work’ (Plus $6.5 Million) Helps Get You Into Stanford

What would you do if you were a marketing executive for the Institute of Chinese Language and Culture, which offers college consulting and tutoring that help Chinese students get reference letters, write essays and prepare for interviews at American colleges and university, and you knew one of your competitors was cheating for clients by providing Stanford University a fake list of sailing accomplishments and making a $500,000 donation to the sailing program after a client was admitted: (1) inform federal authorities, (2) inform Stanford Administrators, (3) do nothing? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

Sitting in a plush chair and wearing a white blouse buttoned up to the neck, the young woman looks into the camera, smiles and offers advice about getting into a top American university.

“Some people think, ‘Didn’t you get into Stanford because your family is rich?’” the woman, Yusi Zhao, says in a video posted on social media. It wasn’t like that, she says. The admissions officers “have no idea who you are.”

She adds, “I tested into Stanford through my own hard work.”

The video was recorded in the summer before Ms. Zhao began her freshman year, in 2017. It now stands in sharp contrast with recent news: that her parents paid $6.5 million to a college consultant at the center of an international college admissions scheme, according to a person with direct knowledge of the investigation.

Prosecutors say that the consultant, William Singer, tried to get Ms. Zhao recruited to the Stanford sailing team, providing a fake list of sailing accomplishments and making a $500,000 donation to the sailing program after she was admitted.

The payment to Mr. Singer was by far the largest known in the case, and the disclosure immediately added Ms. Zhao and her family, pharmaceutical billionaires from China, to a cast of powerful figures swept up in the scandal, including two Hollywood actresses and prominent names from the American legal and business worlds.

The new turns in the investigation, including reports that another family from China paid $1.2 million in connection with their daughter’s application to Yale, have illuminated the global reach of Mr. Singer’s operation and the wealthy Chinese families eager to get their children into prestigious American universities.

Mr. Singer was far from alone in trying to profit from soaring demand in China for the elite American college experience. Many Chinese families turn to middlemen, whose fees can be tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars or more, like some of their counterparts in the college consulting industry in the United States.

In China, a dizzying array of companies offer advisory services that range from the legitimate to the openly dishonest — promising, as Mr. Singer did with some of his clients, guaranteed admission to certain schools in exchange for payments.

A private club down the street from the Zhao family home outside Beijing was lined with advertisements for admissions consulting and SAT test-prep services. One company, called Capstone, offered “100 percent university clients accepted into 40 Top U.S. Universities.” Across the street were several businesses offering university consulting and tutoring; one had posted a list of the colleges and boarding schools where its clients had been admitted: Yale, Brown, Andover, Groton.

Businesses like these have boomed in China as the number of Chinese international students has steadily grown in the United States. In 2017, there were more than 363,000 Chinese students enrolled in American universities, more than a third of all international students, according to the Institute of International Education.

Jack Chen, a marketing executive for the Institute of Chinese Language and Culture, which offers college consulting and tutoring, said companies like his help students get reference letters, write essays and prepare for interviews. They also advise children on how to build up their résumés to include charity work and competitions that separate them from their peers, he said.

Mr. Chen said he knew of consulting companies that could find back doors into top universities in the United States, but he declined to disclose their names. He added that there used to be more of these services, but that American universities had cracked down after several cases of cheating by Chinese students on standardized exams and college applications.

But it was perhaps the college consultants in the United States who had greater sway with Ms. Zhao’s parents, and the parents of the student in the Yale case, Sherry Guo. Both families pursued Mr. Singer’s services after meeting him through financial services companies in California, where he had formed relationships. Ms. Zhao’s family was introduced to him by an adviser at Morgan Stanley named Michael Wu, who the company said had been terminated.

Federal prosecutors have so far charged 50 people in the admissions case, in which wealthy families are accused of cheating on college entrance exams and bribing college coaches to designate students as athletic recruits. Mr. Singer has pleaded guilty to racketeering and other charges, and has cooperated with the government in gathering evidence against his clients and others he is said to have worked with.

Prosecutors have not brought any charges against Ms. Zhao or her parents, nor against Ms. Guo or her parents. Both Ms. Zhao, who was a sophomore at Stanford, and Ms. Guo, who was a freshman at Yale, were expelled from their schools.

A statement sent on behalf of Ms. Zhao’s mother by her lawyer, Vincent Law, said that Mrs. Zhao and her daughter were victims of Mr. Singer’s scheme, and that Mrs. Zhao had believed the $6.5 million was a legitimate donation to Stanford.

“This generous act was not only done for the good of the school and its students, but also done out of the love and support of Yusi by a caring mother,” the statement said.

It added that Mr. Singer had not offered guaranteed admission to any school and that her daughter had applied to and was accepted by a number of colleges “through ordinary channels.”

A visit to the Zhao family home outside Beijing and a review of online records pointed to the world of luxury and privilege that Ms. Zhao had grown up in. But the family also publicly espoused an ethic of hard work and not falling back on inherited wealth.

A Ferrari, Tesla, Bentley and Land Rover sat parked outside the house, a California-style mansion surrounded by trees and a large hedge, in a gated development called Yosemite Villas.

Ms. Zhao’s father, Zhao Tao, said in a 2015 profile of the family in a Chinese magazine that his children did not have their own fancy cars. “If they want to drive, they have to borrow one from me,” he said.

“I really look down on those kids who don’t rely on their own abilities,” he added. “If I come across one, I give them a dressing down right away. I just can’t stand that type.”

Ms. Zhao’s older sister, Zhao Yuchen, said in the same profile, “From early on we’ve been taught that the family’s money is the family’s and is none of our business. We can get the best education available, but if we want to live better off, we have to earn it ourselves. When we traveled, the adults went first class, for sure, but we kids had to ride economy in the back.”

Mr. Zhao is the president and co-founder of Shandong Buchang Pharmaceuticals, a drug company that specializes in traditional Chinese medicines and health supplements. He started the company with his father in 1993, and it has become a family enterprise, employing Mr. Zhao’s brother, wife and elder daughter. A profile in Forbes lists Mr. Zhao’s net worth as $1.8 billion, describes him as a citizen of Singapore, and says he received an M.B.A. from Fordham University.

In a statement released by the company on Friday, Mr. Zhao said: “The arrangements for my daughter’s studies in the United States are a matter for me and my family, and the source of the funds has nothing to do with Buchang Pharmaceuticals, and will not have any impact on the financial situation of Buchang Pharmaceuticals.”

Mr. Zhao’s father, Zhao Buchang, was himself at one point accused of bribery: He was found by prosecutors to have paid $10,000 in 2002 to a senior official in China’s food and drug administration who was sentenced to death for corruption in 2007.

Mr. Zhao is also on the board of a group, called Wisdom Valley in English, which says it provides support and advice for Chinese family businesses. Through that group, Mr. Zhao met and posed for a photograph with President Trump and Melania Trump in 2017.

His daughter went to elementary school in Beijing before going to England for the latter part of middle school and for high school, where she attended a prestigious boarding school.

As a freshman at Stanford, Ms. Zhao was part of a selective academic-and-residential program called Structured Liberal Education, a yearlong intensive course in Western literature and culture and the history of ideas, according to Rob Reich, a professor of political science who has given lectures in the program.

The 90 freshmen in Structured Liberal Education live together and attend lectures by humanities scholars from across the university. According to its website, the program “encourages students to live a life of ideas in an atmosphere that emphasizes critical thinking and interpretation.”

She also belonged to an organization called the Stanford Speakers Bureau, which brings high-profile speakers like Jennifer Lopez and Ban Ki Moon to campus.

“She was very friendly — and very dedicated,” Alexa Ramachandran, 18, a freshman member, said of Ms. Zhao. “She would go around to the dorms, asking if there was anything more she could do for the club.”

In the video Ms. Zhao made about getting into Stanford, which is over 90 minutes long, Ms. Zhao said that she rode horses in her spare time, and that she planned to take sociology classes at Stanford and return to China after graduating.

Ms. Zhao repeatedly exhorted her viewers to work hard and believe in themselves, using her own journey as a lesson. She said that she had been a mediocre student in elementary school and that her first ACT score had been unimpressive.

“A lot of people told me, ‘You still want to get into Stanford, but, look, the entry rate for it is just 4 percent — just forget it,’” she said. After a year of strenuous study, she said, she took the test again and got a score of 33 out of 36.

“Based on my experience of study, I want to tell you that really anyone can do it,” she went on. “I’m not the kind who was born with a very high I.Q. or who can score 33 or 36 in an exam just like that. But I made my way up step by step, through my hard work.”

She decided to aim for American universities, she said, because they evaluated students not just based on test scores, but also on their extracurricular activities and personal statements.

“It demands not only that you’re a good student, but also that you have personality,” she said. “You need to have a special skill.”

[carwashathome-blog]

What is Car Dry Cleaning & Detailing!

Car Dry Cleaning, Rubbing, Polish and cleaning of car interior is a part of Car Detailing. It is totally different from a basic car wash & car cleaning. Normal car washing & cleaning cannot protect or enhance your car life in an effective way until unless you are protecting its surfaces. It involves deep cleaning of Exterior & car dry cleaning of your car. Our car care techniques are perfect blend to outshine interior cleaning. Having your car cleaned every five to six months can keep your car in excellent new showroom shine condition. We provide best car dry cleaning and polishing services to customers. Car Cleaned by us has unmatchable perfection. For us each and every customer is important. You can check out before & after pictures at our Facebook page for complete peace of mind related to our service. Car interior cleaning must be done by professionals like us only. CARCLEANZ is Premium Car Detailers and we ensure to pamper each and every car with complete care and professionalism and achieve your high level of satisfaction. We will become your perfect car care partner.

high pressure High pressure wash with the best accessories polish Dashboard cleaning & polishing engine wash Engine Cleaning with hot water / steam car wash dashboard Proper cleaning & drying of Foot mats body wash Body wash with Foam (Euro std.) engine wash Cleaning of air vents and ash tray cleaning tyre Underbody/ Tyre arches cleaning without gantry/lift with high pressure without disturbing wheel balance & alignment polish In the end, the car body will be sprayed with liquid wax (Euro std.) for a shiny surface and to protect the body from dirt / dust foot mats Internal cleaning with suction vacuum using a special car tool mirrors wash Inside out cleaning of windows & mirrors

Procedure Wash, wax and detail in the following order:

Brush, vacuum, and clean the interior. Either prior to, after, or on the same day. Clean wheels and tires. To avoid splash back from the wheels. Also, use tire brushes and never use them for the body of the car! Wash exterior Apply tire dressing Polish wheels Clean & Treat exterior trim Polish and then wax exterior paints Clean the interior Because washing a vehicle thoroughly can be an all day job you can opt to clean the interior the day before or the day after. It would depend on how much discipline you have. See the Detailing Wiki article on interior cleaning for more info. [1]

Clean the Exterior Washing the Paintwork although, in order to avoid deep scratches, the vehicle must be rinsed thoroughly before a sponge is applied. To do this, always begin at the top of the vehicle and rinse down. If the weather is particularly hot that day, the process will most likely require repeating, even after just a few minutes. Always make sure that the section of the vehicle that is being washed is wet. If possible park the car in a shady area. Also, morning or afternoon are preferable times.

Pour a liberal amount of soap into the bucket (making sure it is free of debris first) and then fill it up with water. Follow the manufacturers recommended instructions for which quantities of soap and water to use. Dip the sponge into the water and wait for it to absorb as much soapy water as it can. Squeeze the sponge repeatedly while swirling it around in the water. Squeeze excess water out of the sponge and then apply it to the roof of the vehicle. Always wipe the vehicle's surface in straight motions (to avoid making fine swirl marks), remember to begin with the roof and work down the sides to the bottom of the vehicle. If the weather is hot, then soap the vehicle in small sections (I.E. a panel at a time), and then rinse immediately. If not, the heat can dry the soap onto the vehicle's paint.

Washing the Wheels It is highly recommended to use a different set of equipment (sponge, bucket etc.) for the wheels. This will reduce the risk of scratching other parts of the paint work, as the wheels are usually the dirtiest part of a vehicle.

There are two common ways to clean the wheels of a vehicle.

The first way is to clean them with soap and a wheel brush. The choice of brush rests largely on the design of the hubcaps or wheels.

First, ensure that the wheels have been rinsed with water. Next, scrub them with the wheel brush being careful not scratch the hubcaps' paint. Note: hubcaps with grooves in them can contain a lot of brake dust, as can alloy wheels. These problem areas can require extra time and scrubbing.

The second method is to use spray on, rinse off chemicals. Directions for these should be found on the bottle.

Rinsing and drying the vehicle An important step is rinsing all of the soap off of the vehicle. Begin at the top and spray downward to avoid splashing soap back up to the top of the vehicle. If your finish has a good coat of wax, make your final rinse with water of a moderate volume and low pressure about an inch above the surface rather than a high pressure spray. This will create a sheet of water producing fewer small water beads and will improve your drying results.

Afterward, dry the vehicle with a clean, plush microfiber towel. Microfiber towels are superior to chamois or terry towels and will prevent new scratches from appearing in the paint. As much as possible, dry the vehicle thoroughly including the nooks and crannies (door jambs, under the hood, trunk lid, etc.) to prevent water spots and premature corrosion. It is not recommended to allow the vehicle to dry naturally as minerals in the water will be left behind as the water itself evaporates.

Polishing Many products are available on the market which claim to polish paint to restore luster. Some are more effective than others, consult your owners manual or vehicle manufacturer for a recommendation for your particular car. A popular polishing tool with many enthusiasts is the clay bar. Most polishes should be applied sparingly, usually no more than once or twice per year. Never use a polishing compound on a car with a clear coat. These compounds are far too abrasive and will remove the clear coat.

To use a clay bar, the surface of the vehicle must always be lubricated. Never rub the bar on dry paint, it will scratch. Additionally, if the clay bar is dropped on the ground, it must be discarded. The contamination it picks up would subsequently be ground into the paint if it continues to be used.

Waxing Most car wash solutions claim to have wax in them, however the amount they contain is usually not enough to offer significant protection to your vehicle. It is therefore recommended that a "hard" wax be used. These can come in a variety of forms, including pastes, liquids, and sprays. If water applied to your paint forms very large droplets or does not bead at all, it should be waxed. A general rule of thumb is to apply wax when the beads become larger than 2.5 centimeters (1 in).

Since there are a wide variety of products, follow the instructions for application on your particular product. Apply wax to one section of the car at a time, and let haze. Once this occurs, remove the wax by buffing with a folded microfiber towel. Changing to different folds often will make removal of the excess wax easier. After removal, it may be necessary to open the doors to remove wax residue at the edges of the panels.

External References

[takenews-blog1]

Super Mario Odyssey evaluation

New Post has been published on https://takenews.net/super-mario-odyssey-evaluation/

Super Mario Odyssey evaluation

I guarantee you that after enjoying his newest journey, Tremendous Mario Odyssey, the sudden profession pivot of Nintendo’s most iconic character makes lots of sense. After all Mario isn’t a plumber, or at the least not simply a plumber. As a result of professionally talking, Mario wears many hats.

He’s a physician. He’s the lead in a mariachi band. He’s a constructing inspector. He’s wanting to fill no matter position the event requires. Tremendous Mario Odyssey expands on Mario’s chameleon-esque nature by giving him a brand new, all-encompassing skill: the ability to take over and management different characters and enemies by tossing his hat upon their noggin.

So now, with the zip of his cap, Mario can be a Goomba. Or a Bullet Invoice. Or a wierd woodland creature that may prolong its legs to achieve untold heights. Or a classy statue with the power to see invisible platforms.

That’s the pitch, the hook to Tremendous Mario Odyssey: that Mario will be no matter you want him to be. However that’s actually only a reiteration of what Mario has at all times been to each Nintendo and his followers (he’s beforehand been a professional golfer, kart racer, time traveler and rather more), and maybe that’s why the brand new cap-slinging mechanic appears like such a pure match. Tremendous Mario Odyssey is an prolonged riff on the legacy of its hero, a mustachioed man who started life as a humble plumber earlier than changing into a bona-fide professional in virtually every part.

And so what initially looks like an oddball centerpiece (the ghoulish skill to own the world round him) involves really feel like a completely apparent and important addition to this historic canon.

This can be a two-person evaluation. Polygon evaluations editor Phil Kollar and deputy information editor Allegra Frank each spent the final week enjoying as a lot Mario as they might cram into each waking hour.

I do know that is going to make me sound historical by Allegra requirements, however a lot of my earliest gaming recollections contain the unique Tremendous Mario Bros. for NES — a recreation that, I at all times wish to level out, was launched on or simply earlier than the day I used to be born. Thanks, Nintendo!

These recollections of Tremendous Mario Bros. are tinged with a profound sense of chance. Clearly this was an early 2D platformer, and it’s very primary by at the moment’s requirements. However as a baby, I keep in mind being stuffed with awe as I found every new factor I might accomplish with the sport’s restricted transfer set. I keep in mind getting my first hearth flower and really leaping from my seat in celebration of my newfound flame-spitting powers.

The latest time a Mario recreation captured that very same feeling of discovery was when Tremendous Mario 64 first took the collection into 3D. Then this week, as soon as once more, I felt that shock and pleasure with Tremendous Mario Odyssey. There’s a lot on this recreation; Mario himself has so many strikes and skills, after which on prime of that over a dozen completely different enemies or allies will be taken over with Cappy, his new ghostly hat companion. Every of those “captures” has new strikes of their very own.

The entire recreation is mainly structured like a large playground. Spend as a lot time as you need messing round; likelihood is you’ll be rewarded for it. And, similar to I keep in mind from my youth, this emphasis on exploration and discovery serves as a bottomless properly from which to attract buckets of excellent emotions. I can say with confidence that there hasn’t been one other recreation this 12 months that has so constantly had me grinning.

So Allegra, as somebody with out my old-man fondness for the Mario collection, how have you ever appreciated Tremendous Mario Odyssey?

My relationship with Mario began from a extra unconventional place: I realized to like the Mushroom Kingdom by means of Mario’s aspect adventures. By the point I first checked out the collection, Mario was already a kart racing champ, big-time partier and tennis star. Ultimately I acquired round to the core Mario video games, and whereas I beloved adventuring round kingdoms and islands and galaxies as Mario, I nonetheless credit score his expansive record of extracurriculars with sustaining my endearment to his quirky crew.

Whilst I’ve at all times identified Mario to carry quite a lot of jobs, one factor remained the identical: He was nonetheless Mario. Cappy might as soon as once more give Mario a brand new hat to put on, however the core distinction right here is that with these hats comes a rediscovery of how each the sport and Mario himself work — he’s nonetheless punching blocks and ground-pounding, however he isn’t bodily the Mario we’re used to. Rediscovering how Mario works is a serious a part of what makes Odyssey a pleasure, in addition to one thing particular.

I’ll say that the unconventional departure from Mario’s typical ability set does nonetheless take some critical getting used to, although. Did you discover something to be disappointing and even irritating with how a lot the gameplay deviates from the standard Mario type? Or did you would like it went even additional?

I had one single and minor frustration: the controls. Let me be clear right here that the controls aren’t dangerous by any means, however given the sheer variety of doable strikes at Mario’s disposal, there’s, uh, rather a lot to be taught. Sure advanced strikes can require finally holding down three or extra buttons, all pressed with excellent timing, or letting go of buttons on the proper time. And most annoyingly, a couple of choices require the usage of movement controls.

In the event you’re enjoying with the Swap’s Pleasure-Con controllers, the movement management strikes are fairly straightforward. However as somebody who nonetheless frequently experiences desyncing issues with the Pleasure-Cons, I most popular utilizing the Professional Controller or enjoying in handheld mode. Whereas movement controls nonetheless work with each of these setups, they’re awkward as hell to tug off.

I can not stress sufficient, nevertheless, that it is a minor quibble. There are a restricted variety of factors all through the sport that require movement management; even spots that appear like they want it typically have a workaround should you’re actually determined to not waggle your controller. That freedom is absolutely Tremendous Mario Odyssey’s best power, too.

We’ve talked rather a lot about how the sport permits Mario to step into the footwear of all these completely different creatures, however we haven’t but defined how the sport places all of these choices to work.

The place different Mario video games have ranges or worlds for our hero to discover, Tremendous Mario Odyssey has kingdoms, every one outlined by a central theme and unified by a story thread. There’s the Woodland Kingdom, which is all pastoral and plush; the Snow Kingdom, during which Mario shivers if he stands nonetheless for too lengthy; and, after all, New Donk Metropolis, aka the Metro Kingdom, amongst others.

For as bare-bones as Odyssey’s storyline is, it’s nonetheless clear how and why every of those worlds suits into it. Mario and Cappy are each on quests to rescue crucial girls of their lives — Princess Peach and Tiara, respectively — who’ve been kidnapped and thrown into Bowser’s absurd marriage ceremony plot. The pair boards the great ship Odyssey to journey from kingdom to kingdom, chasing after Bowser and his pack of rabbit marriage ceremony planners whereas additionally on the lookout for moons, collectible objects that energy their vessel.

The Odyssey takes the place of a central hub world, which is a bit disappointing; it is a small ship, its cramped inside seemingly designed to make us need to return outdoors and run round. That’s tremendous, as a result of every kingdom is wealthy with issues to do and locations to discover. Each kingdom includes a new set of enemies with wildly various powers, and it’s a pleasure to be taught the patterns of every new kingdom and remedy assorted puzzles, unlock secrets and techniques, and take down enemies with a unique, easy-to-learn set of skills.

Claims that Tremendous Mario Odyssey is a contemporary, open-world entry within the collection (like what The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild was for Zelda) are overstated, however once I say that this recreation has actually, actually, actually large ranges, I imply it. Though I recognize how the primary marketing campaign retains Mario on a linear observe, I’m extra impressed by how a lot the sport invited me to discover the place and the way I needed.

Yeah, I’m 100 % in settlement with you that Tremendous Mario Odyssey just isn’t an “open-world” recreation in any conventional sense. What it shares most with Breath of the Wild just isn’t the dimensions of its worlds, however the density of them. Moons are much less like the valuable stars of Mario video games previous and extra corresponding to Breath of the Wild’s ample korok seeds. There are a whole bunch of them, rewarded liberally for duties each main and minor, whether or not it’s finishing a platforming problem, answering riddles for a sphinx or discovering a deviously hidden space in a retro 2D sequence.

The extra moons you collect, the additional a visit the Odyssey will have the ability to take, opening up increasingly more kingdoms as you go. It’s a satisfying loop, one which consistently motivated me to maintain exploring.

Nintendo can be good at urging gamers to revisit already-explored kingdoms. In your first journey by means of a kingdom, earlier than you’ve solved no matter main storyline conundrum is aggravating its individuals, you’re solely capable of entry a fraction of the full variety of moons accessible. Once you return to the dominion, new areas and challenges can have opened up, and dozens extra moons together with them. After which, after you “full” the sport and watch the credit, you’ll be able to unlock much more moons in each kingdom, prompting a worthy return tour of the the entire recreation.

Particularly good is that for each apparent method of finishing a puzzle or amassing a moon, there are different hidden options (and skills) to tinker with as the sport expands. This makes what can generally really feel like a formulaic journey — journey to a kingdom, gather moons, beat a boss; repeat — keep contemporary and, as you mentioned, free.

Yeah, there’s simply a lot to do right here. In the event you’re aiming to get each moon within the recreation — all 800-plus of them — it will probably simply refill 50 hours or extra, which properly exceeds my expectations from a Mario recreation. To perform all of that with none of the content material coming throughout as filler is fairly astounding, however Nintendo has pulled it off. And it’s pulled it off with a tremendous quantity of character.

I feel what you’re referring to right here — this pervasive sense of confident type — is my favourite side of the sport. It drips everywhere in the kingdoms; it’s intrinsic to the Cappy mechanic, as every captured being instantly infuses Mario with its personal particular taste. Small particulars like traditional Mario character sigils stamped across the worlds are pretty surprises.

There’s additionally loads of type within the boss battles, though maybe to much less successful impact. Boss battles really feel pure and particular to the worlds during which they exist; after all it is smart gigantic octopus monster, for instance, can be fought utilizing Mario’s newly inhabited tremendous jet stream consciousness.

The battles do generally interrupt the extra free-flowing nature of the sport’s collectible-hunting segments. Whereas it’s novel to see Mario’s new powers examined on a grand scale, difficult a boss normally feels much less satisfying than discovering all of these many, many moons — like a obligatory evil that’s getting in the way in which of the larger good.

For what it’s value, I feel the bosses are wildly profitable, and wouldn’t describe any of them as dragging on — as much as maybe the elective post-credits boss rush, which fully destroyed me many occasions over. The factor I like about Mario bosses generally, and these bosses particularly, is that Nintendo is so good at signposting what it’s worthwhile to do to succeed.

I by no means felt like I entered a boss encounter set as much as fail, or like I needed to die a few times simply to determine patterns. For instance, once I went up towards a large stone head with huge fists, it solely took a fast look on the battlefield to comprehend that there have been small pockets of ice arrange throughout. By getting the monstrous opponent to smash his fists into the ice, I used to be capable of swing my cap onto the fingers and rocket them again into my enemy’s face. If I used to be paying consideration and enjoying properly sufficient, I used to be capable of beat each boss within the recreation on my first attempt.

These boss encounters are additionally aided by a few of Tremendous Mario Odyssey’s most frantic music tracks. For a collection identified for its iconic tunes, among the best components of Odyssey is the way it takes probabilities with its soundtrack. From the jazzy riffs of the Woodland Kingdom to this weirdly catchy lounge track with precise lyrics, the music is simply as filled with little surprises as every part else within the recreation.

And whereas we’re speaking about aesthetic parts, I’ve acquired to notice one thing that’s apparent should you’ve ever watched a trailer for this recreation: Tremendous Mario Odyssey is completely attractive. For no matter individuals would possibly take into consideration the Swap’s comparatively underpowered , it doesn’t present for a second right here. Whether or not enjoying on my 4K-capable 65-inch TV or having fun with the sport in handheld mode on the Swap’s display, I’m consistently impressed by how crisp and colourful its worlds are. In lots of fashionable video games, I discover it straightforward for visuals and music to type of fade into the background; in Tremendous Mario Odyssey, they play practically as necessary a starring position as Nintendo’s mascot himself.

For a personality nearing 40 years outdated, it’s wonderful that Mario has remained not solely a beloved character however one whose video games are typically anticipated to be nice. From that perspective, it’s no shock that Tremendous Mario Odyssey is, sure, a fantastic recreation. However greater than that, it’s a implausible, even basic addition to Mario’s legacy. From a plumber to a physician to a tennis star to, uh, a Goomba, Mario has endured. No, this is not going to be the final Mario recreation, however it’s virtually sure to be lauded as one in every of his finest.

Tremendous Mario Odyssey was reviewed utilizing ultimate “retail” Nintendo Swap obtain codes offered by Nintendo. You will discover further details about Polygon’s ethics coverage right here.

[businessweekme]

Seven Ways Hotels Will Change in 2018

In response to the many geo-political, sociological, and technological changes that took place in 2017, five-star hotels are making changes—some small, some large. Here’s what to expect, based on predictions from a panel of leading industry insiders: Tina Edmundson, global brand officer at Marriott International Inc.; Bjorn Hanson, clinical professor at NYU’s Tisch Center for Hospitality and Tourism; John Vanderslice, global head of luxury and lifestyle brands at Hilton Worldwide Holdings Inc.; and Guy Langford and Marcello Gasdia, of Deloitte LLP’s travel, hospitality, and services group.

  New Fees Will Hit Major Markets

Hotels in major U.S. markets will become more expensive next year as the practice of adding resort fees, once reserved for getaways in exotic locales, becomes more and more common at urban properties—often with a nightly price tag of $25. NYU’s Hanson has noticed them most in New York, where high occupancy rates leave picky travelers with few alternatives. (They’re also rumored to be popping up in Chicago and Los Angeles.) Budget for the fee on business trips, as transparency is not yet what it should be. There is one slight silver lining: “This is better than hotels raising their room rates,” says Hanson, “since the fees aren’t subject to occupancy taxes.”

  Turn-Down Service Will Disappear

Pay your respects to those chocolates on your pillow, while you still can. “More and more hotels are making turndown service optional for two reasons. One is cost,” says NYU’s Hanson. The second, he says, is privacy. “We go through cycles when people are more private and more open, and right now—for reasons I can only speculate about—people are feeling more private about their personal space. Some people don’t like their toiletries straightened up.”

“It’s a fair comment” says Deloitte’s Langford. “My personal view is that there are things you value and things you don’t, and I don’t need anyone to turn down my bed. With certain companies, it may be part of a brand promise. But if it’s not, it’s a cost—and it doesn’t need to be provided.”

  Your Room Will Get Connected

“Technology is top of mind for everyone right now,” says Marriott’s Edmundson—who oversees eight luxury brands, including Ritz-Carlton, Edition, Luxury Collection, and St. Regis—specifically investment in the so-called “Internet of Things” (IoT) tech such as Nest temperature control units or Amazon.com Inc.’s Alexa.

Marriott’s experimental “Internet of Things room,” created in conjunction with Samsung and Legrand SA, includes showers that remember a guest’s preferred temperature, digital wall art that can be swapped for family photos, and mirrors with embedded displays—for on-demand yoga videos. The rooms will soft-launch in 2018; W hotels will likely be first to offer them.

Vanderslice may get there sooner. Hilton just announced a similarly teched-out room with mobile app controls for television, lighting, thermostat, and digital art. It will debut in major cities in the coming weeks, with a rapid rollout across all Hilton brands in 2018 and 2019.

“2018 is going to be the year that the rubber hits the road with IoT technology,” says Deloitte’s Gasdia. “It took a while for this technology to mature, but now personalization can happen in real time. It’s a win-win for everybody.”

  The Front Desk Will Get a Makeover

While lifestyle brand, such as Ace and 1 Hotels, have upended the old-fashioned lobby and turned it into a cool, collective workspace, luxury brands have largely stayed true to tradition. That will be challenged in 2018, says Hanson, who predicts that the check-in desk will slowly fade into oblivion, reflecting travelers’ shifting preferences for intimacy rather than formality.

“Fifty years ago, people didn’t have credit cards, and bad guys would come jump the desk and steal the cash,” he begins. “But that’s not the case anymore, and hotels no longer need that type of tall, wide barrier. Now they’re thinking: ‘Why can’t we have a little seating area that’s very comfortable and intimate?’”

Living room-like check-in areas are indeed popping up at some of the world’s finest properties. Take the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris, recently reopened after a four-year makeover by Rosewood. Its reception space is an elegant sitting room, with antique desks and a plush loveseat. The shift allows travelers to relax after a long journey—something Deloitte pinpointed as a key need, especially for business travelers, in its recent “Hotel of the Future” study.

Brands Will Appeal to Travelers’ Values

When the Eaton Workshop opens in Washington early next year, it will be the world’s first hotel for liberals. The company may be onto something. “Luxury customers are drawn to brands that communicate a sense of purpose—beyond just existing to sell something,” says Marriott’s Edmundson, pointing to “sky-high” engagement at two W hotel speaker series, “What She Said” and “Queer Me Out,” showcasing powerful women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBTQ) thought leaders, respectively.

But it’s not in every brand’s DNA to plant such politically charged flags, so in 2018, top-tier brands will find softer ways to appeal to consumers’ values—being careful not to alienate any potential guests.

“Forty percent of guests will fall on one political extreme, and 40 will fall on the other,” says NYU’s Hanson. “Few are in the middle. But there are causes that nobody could disagree with, like human trafficking, 40 percent of which occurs in hotels,” he adds. “Nobody would be offended by a company taking a stand on that.”

  Wellness Will Be More Important Than Ever

“Wellness is going to be the next trillion-dollar industry,” predicts Deloitte’s Langford. “Everyone wants to capitalize on the huge swell, but every brand is making a different play. Nobody has figured it out yet.”

Already, Hyatt has bought legendary wellness brand Miraval for $375 million, while JW Marriott has partnered with the Joffrey Ballet for on-demand barre classes. Meanwhile, Four Seasons has developed wellness rooms with de-chlorinating showers and Deepak Chopra meditation videos.

“At the bleeding edge, wellness resorts are changing their talent strategies, hiring more doctors, more NPs, more nutritionists—and that’s really expensive,” says Delotte’s Gasdia. “But they’re doing really well with revenue and gross bookings.” Hanson agrees: “With even select-service brands upgrading their fitness centers, this is a place where luxury brands have the physical space to stay ahead of the curve.”

Based on a recent survey of 5,000 Marriott guests, Edmundson says that “about 80 percent of respondents agreed that improving their physical and emotional well-being is more of a focus for them today than it was three years ago—sleep improvement, new diets, and meditation all scored high in terms of what travelers had participated in over the past 12 months.” Not coincidentally, her eight brands will “lean into this space” in 2018, with JW Marriott taking the leading role.

  Hotels Will Sell Far More Than Rooms

The business of running a hotel company can no longer be boxed into four walls. “These days, we think of ourselves as being more in the travel business than the hotel business,” says Marriott’s Edmundson, who is overseeing the launch of Ritz-Carlton’s cruise product in the next two years.

“In every single sector, including travel, it’s all about ecosystems,” says Deloitte’s Gasdia. “Think about Amazon buying Whole Foods. It’s all about leveraging the power of adjacent spaces.” So what does that mean for travelers? Most notably, hotels will now attempt to fill up their itineraries with experiences and activities.

“The tours-and-activities space is going through a huge coming of digital age,” explains Gasdia—and hotels want to cash in. (Airbnb caught on early.) Take Marriott’s strategic investment in PlacePass, which unlocks 100,000 walking tours, biking excursions, and culinary classes in 800 destinations around the world. Or the new “Live Unforgettable” campaign for Waldorf Astoria; Hilton’s Vanderslice says it will link hotel guests with such celebrities as Gabrielle Union at high-profile dinner events.

NYU’s Hanson argues that selling activities is crucial for luxury hotels. It helps them control the end-to-end shopping experience, offers data that can feed guest personalization, and distinguishes high-end properties from mid-tier ones.

“Luxury hotels need to do more. We get ironing boards and bathrobes everywhere, don’t need business centers, and even the concierge has become irrelevant,” he explains. Experiences, though, are a winnable space. “Local walking tours, comped theater tickets, exhibits in the hotels, manager receptions for frequent guests—these are the types of things that only luxury hotels can do.”

The post Seven Ways Hotels Will Change in 2018 appeared first on Bloomberg Businessweek Middle East.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2BvjjMW via IFTTT

[touristguidebuzz]

Technology Is Top of Mind for Hotels

Traditional spaces such as check-in and the concierge desk, shown here, are completely rethought at Rosewood’s Hôtel de Crillon in Paris. Rosewood Hotels & Resorts

Skift Take: The heads of luxury brands at Marriott and Hilton and other leading industry experts have some bold 2018 predictions ranging from the disappearance of turndown service to the rise of Internet-connected guest rooms.

— Sean O'Neill

In response to the many geopolitical, sociological, and technological changes that took place in 2017, five-star hotels are making changes—some small, some large.

Here’s what to expect, based on predictions from a panel of leading industry insiders: Tina Edmundson, global brand officer at Marriott International Inc.; Bjorn Hanson, clinical professor at NYU’s Tisch Center for Hospitality and Tourism; John Vanderslice, global head of luxury and lifestyle brands at Hilton Worldwide Holdings Inc.; and Guy Langford and Marcello Gasdia, of Deloitte LLP’s travel, hospitality, and services group.

New Fees Will Hit Major Markets

Hotels in major U.S. markets will become more expensive next year as the practice of adding resort fees, once reserved for getaways in exotic locales, becomes more and more common at urban properties—often with a nightly price tag of $25. NYU’s Hanson has noticed them most in New York, where high occupancy rates leave picky travelers with few alternatives. (They’re also rumored to be popping up in Chicago and Los Angeles.) Budget for the fee on business trips, as transparency is not yet what it should be. There is one slight silver lining: “This is better than hotels raising their room rates,” says Hanson, “since the fees aren’t subject to occupancy taxes.”

Turn-Down Service Will Disappear

Pay your respects to those chocolates on your pillow, while you still can. “More and more hotels are making turndown service optional for two reasons. One is cost,” says NYU’s Hanson. The second, he says, is privacy. “We go through cycles when people are more private and more open, and right now — for reasons I can only speculate about — people are feeling more private about their personal space. Some people don’t like their toiletries straightened up.”

“It’s a fair comment,” says Deloitte’s Langford. “My personal view is that there are things you value and things you don’t, and I don’t need anyone to turn down my bed. With certain companies, it may be part of a brand promise. But if it’s not, it’s a cost—and it doesn’t need to be provided.”

Your Room Will Get Connected

“Technology is top of mind for everyone right now,” says Marriott’s Edmundson—who oversees eight luxury brands, including Ritz-Carlton, Edition, Luxury Collection, and St. Regis—specifically investment in the so-called “Internet of Things” (IoT) tech such as Nest temperature control units or Amazon.com Inc.’s Alexa.

Marriott’s experimental “Internet of Things room,” created in conjunction with Samsung and Legrand SA, includes showers that remember a guest’s preferred temperature, digital wall art that can be swapped for family photos, and mirrors with embedded displays—for on-demand yoga videos. The rooms will soft-launch in 2018; W hotels will likely be first to offer them.

Vanderslice may get there sooner. Hilton just announced a similarly teched-out room with mobile app controls for television, lighting, thermostat, and digital art. It will debut in major cities in the coming weeks, with a rapid rollout across all Hilton brands in 2018 and 2019.

“2018 is going to be the year that the rubber hits the road with IoT technology,” says Deloitte’s Gasdia. “It took a while for this technology to mature, but now personalization can happen in real time. It’s a win-win for everybody.”

The Front Desk Will Get a Makeover

While lifestyle brands, such as Ace and 1 Hotels, have upended the old-fashioned lobby and turned it into a cool, collective workspace, luxury brands have largely stayed true to tradition. That will be challenged in 2018, says Hanson, who predicts that the check-in desk will slowly fade into oblivion, reflecting travelers’ shifting preferences for intimacy rather than formality.

“Fifty years ago, people didn’t have credit cards, and bad guys would come jump the desk and steal the cash,” he begins. “But that’s not the case anymore, and hotels no longer need that type of tall, wide barrier. Now they’re thinking: ‘Why can’t we have a little seating area that’s very comfortable and intimate?’”

Living room-like check-in areas are indeed popping up at some of the world’s finest properties. Take the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris, recently reopened after a four-year makeover by Rosewood. Its reception space is an elegant sitting room, with antique desks and a plush loveseat. The shift allows travelers to relax after a long journey—something Deloitte pinpointed as a key need, especially for business travelers, in its recent “Hotel of the Future” study.

Brands Will Appeal to Travelers’ Values

When the Eaton Workshop opens in Washington early next year, it will be the world’s first hotel for liberals. The company may be onto something. “Luxury customers are drawn to brands that communicate a sense of purpose—beyond just existing to sell something,” says Marriott’s Edmundson, pointing to “sky-high” engagement at two W hotel speaker series, “What She Said” and “Queer Me Out,” showcasing powerful women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBTQ) thought leaders, respectively.

But it’s not in every brand’s DNA to plant such politically charged flags, so in 2018, top-tier brands will find softer ways to appeal to consumers’ values—being careful not to alienate any potential guests.

“Forty percent of guests will fall on one political extreme, and 40 will fall on the other,” says NYU’s Hanson. “Few are in the middle. But there are causes that nobody could disagree with, like human trafficking, 40 percent of which occurs in hotels,” he adds. “Nobody would be offended by a company taking a stand on that.”

Wellness Will Be More Important Than Ever

“Wellness is going to be the next trillion-dollar industry,” predicts Deloitte’s Langford. “Everyone wants to capitalize on the huge swell, but every brand is making a different play. Nobody has figured it out yet.”

Already, Hyatt has bought legendary wellness brand Miraval for $375 million, while JW Marriott has partnered with the Joffrey Ballet for on-demand barre classes. Meanwhile, Four Seasons has developed wellness rooms with de-chlorinating showers and Deepak Chopra meditation videos.

“At the bleeding edge, wellness resorts are changing their talent strategies, hiring more doctors, more NPs, more nutritionists—and that’s really expensive,” says Delotte’s Gasdia. “But they’re doing really well with revenue and gross bookings.” Hanson agrees: “With even select-service brands upgrading their fitness centers, this is a place where luxury brands have the physical space to stay ahead of the curve.”

Based on a recent survey of 5,000 Marriott guests, Edmundson says that “about 80 percent of respondents agreed that improving their physical and emotional well-being is more of a focus for them today than it was three years ago—sleep improvement, new diets, and meditation all scored high in terms of what travelers had participated in over the past 12 months.” Not coincidentally, her eight brands will “lean into this space” in 2018, with JW Marriott taking the leading role.

Hotels Will Sell Far More Than Rooms

The business of running a hotel company can no longer be boxed into four walls. “These days, we think of ourselves as being more in the travel business than the hotel business,” says Marriott’s Edmundson, who is overseeing the launch of Ritz-Carlton’s cruise product in the next two years.

“In every single sector, including travel, it’s all about ecosystems,” says Deloitte’s Gasdia. “Think about Amazon buying Whole Foods. It’s all about leveraging the power of adjacent spaces.” So what does that mean for travelers? Most notably, hotels will now attempt to fill up their itineraries with experiences and activities.

“The tours-and-activities space is going through a huge coming of digital age,” explains Gasdia—and hotels want to cash in. (Airbnb caught on early.) Take Marriott’s strategic investment in PlacePass, which unlocks 100,000 walking tours, biking excursions, and culinary classes in 800 destinations around the world. Or the new “Live Unforgettable” campaign for Waldorf Astoria; Hilton’s Vanderslice says it will link hotel guests with such celebrities as Gabrielle Union at high-profile dinner events.

NYU’s Hanson argues that selling activities is crucial for luxury hotels. It helps them control the end-to-end shopping experience, offers data that can feed guest personalization, and distinguishes high-end properties from mid-tier ones.

“Luxury hotels need to do more. We get ironing boards and bathrobes everywhere, don’t need business centers, and even the concierge has become irrelevant,” he explains. Experiences, though, are a winnable space. “Local walking tours, comped theater tickets, exhibits in the hotels, manager receptions for frequent guests—these are the types of things that only luxury hotels can do.”

©2017 Bloomberg L.P.

This article was written by Nikki Ekstein from Bloomberg and was legally licensed through the NewsCred publisher network. Please direct all licensing questions to legal@newscred.com.

[rollinbrigittenv8]

Technology Is Top of Mind for Hotels

Traditional spaces such as check-in and the concierge desk, shown here, are completely rethought at Rosewood’s Hôtel de Crillon in Paris. Rosewood Hotels & Resorts

Skift Take: The heads of luxury brands at Marriott and Hilton and other leading industry experts have some bold 2018 predictions ranging from the disappearance of turndown service to the rise of Internet-connected guest rooms.

— Sean O'Neill

In response to the many geopolitical, sociological, and technological changes that took place in 2017, five-star hotels are making changes—some small, some large.

Here’s what to expect, based on predictions from a panel of leading industry insiders: Tina Edmundson, global brand officer at Marriott International Inc.; Bjorn Hanson, clinical professor at NYU’s Tisch Center for Hospitality and Tourism; John Vanderslice, global head of luxury and lifestyle brands at Hilton Worldwide Holdings Inc.; and Guy Langford and Marcello Gasdia, of Deloitte LLP’s travel, hospitality, and services group.

New Fees Will Hit Major Markets

Hotels in major U.S. markets will become more expensive next year as the practice of adding resort fees, once reserved for getaways in exotic locales, becomes more and more common at urban properties—often with a nightly price tag of $25. NYU’s Hanson has noticed them most in New York, where high occupancy rates leave picky travelers with few alternatives. (They’re also rumored to be popping up in Chicago and Los Angeles.) Budget for the fee on business trips, as transparency is not yet what it should be. There is one slight silver lining: “This is better than hotels raising their room rates,” says Hanson, “since the fees aren’t subject to occupancy taxes.”

Turn-Down Service Will Disappear

Pay your respects to those chocolates on your pillow, while you still can. “More and more hotels are making turndown service optional for two reasons. One is cost,” says NYU’s Hanson. The second, he says, is privacy. “We go through cycles when people are more private and more open, and right now — for reasons I can only speculate about — people are feeling more private about their personal space. Some people don’t like their toiletries straightened up.”

“It’s a fair comment,” says Deloitte’s Langford. “My personal view is that there are things you value and things you don’t, and I don’t need anyone to turn down my bed. With certain companies, it may be part of a brand promise. But if it’s not, it’s a cost—and it doesn’t need to be provided.”

Your Room Will Get Connected

“Technology is top of mind for everyone right now,” says Marriott’s Edmundson—who oversees eight luxury brands, including Ritz-Carlton, Edition, Luxury Collection, and St. Regis—specifically investment in the so-called “Internet of Things” (IoT) tech such as Nest temperature control units or Amazon.com Inc.’s Alexa.

Marriott’s experimental “Internet of Things room,” created in conjunction with Samsung and Legrand SA, includes showers that remember a guest’s preferred temperature, digital wall art that can be swapped for family photos, and mirrors with embedded displays—for on-demand yoga videos. The rooms will soft-launch in 2018; W hotels will likely be first to offer them.

Vanderslice may get there sooner. Hilton just announced a similarly teched-out room with mobile app controls for television, lighting, thermostat, and digital art. It will debut in major cities in the coming weeks, with a rapid rollout across all Hilton brands in 2018 and 2019.

“2018 is going to be the year that the rubber hits the road with IoT technology,” says Deloitte’s Gasdia. “It took a while for this technology to mature, but now personalization can happen in real time. It’s a win-win for everybody.”

The Front Desk Will Get a Makeover

While lifestyle brands, such as Ace and 1 Hotels, have upended the old-fashioned lobby and turned it into a cool, collective workspace, luxury brands have largely stayed true to tradition. That will be challenged in 2018, says Hanson, who predicts that the check-in desk will slowly fade into oblivion, reflecting travelers’ shifting preferences for intimacy rather than formality.

“Fifty years ago, people didn’t have credit cards, and bad guys would come jump the desk and steal the cash,” he begins. “But that’s not the case anymore, and hotels no longer need that type of tall, wide barrier. Now they’re thinking: ‘Why can’t we have a little seating area that’s very comfortable and intimate?’”

Living room-like check-in areas are indeed popping up at some of the world’s finest properties. Take the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris, recently reopened after a four-year makeover by Rosewood. Its reception space is an elegant sitting room, with antique desks and a plush loveseat. The shift allows travelers to relax after a long journey—something Deloitte pinpointed as a key need, especially for business travelers, in its recent “Hotel of the Future” study.

Brands Will Appeal to Travelers’ Values

When the Eaton Workshop opens in Washington early next year, it will be the world’s first hotel for liberals. The company may be onto something. “Luxury customers are drawn to brands that communicate a sense of purpose—beyond just existing to sell something,” says Marriott’s Edmundson, pointing to “sky-high” engagement at two W hotel speaker series, “What She Said” and “Queer Me Out,” showcasing powerful women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBTQ) thought leaders, respectively.

But it’s not in every brand’s DNA to plant such politically charged flags, so in 2018, top-tier brands will find softer ways to appeal to consumers’ values—being careful not to alienate any potential guests.

“Forty percent of guests will fall on one political extreme, and 40 will fall on the other,” says NYU’s Hanson. “Few are in the middle. But there are causes that nobody could disagree with, like human trafficking, 40 percent of which occurs in hotels,” he adds. “Nobody would be offended by a company taking a stand on that.”

Wellness Will Be More Important Than Ever

“Wellness is going to be the next trillion-dollar industry,” predicts Deloitte’s Langford. “Everyone wants to capitalize on the huge swell, but every brand is making a different play. Nobody has figured it out yet.”

Already, Hyatt has bought legendary wellness brand Miraval for $375 million, while JW Marriott has partnered with the Joffrey Ballet for on-demand barre classes. Meanwhile, Four Seasons has developed wellness rooms with de-chlorinating showers and Deepak Chopra meditation videos.

“At the bleeding edge, wellness resorts are changing their talent strategies, hiring more doctors, more NPs, more nutritionists—and that’s really expensive,” says Delotte’s Gasdia. “But they’re doing really well with revenue and gross bookings.” Hanson agrees: “With even select-service brands upgrading their fitness centers, this is a place where luxury brands have the physical space to stay ahead of the curve.”

Based on a recent survey of 5,000 Marriott guests, Edmundson says that “about 80 percent of respondents agreed that improving their physical and emotional well-being is more of a focus for them today than it was three years ago—sleep improvement, new diets, and meditation all scored high in terms of what travelers had participated in over the past 12 months.” Not coincidentally, her eight brands will “lean into this space” in 2018, with JW Marriott taking the leading role.

Hotels Will Sell Far More Than Rooms

The business of running a hotel company can no longer be boxed into four walls. “These days, we think of ourselves as being more in the travel business than the hotel business,” says Marriott’s Edmundson, who is overseeing the launch of Ritz-Carlton’s cruise product in the next two years.

“In every single sector, including travel, it’s all about ecosystems,” says Deloitte’s Gasdia. “Think about Amazon buying Whole Foods. It’s all about leveraging the power of adjacent spaces.” So what does that mean for travelers? Most notably, hotels will now attempt to fill up their itineraries with experiences and activities.

“The tours-and-activities space is going through a huge coming of digital age,” explains Gasdia—and hotels want to cash in. (Airbnb caught on early.) Take Marriott’s strategic investment in PlacePass, which unlocks 100,000 walking tours, biking excursions, and culinary classes in 800 destinations around the world. Or the new “Live Unforgettable” campaign for Waldorf Astoria; Hilton’s Vanderslice says it will link hotel guests with such celebrities as Gabrielle Union at high-profile dinner events.

NYU’s Hanson argues that selling activities is crucial for luxury hotels. It helps them control the end-to-end shopping experience, offers data that can feed guest personalization, and distinguishes high-end properties from mid-tier ones.

“Luxury hotels need to do more. We get ironing boards and bathrobes everywhere, don’t need business centers, and even the concierge has become irrelevant,” he explains. Experiences, though, are a winnable space. “Local walking tours, comped theater tickets, exhibits in the hotels, manager receptions for frequent guests—these are the types of things that only luxury hotels can do.”

©2017 Bloomberg L.P.

This article was written by Nikki Ekstein from Bloomberg and was legally licensed through the NewsCred publisher network. Please direct all licensing questions to legal@newscred.com.